Deadly Politics (21 page)

_____

Jed set the glass back on the coffee table. His hand shook so much, the whiskey spilled on his trousers. “Are you still there?” he asked, wishing his voice hadn't cracked.

“I'm here,” the deep male voice came over the cell phone. “What else did she say?”

“Just that she wasn't scared of the press. They'd come after her before and she'd do whatever it takes to find Karen's killer. Jesus, she's
gotta
be crazy! I mean, she's a crazy woman. You should have seen her.”

“Crazy like a fox.”

Jed didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

“Go back to your normal routine, Jed, as if that conversation never happened.”

“So I shouldn't talk to the police, right?”

“Not unless we tell you to.”

He felt a little better, hearing that. “You're right. She's bluffing. I figured she was. Right?”

“Why don't you go back to Omaha and spend the weekend with your family? That'll make you feel better.” The deep voice had a warm, reassuring tone.

“If you think so.” Somehow Jed didn't feel reassured.

The click on the other end of the line was the only answer.

Eighteen

He stared at the
screen of his cell phone, scrolling through the text message instructions.
Time to wrap it up
. Glancing at the boats bobbing out in the bay in the morning sun, he sipped his beer, then returned the phone to his zippered jacket pocket.

_____

Samantha rattled the ice cubes in her square-cut crystal glass. “Lord, Molly, a week and a half ago you said you were trying to fly beneath the radar. And now you've faced off with Jackson's chief of staff. What is up with you?”

I pushed the glider on Samantha's screened porch into another gentle arcing swing. “So much for keeping a low profile, huh?”

Sipping my vodka and orange juice, I admired Samantha's McLean, Virginia, garden. All lush and green symmetry, hedges bordering English-style flowerbeds. Neat and orderly. Not the same artistic flair of Nan's and Deb's gardens, with wildflowers mixed in with roses, and perennials cheek by jowl with bright-colored annuals pushing forward for attention. Samantha's garden was the only thing old-fashioned and subdued about her.

“Well, off the record, I'm not sorry you confronted him. Hearing this sorry tale makes me mad all over again about losing Karen. All because Molinoff was an obnoxious s.o.b.” She reached over and poured herself more aged bourbon from the crystal decanter on the white wicker table beside her.

I pushed the glider again and watched dusk creep at the edges of the garden. Mimosa trees with their fragrant yellow and pink fluffy blossoms and cherry trees bursting into bloom. April was a heady month in Virginia, rich and redolent with blossoms. Flowering dogwoods, pink and white, snowy white apple blossoms, and crab apples pink as bubblegum. And everywhere you looked, azaleas—crimson, violet, fuchsia, rose pink, white, coral, lavender—scattered all over the city.

“What are you gonna do if he calls your bluff ?” Samantha eyed me over her glass.

“It's not a bluff. I'll call the newspapers and the TV stations.”

“Good God, Molly, are you sure you want to expose yourself to that sordid mess again?” Samantha looked like she'd bitten into a sour apple.

“I have to, Samantha. It's the only way I can force Jed to talk to the police. He saw something, or he knows something. I'm sure of it. You should have seen his face when I confronted him. He looked petrified.”

“With good reason. His career will be over after the press gets hold of him. And so will yours. Have you thought about that? I mean,
really
thought about it?”

“That's all I thought about the last two days while I was driving.”

“I can't believe you drove the Blue Ridge Parkway down and back this weekend.” She shook her head before taking a drink. “You're crazier than a bedbug, girl.”

I smiled at Samantha. Old friends kept you honest. “Well, it was the closest I could get to my mountains back home in Colorado. The Shenandoah aren't the Rockies, but they're pretty and peaceful. And I needed some mountains to help me think.”

“And these mountains helped you decide to throw away this great new job you've landed with the senator? I think you should let me take you to the beach next time you want to think.” She sipped her bourbon, and a slow smile formed. “I bet you were playing the Stones the whole way down the parkway.”

I rested my head on the back of the cushions. “Ohhhhh, yeah. And Clapton and Seger. Grace Slick. The whole bunch.”

