I sat down at a table and Chelle dropped a stack of paper next to a pile of envelopes. She gave me an encouraging smile. “Go to town. Tri fold for the fliers, stuff and seal. Don’t get a paper cut, we don’t have any medical coverage.” Cracking up at her own joke, she returned to her own desk and computer.
I picked up a flier and began folding. So far, this was looking like my most boring assignment yet.
My first few days at Remington campaign central were quiet. The same people were there, doing the same things. I listened to their thoughts, and it made me want to sleep. Nobody thought about Helene Gamble or even Nick Massler. Heck, most of them didn’t even think about John Remington.
I had been there a week, volunteering Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, when Ben Ryan visited the first time. He blew through the glass front door like a hurricane, wild and dynamic. His mind was loud, and I nearly winced as he approached me.
“Hey, everyone, good to see you all working so hard! John’s going to be very pleased. I can tell you I am. Chelle here keeps me posted on everything you’re doing. You guys are gangbusters!” He beamed at us as though he expected a standing ovation. Instead, we all sat, looking at him, waiting for the next wave of energy.
He was tall, and his dark hair was buzzed short and tinged with gray. His gray suit was clearly a superior cut; he wore it well, and he knew it. There was something about his eyes that made me uneasy. The confused noise in his mind made it nearly impossible to get a good read on his thoughts.
“Chelle, you want to introduce me around? Let me meet the team?” Chelle stepped forward, her dislike hidden neatly behind a pleasant expression even as her inner monologue churned.
I watched her move through the room, leading Ben. They stopped at each desk and Ben made pleasant conversation with each person. I kept a surreptitiously close eye on them, trying to zero in on Ben’s thoughts. I picked up an image here and there, a few random opinions on the people he was meeting, but nothing concrete.
There were a few more volunteers there that day, and I was the last chair at the table. Chelle smiled tightly.
“Ben, this is Tasmyn. She’s a volunteer from your alma mater. Tas, Ben Ryan. You’ve heard enough about him, haven’t you?”
I glanced up, smiling automatically, and extended my hand. Ben hesitated only a fraction of a second before he gripped it.
“Ah, Perriman, huh? How do you like it? Great school, right? What are you, a junior?”
“Freshman, actually,” I answered, attempting to focus on his mind while our hands were still touching. It sometimes helped to have that contact, but not in this case.
“Ah, great, so you have your whole time there ahead of you! Awesome. And you’re into politics, huh? Going to help us take John to the big S?”
It took me a minute to follow his words, preoccupied as I was with his thoughts. “Oh, the Senate, yes. I just thought it would be a good way to get my feet wet, maybe get involved a little. Thanks for the opportunity.”
“Hey, no, thank you—you’re the one driving out here and giving up your free time. Not much fun right now, I understand, a lot of busy work, but you make sure you come back next year, when we’re in the thick of it. This place’ll be hopping, won’t it, Chelle?”
Startled from her own distraction, Chelle jumped a little. “Oh, yeah, totally. Crazy.”
“Okay, well, nice to meet you, and if there’s anything we can do to make things easier, any kind of referral or anything you need, you just say the word.” He moved on, leaving me behind and going into the small office in the back. He shut the door behind him without another word to Chelle or me.
She blew out a breath and ran a hand through her short blonde hair. “So that was Ben. Don’t worry, he doesn’t come down much. And he doesn’t stay long. I don’t know what John sees in him. . .” She let her voice trail off, remembering she was speaking to me. “Sorry. He just rubs me the wrong way sometimes. He’s good at his job, and that’s why John keeps him around.”
I smiled in acknowledgement of both her words and what I could hear behind them, even without any special abilities. “When is John coming back from DC? Does he come in often?” It seemed to me that being here was a waste of my time until the congressman was physically in the building. No one in the campaign office had anything to do with committing a murder, I was almost positive. I’d spent over a week scanning them all, and even when Emma introduced the idea of Helene Gamble into their minds, there was no reaction at all.
“Any day now. The session is over, and he was just tying up some loose ends.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” I said.
Chelle winked at me. “You’ll like him. He’s nothing like Ben.”
As Chelle walked away, I cast a glance over to Emma, wondering what she thought of Ben Ryan. Her face was inscrutable, and nothing was coming from her mind.
John Remington did in fact appear at campaign headquarters the following week. Unlike Ben Ryan, he slipped in unobtrusively, arriving in the midst of one of our rare busy afternoons. We were gearing up for a big phone canvassing, and all the volunteers were on hand.
I heard the door open, but engrossed in my list of telephone numbers, I didn’t even look up until I heard one of the admins exclaim in surprise.
“Congressman Remington! Oh my gosh!”
Everyone turned at once, and the man in the doorway laughed.
“I always did know how to halt all conversation in the room! Good to see you, everyone.”
Chelle bustled forward. “John! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in today?”
He chuckled and folded her into a hug. “I like to keep you guessing, you know that! Nah, actually I didn’t know I was until I got up this morning, and then I thought, why not? Mariana was coming into town to have her hair done, so I dropped her off and just stopped by.”
