Mr. Unforgettable (2 page)

Public outcry sunk the project and the land had sat idle, a convenient shortcut to the beach for locals, until the partners had sought approval to build a holiday camp for disadvantaged kids.

Despite opposition, this project had eventually won approval, largely thanks to Harry.

It was the only time Liz secretly opposed her husband's decision and it was the hardest of his causes to champion now. But she did it. “I told him to mention Blue Heron if he found himself stymied.”

Snowy raised one brow. “It's not like you to be stirring the pot, you're usually taking it off the boil.”

“The guy needs a break.”

“He's not the only one, is he, Liz?” She glanced up from unpacking her briefcase to see him watching her. This man knew her too well.

Snowy pushed the
Beacon Bay Chronicle
across the desk. “Delores Jackson threw her hat into the ring this morning.” Local government elections were two and a half months away and nominations had only opened yesterday.

Looking at Delores's iron-gray curls and Special Forces smile, Liz's heart sank. Sure enough, the article was full of the geriatric militant's buzzwords—institutionalized corruption, conspiracy, vested interests—and what Delores intended doing about them.

Liz covered the newspaper with her sewage report. “I'd better officially register, then.” She needed another term, not just to see Harry's projects to fruition, but to pursue her own.

“You've done a damn fine job, Liz. Harry would have been proud.”

The rare compliment brought a lump to her throat. Snowy hadn't always liked her. Along with most of the district, he'd been aghast when his best mate and new mayor had fallen in love with a council clerk fifteen years his junior.

Harry hadn't cared but Liz did. She knew Harry was public property with his boundless energy, his dedication to the public good…and she was nobody, a migrant from the city.

She'd spent the five years of their marriage trying to deserve Harry, winning over the doubters with her exemplary behavior. But she'd also built up a reserve between herself and other people.

Now she said awkwardly, “I couldn't have done it without your help.”

He nodded. “You're ambivalent about standing again.”

“Not ambivalent,” she protested. “Tired. I've put in long hours this month, but I'm taking the afternoon off to babysit Harriet, so—”

“Before you make a final decision,” he interrupted, “you should know I'm running against you.”

T
HE AIR WHOOSHED OUT
of her leather chair as Liz sat down. “Oh.”

“Only my bloody prostate prevented me from standing last time.” Snowy waited for a response but, still reeling at the news, she could only stare at him. “Dammit, I'm fond of you, Liz, but the mayoralty is a duty to you, whereas politics is my passion.”

“Snowy, you have every right to run for mayor,” she said quietly. “But so do I, that's the nature of democracy. And also speaking fondly, are you sure your health is up to this?”

“Yes,” he said shortly, “so don't play the infirm card.”

His mistrust stung but she wouldn't show it. “You know me better than that.”

“You misunderstood me,” he said gruffly. It was the closest Snowy ever came to an apology.

Liz struggled to be positive. “Well, at least two friends can agree to a clean campaign, one that's issue driven with no personal attacks.”

His laugh was a bellow. “Good God, nearly two years in the job and you still have illusions.”

From under his bushy white eyebrows, Snowy regarded her with a mix of exasperation and affection. “I'm not going to attack you, Elizabeth, but I'm standing because I have attributes better suited to the job…experience, charisma—” she winced “—vision. And I'll be pointing that out. But I won't deny that you've done a great job as a caretaker.”

She stiffened. “I didn't stand for the mayoralty to keep your seat warm.” Was that why he'd wanted her to run? Because he'd perceived her as someone who'd be easy to displace?

“So you haven't been a councillor, so what?” he'd argued at the time. “You were working in local government when you met Harry and you were his mayoress for five years. People know and trust you.”

Wily politician that he was, he'd then used the one argument that could sway her. “Otherwise, that right-wing bastard, Cully, will win by default and undo all Harry's good work.” Liz had been swept to power on a wave of public grief and nostalgia for the district's favorite son. An easy victory followed by a heavy responsibility—filling Harry's shoes.

“Of course not,” Snowy soothed her now, but he couldn't meet her eyes. “But you haven't initiated anything, have you?”

“Because I've been learning the ropes, riding shotgun on Harry's numerous projects. Although you know I'm advocating a new community center.”

“Very worthy.” For the first time his paternalism felt patronizing.

“Yes, it is. Dammit, a community needs a heart and that clapped-out hall hardly qualifies.”

