Deadly Politics (A Molly Malone Mystery) Read online

  “Congressman, let me introduce you to the newest member of our senatorial staff, Ms. Molly Malone,” Russell announced as he approached. “Molly, I’d like you to meet the congressman from New Mexico’s second district, Henry Baylor, and his charming wife, Mary.”

  Somehow I found a bright smile and shook their hands. “Congressman, Mrs. Baylor, welcome to Washington.”

  “Peter Brewster, Senator Russell’s chief of staff,” Brewster said, shaking their hands enthusiastically. “Glad you could join us tonight.”

  “Oh, it’s our pleasure,” Mary Baylor gushed, her eyes alight with adventure. Poor thing.

  “Molly Malone? You’re from Denver, aren’t you? What brings you away from the Front Range?” Baylor asked, sipping what looked to be a dark stout, à la Guinness. My mouth started to water.

  “It’s all Senator Russell’s fault, Congressman. He twisted my arm so hard, I had to come out. Plus, I have family here, so it was an easy move,” I lied, surprising myself at how easily I had done it.

  “Molly’s father was Senator Robert Malone from Virginia, so Molly may be new to our staff, but she’s certainly not new to Washington,” Russell added.

  “Yes, yes, now I remember,” Baylor nodded. “This must feel like coming home to you, Ms. Malone. How does it feel to be back in our nation’s Capitol?”

  “Challenging, Congressman. I’m still getting used to the traffic.”

  Baylor’s kind face spread with another grin. “I hear you. Mary won’t go into the city alone unless she can ride the Metro. She refuses to drive in Washington traffic.”

  We all laughed politely while Mary Baylor gave her husband a playful poke in the arm. I was beginning to feel sorry for the Baylors already. They looked like a nice couple. Too nice to last in Washington. Those who did had a harder edge.

  Suddenly, a bright flash went off to my left, startling me. A photographer. I whirled immediately and was caught by another bright flash. This time I jumped.

  “Young man,” Russell called to the photographer who was about to blend into the guests again. “Why don’t you take a group shot? Welcome our newest staffer. Come along, Molly, Congressman, let’s gather around.”

  I flinched inwardly. Tonight was just getting better and better. Hopefully this photographer worked for some obscure journal that would line birdcages. Despite my reluctance, I allowed Russell to include me in the semicircle with the New Mexico couple. Brewster, however, had stealthily slipped away. The dog.

  The photographer, who appeared to be in his twenties, started clicking. My cheeks twitched after several shots. Finally, he stopped. “Thanks, Senator,” he called as he turned to walk away.

  “Which newspaper are you with, son?” Russell asked.

  “Freelance,” was all the photographer said before he blended into the crowd, which had grown as the temperatures had dropped outside.

  “Peter, did you see any press?” Russell asked.

  Brewster shook his head as he approached. “The only one I spotted was that gossip columnist who shows up everywhere. She may have brought someone with her. I didn’t recognize that guy.”

  “Well, if you see the young man again, tell him to give us a warning. I think he frightened Molly,” Russell said, in a fatherly fashion.

  “I’m okay, Senator. Part of being back in Washington, I guess. I’ll get used to it.”

  “If it’s a good photo, we’ll use it in the senator’s Colorado newsletter,” Brewster said with a grin. “Good way to let the folks back home know you’ve joined our team, Molly. That will rattle a lot of cages back in Colorado.”

  Brewster was having entirely too much fun at my expense tonight. “And you can’t wait to rattle them, can you, Peter?” I retorted.

  Senator Russell threw back his head and let loose one of those infectious belly laughs of his, so we all joined in. I decided this was as good a time as any to make my escape. I’d been trotted out, photographed, weighed, and measured. I deserved to relax in my stall.

  “Senator, Congressman Baylor, Mrs. Baylor, I hope you’ll excuse me. This has been my first full day back in Washington, and I have to admit I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I’ll make my way into Virginia now.” I was hoping the senator would be too polite to twist my arm in public. I guessed right.

  “Why, of course, Molly. We don’t want to wear you out the first day. You go home and rest. Albert will drive you home right away,” Russell said in a solicitous tone.

  “You poor dear,” Mrs. Baylor said with a maternal expression. “You must be exhausted. Washington is so … so very draining.”

  “Yes, it is, Mrs. Baylor,” I agreed as I began to back away; go while the going was good. “I’d advise you two to take it one day at a time. And remember to breathe.” Everyone laughed, which gave me my chance. I turned to leave. “Senator, enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  “Thank you, Molly,” Russell said with a genial wave.

  I was almost to the foyer when Brewster caught up with me. “Go home and relax, Molly. You’ve earned it. Tomorrow morning Albert can take you on a tour of the townhouse on P Street.”

  I paused at the foyer, noticing that Albert was already standing by the front door with my purse, clearly waiting for me. “How early should I come in to meet Albert? And when do you want me here tomorrow for the reception?”

  Brewster gave me that boyish grin. “You and Albert can set your own schedule. He’s an early riser. And you can arrive anytime after six tomorrow evening. In between, Saturday is all yours, Molly. The senator and I will be busy on the Hill. So, enjoy your weekend.” With that, he turned to rejoin the partying politicians. Back on the job.

  Better him than me, I thought with a relieved sigh as I hastened through the opened door. “Quick, Albert, head for the bridge before Peter finds someone else to introduce me to.”

  _____

  “I told you not to worry. I’ve got it covered.” He took a drag on his cigarette, easing that irritating scratch in his throat.

  “I know you did, Raymond. I trust you. We all trust you,” the man’s deep voice came over the phone. “We simply want to make sure there’ll be no problems. No slipups of any kind. There may be some last-minute adjustments.”

  “I’ve told you before. This guy is a pro. He doesn’t slip up. Nothing throws him.”

  “Good, good. This one came up suddenly, so …”

  “No time to take it up with committee, right?” Raymond joked before taking another drag.

  The man on the other end of the phone snorted. “Hardly. So tell him to be extra careful.”

  “He’s always careful. That’s why he’s still alive and still in business. Stop worrying.”

  “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.

&nbs
p; “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.”