by Ross, Carol
“You don’t think that’s overdoing it? Making it too political?”
“Absolutely not, and there are a surprising number of intellectuals in this community, and I think they’re going to appreciate that you’re not being condescending to them.”
Emily was silent.
“Emily,” Amanda said, obviously sensing her unease, “you just listened to the messages. You’re already turning things around.”
“I know, and that’s great, but...”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Bering, would it?”
Emily sank down onto the sofa. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well, you did eat fish, Emily.”
“Do you think he’s going to hate me now?” She covered her face with one hand and groaned. “Now I sound like a fifteen-year-old. What is wrong with me?”
Amanda took a second to laugh. “You didn’t hate him after his article. He’s not stupid. He had to be expecting some kind of rebuttal.”
And that was exactly it. Now Emily was going to be expecting something in return. The thought was both nerve-racking and kind of exciting at the same time. And how was she supposed to act now? The idea that they could carry on a friendship or whatever in the midst of this turmoil with Cam-Field suddenly seemed even more ridiculous than it already had. The ringing doorbell startled her out of her reverie.
Amanda jumped up. “I’ll get it.” She opened the door to find an envelope sitting on the step. “I hope it’s nothing gruesome,” she said. She bent and picked it up by one corner and carried it toward Emily. She stopped in front of the sofa and lifted it to her ear. “It’s not ticking, so that’s a good sign.”
She set it down on the coffee table in front of them. They stared at it for a few seconds and then, in unison, sat back on the soft cushions. Emily knew they were both thinking about the time they’d received the dead bird. While on a job in Oklahoma, some sicko had broken its neck, tied a noose around it and sent it to them as some kind of warning.
Emily picked up the envelope. She opened it and saw what looked like a brochure tucked inside. She pulled it out and began reading aloud, “‘Stop by and get the real story. Please join the Save Rankins Coalition at their free halibut fish-and-chips booth this Saturday at the winter festival. Information will be available about the true and terrible impact that Cam-Field Oil & Mineral will have on our town. A raffle to benefit our cause will also be held with prizes, including...’” Emily’s voice trailed off and she turned toward Amanda, whose stunned look had to match her own.
“What the...?”
Emily shifted the paper and saw that there was a handwritten note: “‘Emily, please stop by and I’ll treat you to some more halibut, unless of course hot dogs are more your thing? Hope to see you there, Bering.’”
“Amanda, you didn’t say anything to Tag about our hot-dog booth, right?”
“Emily, no, absolutely not. I only made calls to Glacier City. I arranged for everything to be delivered early Saturday morning, so it’s not even like someone could have seen something...”
For the first time since this battle had begun, Emily felt her temper stir in earnest. How in the world had he discovered this? She was going to look like an idiot passing out hot dogs next to his fish-and-chips. She tamped down her angst and tried to think. It was very well played; she had to give him that. Except for this little dose of braggadocio that he hadn’t been able to resist... Because, as Franklin had taught her, and any good general knew, you never revealed your battle strategy before the battle was fought.
* * *
THE DAY OF THE FESTIVAL turned out to be a stunning display of winter—cold but clear and sunny. And as Bering strolled down the street that headed toward the waterfront, he took his time enjoying the view. A fresh skiff of snow blanketed the landscape and made the blue of the sky even more vibrant than usual.
The winter festival was an annual event that had started a few years back by a group of local businesses, clubs and artisans. Vendors sold food, local crafts and artwork, and merchants offered free samples or handed out information advertising their products or services. The event had grown tremendously the past few years due to the ice-carving competition, which had begun to increase in popularity and now drew people from all over the state. This year was looking to be the best turnout ever. It was a great way to bring in some revenue during the winter, which was traditionally a slower time for Rankins.
Vendors had been setting up since early that morning, and as Bering neared the spot where he knew Cam-Field’s booth was supposed to be, he was surprised to see no activity there. There was a trailer in its place, so he figured someone must be busy in there boiling hot dogs.
He grinned as he thought about how he’d managed this coup. His cousin Shay, who ran the Faraway Inn, had called him a couple days ago. She was going to be operating a booth promoting both the Faraway Inn and Bering’s guide business. They’d been chatting about it and she’d mentioned that her friend Susan, who was a teacher at the high school, was helping with the booth for the PTA. They’d planned on selling hot dogs to raise money but were thinking of changing to donuts because they were having a hard time finding enough buns. Shay had called her supplier in Glacier City, who was also the supplier for both the Cozy Caribou and Top Rock Café in town. Nobody, it seemed, could get hot-dog buns until Monday or Tuesday—after the festival.
Shay had thought that was odd and had mentioned it to her friend Darlene, who was in charge of the placement of the booths at the fair, where she’d learned exactly who had purchased every hot-dog bun in Glacier City.
Bering admired Emily’s creativity. He had to admit it was a good idea to insert herself into the community in this way—and with free food no less. He and Shay had quickly called a meeting of the Save Rankins Coalition. Shay had reserved a spot for their use and drawn up the brochure. Then members of the coalition had begun distributing them around town. It was perfect—who would want to eat a hot dog when they could have fish-and-chips? But even better than that, it would look as if Emily had stolen the free-food idea from them.
