Deadly Politics (7 page)

“Worry is how
I
stay in business.”

Raymond gave a raspy chuckle. “Hey, are you going to Karpinsky's funeral?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Now that he's eliminated, you should have a clear path with the Banking committee. Who's the new chairman?”

“Senator Dunston.”

“Foresee any problems?”

“Not at all. He's already on board. He'll start shifting the committee's focus as soon as he takes the chair.”

“Wasn't he the one you took to the Keys last year? Marlin fishing, as I recall.”

“And Matzatlan and the Bahamas.”

Raymond chuckled deep in his chest, stirring up an old rattle. “He likes those trips, doesn't he?”

“And the speaking fees. And the investment advice.”

“Next, you'll find his wife a job.”

“His son already started in the Stuttgart bank.”

Raymond laughed out loud this time.

Four

I spotted Karen as
soon as I entered the high-rise harbor-front
café. She was seated at a table beside a huge wall of windows, reading a newspaper. I hurried over to the table. “Is that the
Washington Post?
I need to check the obits page for the location of Karpinsky's memorial service. I forgot to write it down.”

“Sorry, Molly, I left the
Post
at home. This is just a local gossip rag,” she said with a sheepish grin as she folded the paper and dropped it on the table.

I picked up the tabloid-sized newssheet with bold type.
“‘
D.C. Dirt
. You read it here first.'
Looks sleazy.”

“Yeah, kind of. Don't pay any attention. Those people aren't real reporters, just wannabes.”

I stared at Karen for a second, then at the paper, then back at Karen. There was something about this paper Karen didn't like, and that made me curious.

She reached across the table. “Don't bother with it, Molly. I'll throw it away.”

That did it. The only reason I would care what was in this gossip rag was if I was in it. My heart sank to my stomach. “Karen, am I in this paper?” I waved it accusingly.

Karen winced but didn't answer.

“That bad, huh?”

So much for flying beneath the radar. Brewster was right. I was busted. And it wasn't even by Eleanor MacKenzie's classy social network. It was some sleazy newsrag instead.
Wonderful
.

“Actually, the picture's not bad,” Karen said, clearly trying to console me.

Instead, my heart dropped all the way to my feet. “
Picture
?” I cried, then remembered the photographer wandering Russell's reception. “I don't believe this.” I scowled at the flimsy paper as I sat at the table. Paging through the
D.C. Dirt
, I prayed for a small, insignificant …

It didn't take long to find it. I couldn't have missed the photo if I'd tried. It filled a quarter page. There I was, looking surprised as hell, immortalized in the photographer's flash. Right behind me was Senator Russell.

It wasn't bad, I suppose, provided you liked the “deer in the headlights” expression. That, plus my somber black suit made me look like a funeral director who'd just been told one of the corpses got up and left.

“Damn,” I said softly, so as not to be overheard by the rest of the posh café's diners.

My gaze dropped to the blurb beneath the photo.
Molly Malone, former congressional wife and daughter of a former U.S. senator from Virginia, returns to Washington to work for the quirky Independent senator from Colorado.

Quirky? The senator would love that, I thought. So far, so good. I almost hated to keep reading, but I couldn't stop myself.

Spies for the
Dirt
tell us Ms. Malone used to be quite the hostess years ago. If she intends to help the senator, we suggest she get a new wardrobe. Her dowdy evening ensemble was better suited for a wake than a Washington reception. Our advice to Ms. Malone: Go shopping or go back to Denver.

I stared at the words, reading them again to make sure I hadn't read it wrong. I hadn't.
“Dammit
!
”
I exploded, startling the waiter who was leaning over our table with the water glasses.

Karen motioned him away while I fumed, oblivious to the nearby diners' scowls.

“I cannot
believe
you read this trash,” I accused Karen, noticing a haughty look from an elderly woman walking to her table.

“Everybody reads the
DC Dirt
, Molly,” she said apologetically. “It dishes. Lots of fun gossip.”

“Not if you're in it,” I retorted. “I haven't been in town forty-eight hours, and I'm already pilloried in the press! I knew I should never have come back. Never, never,
never
!” I lowered my voice this time. Either that, or the café staff might throw me out.

“Molly, calm down. It's not so bad. The picture is kind of cute.”

“I look like a jacklighted deer.”

Karen laughed and sipped her coffee while I pouted.