She chuckled over her glass. “You haven't changed a bit.”

“Rock 'n' roll forever,” I said with an unrepentant grin.

A serious expression wiped away Samantha's smile. “What do you plan to do about your mother?”

I closed my eyes and pushed the glider. “Can't handle more than one crisis at a time. Ask me that again after I've gotten some justice for Karen.”

Samantha gave a genteel snort. “Sugar, you know better than that. You don't look to Washington for justice. That's in the movies, not real life. What's your Marine escort and running partner say about this strategy?”

“Not much, actually. After Jed left, we went out to some rooftop café overlooking the city. I can't even remember the name. My mind was still swirling. We sat and stared out at the lights and didn't say much. Picked at the food. Danny was good enough to give me the space I needed.”

“Well, be careful with that ‘I need some space' line. Or you'll turn around one day, and he'll be gone, and you'll have nothing left but space.”

I laughed softly. “Well, let's see how it goes. He left on business this weekend, so if he doesn't call me when he returns, then I'll know I scared him away.”

“I don't know what I'm gonna do with you, Molly.” She took a deep drink. “What sort of business? Consulting, I imagine.”

“Of course. Logistics and tactics or tactical logistics or some such. Stuff you don't know and couldn't talk about even if you did.”

“The usual. Have you told your family about any of this?”

“Not yet. I'll give them a heads-up before I call in the hounds of the press. They can head for the shore. Lie low, until the dust settles.”

Samantha simply wagged her head, not saying anything. Meanwhile, my own mention of the sea shore caused another worrisome subject to push back onto my radar screen.

I hadn't heard from Celeste since early Friday morning when she'd sent an email. After Saturday came and went and still no email, I waited until today when I had stopped along the parkway for lunch. I called Celeste's cell phone but got no answer, just her recorded message. I'd called twice since then and got the same result. No answer.

“By the way, I heard from some of my sources. One of them was close with Larry Fillmore's wife. It seems she would occasionally come to the office with facial bruises, which she tried to explain away.” Samantha's voice hardened with obvious contempt. “So, it looks like that bastard Larry Fillmore has a violent streak after all.”

I pushed the glider, letting the unsettled feeling gnaw my stomach again. “God, I'm glad Celeste quit her job and left Washington.”

Samantha fell quiet for several moments. “When's the last time you ate?” she said at last, pulling me out of my concern.

“Lunch somewhere along the parkway. Can't remember where.”

“Well, why don't we raid my freezer and see what the caterer left.”

“Who've you been entertaining?”

“No one lately. The caterer supplies me with home-cooked meals that I keep whenever I'm not dining out, which is most of the time.” She drained her glass again and pointed to mine. “Would you like me to freshen that up for you?”

“Absolutely. I depend on you to have a full bar.”

Samantha grinned as she leaned back on the floral cushions on the white wicker summer furniture. “That vodka was my sweet Sol's favorite.” Her smile faded. “I miss him still. He was the closest friend I'd had since Beau died.”

“The Senate is poorer for his loss,” I said, raising my glass. “To Sol Karpinsky. Thanks, Sol, for watching out for the taxpayers for as long as you did. Or tried to.” I tossed down the rest of my screwdriver.

“I still miss you, Sol,” Samantha said, raising her glass.

I toyed with the words that played on my tongue. Vodka was encouraging me to spit them out. “You know, Miss Thing, I heard some rumors about Karpinsky. Any truth that he was out with you the night before he died?”

“All true. We were here at the house having a private catered dinner.”

“Good God, Samantha. Don't tell me you were …” I gestured, looking for words.

“Servicing the senator?” She arched a brow. “No, I was not. Rumors are wrong on that one. Sol wanted to talk, and he needed a sounding board. That's my strong suit, Molly, you know that. He was all wound up about some banking bill, kept talking about irregularities, whatever. Sol wanted to schedule hearings, but he never got the chance. That great big heart of his gave out.” She wagged her head, then drained her glass.

Now it was my turn to rattle the ice cubes in my empty glass. “Well, there are worse ways to go than dying in your sleep. Better than some awful lingering disease.”

