Deadly Rumors

by Jeanne Foguth

  There was a chorus of dissent.

  "I didn't think so. That is why, when Ramsey felt that he could not properly represent you, due to his health, I knew it was time to follow my family’s tradition and run for office." Several people clapped. She nodded to them, as she came back to the front of the stage. "I’ve come to believe that now is the time for mothers and future mothers to take up their share of the burden.”

  Kelsey would make a damn fine mother. Desire to begin such a tantalizing process intensified into rigidity. Doran’s hands clenched as he forced the thought away.

  The businesswomen stood and gave Kelsey a standing ovation. Red tinged her cheeks and she mouthed ‘thank you’. People at several other tables stood and clapped. Then more and more applauded, until noise echoed through the room. If someone had fired a gun, the report would be lost in the clamor. Kelsey simply stood on the edge of the dais, microphone in hand and smiled at each and every person, as if no one had ever considered killing her.

  Doran's jaws clenched. When she glanced at him, he gestured toward the lectern and mouthed, “It’s impossible to protect you, when you refuse to do anything sensible to shield yourself.” She wrinkled her nose at him in a playful fashion that conjured up romps between silken sheets, before she moved behind the podium's marginal safety, with a sensual grace that left him rock hard.

  When the clamor subsided, Kelsey finished her speech making short, insightful and sincere points. During the following question and answer session, Doran became convinced that Kelsey was pursuing the office because she felt it was the best way to make her corner of the world a better place. Since getting to know the real woman, instead of the one he'd created from his interpretation of rumors, gossip and misinterpretations, it felt as if his world had been turned upside down and morphed into a constant hard on.

  Later, as they walked down Beja Flora’s shadowed hall, heading to the elevator, Kelsey sighed. “I can’t believe how well it went tonight. Three standing ovations!” Her sigh sounded like an aphrodisiac and he was grateful that he’d worn a jacket that concealed more than the bulge of his handgun.

  Amazed by the positive acceptance and desperate to think with the head on his shoulders, Doran chuckled. " People don't pay hundreds of bucks a plate to boo."

  She gave him an odd look. "You do have a unique perspective."

  “Were you serious about wanting to push for legislation that made elected officials subject to the laws they passed?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll give you an example. Airline pilots and mechanics have to take random urine tests that ascertain if there are drugs or alcohol in their system. This legislation went through because people could get hurt if they were impaired while performing their job.” Doran nodded in agreement. “I believe that a legislator is equally liable when they cast their vote and they should also be subject to such a test.”

  “You’d accept that?” he asked.

  “I honestly believe big responsibility comes with a person giving as much as they ask of everyone else.”

  “Valid point,” he conceded. “Can I ask another question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “How come so many of your examples deal with the airlines?”

  She chuckled. “That would be my opinionated cousin’s fault. Kyle is an FAA inspector and is always telling me what’s wrong.” As they passed the den, a loud, angry baritone voice shouted something indistinguishable. Next, a soft placating male spoke. Kelsey stopped and stared at the door, a look of indecision on her face. Then, she raised her chin and opened the door wide enough to see a slice of navy and yellow striped chintz-covered sofa.

  “You need to calm down.” Doran recognized Ramsey’s voice. “This isn't the end of the world.”

  “Boy, you're nothing but a lily-livered wimp.”

  Kelsey touched his arm and leaned close to him. “You're hearing the great Calhoun MacLennan.” Each tiny sarcastic breath tickled his ear and raised his pulse. “My grandfather is the king of chauvinists.” Her expression mixed irritation with love.

  “It's not worth the loss,” Ramsey said.

  “That’s no excuse, boy.”

  “I meant it as an explanation.”

  Calhoun snorted with contempt. “That’s just a long word for excuse.” Something made a dull thump. “I might have known you’d turn out to be as big a disappointment to this family as your father.” Doran blinked in surprise. He’d always assumed the MacLennans had a strong familial alliance, yet Calhoun had virtually spat out the term ‘your father’. “Of course the pansy is hiding in the middle of some ocean with his two-bit wife,” Calhoun added.