He reverted to his old impatience. “Without wanting to undermine your accomplishments, Liz, people elected you on Harry's reputation. Now the district needs a professional politician with a new vision. I mean this kindly—” his eyes took on a steely glint “—if you really want to protect his legacy, then quit while you're ahead.”

He knew her fears and he was deliberately prodding every one. The realization saddened Liz, and made her decision easier.

“You're right about looking to the future.” Snowy relaxed back into his chair. “I'll stand on my own merits.”

“You'll get more votes under Harry's aegis,” he said bluntly. “And that's the last advice I'll give you. But you can't beat me.”

He was probably right. “I have a heap of work to do,” she said, smiling.

Disgruntled, Snowy heaved to his feet. “I won't announce my interest until tomorrow so you can reconsider overnight.” He stopped at the door. “What would
Harry
want, Liz?”

“Probably to still be alive.”

Snowy's face reddened. “Flippancy isn't appropriate.”

“Neither is emotional blackmail.” Liz kept her voice very steady. “Harry was too dear to both of us to be used as a political football.”

When he'd gone, Liz took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't just lost a mentor, she'd lost one of her few friends.

And another link to Harry.

Pushing back her self-pity she tried to think rationally. Was Snowy a better person for the job? Kingpin of the old boys' network, his concerns reflected his interests—land management, sports clubs and business.

Services and facilities for young families, teens, the aged—these were areas he'd give lip service if he won.

Liz pulled out her diary and wrote
Reelection Priorities
then underscored it. Her most pressing need, now Snowy had deserted her, was finding a campaign manager. She wrote it down, added
Possible Candidates
? then chewed her pen. It had to be someone she trusted.

Ten minutes later her pad was still empty.

 

B
LUE MOON
? Blue gum? What the hell had the mayor said? Blue bird? Yes…it was a bird. While his independent planner, Caroline Newton, read her report to the Resource Consents Panel, Luke racked his brains. “Blue sparrow? Blue finch? Blue—”

Caro's knee nudged his, and he realized he was muttering aloud. Glancing at her statement, he saw she was only up to page twenty of twenty-five.

Why she still had to read it out loud when everyone had had the documents for a week was beyond him. He studied the three men who make a ruling.

Two of them had an elbow propped on the circular table and were supporting their heads with one hand, barely awake. Councillor Bray looked more like a basset hound than ever with his wrinkles pushed up around his deep-set eyes; fluorescent light flagged the bald spots in Councillor Maxwell's coiffed gray hair.

Only the council's new planning officer, John Dunn, looked as though he was following the proceedings, glancing up occasionally over his reading glasses and making notes in the margins. But it was the other two who worried Luke.

Bray's cousin owned one of the properties adjoining the camp. He'd appreciate any delays Bray could get him before “the hordes” as he disparagingly called them, arrived.

And Maxwell was a
NIMBY
. Said all the right things about helping the underprivileged but only associated with affluent retirees with low golf handicaps, and always voted Not In My Backyard.

Dammit, Luke needed every edge he could get. Blue tit…blue jay…his gaze settled on Delores Jackson, furiously scribbling notes in the observer gallery…blue bat…no, wrong species. At least she couldn't speak during this hearing.

As Caroline started reading page twenty-three, he drummed his fingers lightly on the table. For an athlete, long periods of inactivity felt like slow death. Still reading, Caro nudged his knee again and he stopped tapping. This time her warm thigh stayed pressed against his.

Casually, Luke broke contact. This wasn't the first time his planning adviser had signaled her interest, but the Beacon Bay population was too closely knit for transitory relationships, and since his failed marriage he wasn't interested in any other kind.

Caroline turned another page. Under the table, Luke's left foot started to tap. Celibacy had only intensified his restless energy. His gaze fell on the portraits lining the opposite wall and gravitated to Elizabeth Light's, one of only two women to hold the office of mayor.

She smiled directly into the camera but her eyes were remote. Yet in the elevator…

He wondered if the mayor missed sex now that her husband was dead, but decided no. Sex would have been a duty to such a restrained woman, something messy to be ticked off her list.

Idly, he scanned the row of pictures until he found her late husband. A good man, dignified and judicious, Harry Light had more than made up for rejecting the hotel project by his later support of the camp.

Luke tried to imagine Harry and Liz in bed together, then realized what he was doing and winced. Sorry, mate, rest in peace.

“In conclusion,” said Caroline, “I ask that the moratorium on construction be lifted.”