“Amen to that.”

Nineteen

Hurrying up the sidewalk
on Q Street, I tried to search my cell phone directory and keep from tripping over the uneven brick walkway at the same time. Tree roots caused miniature hills and valleys to push up on Georgetown brick sidewalks. The unwary were often sent sprawling.

I'd overslept this morning. No doubt due to my post-midnight return from Samantha's. I'd fallen into bed last night and sank into a deep sleep. Caused probably by the accumulated sleep deficit I'd been working around for the past few days. Catching up all at once had its drawbacks. When I finally awoke, it was only ten minutes before I usually left for the Russell mansion. New land speed records were set for showering, and I had no idea if my makeup was on straight since I did it while trying to dress at the same time.

Punching in the Russell phone number, I waited for Luisa to pick up with her cheery hello. “Luisa, this is Molly and I'm racing up Q Street right now. Overslept. I hope there are no emergencies or anything.”

“Relax, Molly. We're all moving a little slower. Except the senator, of course.” She chuckled. “He left for the Hill at seven thirty.”

I crossed another intersection. “That man is superhuman, I swear he is. Hey, how was your family visit? Grandkids doing okay?”

“Growing like weeds. I have some new photos of the little one. I'll bring them in with your coffee.”

“Luisa, you're a lifesaver. See you in a few minutes.”

I clicked off and was about to drop the phone into my jacket pocket when I remembered another call. I punched in Celeste's number. After six rings, Celeste's voice mail message came on once again. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pondering whether to leave yet another message and decided against it. I'd left two messages already.

Why wasn't she answering her phone?
I picked up my pace. I hadn't heard from Celeste since Friday morning's email. Today was Monday. She knew I wanted her to stay in touch and she had promised she would.
Why hadn't she?

Passing the brick walls surrounding the mansion grounds, I hurried to the front gate. Maybe I could find a spare moment and search that congressional directory again. See what other contact information was listed for Celeste. As I entered the mansion foyer, Luisa was walking toward me with a full mug of coffee in her hand.

“Take a deep breath, Molly. You're going to need that along with the coffee. I opened your office door and saw the message light blinking like crazy. It's Monday.”

“Monday, all day,” I said with a groan, then took a big drink of caffeine.

“Did you mail it?” Raymond's voice came over the phone.

He paused outside the coffee shop and sipped his latte before answering. “In the mail this morning. It should be delivered tomorrow.” A shaft of bright sunshine reflected off the polished hood of a nearby limo parked along Pennsylvania Avenue. He slipped his sunglasses from his jacket pocket as he walked. “You want me to stand by?”

“No, this one will be handled differently.”

“I can't wait to find out.”

“We'll be in touch. And they said to tell you ‘good work.'”

He passed a group of tee-shirted school children, heading out on a day of sightseeing. “I aim to please.”

_____

“Hey, Casey,” I called from my doorway. “How did your shuttle service turn out? All charges accounted for?”

“Just barely. I didn't make it back to the city till nearly midnight Friday.” He paused in the hallway and took a swig of coffee before answering. What would any of us do without caffeine?

“Any more in Luisa's coffeepot?” I dangled my empty mug as I fell in step with him down the long hallway.

“Fresh five minutes ago.”

“Music to my ears. I'm trying to wade through a mountain of emails and messages. And I feel like I'm falling behind because more messages keep coming in.”

“Don't you love Mondays?”

I toyed with what I was about to say, then simply spit it out. “Well, at least it's distracting me from worrying because a friend's cell phone is still going to voice mail when she promised to stay in touch with me. I'm beginning to wonder if something's wrong. Maybe there's a connection problem with the cell towers on the Eastern Shore.”

Casey looked at me quizzically. “Who're we talking about here?”

“Celeste Allard. She's that staffer in Karen's office who got in trouble with Molinoff when she asked too many questions.” I beelined for the coffeepot on the spotless granite kitchen counter.

Casey stood in the kitchen doorway, sipping his coffee. “Didn't you say she'd left town?”

