A coil of tension in Adam’s chest relaxed like a spring at rest. “So…who?”
Samantha shook her head.
“Well, tell us, why don’t you?” Judging by his impatience, Tommy’s mood had crashed, probably for the same reason that Sam had avoided looking at him since he walked up.
“Kellie Tate,” Sam said quietly, her eyes on Adam’s face.
Along with Phoebe and Tommy, Adam stood silent for a few seconds, staring at Samantha Pettit. “The m-mayor’s wife,” he said finally.
“That’s right. Her idea, her plan, her execution.”
“How do you know this?”
“I heard Curtis Tate talking to LaRue. No secrets between them.”
Tommy muttered a string of words that should have gotten him kicked out of the party. Then he glared at Adam again. “You want to play fair. You think the ideas matter. And this is the kind of crap you’re up against.” His gaze moved to Sam. “And you…you’ve spent months tearing down a good man when you should’ve been moving heaven and earth to get the dirt on the scum who think elections are won with lies.” Shaking his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turned on his heel and left them, his slouch more obvious than usual.
“Well,” Phoebe said quietly, “what are we going to do about this information? Do we want to use it? Can we?”
Samantha looked at Adam, and he shrugged. “Hearsay d-doesn’t m-make a great offense,” he said. “I’m not ready to use gossip as a c-campaign tool.”
“Think about it,” Samantha advised. “If you wait until they attack, you might lose altogether.”
When he was alone again with Phoebe, Adam met her gaze with his own. “What do you think?”
“I’m glad it wasn’t your mother.”
He laughed, in exasperation and in relief. “You’re too generous.” Then he dragged in a deep breath. “But I’m g-glad, too.”
“As for the campaign…” She stood beside him, looking out over the vista of his mother’s achievement, The Stargazer Fundraiser. “If you publish the news, you might win due to the voters’ revulsion.”
“M-might is the word. S-sometimes stuff like this doesn’t affect the election one way or the other.”
“Without a doubt, though, you’ll reveal what kind of person Kellie Tate is, and her husband—the kind who would cheat to win. And while many of the people in town are aware of the Tates’ true natures, life is easier if they ignore it.”
“And so…?”
Phoebe turned to face him, her gray gaze serious, unflinching. “I would keep the information quiet. You’re trying to improve the city, trying to benefit the community. I don’t think exposing the personal shortcomings of the current mayor will accomplish your goal.”
“That might mean I lose the election.”
“Do you want to win at the expense of the town itself? And, even more important, do you want to win so badly that you’ll become the person you’re trying to defeat?”
Grinning, Adam took her hands and brought them to his lips, kissing each in turn. “That’s the question. And the answer is…no.” He pulled her close and set his arms around her, took the kisses she offered until they were both a little drunk with desire. “We could dance,” he whispered over her ear. “Or we could leave and find a place to be alone.”
“Both,” she told him. “First we dance. Then we leave.”
“And eat,” Adam added. “I’m starved.”
“Eat then dance,” Phoebe agreed, and led him back into the crowd. She returned the wink he’d given earlier. “And then…”
CYNTHIA COULD FEEL HER heart pound in anticipation as the climax of the fundraiser approached. The raffle winners had been announced throughout the evening, and only the ticket claiming the car remained to be drawn.
The band played a fanfare, followed by a drumroll, and Kellie Tate reached into the bin for that last ticket. She held it high in the air and made her way through the tables and the crowd on the dance floor to the stage. Arriving at the microphone, she signaled for quiet and then smiled widely. “Here we have the last raffle prize of the evening, ladies and gentlemen, the grand-prize winner of that beautiful automobile donated by Dalrymple Cars of New Skye. Are you ready?” A round of applause answered the question. “Very well, then. The winner of the brand-new sports car is…” She looked at the ticket and gasped. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. The name on the ticket is…Curtis Tate. Curtis, honey, you won the car!”