  There was a long pause. “I’ll have you know that I’m proud to be like my father.” It sounded like Ramsey’s teeth were clenched.

  “Winston is nothing but a lily-livered wimp, who makes his money at other’s expense.” Something thudded twice.

  “Whereas your business – politics - was far superior because you earned your fortune at the voters expense.” Ramsey’s thinly veiled scorn deepened the color of Kelsey’s cheeks.

  "I never knew he felt like that," she whispered. "If I had, I would never have pushed him." Doran patted the fingers, which clutched his arm and tried to ignore the need throbbing a few inches lower.

  “That’s enough of your lip, boy.” There was a loud crack, which sounded like a whip.

  Kelsey jumped, colliding with his side. Reflexively, he grabbed her. Before he could fully appreciate how good it felt to have her flat against him, she shoved his hands away and rushed into the room.

  Leaves, broken stems, shards of glass, and white roses were spread in a dripping arc across the room. Ramsey’s expression was a mixture of displeasure and relief as Kelsey rushed over to him. "Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded, then stiffly hunkered down and began picking up shards of glass.

  Doran took a step after her, but stopped, when a gaunt, bald man, brandished a cane at him. The old man's eyes looked insane, as he glared at him, and the vigorous flailing movement of the scared mahogany cane could topple the old guy any second. As if fate had read his mind, Calhoun pitched sideways, Doran jumped to catch him, but the old man grabbed onto the fireplace mantle and adverted catastrophe. Without missing a beat, the old man focused on him and waved the brass-toped mahogany as if it were a samurai sword.

  As long as he was the focus the old codger's wrath, Kelsey was safe. Doran moved slowly away from her, while keeping the old man’s attention centered on him. Old press photos depicted Calhoun as a broad shouldered dominating man with a confident stance and rugged dark looks. Journalists lauded him as humorous, but fair. In reality, he looked pathetic. The stroke Calhoun had suffered a few years before might explain the absence of fifty or so pounds and a misplaced toupee could account for the missing hair, but it couldn’t justify the wild eyed rage that burned in Calhoun’s gaze.

  When Doran got close to the side of the room, he stood still, the old man peered around the room and settled on Kelsey, who was collecting battered blooms. “You!” Calhoun’s spittle landed on the damp rug near Kelsey. “What in the samhell do you think you’re doing butting into Ramsey’s business?” She ignored her grandfather. The cane whacked the sofa’s arm. Though Doran leaped forward, Kelsey continued to act as if nothing odd was going on. Doran paused an arm's length from the old man, muscles ready to grab him, if the situation warranted it. “It was bad enough when you set yourself up as his representative," Calhoun snarled. Spittle trickled from the corner of his mouth. "But dammit all, girl, it's one thing to help while a man is laid up, but to take over the entire election is pure bull!“ Calhoun grabbed a pewter frame from the mantle and hurled it at Kelsey. She ducked, but continued picking up flowers. The photograph hit the back of the navy and yellow striped wing chair and plopped undamaged onto the seat.

  “I should give you the spanking your wimp of a father was always too sissy to give you.” Calhoun flourished his cane, but quickly grabbed the mantle to steady himself. His surly tone lo
wered and his knuckles turned white on the brass knob. “Your penis envy has needed straightening out for years.”

  Doran’s suspicion that he’d misjudged Kelsey deepened to guilty proportions. He cleared his throat. Kelsey furtively signaled him to back off, but he pretended not to notice. "Let me get this right," Doran said, "a MacLennan was only a MacLennan if there is testosterone involved."

  "Dammed straight," Calhoun crowed. "I like you boy, you see things right."

  Moment by moment, it was becoming highly improbable that Kelsey was doing anything more than running for office, which had been his suspicion since viewing Quinn’s tape. Still, if there was a chance Beja Flora’s security protected more than a senile old man, he had to know for certain.

  Calhoun leaned on his cane and took a wavering step toward Kelsey. Then he planted his feet wide apart and he raised his cane. Doran moved between them. “Sir, if you so much as touch a hair on her head, you will suffer the consequences.”