“Yeah, but I made her promise to stay in touch. She'd been emailing me every morning and I talked with her a couple of times, but I haven't heard a thing since Friday. No emails, no calls.” I lifted the filled mug and sniffed the deep rich aroma. Ahhhhh. Let the harsh burn slide down my throat. “I've called several times since Sunday, and all I get is voice mail. Maybe I'm being too much of a mom, but I'm starting to worry.”

Casey tapped his mug, clearly thinking. “You know, there are some normal explanations, Molly. She could have simply lost her cell phone. People do that all the time. Drive off with it on the hood of their car. Leave it on restaurant tables.”

Strolling back to the doorway, I took another deep drink of coffee. “But what about the emails? Even if she lost her phone, she could still email.”

“Not if she left town,” Casey said with a smile as we headed down the hallway again. “Think about it. Maybe she went to visit a friend. Or her family.”

I paused in front of my office doorway. What Casey said made sense. “So, you think I'm overreacting?”

“I think you nailed it when you said you were being too much of a mom. You've kind of adopted this girl, so now you're worrying about her. Give it another few days.” He lifted his mug to me before heading down the hallway toward the front door.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being too much of a mom and worrying about Celeste like she was my own daughter. I settled at my desk chair again and clicked on one of my accounting spreadsheets. Lose myself in the numbers for another few days.

_____

The recorded music track playing through the Georgetown Shops mall was distant enough to be unrecognizable. It sounded vaguely like Billy Joel, but I couldn't tell. Walking past the food court, the aroma of pizza wafted through the air and my stomach growled. I deliberately turned away. Coffee instead. Then I could go home and scavenge my freezer for dinner. Unfortunately, there were no gourmet catered dishes awaiting me. Maybe a spinach soufflé if I was lucky.

Rounding the corner of the upscale vertical shopping mall situated right in the middle of busy Georgetown, I noticed an Italian restaurant whose bar jutted out into the walkway. I could grab a diet cola, then head for home.

I'd walked down to the canal-side mall to get some exercise. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten how brick sidewalks and high heels do not go together for long distances. Of course, I hadn't planned on doing more than a couple of errands. Then I noticed the great sale at the sports store on running shoes and well, there I was, several packages over my arm. It was definitely taxi time for the trip back to my townhouse.

Grabbing an empty bar stool, I ordered a cola to go and entertained myself watching the local evening news on the flat-screen television above the bar. The male newscaster was interviewing a D.C. resident who was trying to organize a local charity.

“Keep the change,” I told the bartender when he brought my plastic cup and was about to leave when a female newswoman's voice caught my attention. Glancing to the screen again, I was startled to see Celeste's photo. Her owlish eyes stared out behind her glasses, which could not disguise her youthful face.

“More tragedy has struck the office of Nebraska Congressman Randall Jackson. Several weeks ago, one of the congressman's top staffers, Karen Grayson, was shot and killed in a brutal mugging turned murder in Georgetown. Now, we've just learned that another of the congressman's staffers has died in a gas explosion in the Eastern Shore community of Deale, Maryland. Celeste Allard, who'd worked for the congressman for five years, was killed when the house her family owned went up in flames Saturday. Fire department investigators think the fire started in the kitchen, probably due to fumes escaping from the gas stove, which ignited nearby candles. When asked for comment, one of Congressman Jackson's staff did mention that Ms. Allard had been depressed lately and had exhibited erratic behavior. So police are considering the possibility that her death could be a suicide.”

The woman's voice went up an octave as she smiled brightly into the cameras. “And now, here's Bernie with the weather.”

I stared as the image of Celeste disappeared from the screen, replaced by a large map of the Washington metro region, a smiling meteorologist standing beside.

A cold hand reached inside my gut and squeezed hard. I pushed away from the bar stool and bolted down the winding mall corridor, heading for the canal exit.
Outside
. I had to get outside.

_____

I drained my second glass of wine and held it up for the waiter at the harbor-front café.

He scurried over to my umbrella-shaded patio table. “Another Fat Bastard, ma'am?”