He hadn’t been able to help himself—he’d just had to send Emily a brochure. Bering imagined how annoyed she must have been when she’d opened the envelope and read his invitation. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought. But how upset could she get? She was the one who had assured him of her professionalism.
He loved this town. In spite of the fact that people often knew your business (or thought they did) and the rumor mill ground strong, it was worth it. And, as proven by today’s victory, often those close connections came in quite handy.
The ice carvers had already started, so Bering slowly wound his way toward the water’s edge, where they had set up that morning. He figured that was why there was such a crowd down there already. But as he neared the location, he could see that a throng of people were gathered around something else. It looked like...flames?
A fire pit?
He glimpsed a female figure bustling around the tables that had been placed around its perimeter. Emily? What was she doing? Serving something...but it didn’t look like hot dogs, unless she was serving them out of cups. As he continued studying the scene, the crowd parted enough for him to spot a brightly painted banner that read Brats and Brew Courtesy of Cam-Field Oil & Mineral.
All he could do was gape as he took in the scene: cozy-looking flames burning in a huge rock-encased fire pit, delectable smells wafting from its direction, people crowded around talking and laughing, eating and drinking, courtesy of Cam-Field. And with a smiling and charming and witty Emily mingling with them all.
He heard a rustle and looked down to see that his cousin Shay was standing beside him. She crossed her arms over her chest and didn’t say a word. They watched in silence for a few moments.
“Free beer?” Bering finally asked. “She’s giving away free bee
r?”
“No. Not free beer, Bering—free Grizzly Quake microbrew. You know how long the line was to get into Grizzly Quake Pub the last time I was in Glacier City?” She quickly answered her own question, “Three hours. And now here it is, right here in Rankins—and free no less. And bratwurst from Cowen and Co.—your choice of moose, caribou or good old-fashioned pork. They come already cooked but you can get them served with these cool metal roasting sticks—made by Kella Jakobs.”
Bering knew Kella Jakobs. She was a local artist who specialized in metal sculpture. Her work was in very high demand. He owned some of her pieces himself. He imagined that by the look of things, she was probably doing a booming business at her booth today.
Shay continued, “So you can crisp your dog if you want to—over the fire pit. The roasting sticks are for sale if you want to keep one, which everyone does, so they can roast their giant-size handmade marshmallows, too. That’s what’s in those bins over there.” She pointed toward yet another crowd off to one side.
Bering looked over but didn’t say a word.
“We’ve been beaten at our own game, Bering.”
“I see that, Shay.”
“How did they put this together so quickly?”
Bering had to hand it to Emily. He never would have believed she could counter this well and so quickly. Not only was she obviously resourceful, she was also extremely creative—and downright industrious. And he had to own the fact that it was due partly to his own mistake, too. He’d underestimated his opponent yet again and tipped his hand. He should never have sent her that invitation....But how could he possibly have imagined that she would throw this...this...neighborhood bonfire party in response?
Bering glanced down at Shay. “How are we doing with the fish-and-chips?”
“Pfft,” she scoffed. She pointed at the ground. “I’m standing here, aren’t I? I told two of the girls they could go home already. I caught Tag eating over here about an hour ago, and when I asked him what he thought he was doing, he said that he can have fish-and-chips anytime he wants at the Caribou, but Cowen’s moose brats he can only get in Glacier City.”
Bering shook his head, his appreciation for Emily’s ingenious scheme growing by the second. “Not to mention the Grizzly Quake...”
“Oh, yeah, the first one is free, then you have to pay. But you should see the cool souvenir pub glass it comes in. I was thinking of buying one myself.”
“What are people saying about Cam-Field?”
“They’re not saying anything, Bering. That’s the problem. What are we going to do?”
Bering’s gaze landed on Emily once again. She looked cold, he thought, as he watched her clench the collar of her jacket tightly together with one hand. She looked up then and their gazes collided. Hers held an unmistakable look of triumph. He tipped his head in acknowledgment and hoped his expression didn’t make him out to be a sore loser.
Then she held up a beer. Was that a toast or an invitation? He immediately decided to accept defeat gracefully and take it as the latter.
Bering shrugged a shoulder and answered Shay, “Go have a beer, I guess.”
* * *
IT WAS SOON CLEAR to Emily that Bering wasn’t going to let one defeat, no matter how crushing, decide the war. The Save Rankins Coalition countered with a rally, which Emily had to admit scored him a moderate victory. They marched from one end of town to the other with signs and banners. They handed out anti-Cam-Field literature. They picketed the mayor’s office, the homes of the town-council members and, for some reason she didn’t quite understand—Emily’s office.
She had hot chocolate and coffee from The Top Rock Café and baked goods from the Donut Den delivered to the entire crowd. That quieted their chants of “Cam-Field can’t!” and “We don’t need your corporate greed!” only long enough for the crowd to scarf down a few maple bars and apple fritters.