I watched the two of them curiously. John Remington was nothing like I had expected. He had graying dark blonde hair, warm brown eyes and an easy manner. His aura was one of ease and warmth, and I could hear his mind with relative ease.
Quiet here now, look at them all working! More people to meet. Chelle keeps things running here, she’s a gem.
Just as she had with Ben, Chelle led Congressman Remington through the room. All of the hired workers except Emma and some of the volunteers knew him already, so there was a good deal of catching up, asking about spouses and children and other news. By the time he made it to my group working at the central table, I could tell he was wearing down. Instead of greeting us individually, he smiled and gave us a group wave.
“How are y’all doing? I appreciate your hard work. Chelle tells me some of you are here from the college?” He scanned our faces expectantly.
A few of us raised our hands. Cathryn had recruited a couple of other volunteers from Perriman so that I didn’t stand out as the only one there.
“Well, that’s fine.” Rubbing his hands together, Congressman Remington beamed. “I think I’ll just sit down and join you here for a minute, if you don’t mind.” He sank into a chair, and I heard his sigh of relief.
He struck up small talk with the others around us, and I used the opportunity to sink deeper into his mind. It was calm and quiet place, and he was easy to read.
Good kids. . .God, am I tired. . .keep the eyes open, be interested, listen to them, hear them. Conference call at six. . meet with Ben at dinner. . .pay attention. Engage them. . .
“So where are you all from? Right around here?” He fastened those brown eyes on me. “You’ve been quiet down there, Miss. . .I’m sorry, what was your name? I’m so dang tired, I’m forgetting everything.”
“It’s Tasmyn Vaughan,” I said. “That’s okay, I can’t believe you can remember all the names you do.”
He laughed. “Politics, you know. You practically have to be a mind reader!”
I forced an answering smile, but my stomach lurched. It was just a chance comment; he couldn’t know anything. “I guess so.”
/>
“Where did you say you were from, Miss Vaughan?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t sure what I should say. Given John Remington’s history with Nick Massler, my hometown would not be unfamiliar to him. But I couldn’t very well lie. I’d already told others where I lived. And it didn’t escape me that this might be just the push the good congressman needed to think about his former friend. . .and maybe even murder.
“I moved around quite a bit growing up, but my family settled in King a few years ago. That’s home now.”
And there it was. That flash, that recognition and a flare of uneasiness. It showed on his face as only the slightest twitch near his eye, but the peace of his thoughts was shattered.
King, that damned place. Why is she here? What does it mean? Nick. . .no connection. Coincidence.
“King. . .really. Well, I haven’t been down that way in years. I had a friend who lived there for a time.” All the while that he spoke, the smile stayed firmly in place.
“It’s a fascinating place,” I answered. Our eyes held level, and to his credit, Remington didn’t look away.
“That it is,” he agreed. “Quite a history.” He finally glanced back at Chelle. “Have you been there?”
She shook her head, looking slightly mystified at the conversation’s turn. Remington nodded. Standing, he clapped her on the shoulder.
“You should try to go down there one day, check it out. Intriguing town.” He stifled a yawn and checked his watch. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a tiring few days, and I have full evening ahead. I’m going to pick up the wife and head home.”
There was a buzz in the office for an hour after the Congressman left. The other volunteers were almost giddy in their admiration. I forced a smile and played along. As much as I liked him, I couldn’t help but think the Honorable John Remington was hiding something. I hoped it wasn’t murder.
The biggest issue I faced in the first few weeks of working at the Remington campaign headquarters was boredom. The only minds I heard were Chelle’s and the other workers, occasional volunteers and sometimes, Ben Ryan. I didn’t like it when he came in; whether it was a component of his thought process or his personality, the confusion and noise gave me a headache.
The congressman popped his head now and then, but I noticed he gave me a wide berth. I reminded him of King, and of Nick Massler, and the association was not pleasant.
I dashed into the headquarters on one rainy Wednesday afternoon, shaking drops off the hood of my jacket. As soon as I set foot inside, I heard both Ben and the congressman. They were back in the office, so I couldn’t see them, but they were having an intense discussion that was broadcasting loudly.
Emma caught my eye as I hung up my slicker. Good, I thought you’d never get here, she messaged me mentally. Remington and Ryan both on the premises. Might be a good time to hear something.
I nodded slightly and sat down at my normal spot. Chelle was on the computer, but I could tell from her thoughts that she was distracted too, worried about what was going on in the office. I smiled as I called over to her.
“Anything particular you have for me today, Chelle?”
She glanced at me, frowning, as though she couldn’t quite place me. “Oh, Tasmyn. Um, just keep working on that email database, okay? Confirm addresses, make sure you’re linking the phone numbers. Thanks.”
I turned on the computer and began the mindless task. It was perfect work for keeping my ear on the conversation in the other room.
If Nick gets into the race, I’m screwed. Got to keep him out of it. What I did. . .do I owe it to him. . .
That was the congressman; I recognized the calm that was his mind. My eyes glued unseeing to the screen in front of me, I probed deeper into that calm so that I could hear both sides of the conversation.
John, you got to be ruthless. If Nick Massler runs for senate, you’re going to have an uphill battle. That was Ben.