“She called me dowdy.
Dowdy
! I've never had a dowdy day in my life. On my worst day, I'm not dowdy. Who is that reporter anyway?”

“Don't pay any attention. She's just trying to get headlines, according to Nan. I called her after I read the article. Nan said she's heard the woman is some third-rate actress who wants to make it as a columnist. And someone told Nan she went to Mount Saint Mary's when you did. Before you went to that big Arlington high school with Nan and Deb.”

I glanced below and, sure enough, right under my photo was a gossip column and byline. I stared at the name.
Diedre Turner
. “You've got to be kidding,” I said, as old memories resurrected themselves from the dusty past. “My old nemesis from Mount Saint Mary's. Now it makes sense. Diedre hated my guts in high school. I guess she still does.” I dropped the paper onto the table. “What galls me is she's right. I do have to go shopping. I left most of my wardrobe back in Denver.”

“There're lots of shops on Connecticut and Wisconsin Avenues, but even more scattered around the city now. And a great one near Capitol Hill. Check out these.” She slipped a pen from her purse and scribbled a few names on a napkin.

I scanned the napkin before shoving it into my jacket pocket. “Excellent. Maybe I'll go shopping this afternoon.”

“How did you like Peter's townhouse on P Street?” Karen asked, clearly trying to switch subjects to one less incendiary. “Your message said Albert was taking you for a tour early this morning.”

“The house is beautiful, even filled with dust and shrouded furniture. Dark wood, antique carved moldings, brick fireplace, updated kitchen with granite counters, bathrooms are updated, too,” I enthused. “There's even a jacuzzi tub in the master bath.”

The thought of all those little jets massaging away stress was almost enough to sell me on the place. However, it was the kitchen that sealed it. Bright and spacious, it had large east-facing windows that allowed the morning sun to spill across the kitchen table. I could picture myself sitting with a cup of coffee, reading the
Washington
Post
.

But the best thing about the P Street house was that it didn't remind me of the townhouse where Dave and I lived for six years. The floor plans were entirely different. This house was larger, brighter, with more sunshine. It even had a small patio outside the dining room. Standing on the uneven moss-covered flagstones outside, I had breathed in the unmistakable scent of spring and traced the English ivy climbing the brick walls and chimney. Purple crocuses were already poking their heads from the soil, and daffodils ran riot in an overgrown flowerbed. The neglected garden, the shady little patio, the sunny kitchen, plus the Jacuzzi sealed it. I was hooked.

“That's great, Molly. I'm glad you like it. I was hoping you would,” Karen said as the waiter cautiously approached.

Ordering a muffin and coffee, I noticed that Karen had barely touched her omelet. “I'm glad you didn't wait for me to order breakfast.” Pointing to her plate, I added, “Don't you like it?”

Karen shrugged, then sipped her coffee. “I'm not really hungry.”

I watched my niece tear her English muffin into pieces instead of eating it. Something was bothering Karen. I figured that was why she'd left two messages on my cell phone last night, asking to have breakfast this morning.

Peter Brewster's remark about Karen having a “serious relationship” wiggled from the back of my mind, and I wondered if that was what was bothering her. I decided to roll the dice.

“Karen, you look preoccupied. More so than usual, I mean. Is there something on your mind?”

Karen's shoulders relaxed, and a smile worked the corners of her mouth. “You could always tell when something was bothering me, Molly. Even when I was a kid. I'm so glad you're back. Just sitting with you makes me feel better.”

“Wow, I wish I had that effect on everyone,” I said as the waiter set my muffin and coffee before me. “Now that I'm here, why don't we have breakfast every week. I've missed seeing you, too.” I took a large sip of the dark brew.

“I appreciate your meeting me this morning. I know you're going to Karpinsky's memorial service later.”

“Along with most of Washington. I plan to stay in the background if I can.”

Now that I'd been outed in the
D.C. Dirt
, I was bound to trip over more people from my past. Lots of government types wound up in Washington. Probably why the traffic was so bad. Old wonks were clogging the roads.

Karen stared out the window beside us that overlooked the Potomac River and harbor walk area of Georgetown below. Saturday sailors could motor right to the dock, then walk up the steps and into any number of outdoor cafes that lined the riverbank. From our window seat in the cozy café above, the Potomac glinted deep green with reflected sunlight. Another gorgeous spring day.

“You'll be at the reception tonight, right?”

“Of course. How could I skip schmoozing with all those Midwesterners?” Karen said, as she returned from wherever she was.

