The golf carts all pulled to a stop and the riders climbed out, strolling onto the fairway. A dusting of cloud kept the sun from being too intense, yet various items of clothing betrayed each of the wearers.

"Why don't you tell him to go to hell, Henry? Christ, those pants must be roasting."

"I need the extra money being his caddy provides, Mister Doyle. A couple of hours aren't too much to bear."

"How many jobs do you have?"

"Four. I'm doin' fine, Mister Doyle." He smiled at the other man's discomfiture.

Archie shook his head and leaned on his club, watching Malcolm line up his ball. The back swing was high and the follow through equally so. They watched the ball arc up into the sky and then drift to the left into the trees.

"Blast! Henry, what the devil club did you give me?"

"Your favourite, Mister Mayor." Archie and the others hid grins. "Would you like to take a stroke?"

Malcolm's face turned crimson. "Certainly not. A real golfer plays where the ball lies." He stomped back toward the cart.

The rest of the council played their shots and carried on to the next green. Small talk included some gossip, some crude jokes, and then the topic Malcolm had arranged the golf round to discuss.

"Why do we halve to traipse around this field before we have the damn meeting?" Archie putted out in two and retrieved his ball.

Clive was squatting, lining up his shot. "Gives him that feeling of being one of the boys – old down to earth, Whitcombe." He stood and sank the putt skilfully.

"FORE!" the warning sounded and the group all hunched looking skyward, seeing Malcolm's ball soar over the green into the sand trap.

"There's another twenty minutes while he gets out of that." Sean pocketed his ball and moved over to some shade by the golf carts.

"I'm going in, I've had enough of this crap." Archie gave the group a cutting wave and climbed into his cart, jerking violently down the path.

"I'm not going." Clive said stubbornly. "He's not going to tell me later he birdied this hole or any others."

"What does it matter, Clive, we all know he cheats."

"I want him to know we know." Chin jutting with finality.

Sean laughed and put his club in the bag. "I'm going to. See you inside later, I hope."

Malcolm arrived and frowned. "Where are the others?"

"They had enough, Malcolm. They said they didn't stand a chance, and it was too warm to suffer defeat as well as sweat to death.

"Hmm- glad to see you're made of sterner stuff, Poole." He looked around for his ball.

"In the trap, sir," Henry offered.

"Damn! I'm going to speak to someone about those."

"Your wedge, sir."

"Uh- I think I've had enough, the heat and all. You'll mark my card accordingly?"

Henry's eyebrows rose and he smothered a grin. Clive did a silent fist pump.

"Don't tell me you finished already." Archie looked up from his sandwich, as the last of the foursome arrived.

"Overwhelmed by the hot sand," Clive scoffed, settling into a chair and waving to the barman.

"Aah, the Elusive Sand Birdie." Edgar smiled.

Malcolm gave them a sour look and took his place at the table. "Good to see you here, Edgar, how's the back?"

"Improving, but not enough to challenge you yet, Malcolm."

"Ha ha. And Wilfred, you look a little peaked, not well?"

"Collateral damage, eh, Wilfred?" Archie snorted.

"I don't know what you mean." Wilfred closed his eyes and seemed to shrink into himself.

"Just some gossip from the dance security team."

There were a couple of chuckles and Wilfred glanced around the table. Did they really know?

"What's that about security?" Malcolm leaned onto the table. "I should be informed about any pertinent concerns about our security force."

"Well, it seems—"

"Let's get to the meeting shall we," Wilfred snapped, cutting Archie off. "I've got a business to attend to, as I'm sure the rest of you do as well."

"The Ruffled Feathered Plea Pusher." Edgar raised his glass in a mock toast.

Some more jibes were exchanged, then Malcolm tinked a spoon on his glass. "Gentlemen, we are here to discuss the expenses accrued by events during and after the parade. Fowlds have submitted their bill for uniforms and costumes, along with an amount for some damage. Edgar, I think some portion of that should fall to you since it was your banner that caused the accident."

Edgar looked up. "My banner caused the accident? What about the stupid berry tree that dragged it down?"

"We can hardly attach an expense like that to an elderly widow who stumbled—"

"Elderly widow! Isobelle Carcenoma—"

"Christiano."

"Whatever. Point is, the woman is a competition downhill skier on the senior circuit. More likely it was a pothole in the road we've complained about for months to your office."

"The council is insured, Malcolm, we set that up years ago. Just pay the damned bill and let's get this finished." Wilfred sat back exasperated.

Malcolm looked down at his notes, visualizing similar arguments for every item, and chose to skip the pain. "Very well, on to plans for the next big event in Aurora Hills – Canada Day!"

******

"Henry, you don't expect me to believe this score do you?"

"Of course not. What's important is that he thinks we do."

"I'm sure the club members will have other opinions." The club manager handed him the keys to the Mayor's locker.

"Is Ruby around?"

"In the office, why? I understand you won something at the charity dance."

Henry ignored the question and replied to the statement. "Came second in the competition."

"Second! That's a surprise."

"A very special couple took first."

"Must have been . . . don't waste a lot of her time, Henry." The caution was gentle and accompanied by a smile

A few moments later he leaned in the office door. "Still good for dinner?"

"I am. And looking forward to something other than the menu here."

"Ms Bonner, bite your tongue!"

"That's not what I'm interested in biting, Henry. See you tonight."

He laughed and pulled back from the door, suddenly blinking as her words echoed in his head. Nah. That's silly . . . He bumped into the wall as he headed out of the building.

******

Cynthia listened to Archie's rant about the 'next big Aurora Hills event', acknowledging the years of marriage that had inured her to his behaviour.

"At least there won't be horses and carriages." She said, wielding her duster over the furniture.

"No, we'll be walking instead, waving little flags and sporting red and white costumes." He groused.

"Fowlds certainly benefits from these events."

"He went on again about the Queen of Canada and how we should also have—"

"Archie, open a pint and watch the ball game or something, okay?" She moved a pile of magazines and dusted the coffee table. "I'm going to the office for a while, there's invoicing that needs doing."

"I thought we'd be together for a while – you know, talk, enjoy one another."

He watched from the window as she drove off, sighing, and popping the top off his beer as he picked up the remote.

******

Wilma sat in front of her dressing table, working hard at getting her eyelashes longer with more mascara brushes than he had golf clubs. Sean's forehead puckered, watching.

"Well if this parade is going to be on foot, I need some sensible shoes."

"Just look in your closet." He rolled his eyes.

"Those are not sensible, Sean, they're purpose oriented." Her sigh was exasperated.

"Well, don't you have a sensible, purpose oriented pair?"

"Men." The remark was rife with disgust.

"I'm having lunch with Olivia."

The brush stopped mid-stroke. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, she wants to discuss a separate account from Clive. Probably wants to buy sensible shoes without him knowing." He stood and wandered out of the room followed by a devastatingly dark stare.

******

"Lunch." Clive leaned on the counter while Olivia filled her purse with necessities.

"Yes, lunch. You had yours at the meeting."

"So did Bates."

"He'll just have coffee then." She picked up her purse, leaned over and pecked his cheek, and left with a short finger wave.

Clive watched the car back out and turn before whizzing down the street. He pulled at his chin and picked up his phone.

"Wilma? Hi, it's Clive. Listen, Liv is having lunch with Sean – some banking thing – I was wondering . . . You are. So then . . . The gazebo in the park . . . Great. Twenty minutes then."

He put the phone away and went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and hair, and sprayed a mist of cologne under his chin.