But his past. . .won’t that be enough to keep him down?
Not anymore. It’s far enough behind him that now he has the sympathy vote. People will only remember he raised his daughter on his own, when his wife got sick. They won’t remember any of the gory details.
A mix of angst and guilt sputtered through Remington’s mind. I focused more. . .was I about to hear a confession?
You leave it me, John. I can take care of things with Massler. You keep your nose clean.
Remington didn’t answer, but I heard him thinking. Too late for that. What I did to Nick. . .it’s too late to be clean. I’m guilty. . .more than you know, Ben.
My heart pounded. Those were damning words. I glanced up at Emma, who raised a questioning eyebrow. Did you hear something?
I closed my eyes slowly, one verifying blink. Emma sucked in a breath and nodded so slightly that it was the merest of head bobs.
The door to the back office flew open, making me jump. Ben strode out and left the building without looking at or talking to any of us. John trailed in his wake. He attempted a smile and cleared his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt, I know you’re all working. But the wife will have my head if I don’t make this announcement. We’re having a little social evening Friday, just cocktails for those old enough to partake--” he grinned in the general direction of the volunteer table—“and all those fun little finger foods the ladies like to make. We hope you’ll join us. Just a thank you for the time you’ve already given and the work we know you’re going to do!” He laughed, and nearly everyone joined him.
“Chelle has our address, for those of you who need it. Seven o’clock, and it’s not black tie, of course, but try to dress up a little. Y’all clean up nice, so I’m not concerned.” He gazed around at all of us, and I knew I wasn’t the only one in the room who noticed the worry lines etched deeply around his eyes. He gave us a parting wave, grabbed an overcoat from the hooks near the door and slipped out.
I wasn’t a huge fan of the social evening—read: boring cocktail party—but I knew in this instance, it might be vital to my mission.
So when my hours were over, I drove right to Michael’s dorm. The rain had stopped, but a light mist still hung in the air. I shivered as I ran to the building and up the stairs.
Charlie was sitting on the sofa watching television when I knocked and then used my key to open the door.
“Hey, Tasmyn.” His eyes never left the screen. “Michael’s in his room.”
“Thanks.” I slipped out of my jacket and laid it over a kitchen chair.
Charlie looked up. “Are you cooking tonight?” The eagerness in his voice was really pathetic, and I laughed.
“Do you have anything for me to cook with?” I teased. I had a made a few meals for the three of us in their tiny suite kitchen, and Charlie lived in constant hope that it would become a regular habit, in spite of the fact—or maybe because--there was never anything beyond milk, soda and candy in their fridge.
His face fell. “Orange juice.” His eyes lit up. “Oh! Michael bought eggs this week.”
I shook my head. “Let me talk with him a little bit, and then I’ll see what I can do.”
Michael was stretched out on his bed, books spread around him. He smiled up at me as I came in.
“Hey, beautiful. Did I hear Charlie trying to con you into cooking?”
I flopped down next to him, careful to avoid the books. “Yeah. He must think I’m a miracle worker. Eggs and orange juice. . .transformed into a gourmet meal.”
Michael snagged my hand and tugged me closer. “Well, you do have special gifts.”
I kissed his jaw. “Trust me, this isn’t one of them.”
He grabbed my chin for better access to my mouth. “Want to work on some of your other talents? You know, the not-bursting-into-flames when I kiss you gift?”
Giggling against his mouth, I shifted away just enough to see his face. “In a little bit. I wanted to ask you about something first.”
“Mmm-hmmm. . .” M
ichael wasn’t easily distracted.
“Remember that botany party I went to with you a few months back? The one where I just had to show up and look pretty?”
“Oh, the one where you smashed the candy dish?”
I made a face. “Well, if that’s all you remember from that night. . .”
Michael laughed. “You always make an impression. Yes, I remember it. What’s the point?”
I needed to handle this delicately. Telling him that I was volunteering for Remington wasn’t breaking my vow of silence about this mission, and it was necessary. I told myself I’d deal with Cathryn later and plunged ahead.
“Part of my assignment for Carruthers right now is working for the John Remington election campaign. He invited all of us to a cocktail party on Friday, and I want you to go with me.”
Michael frowned. “John Remington? That name sounds familiar.”
I hurried to subvert that line of thought. I didn’t want him to connect Remington to Nick Massler. “Well, yeah, he’s the congressman from this district. His commercials are on TV all the time. So will you go with me?”
He stretched out. “I guess so. I might need a little motivation, though. . .” His eyes invited me closer and his thoughts became louder and clearer.
“What about dinner?” I murmured into his ear as his hands played over my back.
“Take out,” he said, and then neither of us spoke for a long time.
Down time was quickly becoming a rare luxury in my life. I dashed from classes to campaign headquarters, with occasional stops at Harper Creek to make reports.
On Thursday before the Congressman’s party, I made a special trip up there to check in with Zoe and type in a quick report on the computer that was approved for this mission. I wanted to make sure I explained why Michael would be accompanying me the next night. The last thing I needed was Cathryn harassing me.
Fee was just coming in as I was getting ready to leave. I didn’t see much of her these days, and I gave her a quick hug in greeting.
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