A dull silence smothered the crowd. No one moved, no one spoke; even the caterer’s workers stood motionless. Cynthia felt a cold wave creep through her body. From all corners of the gathering, her committee members looked to her, their gazes begging her to salvage the situation.
She stepped onto the stage and went to stand beside Kellie. “What a wonderful surprise,” she said, forcing her voice to sound normal. “Luck favors the lucky, doesn’t it? And our illustrious mayor is certainly among the fortunate tonight. Please, Mr. Mayor, do join us.”
Red-faced, tugging at his bow tie, Curtis Tate stepped into place beside his wife at the microphone. “I’m flabbergasted,” he admitted. “I had no expectation of winning—just wanted to help the cause by purchasing some tickets.”
“Twenty of ’em,” a voice from the back of the dance floor shouted. “That’s one way to guarantee yourself a prize.”
“Now, now.” Cynthia took the microphone back. “There are more than twenty tickets left in the hopper. Let us all wish the Tates much pleasure from their new car.” She clapped her hands, but the response from the audience was woefully apathetic.
The mayor pulled the microphone in his direction. “As long as we’re talking about luck, I’d like to point out to the citizens of this town what great good fortune we have in calling Mrs. Cynthia DeVries a citizen.” That round of applause was a bit stronger, thank God. “This fundraiser would never have happened without her efforts. It was her idea and she’s spearheaded the effort from first to last. The New Skye Botanical Gardens will benefit tremendously from her dedication and her skills.”
This time, the crowd applauded enthusiastically. “And so,” Curtis Tate said, reaching into the breast pocket of his dinner jacket, “I would like to present a special gift to Mrs. DeVries and to the Botanical Gardens. I have here a check from the city, already signed by the treasurer. All I have to do is fill in the amount—an amount equal to the total sum of all the money raised here tonight. How’s that? What do you think?”
The crowd cheered, and Cynthia smiled, savoring her triumph. Power didn’t necessarily depend on elections or appointed office, on business acumen, or even on being a man. A woman could acquire power in her own sphere, given the aptitude and the drive.
Kellie edged her husband away from the microphone. “Curtis and I would like to express our gratitude to Mrs. DeVries for everything she’s done for the gardens, for this city, for us personally. Her support of our reelection campaign means so much more than mere money….”
The mayor’s hand tightened on his wife’s arm. Her voice broke, stopped.
This wasn’t just silence, this was a wave of shock that could be seen passing across the crowd. Unerringly, Cynthia found her gaze locked with her son’s, though she hadn’t until that moment known where he stood. Adam’s face revealed nothing of his thoughts, unless you were his mother, unless you’d watched him grow from a baby to a little boy to a man, unless you’d seen that same recognition of betrayal over and over again in his blue eyes.
His father stood beside him. For the first time ever, Cynthia dreaded looking into Preston’s face. She found everything she’d expected—outrage, confusion, disappointment. He never argued with her, never disputed her plans or questioned her motives. But she had never before so thoroughly betrayed one of their children. And this time, she doubted even the best of reasons would be good enough.
All she could do was end the travesty as quickly as possible. At the microphone once again, she said, simply, “Let’s all go back to enjoying t
he evening,” and then quickly slipped offstage.
She had no trouble penetrating the crush of people, because a path opened in front of her as friends and acquaintances drew aside to let her through. None of them spoke, though once she’d passed she heard the conversations start up.
Sooner than she wished, she stood in front of her husband, her son and Phoebe Moss. No one said a word for a long moment. Cynthia finally made the effort. “You look lovely,” she told the young woman. “That’s a wonderful dress.”
Her words broke the dam. “Am I to understand,” Preston said, in a tone she had never heard from him before, “that you contributed money to the mayor’s campaign?”
She met his gaze. “Yes.”
“How much did you give him?”
This answer was much harder. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Phoebe Moss gasped, and Adam winced.
Preston’s face only hardened. “Without telling me, you donated a significant sum to the campaign of my son’s opponent. Why?”