“Are you still planning to come to Nan and Bill's with me afterwards?”

“Absolutely. I don't want to miss Nan's famous Sunday brunch.”

Now that she was more relaxed, I decided to probe. “Since you didn't answer my question the first time, I'll ask it again. What's bothering you, Karen? There's something on your mind. Is it personal or business? You know you can tell me anything.”

She gave a rueful smile. “I knew I couldn't deflect you, Molly. Actually, it's both. Personal and professional. I've been sitting here wondering how to begin.”

I poured more coffee for both of us, sensing this was going to take a while. “Start at the beginning, sweetie. It's always the best place to start. But not before you've finished your breakfast. Sounds like you'll need your strength to tell me.”

Karen chuckled, but picked up her fork. I sipped my coffee and watched her polish off the rest of the veggie and cheese omelet, like she'd suddenly recovered her appetite. While she spread jam on the remaining muffin, I decided to prime the pump.

“Peter told me that you had a serious relationship going with someone, Karen. If that's true, I'm glad. You've been alone far too long.”

“I'm afraid it's more complicated than that, Molly.”

“Okay, time for you to talk now. I'm tired of guessing.”

Karen looked at me over her coffee mug. “The serious relationship is with someone in my office.”

“Hmmmmm, that can be tricky.”

“It's my boss, Jed Molinoff.”

I made a face. “Not good, Karen. Not good at all.”

She released a long sigh, as if relieved at the telling. “It was at the beginning of last year when we were in paranoid campaign mode. Working those late nights. Sleeping on the office sofas, eating cold pizza … I don't know how it happened. Suddenly we looked at each other, and it was different somehow. We just fell into it, I guess, and we haven't been able to stop since. God knows I've tried.” She shook her head. “But as soon as I go back into the office, it starts all over again. Jed starts talking to me, and I get this yearning … I don't know what it is.”

I knew what it was. And had experienced it myself in the heat of an intense, hard-fought campaign. Being thrown together with people like yourself, shared emotions, shared dreams, it was hard to separate the adrenaline of the action from a real attraction.

“I know what you mean, Karen. I've been there. But even so, you've got to stop it. The sooner, the better. Gossip can do more damage than you know.”

“It gets worse,” she said from behind her cup. “He's married with children.”

This time, I flinched.
Damn
.

“You've got to put an end to it now, Karen. Tonight. No more working late. No more spending time together. This affair is toxic to you and your career. Once Congressman Jackson finds out—and he will, everyone always finds out—he'll want you to leave. You know that.”

She closed her eyes. “I know, I know … how could I have been so stupid! I know better. I never thought something like that would happen to me.”

“Loneliness makes us do stupid things. I can attest to that.”

“And you're right. Congressman Jackson would keep Jed because he's so dependent on him. Jackson depends on me, too. Even so, I'd be the one to go.”

“Tell Molinoff today. Don't wait until Monday. It's good you're coming home with me. That way, if he tries to call and pressure you, we'll be around tomorrow for moral support.” I reached over and squeezed her arm.

Karen stared at the tablecloth, her finger tracing an invisible pattern. “I'm not sure if Jed would pressure me to stay or not. We had an argument earlier this week, and he's been acting differently toward me ever since.”

“Sounds like a serious argument.”

“Well, I didn't think it was,” her voice still betrayed surprise. “But Jed reacted strangely, not like himself at all. It surprised me how upset he got about it.”

“What was this disagreement about?”

“That's what's so puzzling. There was no disagreement. Not at first. I simply asked a question about one of the congressman's campaign contributors—what he knew about the group—and he brushed off my questions. Told me not to worry about them. He'd visited with the head of the group, and they were a private think tank, that's all. Then he reminded me the congressman needed all the money he could get for this upcoming race.”

She drank from her mug, staring out at the Potomac again. “I thought that was strange. He'd never said that about any other contributor. That made me curious, so I pushed and asked exactly what kind of ‘political think tank' they were. Why was this group different? I mean, I'm an analyst. That's what I do. I ask questions. That's when he jumped down my throat. Told me to drop it and get back to work. The congressman didn't pay me to bother donors to his campaign. Then he added that this group had been donating to politicians for years on both sides of the aisle.” She paused and sipped her coffee. “You know, Molly, that hurt; his berating me like that. We've always been on the same page about everything. Of course, that made me even more curious about the group.”