Cynthia Doyle finished arranging the flowers in the vase as Archie slammed into the office. She sighed with a sly grin.

"Meeting not go well?"

"Bloody Malcolm and his fixation on the bloody queen. The man makes me blood boil."

"Archie, calm down. You know what he's like, why do you let him get to you so?"

"Sure'n he thinks he's a bloody Brit with his fake accent and all.

"Come now, he's not that bad."

"You don't think so? Christ, the man flies a white ensign on his motor launch!" Archie sat with a painful bang on the office chair.

Setting the vase on her reception counter, she casually patted his head. "So what was the final outcome?"

"Accch, it was just him telling us again how much will be spent on the parade, the dance and the fireworks. Bates had an itemized list that got torn apart in debate. This time the veterans will be represented in the parade, otherwise it's the usual mob."

"You mean the council members."

"Yeah." He dragged the word out in disgust. "Queen Malcolm and his flamin' court."

"That's nice," Cynthia glossed over his rant. "The ladies auxiliary is planning a dance later in the month for the clinic. Having the vets in the parade should make a nice preview." She sat at the desk and opened her ledger, confirming her computer entries. "You have Dorothy Greenbank in fifteen minutes."

"Good. Work I'm interested in at least."

"What are you doing for the event?"

"Malcolm has me creating the installation of the fireworks display and the podium out back of the centre."

"Guess he thinks you Irish have a natural bent for that." She buried her head in her work, jiggling with laughter.

Archie got up with a disgusted grunt and went into the exam room, changing into his white smock. He opened the Greenbank file on his computer, and his anger abated as he saw he could boost the weeks take with new prescription recommendations.

******

Clive Pool snatched the phone messages from his secretary's extended hand and continued through to his office, closing the door and sitting at his desk. "Arrogant poof!" The exclamation hung in the air of the room a moment. "Whitcombe couldn't shoot a birdie with a howitzer," he continued aloud. He was making himself angry because he wrankled over his own golf skill, and knew that the eighteenth had taken him ten strokes last time.

Fuming, he glanced at the messages, discarding them – all except one. Looking cautiously at the office door, he took out his phone and hit a number.

"Hi, it's me. You shouldn't be calling my office, it isn't safe."

"I thought you would need to know, I have been drafted into the ladies auxiliary for the holiday dance. I won't be able to make tonight."

His face fell. "Do you have to?"

"I can't say no, Clive." There was a giggle. "I mean, to the auxiliary."

Hope lifted again. "What about, say, in an hour? I'm showing a house on Dexter."

"Oooh, should we? It sounds risky."

"Make that frisky, and I'm your man, Wilma. One hour." He ended the call and went through the other messages again, the mayor's annoying fabrication about his golf forgotten.

******

"You simply must find more funds for the dance, Malcolm. That sum won't possibly be enough. The dance is the highlight, for heaven's sake." Elizabeth Whitcombe sailed about the room, touching picture frames and patting cushions in their extravagant living room.

"After the parade and the fireworks, dear." He emphasized the elements that would feature his prominence, watching her and sipping from his brandy.

"Nonsense. The parade leads right to the community centre, and they all arrive as the band plays. The fireworks are a special tribute to the Aurora Hills's Ladies Auxiliary presentation."

"The fireworks are a tribute to the Queen, Elizabeth. It is her birthday we are celebrating, remember?"

"Well, I doubt her highness would approve of paper cups and plates at her party." She swept from the room with a regal flourish, her verdict trailing. "I know you can do more, Malcolm."

He downed his brandy.

******

"Was it a good meeting, dear?"

Edgar flipped his Tilley hat onto the chair and leaned in for a peck on the cheek. "One of Malcolm's more efficient, I must say – then that's not saying much, is it?" He guffawed. "What have you been up to?"
Nell shared her news about being asked to be part of the ladies auxiliary for the dance.

"You'll be an asset, dumpling. Who else is on it?"

"Well, Elizabeth of course. She's the president."

"Aah, yes, Elizabeth – the Double Breasted Dowager."

"Edgar! She's not a dowager . . . well not anymore, since she married Malcolm." He smiled, encouraging her to go on. "There's Wilma Heston, Dorothy Greenbank, Esther Leeds, from the library, and Jill Baird."

"Jill Baird? Don't recognize that name."

"Ted's daughter. She lives with him to care for him. Lovely girl."

"Ted, the mechanic? That who you mean?"

"Yes. But he can't work anymore." She shyly pointed to her head.

"Aaah . . . right. Shame, he was good with engines."

Nell Groome hid a sad smile. Forty-two years of marriage with a promise of many more, yet similar small signs of decline were appearing. She hoped this inclusion in the holiday would take her mind off her concerns. "How are the other members?"

"Typical. Malcolm of course, fabricated his prowess on the golf course and got straight up Pool's nose, and then he brought out Doyle's Irish with his sequacious salutes to the queen."

"My goodness, how do you ever accomplish anything?"

"Steely resolve, dumpling." He grinned. Malcolm, of course, got most of what he wanted for his vision of the holiday weekend. There was a debate about the need for so much security, and after hearing Archie's outburst, Malcolm may need it – and more." Edgar chuckled, and sat at the table for the lunch awaiting him.

"And you, dear?"

"The usual. I'm responsible for the organizing of the fireworks. I may put the price up a little this year. Malcolm seems to have more in the kitty than previously announced."

"Edgar, is that ethical?"

"Absolutely, my darling, as the Masked Cache Snatcher would say, if you don't want to lose it – hide it." He blinked mischievously and pulled back a chair for her.

******

"Turn your head this way a bit. That's it. Just lift your hand if you need me to stop. I was pretty sure this would be the outcome. The x-rays indicated the tooth under the crown showed a cavity."

Foster let his mind wander back to the meeting and Malcolm's insufferable posturing, with a chuckle, as he probed around in his patient's mouth. If the day went as planned it would be a miracle.

A hand came up.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, but I am curious, Doctor Leyland, why you are chuckling."

"Oh, nothing, just something I was doing earlier. Turn your head back please."

There was some drilling, digging and water squirting that the suction hose failed to catch. The hand came up again.

"It's okay, we're all done with the excavating," Foster laughed.

"I have another question. How is it I got a cavity under a crown I paid such a generous price for in the first place?"

They exchanged looks.

"Open wide."