Opposition calls, letters and emails came pouring in, although Emily had to laugh at the three who had added thank-you notes for the refreshments Cam-Field had provided during the rally. This town was something else, she thought, politeness and consideration even in the throes of combat.
Emily considered that little show of town devotion as a win on Bering’s part, and obviously he did, too, as the coalition scheduled another rally for the following Friday. But Emily had managed to make a few allies of her own and was alerted to the plan.
“Friday night,” Emily said to Amanda as she hung up the phone. “That was Piper Davidson from the newspaper.”
“Why is Piper on our side?”
“That girl has got aspirations.” Emily pointed at herself and added, “She’s making connections, and wisely so.”
“And it’s not just a rally—he’s got a guest speaker. Evan Cobb. He’s scheduled to give a speech at the high-school gym and then they’re going to rally afterward, by candlelight down on the waterfront, to remind everyone of the incredible view of Rankins without Cam-Field’s oil platform desecrating the horizon—or some nonsense like that.”
“Evan Cobb?” Amanda looked alarmed. They knew Evan Cobb very well. He was a renowned environmentalist and Cam-Field protestor.
“Mmm.”
“By candlelight?” she asked.
“Yep, they’ve got, like, a thousand biodegradable floating-candle things. They’re going to float them out into the bay or something. Ugh.”
“Yikes.”
“He’s not even a real scientist,” Emily said with annoyance.
“But he’s an amazing speaker,” Amanda countered. “And we both know that how you say it is almost as important as what you say. And imagine how beautiful all those candles floating out into the bay will be....”
Emily felt the apprehension sink into her along with the silence. She allowed it to take hold—welcomed it. She did some of her best thinking this way—keyed up, wheels spinning...
“We can’t let this happen,” Amanda finally said.
Emily tapped a finger to her pursed lips in thought. “I know, but we can’t counterpicket, because we don’t have the numbers. And even a lot of the people who are with us secretly wouldn’t support us publicly at this point. And how pathetic would we look down there while they had their pretty candle moment? We can’t compete with that.”
“Too bad we couldn’t call in a snowstorm,” Amanda joked. “It would keep Cobb from getting up here and it would smother all those candles.”
Emily’s eyes darted up to meet hers. “Amanda, that’s a great idea.”
“Emily, I have the utmost faith in you, but even you have no pull with Mother Nature. You do know that, right?”
* * *
“SHAY, CALM DOWN,” Bering said into the phone. “She did what?”
“She booked Rushing Tide to perform on Friday at the Cozy Caribou.”
“Clark and Ezra Mayfield’s band?”
“Yep, and at the Caribou. Why would Tess say yes to that?”
In spite of his annoyance, Bering was impressed. Clark and Ezra Mayfield were Rankins’s two most famous hometown-boys-done-well. He had gone to school with the brothers and considered them friends even though they had moved away right after high school to pursue their music careers. They were wildly popular in Alaska, and growing more so around the rest of the country every day. Short of booking two NFL teams to skirmish at the Rankins High School stadium, he couldn’t think of anything better to draw attention away from his rally.
“Tess probably didn’t know who was behind it. Emily Hollings obviously has connections that reach beyond the oil industry.”
“There’s no way to counter this one, Bering. We’re going to have to call off the rally.”
“Yep, that’s okay, Shay. We’ll reschedule.”
“But not with Evan Cobb. That’s the only date he had available for months. We
only got him by absolute luck—and even then I had to practically promise my firstborn.”
“We’ll schedule something else. She can’t book a band every night for the next month.”
“Are you sure about that, Bering? This woman is clearly a force to be reckoned with.”
Bering was quickly realizing just how accurate that assessment was. “I’ll figure something out,” he said, secretly glad to have another opportunity to spend some time with her....
* * *
EMILY TOLD HERSELF that her attendance at the concert had nothing to do with the fact that Bering would be there. Laurel, who had alerted her to the fact that the Mayfield boys were going to be in town, had also informed her that they were friends and classmates of hers—and Bering’s.
She decided to go, briefly, just to make sure that it was going smoothly. She knew it wouldn’t be the best venue for campaigning—not only would people not be in the mood to discuss business, but it would be extremely difficult to do so in the noisy atmosphere anyway.
The music was in full swing when she slipped into the crowd at the Cozy Caribou. She was impressed by the turnout and by the Caribou’s transformation. The wall that normally separated the restaurant from the bar had been removed. A stage was set up in the back and tables were scattered around an opening in the middle, which was serving as a dance floor. Twinkle lights had been strategically strung around. It almost looked like a real club one might find in any city, albeit with much more casually attired patrons.
She knew Amanda was already in the middle somewhere with Tag. She spotted Laurel, who had told her she would meet her, near one side of the bar.
“Hey, you made it,” Laurel said as she finally managed to wend her way through the crowd.
Emily gestured around her. “This is fantastic.”
Laurel nodded knowingly and said, “Tess knows how to throw a party. She owned a nightclub in Seattle years ago. She sold it and moved up here like fifteen years ago. She transforms it like this for special events like parties, or even an occasional wedding.”