  “Who the samhell are you?”

  “Devlin Doran.”

  Calhoun’s eyes glinted with an insane sparkle and he raised his cane as if to swat him out of the way. “Well you listen to me, boy, you are in my house, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re a trespasser. One I’d be happy to shoot if’n you wasn’t so smart about women.” Despite age, infirmity, and wobbly legs, the man’s tone sounded intimidating. “So’s I guess I jest need to thump you.”

  When Doran simply stood firm, Calhoun’s unfocused gaze became uncertain. Kelsey stood up and gently placed her hand on the old man’s biceps. “Grandfather, you can’t hit Devlin. He’s a guest here.” She placed her other hand on Devlin, squeezed his arm and smiled up at him, as if there wasn't any danger within miles. “You must pardon my grandfather, he doesn’t think women belong anywhere but in bed or serving the master some other way, like cooking.”

  Despite a shudder of agreement from his manhood, Doran looked over her head at the men in her life and raised an eyebrow.

  Ramsey rose clumsily and leaned heavily on his own brass-topped cane. Ignoring his grandfather, he offered his hand. "Good to see you, again." Calhoun thumped his cane with frustration. Civilities over, Ramsey tilted his head toward his grandfather. “Our grandfather, Calhoun MacLennan.”

  Kelsey faced the old man. “One of these days you’ll learn that women have lots of talents.”

  Calhoun snorted with disdain. “I’ve lived seventy-nine years. Tell me that when you have some age on you.” He whacked the coffee table for emphasis. “The world was ruined when they gave women the right to vote. Ruined1” His voice crackled with emotion. “Look what you bleeding heart women have done to our country. Food stamps. Welfare. God made the damned poor; they’re a natural part of our economy and should be left poor.”

  Kelsey and Ramsey shared a pained glance. Obviously this was something they heard a lot. Doran raised a brow and tried to reconcile everything he’d read about the esteemed senator with the intolerant man in front of him.

  Kelsey looked up at him. One corner of her lips twitched upward. “The 19th amendment ruined our country.” Eyes sparkling with mischief, she winked.

  “Damned right,” Calhoun roared as he raised his fist and shook it at a photo on the mantle. The gesture made him tip backward. In what appeared to be a practiced movement, Ramsey caught his arm.

  Before Doran distinguished who the picture depicted, a motion near the door caught his attention. Martha dressed in a sedate navy dress and modest strand of pearls entered. When her attention focused on Calhoun, her mouth flattened with disapproval. “There you are,” Martha said. When Calhoun looked her way, she smiled, but warmth never reached her eyes. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I’ve got our Scrabble game set up in your sitting room.”

  Calhoun quit flailing his cane and preened like a dandy. “That what you call it, woman?” He raised a bristly brow. “Scrabble?” Calhoun laughed, but quickly became short of breath.

  Kelsey rolled her eyes to heaven as she scooted out the door, her arms full of broken blooms. With a groan, Ramsey hunkered back down to continue cleaning up the glass shards; Doran squatted to assist him. Ramsey sighed. "Damn shame to lose this old vase."

  Martha stepped around the mess, gently took Calhoun’s cane in her left hand, and clasped his arm with her right. Though the touch looked friendly, Doran knew just how quickly the hold could turn painful, if the subject tried to wander. He suspected Martha knew the possibilities, too. “Yes,” Martha said. “Tonight we’ll call it Scrabble.” She patted Calhoun's stringy biceps and allowed him to escort her out of the room.

  Kelsey returned with towels. As she mopped up, she looked at him. “I apologize for grandfather." Embarrassment colored her face and tone. "He hasn’t been the same since his stroke.”

  Ramsey snorted. “Calhoun has always been a chauvinist. An extremist. A diehard. A drama king. A bigot. Take your pick, they all fit.” His tone indicated that he didn't want any of those definitions to apply to himself.

  Kelsey sighed and nodded. “True, but I don’t think he ever got over grandmother’s death or finding out his fourteen-carat protégée was nothing but a worm.”

