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  “No,” Phin said. “I’m not going to have you going through the bookstore and throwing out Lady Chatterley.”

  “I move that Temptation adopt an antipornographic movie ordinance,” Virginia said, and Stephen said, “I second it.”

  Phin looked at his council and thought, Why do I put up with this? It was a stupid ordinance, and probably unconstitutional, and definitely a waste of time. On the other hand, talking the council out of it would take another hour which would cut into the semiregular late-afternoon pool game he played with Temptation’s police chief. And, since it was highly unlikely that anybody but Clea Whipple would ever want to make a movie in Temptation, and, in fact, highly unlikely that Clea Whipple did want to make a movie in Temptation, he’d be fighting for a principle that was never going to be tested. “Call the roll, Rachel.”

  The vote went four in favor of establishing the ordinance, to two against, with Frank voting no to defend the infant Temptation film industry and Ed dissenting without comment. Hildy should have voted against it as an anticensorship English teacher, but the look she shot Phin as she voted made it clear that this was payback time.

  Stephen said, “I’ll draft the ordinance tonight and we’ll call a special meeting to pass it.”

  “No, we won’t,” Phin said. “We’ll vote on it next Wednesday, same time, same place. And now, if there are no objections, I move we close this meeting.”

  “Second.” Frank stood up to go. “And by the way, Stephen, we voted to buy the fancy streetlights while you were gone.”

  “You what?” Stephen’s roar was outraged.

  “You’re late for your appointment, Frank.” Phin stood up. “This meeting is dismissed.” When Stephen drew breath to protest, he added, “Everybody leave.”

  Rachel snickered and closed her notebook.

  “We shouldn’t wait on the ordinance,” Stephen said, as the others left, and Phin said, “Sure we should. Legislate in haste, repent at leisure. Next week is fine.”

  “Well, then, we’re going to reconsider those streetlights next week, too.” Stephen shook his head, clearly disgusted with the state of politics in Temptation.

  Phin smiled at Rachel as he headed for the door. “Thank you, Rachel, for taking the blame for the paint. That was very noble.”

  Rachel grinned at him, and Phin saw his mother waiting for him by the door, relaxing into a half-smile as she watched the future daughter-in-law of her choice. Fat chance, he wanted to tell her, but that was another argument he didn’t want to have. He’d already told his mother that it was out of the question—Rachel said “like” a lot, she didn’t read, and she played lousy pool—but Liz Tucker hadn’t gotten to be First Lady of Temptation by taking “no” for an answer.

  “Wait a moment,” she said to her son now as he went past her, and he shook his head.

  “Can’t stay. I’ll talk to you at dinner.” He escaped into the marble hall only to find himself waylaid by Ed Yarnell, who looked at him with naked contempt.

  “Interesting council meeting you missed just now, Phineas,” Ed said. “You just sit there staring into space with your thumb up your butt while Stephen rams through a censorship law.”

  “Thanks, Ed,” Phin said, trying to move away. “Can’t stay—”

  “You’re getting to be too much like your old man, rolling over for Stephen.”

  Phin felt his temper rise and repressed it from long practice. “Dad never rolled over, he was just careful. This is politics, Ed.”

  “This is crap,” Ed said. “I thought it was a good thing you’d cooled your jets some over the years, considering what a reckless dumbass you used to be, but now I don’t know. It’s been a good long time since I’ve seen you break a sweat over anything.”

  Phin clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, thanks for the advice, Ed. Have a nice evening.”

  Ed shook his head as Phin escaped again, this time through the wide-arched door of the little courthouse. An architectural gem, a tourist had once told him. “Well, we like it,” Phin had said, but it was hard to be impartial since he’d grown up in the place. Generations of Tucker mayors had run the courthouse and Temptation, except for those two dark Garvey years when Stephen’s father had wrested the office from Phin’s father over the New Bridge controversy.

  That was what Stephen was looking for now, Phin knew as he went down the marble steps to the old-fashioned storefronts of Temptation’s Main Street. Some controversy that he could exploit the same way his father had exploited the New Bridge. The water tower had been small potatoes, and Stephen wasn’t getting anywhere on his anti–new streetlight campaign, but the way he’d jumped on the porn thing, he might be thinking that was his ticket. Which only went to show how desperate Stephen was.

  Of course, having your Cadillac hit by loose, low-class women could rattle a man.

  Phin reached the pale green Victorian that housed Tucker Books, climbed the wide wooden steps to the porch, and flipped over the sign that said Back at 4:30 in childishly skewed, crayoned printing. Then he sat down in one of the cushioned porch chairs and thought of the upcoming election with fatalistic distaste. He didn’t care if he won; it was losing that would make him crazy. Tuckers didn’t lose. Especially since losing would carry with it the extra burden of watching Stephen Garvey run Temptation into the ground with his nutso family values. God forbid there should be another Garvey Reign of Error. Phin was still sitting there half an hour later, lost in thoughts of streetlights, water towers, and porn permits, when Temptation’s police chief pulled up in front.

  “Stephen stopped by the station,” Wes Mazur said as he got out of the patrol car.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Phin said. “He wants me arrested for un-mayorlike conduct. Dereliction of civic duty.”

  “Close.” Wes came up the steps looking as unconcerned as ever behind his heavy black glasses. “He wants me to go out to the Whipple farm and investigate some women that ran into him.”

  Phin nodded. “He mentioned them. They’re loose women. And possible pornographers.”

  “Really?” Wes looked encouraged as he sat down. “And we know this how? No, wait, I’ve got it. The Whipple farm. Clea Whipple. Coming Clean.”

  “There you go.” Phin put his feet on the porch rail and leaned back in his chair. “The keen mind of the law at work.”

  “So Clea’s coming here to make a movie.” Wes looked almost enthusiastic. Then reality set in. “Why?”

  “Excellent question. If only Stephen would ask it occasionally.”

  “He can’t. It would slow down the leaps he makes to get to his conclusions.” Wes frowned out at the street. “You know, I was considering just letting the insurance agents handle the accident, but now I think I better go out there, make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Check out Clea in the flesh.”

  “My civic duty.”

  “Not to mention the loose women.”

  “That, too.” Wes stood up, checking his watch. “It’s five. You want to close up and come with me?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Phin said. “My civic duty, too. We can play pool later.”

  “We live to serve,” Wes said.

  “I just want another look at Clea,” Phin said.

  Sophie unpacked their supplies and organized the dingy kitchen while ignoring the truly ugly cherry wallpaper on one wall, and Clea talked to her the entire time, not helping at all. “Frank’s going to be here any minute,” she kept saying, sounding almost excited, which was unlike her; she’d been beautifully bored for the five years Sophie had known her.

  After half an hour, Sophie had heard enough about Frank the football star; Frank the high-school-theater leading man; Frank the wealthy developer; Frank, the generally magnificent. “Interesting wallpaper,” she said, trying to change the conversation.

  Clea looked at the wall and shrugged. “My mom put it up. She got that one wall done and my father saw it and made her take the rest of the wallpaper back. He was a tight old bastard.”