“For the same reasons I have opposed Adam’s foolish effort all along. And because the mayor agreed to match the funds from this event with city funds. I wanted to ensure his cooperation and benefit the garden.”
“Altruistic to the end.” Adam spoke in a rough, unsteady voice. “I suppose you want me to thank you for your service to the city.”
“The respect due your mother would be sufficient.”
“What about the respect due your husband?” Preston stepped forward and took hold of her wrist. “Or your son? What about some kind of acknowledgment that other people and their ideas, their goals, matter?”
“This is not the time nor place—”
“You’re damn right it’s not. We’re going home.”
She resisted his pull. “I cannot leave until the evening is over. This entire celebration is my responsibility.”
“I imagine the festivities will come to an end without your help.” Preston faced Adam. “I’m sorry, son. I should’ve paid more attention. I regret the embarrassment your mother has caused you, and the rest of the family.”
Cynthia desperately wanted to argue the point, wanted to defend herself against such an insult, and from her husband of all people. But his grip on her wrist would not be broken. All around them were curious onlookers, whispering to one another when they weren’t actively observing the scene. She could not bear to give them more to talk about by actively protesting.
There would be hell to pay, though, when she got Preston DeVries home alone.
PHOEBE COULD ONLY GUESS at the emotions behind Adam’s rigid face. She put a hand on his arm, like stone under her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”
He jumped, as if he’d been asleep. “N-not really surprising, is it? She’d d-do anything to g-get her way. I’ve known that for years.”
“At least the worst harm has already been done. And the Tates aren’t going to be very popular, once the news gets out.”
“And it will,” Samantha Pettit assured them as she approached. “I couldn’t keep this story quiet if I wanted to. Even Kellie Tate’s dad can’t squelch news that three hundred people have already heard. They’ve left the party, by the way.”
Adam nodded. “I’m thinking that sounds like a g-great idea.” Phoebe felt certain, however, that his mind was not on taking her home and making love all night.
Tommy stepped up beside Adam. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re making hay while the sun shines, so to speak. The time to capitalize on everybody else’s disaster is right now. Tonight. I want you talking to as many people as you can. You and Phoebe both.”
“C-Crawford, maybe it escaped your n-notice, but I just found out in front of a c-crowd of social and p-political p-piranhas that my mother would p-pay to have me lose this election. That makes this my d-disaster, too.”
“So you use your disaster. Build on it. You’ve got a chance to solidify yourself in the minds of these people as a noble figure, a man persevering in the face of intense opposition to accomplish something important for the community. JFK couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. Show them who you really are.”
Phoebe pressed her fingers against her lips, tempted to protest, to sway Adam’s decision with her own opinion. Tommy was such a manipulator that even honesty seemed sleazy in his grasp. He wanted Adam to behave with honor and generosity, not because those traits were a worthwhile goal in themselves, but as a means to an end. She hoped Adam would choose simply to walk away. With her.
Just for tonight, she pleaded silently. Acknowledge your worth as a man because of who you are, not what you can do for someone else.
But Adam nodded at Tommy, then turned to take her hand. “You d-don’t have to stay,” he said quietly, and bent to kiss her cheek. “If you want, you can take my truck and go back to my house. I’ll get a ride with Tommy when we’re done here.”
Numb to the core, Phoebe shook her head. “I’ll wait for you.”
His smile lacked its usual brilliance. “Thanks.” Following Tommy back into the crowd, he reminded her of a lone knight, heading off to fight the dragon with a broken lance as his only weapon.
“Stick with me.” Sam Pettit linked an arm through hers. “I’ve got a lot of people to talk to, and I’ll make sure they know the real story without you having to say a word.”
The rest of the night passed in a kind of kaleidoscopic haze. Voices came at her out of the darkness and then receded without her being certain of who it was and what they’d actually said. Tired, with aching feet and head and a sore heart, Phoebe struggled to keep her wits, to say the right thing or, at the very least, to avoid saying something wrong. She spoke with so many different people, she wasn’t sure whether or not she’d accomplished that goal.