  Doran felt the tiny hairs at his nape stand at attention and he hoped they would continue with the subject of the political differences between Marvin Frederickson and Calhoun, which had been alluded to, but never detailed.

  “This has been one hell of a week,” Ramsey said.

  While he figured out a way to direct the conversation into more relevant areas, Doran played ignorant. “So, you’re father is out of town on business?”

  Ramsey gave a half smile. “Dad’s life's ambition is avoiding grandfather.”

  He could understand why. Doran and Kelsey bent to pick up the last bits of glass. For the first time, since entering the room, Doran heard the soft strains of a Spanish guitar playing in the background. An upward glance located the sounds’ source at the wooden dog heads, which jutted from the ornate molding separating wall and ceiling.

  Ramsey stretched his back, white lines of pain near his mouth. Finally, he picked up the photograph and replaced it on the mantle.

  “Father and Jacqueline are circumnavigating the world,” Kelsey said. “It’s their way of dealing with our family problems.”

  Doran frowned. “Then who is handling the business your grandfather mentioned?” He looked at Ramsey. “You?”

  “There isn’t one.” Doran raised a brow. Ramsey shrugged. "When dad got wind of NAFTA, he knew our textile plants would have more problems than they were worth, so he sold out and retired.”

  “But they do live here,” Doran said, as he pointed to the floor.

  Kelsey shook her head as she put the last of the ruined vase in the wastebasket. “Father and Jacqueline moved onto the boat just after grandma died. Without her as a buffer, I don’t think my father could stand staying under the same roof.”

  Doran moved over to the mantle and looked at the grainy black and white antiquated print that had outraged Calhoun. Crowds lined a city street as women paraded past. A white-suited woman in the foreground carried the American flag. Behind her, two more women carried a banner proclaiming ‘President Wilson declares this is the time to support suffrage’.

  Kelsey pointed to the white-suited woman. “That was Grandma Rose’s mother. I don’t think my grandfather would have married her if he’d known his mother-in-law was such a heretic.”

  Doran glanced from Kelsey to her great-grandmother. “I can see the family resemblance.”

  “Thanks.” Warmth infused Kelsey’s eyes.

  Ramsey uttered a loud groan. “Do not let my sister’s polite southern belle mask fool you. Kelsey not only looks like Great-grandmother Myrtle, she’s a feminist to the core.”

  “And proud of it.” Kelsey gave a decisive nod, then stepped around the wet area and settled regally on the yellow and navy striped chair.

  Doran sat down on the sofa. As Ramsey leaned back against the cushions of the opposite sofa a
nd he winked at Doran. “Know what I think? I think that if my sister had realized she’d get a shot at the White House by having me out of the way, she’d have slashed my brake lines herself.”

  “Rams!” Kelsey sprang half out of the chair before she realized her brother was baiting her.

  Ramsey barely concealed his delight as he kept his focus centered on Doran. “She acts like I’m lying, but she has Great-grandmother Myrtle on a pedestal.”

  Kelsey shook her head, then when neither of them did more than watch her out of the corner of their eyes, she sighed and slumped back into the chair.

  “Her real goal is following in her shoes,” Ramsey said.

  “I could do worse,” Kelsey said.

  Ramsey got up and limped over to her chair. Awkwardly, he bent down and patted her shoulder. “Yeah, you could.” A devilish gleam lit his eyes and he moved out of her reach. “Or you could be a shallow trophy like Jacqueline.”

  Kelsey’s expression turned sour. “I have to live with myself all the time.”

  “Or you could spend your life biting your tongue, like Grandma Rose.”

  She smoothed her skirt, then raised an elegant brow as she looked at her brother. “I only have to live with you,” she shot Doran a look designed to include him, then turned back to Ramsey, “until I win this election or you move back to your own house.”

  Doran looked at Ramsey. “You don’t normally live here?”

  Ramsey shook his head. “This is the last place where I remember my wife and daughter alive and well.” He swallowed.

  “Funny how we always used to hate the mandatory Sunday dinner.” Kelsey stared at the knotted fingers in her lap. “We hated coming here.” She shook her head. “Now, we’re choosing to live here.”