“Please. And more of those cheese things.” He hastened off, and I scavenged the last morsel of cheese and baguette on the table while I watched the Potomac flowing peacefully past the Washington Harbor. I barely remembered how I wound up here. I'd stumbled out of the mall and wandered for blocks along the C&O Canal on the towpath. Then I started winding through the lower Georgetown streets leading to the condos and caf
é
s that bordered the river until I came to Water Street and the newly developed harbor front. Danny and I had had dinner here only a couple of weeks ago.

I looked over my shoulder to the luxury condos that rose above and surrounded the caf
é
s, coffee shops, and businesses that clustered below. Karen and I had breakfast at one of the upper-level cafés the day she died.

The wide river sparkled in the late afternoon sun. All manner of craft floated by, from kayaks to sleek yachts. Theodore Roosevelt Island wildlife refuge was to the right, the Lincoln Memorial and Kennedy Center were across the water straight ahead, and to the left was the once-notorious Watergate complex. It was a truly stunning view. When I was a child only flour mills, warehouses, and other industrial buildings enjoyed the same view that all of the café's patrons were enjoying right now.

“Here you go, ma'am,” the college-aged waiter said, placing my refilled wineglass and the appetizers in front of me.

I reached for another cheesy bite, but it was too late. The rich French Chardonnay had beaten the cheese into my system with the first glass. I was buzzed, and I didn't care. At least I couldn't hear the accusatory voice in the back of my head.

Celeste is dead. And you're partly responsible. If you hadn't asked her to poke around in Molinoff's files, she wouldn't have gotten into trouble at her office. Celeste would have stayed here in Washington, and not gone to the Eastern Shore to some old closed-up house with a leaky gas stove.

I recognized Sober-and-Righteous's scolding tone and flinched inwardly. Sober was right. I should never have involved her in my quest to investigate Jed Molinoff. Celeste would be alive today if I hadn't.

Taking a big sip of the round fruity wine, I nibbled more cheese, letting Sober run roughshod over my conscience. A sleek yacht motored up to the harbor's dock, filled with partying couples making merry. The tourists passing by ogled the boating party and tried to discreetly snap photos.

Runners sped by as well as cyclists, despite the signs warning them to dismount and walk their bikes. Hopefully the strolling tourists would pay attention as they took in the gorgeous views. A collision was only a misstep away.

I glanced to the side and noticed one of the tourists, a man with a gray backpack, was aiming his camera in my direction. In my buzzed state, I lifted my glass as he clicked away.

The partying couples started dancing to a quiet salsa beat, martini glasses in hand. I sipped my wine and watched the tourists watching the boaters. Tourists feeding the pigeons. Tourists taking photos. Photos of the river. Of the views. Of the buildings behind me. Pretty pictures. I let myself enjoy the salsa beat. Then my cell phone jangled atop the table.

“Hey, Molly, how're you doing?” Danny asked.

I let his warm voice settle over me, joining the Chardonnay. “Not okay. Celeste's dead.”

Danny was quiet for a second. “How?”

“Her house on the shore blew up. Gas explosion, the police say. They think the stove ignited it.”

“Where are you?”

I took another sip. “I'm here at Washington Harbor trying to drown my guilt, drinking Fat Bastard and eating cheese. Where are you? Still away consulting?”

“Actually, I'm driving across Key Bridge right now. I was on the way to your house to see if you'd like to go out, but since you already are, I'll meet you there.”

“Danny, you don't have to babysit me,” I protested.

“I'm not. I'm coming to keep you company, that's all. See you in a few minutes.”

He clicked off and I went back to watching the tourists watching the sights. The tourist with the backpack was gone.

_____

“It's not your fault, Molly. You told me Celeste had already gotten into trouble with Molinoff for asking questions he didn't like. Plus she'd seen Karen and him together.”

“Yeah, but I made it worse. I should never have asked her to help.” I nibbled the tasty fried calamari Danny had ordered.

“She called
you
, remember? She'd already been checking into Molinoff, confronting him about Fillmore. And that's what got her on his radar screen. Not you and your email searches.”