Abby clamped her mouth shut, startled by this one-hundred-eighty degree turnaround from the man who didn’t believe in the concept of bad publicity. How had everything and everyone around her changed so suddenly? The answer followed hot on the heels of that question. Fear. The kind of fear her actions had brought to the citizens of Belclare changed people.
Nothing she could do about that. Protecting the citizens was her job. Appeasing them—if it got in the way—was not.
“I concur,” Mr. Filmore added with an arrogant tilt of his chin.
Of course he concurred. These guys were the drama twins, each with a slightly differing agenda. She laced her fingers together, wishing for her own cup of coffee, but that would have to wait. “The town council will approve the overtime expenses for my officers.” It wasn’t a question. Fortunately for the mayor, he seemed to understand that, as well. A vague dip of his head showed acknowledgment even if he would never say as much out loud. She moved on. “My officers are not on patrol to threaten or interfere with anyone, but in our experience a vigilant, visible presence is its own deterrent.”
“It didn’t deter more trouble on your street last night,” Filmore blurted out, his face turning red with frustration. “You all but sent out engraved invitations for every criminal to come test you. Belclare will pay the ultimate price.”
She bit back the sharp retort dancing on the tip of her tongue. “What would you have me do differently, Mr. Filmore?”
His mouth flapped like a fish for several seconds. “I’m not qualified to say, but I have gumption enough to know what you’ve done so far isn’t working.” He turned to the mayor. “All I know is that what you’re doing is ruining the most important time of year for our town.”
Gutless wonders, both of them, she thought. Their support for her success with the drug bust had shifted with the arrival of the very first federal agent. The instant the first threat hit the airwaves she was public enemy number one with these two men.
“Well, I must admit the generous promotional spots Deke Maynard provided should go a long way to salvaging opening weekend,” Mayor Scott allowed, smoothing a hand over his glaring holiday-plaid tie.
Ghost town or a decent turnout? She wished he’d pick a theory and stick with it.
On the short drive into the office, she’d only caught a teaser about Deke’s upcoming call-in interview on the radio. The man rarely bothered with publicity and she knew it made him uncomfortable, but if he was in her corner, urging people to attend the Christmas Village, she owed him a big thank-you.
“Will you at least decorate the police cars?” the historic society’s president asked.
“That’s a favorite tradition around here, Mr. Filmore,” Abby agreed. “I’ll make sure someone takes care of that right away.” She’d already assigned Danny to follow up on that detail, but she didn’t see the need to let Filmore know she’d had the idea first. Maybe appeasing was necessary at this point.
“Thank you,” he allowed.
Never an easy person to be around, Filmore fidgeted more than usual today. She chalked it up to distress over the ruination of the heirloom welcome sign on top of his disapproval of her new patrol protocol.
Both men stood. Finally. With handshakes and an exchange of “Merry Christmas,” they left her alone in her office.
Turning to her computer, she found websites for the local television and radio stations. The impromptu media junket Deke had managed this morning was getting an outpouring of positive responses. The man had single-handedly muted the negative press regarding the crime wave in Belclare. Offering an additional painting for the silent auction that benefitted the Belclare Food Bank was a lure that would bring in serious tourist traffic. Maynard rarely sold his original paintings, though he displayed new work in the local gallery and occasionally chose pieces for limited commercial print runs. Abby was overwhelmed with gratitude for the man who seemed to be her only ally in town. She picked up her cell phone and dialed his number.
His assistant answered in his typical muted monotone and, moments later, Deke’s voice filled her ear.
“Darling, how are you today?”
Better than Calder, she thought with no small measure of guilt. While the officers who’d taken over the search had found tracks in the snow behind the house, they’d lost the trail at the next street. “At the moment I’m out of the mayor’s doghouse,” she replied. “Thanks to you.”
“Anything for a friend. We can’t let something as silly and petty as vandals get in the way of a good tourist season.”