“Did you finally get rid of the nudists?” Doug Lukovich raised his eyebrows in hopefulness. “I don’t think I can handle going out there again.”
The room erupted in laughter. Clancy knew poor Doug would never live down the emergency call he made to the nudist colony, when he’d been forced to provide first aid to an older gentleman who’d been stung by a hornet.
On his left nut.
And since Doug’s mission of mercy included holding a frosty Diet Dr Pepper on the old guy’s equipment, his coworkers left a six-pack of the soda in front of his door every night for the remainder of festival week. It was a good thing Doug was an easygoing dude.
Clancy motioned for Chip to answer the question. He knew his friend always got a kick out of being in the know.
“The island council held a zoning hearing in the off-season. They discussed the matter at length.” Chip nodded with authority. “But in the end they decided to renew the group’s operating permit. The Bayberry Freedom Colony is still going strong.”
“Great,” Doug mumbled.
“In fact”—Chip was on a roll—“they got two new clay tennis courts installed this spring. Top quality, too. Nice bounce and slower speed.”
“Hold up.” Deon straightened in his chair. “Let me see if I got this right. They play tennis butt-naked?”
Chip shrugged. “Well, yes. They do everything naked. That’s why they call it a nudist colony.”
“Okay, but see, what I’m wondering right about now is, how does a person serve while nude?” Deon looked around the room. “You know what I’m sayin’? Where are you supposed to keep the extra tennis balls? I mean, it’s not like human beings have kangaroo pouches, right?”
Will Farney held up his hand, already laughing. “Doug should probably run out there and conduct an in-depth investigation.”
Though it did Clancy’s heart good to hear the raucous laughter of his old friends, he knew they had a job to do. The island’s population went from about nine hundred year-round residents to close to twenty-five thousand visitors over the course of festival week. Six ferries arrived and departed daily, three originating from the Cape and three from the Nantucket–Martha’s Vineyard route. Private sailboats and yachts jammed the marinas. Private planes flew in from the mainland, Nantucket, and the Vineyard all day and night. Along with the volunteer fire department, these men assembled in the conference room made up the first line of protection for every one of those visitors.
There would be time for cutting loose next weekend, after the festival wrapped up. Right now Clancy knew he needed to keep the briefing on track.
“Listen up. Tomorrow is Saturday, which is kickoff day. The parade starts at fourteen-hundred, followed immediately by the opening ceremony at Fountain Square, my dad giving the official welcome.”
“Is Rowan gonna be riding on the float? You know, in her mermaid costume?” That question came from a hungry-looking Jake Tedesco, who had never hidden his appreciation for Clancy’s only sister.
“Yes, but she’s practically engaged to Ash Wallace.”
“They’re still together?” Jake looked crestfallen.
“Big-time,” Chip chimed in. “They live together at the Safe Haven and they’re renovating it, bit by bit. I think Ash Wallace is going to propose soon. And you saw all the construction over there, right? His marine research foundation will be up and running by . . .” Chip suddenly stopped talking, realizing that question had been directed at Clancy. “Sorry, boss,” he mumbled.
“Let’s keep moving.” Clancy cleared his throat. “Sunday is Island Day, as always. Monday is the clambake out at Safe Haven Beach. Tuesday is the reenactment and the museum tour. Wednesday is the children’s play and, as usual, I will be off the radar from about seven to nine p.m. for family obligations, unless there’s a major emergency.”