“No, absolutely not. I thought you knew what happened. You were talking as if you did. You seem to know a lot about everything else, however I see they didn’t tell you what happened on the beach.”
“You tell me. Then I can help you. I don’t want to just take what I know, together with all my guesses and dump it on the desk of the state attorney.”
“You’re here just fishing around and guessing. I’m not going to say any more. I’ve already told you too much. You think I’m foolish? You expect me to tell you why I’m being blackmailed? I can’t risk that. I must be careful. The less you know the less threat you are. Somehow, I’ll get through this. I think you should probably leave...never come back.”
“I know more than you think and there’s more I haven’t told you. So what are you going to do? Wait until the police knock on your door?”
He stood from his desk, stared at her for a moment, and then sat again. In a low voice he sighed, “I can’t do that either.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Obviously, Toby was blackmailing him. The image of Toby on that beach with the dead body was clear in her mind. The situations must be connected. She decided to run another bluff. “Toby admitted he was on the beach. He told me you were there. He blackmailed you because of what happened.” That stretched what she knew, but from the look on his face, she hit it. He was silent offering no denial, so she went on, “The best thing for you to do is make known what happened. Have your people put some kind of spin on it. Get out in front of it and come clean before it all blows up. Your problems didn’t die with Toby. If you come forward now, Abby will have nothing to blackmail you with. The blackmail will stop and you can get back to normal.”
“Normal might not ever happen again. I’m not certain how you’re in any position to help me. And I’d still have to worry about the police.”
“I brought the police report with me. No foul play detected before death. Death by asphyxiation, yahta, yahta. They aren’t even looking for you, Freddy. Go get yourself disconnected from all this. I need to know what happened on the beach that night. You and Toby were there. Who else? Why were you there? Tell me the story.”
“I don’t think I should tell you. Anyway, if I did, the entire story would be rather long.”
“For a long story I’m going to need a cup of coffee.”
He buzzed Mrs. Wolff for coffee. “And if I tell you, you’re going to set up a quiet meeting for me and the police, no media. Agreed?”
She nodded. “There are ways you can spin it. Perhaps you’ve been busy with important duties on Capitol Hill. You didn’t realize the matter was unsettled. You want to cooperate in any way you can.”
“That sounds good, Miss Reid. Would you like a job in Washington?”
“Under the circumstances let’s go with first names. I’m Sandy, okay?”
“Okay. I suppose it might be an appropriate way for me to come forward. If I don’t trust you then what?”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to make guesses and they might be more embarrassing than the truth. Did you know that woman? What brought you there? Who else was there? What happened on the beach that night, Freddy?”
Mrs. Wolfe knocked, entered, and placed a carafe and coffee service on a side table. She held an impolite stare at Sandy long enough to transmit her displeasure at having her office routine upset. The incompatibility of the staid congressman who kept his suit jacket buttoned even at home, and the impudent tousle-haired young woman who parked her undersized vehicle in front of the entrance, was intolerable. Obviously, her boss was in distress and not in command of whatever was going on. When she left, Sandy pictured her listening with her ear to the door.
He didn’t make a move so Sandy helped herself to a cup and offered one to him. He seemed frozen and didn’t respond.
“What happened, Freddy?”
He tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling as though looking for guidance. Finally he said, “Okay, I’ve no choice but to trust you...I hope I can remember everything she told me. I first noticed the woman at a convenience store when I exited from I-95 just south of Richmond, Virginia...I can’t tell you all this. It’s embarrassing.”
“Let me help you out on the embarrassing part. The woman turned you on and you wanted to screw her.”
“Good Lord, is that how I’m supposed to talk to you?”
“Just a wild guess. I pretty much hit it, didn’t I?”
“Well, I suppose some people might assume that, however there’s much more to it than just that. As embarrassing as it is, I must explain all that was in my mind so you’ll understand.”
“Go ahead, Freddy. Lay it all on me. The good, the bad, and the weird. I want to hear it all. If I start to feel as though I’m watching an R-rated movie with my mother, I’ll stop you.”
“Okay, you asked for it. Here goes.” He shifted in his chair, crossed his legs, and leaned back. “I hope I don’t regret telling you this.”
Chapter Nineteen
It all started last November. I first noticed the woman at a convenience store when I exited from I-95 just south of Richmond shortly before noon. Congress had adjourned for the holidays and I was driving back home here to Florida. Normally, I fly back and forth, but with Congress in recess for two months, I wanted that car in Florida for the holidays.
This remarkable looking woman was immediately behind me in the cashier line. Women usually protect their space when queued with men. I sensed she stood closer to me than necessary. In fact, I could detect her perfume, which normally sets me off. Her fragrance was like the musky scent of fall leaves and was unobjectionable.
Unexpectedly, she spoke to me. I turned and was a bit overwhelmed as she was tall and I had to look up into her eyes. She wore all that exaggerated dark eye makeup, which I find unpleasant, and a mass of long curly-brown hair surrounded her face. Admittedly, it wasn’t unpleasant to have those smoky eyes focused intensely on me. She held her gaze unnecessarily long, as though transferring energy to me from some inner source.
