But now that she saw the expressions ranging from boredom to hostility on the faces of the councilmen and councilwoman, she wasn’t so sure he was right. Max and Dan could both give powerful, passionate presentations on behalf of their departments. Although, since they were both strongly opinionated, never backed down from a fight and loathed red tape, Briana could also appreciate Patrick’s strategy in having them absent.

“Thank you all for coming,” Patrick began. “I’m sorry to pull you away from other plans, but I think you’ll agree that matters have gone from serious to critical. As you’ll see from the enclosed budgets, both projected and actual, the fire department is twenty-eight percent overbudget for the year, police seventeen percent and existing services are stretched to the limit.”

The sounds of papers shuffling could be heard as the councilors flipped through to the budget pages in their handouts. A frown creased Councilman Ed Prescott’s brow and he glanced at Cecil Thomson. Ed Prescott was one of Uncle Cecil’s supporters on council. The owner of a local pharmacy, he was always concerned about costs.

Uncle Cecil had been on council the longest. Both Ed Prescott and Councilman Gerald Anderson had supported his unsuccessful bid for mayor and it was clear that he still had their support. They usually deferred to Cecil’s opinion, and that gave the three of them a majority vote on a council of five. Cecil might not be the mayor, but he wielded a lot of power behind the scenes.

“Mr. Mayor,” said Councilman Prescott, “we’ve had this discussion before. At the time, we voted not to increase the city budgets. I’m not sure why we’re having this meeting at all.”

Briana glanced at Patrick and saw his jaw tense. He let a moment pass before answering, and she could only imagine the retorts he had to swallow before he came out with a respectable response. “Since our last meeting, Councilman Prescott, we’ve had a further emergency situation in which two more of our citizens died.

“I had discussions today with both Fire Chief Dan Egan and Police Chief Max Zirinsky, and while they are not saying both fatalities could have been avoided with larger budgets, there is no question that their resources are stretched beyond what is reasonable. We need to give them the money to do their jobs.”

A hand went up. It was Uncle Cecil’s other longtime supporter, Councilman Gerald Anderson, an attorney in his late sixties known for his conservative views.

“While your concern is certainly laudable,” the councilman said, “and I know we all admire the fine job our men and women in the EMS have been doing, I’m wondering, where are you proposing we get the money?”

Patrick looked up directly at Briana. She knew what he was thinking as clearly as though she could read his mind. If ever a man was about to blow, Patrick was that man. He let his gaze rest on her for a moment and she smiled slightly, letting him know silently that she was with him in this fight.

He gave an imperceptible nod and turned to answer the councilman. “There is only one place we can get the money, Councilman Anderson. We would have to take it from the city bond, which, I might remind you, was set up to support the people of this city in times of need. I can think of few times when the city has been in greater need.”

There was a pause.

Uncle Cecil raised his hand and Patrick acknowledged him.

“Mayor O’Shea…” Her uncle paused to give the mayor and the rest of council a broad smile. Briana eased back in her chair and relaxed. It was going to be okay. Uncle Cecil was going to side with Patrick, and she knew he had enough clout on council that his vote would sway the others.

Uncle Cecil was a big man. He’d played football in college and still kept himself in good shape. He was handsome, with silver hair and warm blue eyes. But it was his charm that was his greatest asset, she thought. Charm and an air of command.

“We certainly appreciate what you are trying to do here, Mayor. We understand you’ve been a fireman yourself and know how hard our men and women are working to keep this city safe.”

There was general nodding, and Briana found herself nodding along with everyone else. Except Patrick, who was looking at Uncle Cecil with an impassive expression on his face.

“And our police and SWAT team, the ambulance services and the paramedics have done as fine a job as any group of men and women ever did,” Cecil continued. “However, some of us have been on this council a lot of years.” He glanced modestly around the room, but everyone knew he’d been there longest of them all, and had Patrick not won a surprise election, Cecil Thomson would be leading them today. “We’ve seen trouble come and go, young man.”

She glanced at Patrick to see how he was taking the “young man” comment, but while his gaze had hardened, and his lips were set tight together, he still showed an implacable countenance.

“It’s easy to panic in times of crisis, and no one thinks any the less of you for believing more money is going to solve our problems. But, son, money can’t stop earthquakes, or fires, or floods or any other natural disasters. When they happen, the emergency teams are going to be stretched, naturally. But then we’ll experience our usual periods of calm. During those times, we’ll recoup those losses you’re so concerned about.”

Cecil spread his hands and glanced around the room. “If we spend the money every time we have a few unfortunate tragedies, well, we’ll soon find ourselves broke.”

“That money was set aside for disaster relief,” Patrick said in a hard tone.

“Exactly. And if a true disaster strikes and the money’s spent, it will be too late. We’ve had some tough times in the last few months, I’m not denying it, son…” Briana gritted her teeth on Patrick’s behalf. She knew Uncle Cecil was calling him “son” deliberately and it wasn’t fair. “But we’ve got to hang on to our rainy day fund, not squander it on a drizzle.”

Patrick did his best. He argued passionately for council to release the money. She saw Fred Glazeman, one of the kindest men she knew, nodding a few times as Patrick spoke. However, Briana sensed that Councilwoman Gwendolyn Clark, the niece of one of Courage Bay ’s most respected judges, was swayed by Uncle Cecil’s arguments.

“I understand you’re upset, Mayor O’Shea,” her uncle resumed. “We’re all upset that more lives were lost in our city, but let’s not be too quick to run out and spend money that we can’t replace once it’s gone. Let’s let things set for a month. If, as I fully expect, the city returns to its normal peaceful state, then we won’t have spent emergency money needlessly.” He paused and looked slowly around the room at each of the councilmen in turn. “However, if at that time, we feel we need to broach that bond, we can vote on it then.”

Patrick spoke again and his voice was less calm this time. “I urge you all to ask yourselves how you would feel if it were your sister or mother or wife who’d perished yesterday because the fire crews were so stretched they couldn’t reach both women in time to save them.”

“Son, even the one they did save died,” Uncle Cecil reminded him. “It’s a tragedy, but not every tragedy can be averted with money.”

“It’s worth our while to try and prevent every tragedy,” Patrick countered. He looked round the table, making eye contact with each councilman or woman in turn, then said, “Do you want more deaths on your conscience?”

The vote was called, and as Briana had feared, it wasn’t unanimous.

“Motion not carried,” said Patrick in a clipped tone. There was little more to say, and in minutes the meeting was adjourned.

Briana felt as if somebody had kicked her in the stomach. She’d worked all day preparing the irrefutable evidence that there was an acute funding shortage in the city, and Patrick had argued passionately and eloquently on behalf of the very people who risked their lives day after day to keep Courage Bay safe.