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In the end, Dillon joined Porter and Charlie Hurst. The two chiefs and numerous volunteers laid out cables from the generators, three of which now throbbed merrily under the guidance of a grinning power-company engineer. They worked hard, sweated buckets, and raced against the ticking clock. Gleason was in charge of another merry band of volunteers, who gradually reduced the massive pile of lawn ornaments.
Elena played Dillon’s runner throughout.
An hour and a half later, Bailey marched over and said, “I’m here to collect my wayward daughter.”
Dillon and Elena said it together. “Awww.”
Bailey looked from one to the other. “Apparently I’ve been transported to some alternate dimension.”
Gleason and Charlie Hurst walked over, sweating and grinning. Charlie said, “Somebody point me toward the bar.”
“No bar,” Bailey said. “Nix on booze of any shape, form, grape, grain, a total ban. The last thing we need is to greet our guests with a riot.”
Porter had sidled up as well. “Probably a good idea, at least until the governor leaves.”
Bailey asked, “Just wondering, has anybody checked to see if all these lights will actually turn on?”
“Oh, right.” Charlie wiped his face with an oil-stained rag. “We’ll get around to that by tomorrow, no problem.”
“That was not funny in the extreme,” Bailey replied.
“Don’t mess with Mayor Mom,” Elena warned. “She might explode.”
Dillon said, “We’ve done a running test. Everything checks out.”
Gleason surveyed the array of lawn ornaments that now stretched along both sides of the lane, climbed the light poles, and framed the town hall. “Exactly how many reindeers does one Santa need?”
“It’s okay to have extras,” Elena said, “you know, in case some get lost in that candy cane forest growing across the street.”
Porter said, “I don’t recall ever reading about six dozen bunny rabbits playing a role in the Christmas story.”
“That’s nothing.” Gleason pointed to the town hall’s roofline. “Get a load of the glow-in-the-dark pilgrims with their tame turkeys getting ready to take down the angel. That’s a felony in the making.”
Elena said, “You two really need to get out more.”
“The governor’s on approach,” Bailey announced. “Porter, you and me and the other bigwigs need to go pretend we’re glad to see him.”
“Not me,” Charlie replied. “Me and Dillon and these eleventy-seven volunteers are going to light up the town.”
“Whatever works.” Bailey reached over, hugged her daughter. “Excuse me while I requisition this elf. The rest of you, pretend like you know what you’re doing.”
* * *
Dillon and the others waved as Bailey and her daughter departed in the police chief’s ride, followed by a slow parade of vehicles—two more police cars, Berto’s Tahoe, Emilia’s Cadillac SUV, a power company bus for the press. When the parade of vehicles rounded the corner and the sirens dimmed, Dillon asked the fire chief, “Shouldn’t you be with them?”
“Politicians give me hives.”
“You and Mayor Bailey get along well enough.”
“Yeah, well, there are exceptions to every rule.” Charlie offered him a sweaty grin. “Speaking of getting along with the mayor.”
“You can finish that thought, or you can have me help get this rig up and running,” Dillon replied. “Your choice.”
Twenty minutes later he paused again when a volunteer brought coffee and more doughnuts. As he munched, Dillon inspected the cables running around the town hall. But mostly it was a good moment for a gut check. And what Dillon felt just then was how much he liked being exactly where he was.
As he started back across the street, his phone pinged. Dillon checked the screen, and read a text from Elena.Ready for G-Day?
