Cynthia was seated with two other women at a card table in front of the Post Office when Dean arrived. She was gabbing and smiling as two men filled out raffle tickets.

"How are the sales going?" Dean asked.

"Great!" answered Cynthia's co-seller. The woman owned the variety store and was never without a smile and a good word. Like a small cadre of the like-minded Ouray citizens, she was enthusiastically active on a dozen local boards and charities. "How many tickets?" she asked. "Seven for ten bucks, three for five, or two dollars for one?"

The raffle of a new Jeep was an annual fund-raising activity that gleaned a substantial portion of the Chamber of Commerce's yearly budget. Tickets were sold throughout the tourist season, and the winner's name was drawn at Oktoberfest in the fall. Dean, the big spender, reached for one ticket, but a look from his wife changed his purchase to seven.

Cynthia's allotted tour of duty was finished, so he took his wife's hand and they walked to the corner for a better view of the parade. He wanted to tell her about meeting with Jennifer Radisson, but as soon as he started to speak, Fred O'Connor rushed up, a look of panic on his face. He grabbed Dean's arm.

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"Come on! I been looking for you all over. We gotta hurry!" he said. "Fitzgerald's in the parade!"

"So?"

"He's the opposition, remember? He's got a float and a slew of balloons! All we had time to do was fix up a friend of Myrtle's friend's husband's antique car! Come on! The parade's about to start!" He tugged on Dean's arm.

"I'm not going to ride in some old buggy and make a fool of myself!"

"I'm your campaign manager, and I'll be danged if I'm gonna get upstaged by that jerk Fitzgerald. Come on!"

Dean looked at his wife for help, but she just shrugged and smiled, and Dean let himself be led up the street. The southern end of Main Street was a bevy of activity. A band tooted practice blasts, someone was yelling directions through an old fashioned megaphone, which were ignored, and Suzanne, whose nightly music show serenaded the tourists, warmed up the Star Spangled Banner in a voice that needed no mike. Horses stomped, dogs barked, and children scurried everywhere.

There, amid a cluster of floats, Boy Scouts and ballerinas, four of Fred's lady friends were in the final stages of hanging bunting about a beautiful old touring car whose vintage or name Dean couldn't identify. "Dean for Sheriff" signs were being wired on the doors, front and back. Liz plopped a straw hat with a red, white, and blue band on Dean's head just as three jets in close formation screamed overhead, buzzing the town in a deafening roar. The crowd cheered as one and the parade began.




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