Eventually, though, the crowd thinned. The music stopped; the band packed up and drove away. Adam and Tommy stayed to the bitter end, talking with the catering staff and the men who came to load tables and chairs on their truck. Samantha decided to do a story on the aftermath of such events, and went off with her photographer friend to interview the cleanup crew.
Phoebe sat on a bench by one of the flower beds, propped her elbows on her knees and put her chin on her hands. Tonight provided a glimpse of her future, she realized, if Adam won the election and they stayed together. Her life would resemble an unending carousel ride of public appearances, political successes and political catastrophes, with all of the seats on the ride occupied by people she didn’t necessarily like, and more of them trying to climb on at the same time as others fell off. She would always be concerned about the right clothes to wear, the right words to say, the right way to say them. Neglecting her animals, her job, herself, she would constantly struggle to meet the standards of the job. And in her failure to be what he wanted and needed, Adam would come to see her as her parents always had.
Just the thought shut down her ability to think, to plan. Phoebe wanted to go home. Alone.
And figure out how to get on with the rest of her life.
Alone.
WORKING THE CROWD, Tommy kept one eye on his candidate and one eye on Sam Pettit. Then, as the place cleared out, he watched Adam less and Sam more. That dress still stopped his heart, even though he knew the impression was deceptive. Just the thought of Sam Pettit’s smooth, pale skin under dark blue lace was enough to send his engine racing into the danger zone.
As usual, though, they were at odds. She wanted him to be “real.” Why couldn’t she just settle for entertaining?
“You’ve got your candidate working hard,” she commented, appearing suddenly beside him. “Are your chances better after tonight?”
He turned to face her. “Chances for what?”
She read him immediately, and her face lost its brittle smile. “I meant the election.”
“There’s more on the line than an election.”
“What brought about this stunning revelation?”
“You. In that dress.”
“It’s all about sex?”
Tommy sighed. “For once, could we not argue? No, it’s not about sex. But till we get the sex out of the way, I’m not gonna be able to think straight.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
She laughed but didn’t resist. “You’re such a romantic. What girl could refuse a seductive invitation like that?”
“I’ll show you seductive. When we get to my place.”
Then she did stop dead, at a curve on the path. “No. Now.” The kisses she showered on him were like fireworks falling on parched grass. Before he could pull back, they both swayed at the edge of insanity.
Panting, shivering with need, Tommy broke away. “I am not making love to you in the Botanical Gardens with the cleanup crew watching. Come on, Sam. We’ve put this off too long as it is.”
As usual, she got the last word. “Race you to the car!” Then she picked up the skirt of that incredible dress and ran.
Grinning, Tommy followed.
ADAM WAS BEGINNING TO wonder if Phoebe had taken his advice and left the party when, at, last he spotted her sitting alone on a garden bench, up the slope from the dance floor. He climbed toward her, not sure she’d even noticed him. Her focus seemed to be inward and her face was somber, as if she confronted some terrible loss.
“Phoebe?” He sat beside her. “Earth to Phoebe.”
She blinked and straightened up. “Hello, there. All finished?”
“Thank G-God. What are you p-pondering so d-deeply?”
“Oh…the campaign, I guess. These next two weeks will be the hardest.”
“You’re right, as usual.” He put his arm around her, pulled her against him, and was surprised when she hesitated a moment before yielding. “B-but we d-don’t have to think about that tonight.”
She made a visible effort to brighten her mood. “What shall we think about?” Adam whispered a suggestion in her ear and Phoebe gasped. “That’s quite a train of thought, Mr. DeVries. Would you care to elaborate?”
He glanced around the garden. “N-not right here, right n-now.”
Once inside the warmth of his home, though, with a strong door between them and the rest of the world, Phoebe turned to him with a sweet, wicked smile. “You were saying?”
The Last Honest Man Page 23