In the drab confines of that convenience store, her appearance was indeed dramatic. Too extraordinary by far for someone standing in a service station in broad daylight. We exchanged a few routine words about how those dreary little stores all appeared the same inside.
A few minutes later, I saw her outside and could judge her better from a distance. Trim body, long legs, and over six foot in those wedge-heeled shoes. The shoes, with a black and white zebra design, didn’t harmonize with anything. I guess you can buy any puerile thing these days. She had struck a pose standing relaxed with her weight on one leg and her hip cocked out in case anyone had failed to notice her exceptional shape. I thought she was dressed rather cheaply, but she certainly knew how to wear it all. I tell you, that woman did not intend to be anonymous when she dressed that morning.
She noticed me looking her way. She swung her black leather handbag onto her shoulder and walked over placing one foot precisely in front of the other as though crossing a stage. She had noticed my Florida plate, she said, and guessed I was heading south. Could I possibly give her a lift back to her disabled car just down the highway? The station was sending out a tow truck when it returned from another call, but she preferred to wait with her car. She worried about it being out there on the highway. Besides, she didn’t want to ride with some greasy driver and sit on the greasy seat in his greasy truck.
Of course, I wondered about her since I’m judicious by nature. No woman with her appearance looks harmless, if you know what I mean. I’d never pick up a common hitchhiker. After all, if those people had managed their money properly they wouldn’t be without an adequate vehicle and out in the world bothering decent folks. They botch up their lives and then expect the rest of us to carry them along. It was different with this troubled woman. She was in distress with her car disabled through no fault of her own. I’d be giving her a courtesy lift for a few miles not even out of my way.
She neatly preempted my concern about h
er danger to me by saying she guessed I wouldn’t be a threat to her. That neat little reversal disarmed me. She took another step closer, brought those made-up eyes and all that curly hair uncomfortably close to my face, and flashed an enticing smile that had a thousand years of practice behind it. Cleo must have grinned at Tony that way. I said sure I’d give her a lift to her car, without thinking anything more about it.
We couldn’t have driven more than five miles from the service station and I was chatting away politely about the weather. She didn’t respond. I glanced over and she was asleep. She had immediately dozed off, settling against the door with her head hard on the window and her curly hair falling partially across her face.
I could now take an incautious look at her. She might have been twenty-five or thirty-five—who can tell. She’d made her face special with all that dark stuff around her eyes, making it difficult to realize that her face was in fact rather plain. Eyes too close together. A nose Modigliani would love, yet a bit too long for my way of thinking.
Not likely I could miss her disabled car along the shoulder at such a slow speed, but she’s the one who should have been looking out. I reached over and nudged her arm gently. “Miss, I don’t even know what kind of car you have. What are we looking for?”
She squinted over at me through one makeup-laden eye without moving her head. “You’ll see it.” She closed the eye.
“Would it be on the other side? Were you going north when your car stopped?”
Silence. Then without opening her eyes. “I guess I was going north.”
“Well, damn. I was watching on this side I might have missed it on the northbound side.”
“Then I was going south.”
Her nonchalance annoyed me. “Look, Miss, it’s your car. You’re the one who asked for a lift. You could’ve just waited and ridden out here with the tow truck.”
She opened both eyes to look at me and held her gaze right into my eyes for about five seconds. She glanced down and quickly back up at me. She did a little bat thing with her eyes and smiled. “I’m sorry, and you’re being so nice to me.”
I was sorry I’d been sharp with her. “Okay, no problem. I just hope I haven’t already passed it. I’d have to turn around and all that.”
“You haven’t passed it.”
I drove on another five miles or so. This was getting ridiculous. “I must have passed it. How did you get to the service station?”
Her eyes remained closed. “I walked.”
“No way you walked ten miles. A woman looking as you do, cars in both directions would have piled up before you took two steps.”
She opened one eye again just long enough to squint down at her skirt and make a perfunctory move to adjust it. She also reached down, touched her black shoulder handbag resting in front of her on the floor, and clamped it tightly with her feet.
She said, “Could you speed up? You’re really dragging.”
Then it finally sunk in. “There is no car, is there?”
After a moment. “No car,” she confirmed quietly.
I’d been had and felt foolish. I told her I was exiting at the next opportunity, and she could try her disabled car routine on the next sucker. That brought her up. She pleaded she was sorry, she was stranded back there, she was desperate. Did she think I was an idiot? She was a hitchhiker...or worse. She had no luggage or anything.
She gave me an explanation that sounded like the start of another fairy tale. She’d been ripped off. She’d answered a share-the-ride ad in the paper, and left Baltimore that morning with a woman she didn’t really know. She gave her fifty bucks for gas and the woman agreed to take her as far as Jacksonville, Florida.
“I went in to use the crummy restroom back there,” she said. “When I came out the bitch was gone. Can you beat that? Gone, along with my suitcase full of new Florida-style clothes and the very nice coat I was wearing. That woman better hope she never meets me again.”
I didn’t believe her. Her prevarication should have been a strong warning to me. “Sorry to hear that, but still....”
