How could they have failed?

Maybe Uncle Cecil would have voted against the proposal no matter who was mayor, but she couldn’t get out of her mind the possibility that her uncle had let personal feelings interfere with his better judgment.

She left as soon as she could. As she glanced back, she saw that Patrick was talking with the two councilors who’d supported him. Her uncle and his two supporters left chambers together. Her uncle glanced her way and, when no one was looking, winked at her. She smiled slightly, but couldn’t rid herself of the weight of disappointment that pressed on her chest.

She knew Uncle Cecil was a fiscal conservative, and she respected his views. She only wished he could be a little more open to the fact that this current funding crisis wasn’t a little blip. Courage Bay was practically fighting for its life. In the past months the city had faced drought, severe storms, forest fires, earthquakes, mud slides and a rare viral outbreak. Now it seemed their latest crisis would be a monetary one.

She would have liked to exchange a word with Patrick, just to let him know how sorry she was his motion hadn’t passed, but he was busy chatting with Fred Glazeman when she left.

In no mood to go straight home, in spite of a sleepless night followed by a marathon day at work, she headed for Uncle Cecil and Aunt Irene’s place. Maybe she could do more good for this city if she could reconcile her uncle to Patrick’s proposal. If she could get Cecil Thomson onside, she knew he’d sway those who’d voted with him. She smiled wryly. She’d gone from undercover spy to lobbyist in one day.

Not that she was much of a spy. Her only piece of evidence was missing. At lunchtime she’d checked her car thoroughly, and even casually asked Bert if he’d found anything in the elevator. He’d handed her a paper clip and made some joke about recycling office supplies. Hah, hah.

She’d even phoned Shannon O’Shea to see if the firefighters had picked up anything, though common sense told her they’d have handed the tape recorder over right away if they had found it.

“What have you lost?” Shannon asked.

“Just an earring. It wasn’t valuable, but it has sentimental value.”

“Did you ask Patrick?” Shannon queried, an edge to her voice, and Briana wished she hadn’t bothered phoning. The tape and recorder must be at home somewhere.

Her aunt was delighted to see her. Irene Thomson was a very attractive woman who always looked elegant. Even her white slacks and sky-blue blouse were dressed up with an expensive leather belt and loafers. She’d let her hair go gray and it was a gorgeous pewter color, stunning against her porcelain complexion and deep blue eyes.

After wrapping her niece in a scented embrace, she insisted on warming up some leftover dinner. “If I know you, you’ve been too busy to eat properly. I know Cecil will be hungry when he gets home.”

So Briana found herself sipping sparkling water and putting a bowl of salad on the already set table when her uncle walked in. He broke into a big smile when he saw her and, after he’d kissed his wife hello, wrapped his niece in a bear hug. “So, you came for dinner after all,” he said lightly.

“I didn’t plan to eat, but Aunt Irene loves to feed me.”

He chuckled. “That she does.”

Over dinner they chatted about the family and reminisced about a holiday the three of them had taken in France and Italy as a present to Briana when she’d graduated from college. By the time they’d finished dinner, they were laughing heartily.

“It was all right for you two, but I had an awful time fighting off the men who went wild over Briana,” her uncle complained.

“I think it was my blond hair,” Briana said, wrinkling her nose.

“Nonsense. You’re too beautiful for your own good. You take after your mother that way.”

“Oh, that was such a good trip. Why don’t I get out the photo albums?” Aunt Irene suggested.

“I was really hoping to talk to Uncle Cecil for a few minutes about a work thing,” Briana said.

“Oh, of course, dear. I’m sure you’ve got lots to discuss.” Her aunt didn’t take an active role in Briana’s deception, but Briana knew Irene felt no compunction about hurting the man who’d hurt her husband. Briana understood that kind of loyalty. She had it herself. The trouble was, as loyal as she was to her uncle, she was fast developing an equally strong loyalty to her boss.

Uncle Cecil took her into his study. The room’s decor was inspired by a traditional men’s club. Burgundy walls, a British India rug, an oversize mahogany desk, leather chairs and even hunting prints on the walls.

She almost expected to be offered a cigar and brandy when she sat down.

“Uncle Cecil,” she said, “I’ve been working for Patrick O’Shea for two months now and he’s never done anything remotely illegal or unethical.”

Her uncle’s eyes hardened and his mouth firmed. “What about inappropriate overtures to his assistant?”

Forcing herself not to blush, she shook her head. It was the truth, after all. She was the one who’d made the overtures in the elevator.

“I see. Well, he’s been busy.” Cecil blew out a breath. “We’ve all been busy with this wretched trouble.”

“I know. I’m just wondering. Uncle Cecil, could it have been someone else who sent that false evidence to the Sentinel?”

“Of course not. Who else would bother?”

“I know it sounds strange, but maybe someone who supported his campaign?”

Uncle Cecil leaned back in his chair and regarded the ceiling, his habit when he was thinking deeply. “You’re suggesting Zirinsky could have acted on his own?”

Max Zirinsky was a good man. It was difficult to imagine him doing something so underhanded. “I’m only saying that it might not have been Patrick O’Shea. And if it wasn’t him,” she hurried on, “then maybe you two could bury the hatchet and try working together for the good of Courage Bay.”

Her uncle turned to look at her, and she saw the hurt in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t care about this city? I’ve lived here most of my life. I know these people. I’ve served them both as a banker and as a councilor. It’s my duty to stop some young hothead with dubious ethics and his own agenda from spending us into bankruptcy. I won’t let him destroy this city, Briana. I won’t.”

“Are you sure this isn’t personal?” she asked softly.

“Of course, it’s personal. He ruined my chances of ever being mayor, he ruined my loving wife’s peace of mind for weeks. Now it looks like your precious mayor is trying to ruin my relationship with my niece!”

“I just want to do the right thing,” she said, rising from her chair.

“Then do it. Make that bastard pay for hurting your family.”

“OKAY, PATRICK, we’ll be live in five, four, three, two, one and-” The light on the camera blinked and Patrick looked directly into the camera. He didn’t need any speaking notes or other aids from his communications advisor. He was appearing live on KSEA TV station at the time of day when most of Courage Bay was tuned in. The local news was finished and the station had preempted some programming to give him a chance to talk directly to the city’s citizens. Patrick knew exactly what he wanted to say.

He’d explained to the head of the station earlier in the day what he wanted to do, and Timeright Communications, the station’s owner, had been more than willing to provide him this public forum. After the day’s regular news, Patrick was on a live broadcast to take his message straight to the people. This would be followed by a live phone-in segment with KSEA’s news coanchor, Andrew Hayden.

“People of Courage Bay,” Patrick began, speaking from his heart to the people he’d seen at yesterday’s ribbon-cutting, to the families who’d lost relatives in the crises of the past few months, and to his neighbors, friends and voters.