“Thank you, Ms. Newton.” John Dunn took off his reading glasses. “We do have some questions for you and Mr. Carter.”

Luke straightened in his chair. Let the games begin.

 

T
HE PHONE RANG
as Liz hunched over her solid-oak desk, and she pushed her blank pad aside with relief. “Elizabeth Light speaking.”

“Hi, it's Kirsty.” The friendliness in her stepdaughter's tone still thrilled Liz every time she heard it. “Just checking that nothing's come up to stop you from taking Harriet this afternoon.”

“Are you kidding?” Liz stood and walked to the window, closing the Venetian blinds against the glare. “Nothing takes priority over that baby.” She added wryly, “Not even a coup attempt.”

“Ooh, that sounds interesting. Tell me what's happening in the world of paid work.”

Liz hesitated. “Snowy's challenging for the mayoralty.”

“But he's the one who made you run last time…Aaah!” Kirsty had inherited her father's political astuteness and prior to starting a family had worked in public relations. “Good old Uncle Snow,” she said disgustedly. “Well, he won't be kissing
my
baby on the election trail. You're going to need one hell of a campaign to beat him.” The fact that Kirsty gave her a chance of winning heartened Liz, until she added, “Who's your campaign manager?”

Liz picked up a paperweight. “I was going to ask you for recommendations…would any of your former colleagues be suitable?”

“Hmm,” Kirsty intoned thoughtfully. “Actually I can think of someone. Dynamic, intelligent, politically aware, good experience in PR. Looking for a part-time job that would exercise a diaper-soggy mind.”

“You?” Liz's brain started racing. “I didn't think you were ready to go back to work,” she hedged. Their friendship was too new, too precious to risk losing, and campaign disagreements were inevitable.

Volatile and passionate, Kirsty had been nineteen when Liz married Harry, and had hated her relentlessly until the day he died. Kirsty had been Daddy's girl, a relationship that had grown even closer with her mother's death when Kirsty was fifteen.

Harry's marriage to a woman only nine years older than she was had been a profound shock, and nothing Liz did softened Kirsty's dislike. Ironically his death brought them together; no one else mourned his loss like they did.

“I'm worried about jeopardizing our friendship,” she admitted at last.

“Lizzy, we're not friends.”

“Oh.” She dropped the paperweight.

“We're family.”

 

L
UKE CRUMPLED
his notes, aware for the hundredth time that he had staked too much—personally and financially—on this damn project. “If you want to preach responsibility, gentlemen, maybe we should discuss council's negligence in not raising the skink issue earlier.”

He paused, letting the threat of legal action wake everybody up.

Beside him, Caroline scribbled a hasty note and pushed it in front of him.
Don't antagonize
!!!

Screw it, he'd been listening to Bray and Maxwell paying lip service to environmentalism for thirty minutes. “This isn't about skinks anymore,” he said. “It's about two—” with difficulty he stopped himself saying skunks “—councillors getting off on their power.”

Bray's basset-hound eyes widened; Maxwell got so red even his bald spots went pink. But the new guy, John Dunn, snorted, then covered his lapse with a cough. “I agree we've had enough discussion,” he said. “The decision seems clear-cut to me.”

“Well, it's not to me,” Maxwell began.

“Hear, hear,” Delores boomed from the public seats.

Luke raised his voice. “And let's not forget Blue—” please God, let this be it “—Heron Rise.”

Dunn looked blank. “Blue Heron Rise?”

“Blue…Heron…Rise.” Luke started to sweat.

Bray and Maxwell had their heads together whispering furiously; then Bray leaned over to Dunn, and muttered something behind his hand.

Caroline wrote,
I wish I'd thought of that
!!!

Maintaining his grave expression, Luke scrawled back,
I expect a discount
!!!

“It seems we're all in agreement.” John Dunn had a twinkle in his eye. “Building resumes.”

He walked down the stairs with Caroline and Luke afterward to avoid being ambushed by Delores Jackson, confirming Luke's opinion that Dunn was a smart man.

Turned out he was another Aucklander looking for a slower pace of life and, by his accent, which had a rougher edge when he wasn't officiating, Luke guessed they hailed from similar neighborhoods. Dunn was effusive about the facilities Triton was now moving ahead with, less so about the future inmates.

“They'll trash the place.”

“Careful.” Luke put out a steadying hand. “Wouldn't want you tripping on that prejudice.”