“I had plenty of chances for a ride. I didn’t like the looks of the guys. A woman has to be careful. Getting in a car with the wrong man and all that. I waited for someone decent looking like you. You seemed nice and I figured you’d go along with it. But I understand. Just let me out somewhere safe. I’ll wait for another gentleman.”
Notice how she shrewdly called me a gentleman? This was a clever woman. I said, “You shouldn’t be alone on the highway at all. When I exit, we’ll look for a place you can catch a bus. You’ve money for bus fare?”
“Hey! I’m not a homeless bag lady, mister. Don’t treat me like one. Of course, I have money however I never ride buses.”
This from the woman who had conned me into a ride. She was angry so I apologized. She settled down immediately and we rode on in silence until she said, “You know it’s a long way to Florida. I could be good company.”
She wanted to get back on my good side. She knew I had misgivings. Yet she could be a nice complement to the trip to pass the time. I supposed I could stand having her along. I’d have to watch her, though. She wasn’t above deceit considering that fictitious car and ripped off story. I could always put her out. I decided to relax. “I’m Freddy.”
“Betty Jo, nice to meet you.”
As I approached the next exit neither of us said anything. I cruised on by, so I supposed that was tacit acceptance of our travel arrangement. “Betty Jo and Freddy,” I said aloud making it sound friendly.
“I want to pay you something for the gas.”
“It’s nothing. I’m making the trip anyway.” I asked if she lived in Jacksonville. No, Fort Lauderdale. I didn’t tell her I was going almost that far. It might sound like a commitment. My Florida residence was an hour north of Fort Lauderdale in Jensen Beach. My wife, Ellen, was down there waiting to pull me knee-deep into nonstop holiday dinners, parties, and other boring affairs. None of which I cared a fig for. DC would be quiet. I’d prefer to spend the holidays in my office there on Capitol Hill working on the amendments to the energy legislation I’d be presenting to the committee in February.
There’s a simple explanation of how a shy introvert like me could succeed as a politician. My father had held the congressional seat I now hold for a quarter-century. I was barely out of law school when he died unexpectedly of a stroke. I ran for his seat and won easily with the sympathy vote. Half the voters thought they were still voting for my father. The name recognition factor has kept me in office without much campaigning ever since.
My wife would be surprised if she knew a young woman like Betty Jo was sitting beside me in the front seat of our car. Not because she’d think I was up to something, but because she knew I was the least likely man on earth to even speak to a strange woman. I could never walk up and say, “Hi.” I couldn’t survive whatever came next.
I started thinking back to her ‘good company’ remark. If she had indeed meant it to be suggestive, I’d have to decide if I had the daring to get involved with a woman of that sort. My imagination had taken over and I had to be certain. I said something very forward that I immediately regretted, “You say you’ll be very good company. What does that mean?”
That was nervy of me. I wished I hadn’t said it. Remember, I didn’t know what manner of woman she was, although I suppose it was obvious. Her out hitchhiking on the highway. An evocative answer wouldn’t change anything because I had no desire to get involved with her. It would just be amusing to learn of her intentions and limitations. I’d never contemplated such an encounter before. It’s risky when someone of importance starts mucking around with a questionable woman. Too late to take the words back.
“Correction, Freddy, I merely said good company. You sweetened it up with very good company.”
Embarrassing. I must have sounded juvenile. Like some witless bore at a party trying to turn everyone’s words into an off-color double entendre. Now she must think I’m just anot
her predatory male. Should have kept my mouth shut. Should never have let her into the car in the first place. However, she didn’t seem to make much more of it.
There I was comfortably speeding along with Betty Jo. I‘d decided she was harmless, but I’d keep my options open. I might be letting her out at any time. It might become uncomfortable, as I didn’t know how to engage her in conversation. Legislation was the only subject I knew much about, and I didn’t want to talk politics with her. In fact, I didn’t care for her to know I was a member of Congress. She might try to take advantage of me in some manner.
After another hour, the silence became awkward. I asked, “What do you do in Baltimore?” Just making conversation, it was of no matter to me.
She laughed. “Librarian.”
“I’m surprised. I figured you more for a teacher.” That was a stretch; I figured her more for a waitress. “I’ll bet you’re one of those highly organized types who can recite the Dewey Decimal System backwards.”
“The what?”
I glanced over. “Okay, truthfully what do you do?”
“I’m joking. I’m not really a librarian, but I play one in my act. I take off my glasses, shake my hair loose, and turn into a beautiful swan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m a stripper.”
“A what?”
“A stripper.”
“Oh! I didn’t expect that.” I really didn’t. So she was one of those women. Interesting. But not the type of person I wanted in my car. When we stopped, I’d have to take a closer look at her. Do you know what I mean? Like school kids when they hear that some girl in class lost her virginity the night before. Everyone wants to stare at her to see if she looks any different. Have you ever glanced at a painting, Sandy, and walked on? Someone then explains it’s not just another painting. It’s exceptional, there are elements unseen and unimagined. You’d go back for a second look.
This woman riding in my car tells me she prances around naked for a living. I had to look at her again. When I did, I indeed saw a different woman sitting there. “So, you dance nude,” was the best I could bring myself to say.
The Price of Candy Page 14