Fran Keighley

by The Next Heir (lit)

  Unfortunately, he was of a mind to marry me. Why, I didn't know, for I'm small and thin, neater and more tailored than glamorous, and far from seductive in behavior. As a child I'd been called an imp, a skinny monkey. Gamin, when older, was a great improvement.

  I'd loved Tony quite passionately, even when he infuriated me, and the two brothers were very much alike - but I had absolutely no desire to marry anyone. I'd grown to prize my independence, and, least of all, did I want to marry Frank, in whom all Tony's most annoying traits were intensified.

  Glumly, I supposed it was partially my fault. When Frank first returned to town, looking and sounding so much like Tony, and filling his spare time doing things for me such as fixing a leaky faucet and a loose picket, I'd appreciated the help, enjoyed his company. That was before Frank became so possessive, walked in and out of my house as if it belonged to him, and before the family's infuriating tendencies - heightened by years of military life - became so obvious and abrasive to me.

  "I'm on my lunch hour - I don't have long - no time to discuss things," I muttered, and headed for the back door of the breezeway.

  A garden. I didn't want a garden. Not having to have one was one consolation to not having Tony. Yes, Tony had always made a big vegetable garden every spring - then I was the one who kept it weeded and coped with all the damned vegetables. Like any good Italian wife, I made gallons of pasta sauce from the tomatoes that the garden produced so abundantly, and did things with all the zucchini and broccoli and onions.

  Frank meant so well, but if only he'd ask me before doing these things!

  My tuna salad. Where was my tuna salad? I'd left it right on the middle shelf of the fridge, in a lidded plastic bowl, and...

  There was the bowl. Sitting out on the sink counter, along with a small clutter of dirtied dishes and a crumpled potato chip bag. Empty, of course. All empty.

  I stomped to the sliding glass door, glaring, opened it, and hollered at him. "Frank! Did you eat my tuna salad?"

  "Making garden gave me an appetite. It was mighty good." He grinned at me, not in the least apologetic.

  "Damn it, Frank! That was my lunch! Now what the hell am I going to eat?"

  "Language, language! You're cute when you get mad, Crissie. You don't begrudge me a tuna sandwich and a few chips, not when I've spent the morning making a garden for you. You know you don't."

  "The hell I don't! Why can't you ask me before you pull these stunts? Did it ever occur to you that I might not want a garden? Do you have any idea how much time and trouble I spent getting that nice stand of grass there? And now you've dug it all up!" I was shrill and hot with frustration. "And now I don't have any lunch to eat!"

  I slammed the back door, and headed out the drive door, slamming it behind me, too, then got in my car, and slammed its door as well. Men! Blast all macho Italian males who'd been pampered from birth by mothers and sisters to think that all women wanted nothing more in life than to cook and wait on them, sublimating all desires to what handsome Frankie or Tony wanted! If they heard of equality of sexes, women's lib, they serenely ignored it, confident that their women still wanted to do for them. Well, doing for them voluntarily was one thing, but being taken for granted was quite another!

  Driving back toward the highway, I slowed for an intersection as several joggers reached it.

  Grinning, one kid threw both clenched fists into the air in an exuberant, triumphal, greeting. "Hey, boss lady!"

  "Hey, sensei! I hear you won a big one last weekend. Congratulations!" And I smiled, too, as I drove on.

  A kid? Well, Kenny Gargano's size, coupled with the fact that he used to deliver my paper and mow my lawn, would probably always make me regard him as just a kid. Other people had made that mistake. In actuality, now he was in his early twenties, and for all he was small and graceful and had the exceptional handsomeness of some Mediterranean males, he was a hard- muscled natural athlete and his grace held a tough masculinity. If he'd been brought up around horses, he might have become a champion jockey; as it was, he had gone in for martial arts and he was always winning competitions. And if his mother and sisters pampered him, I couldn't condemn them. I had a soft spot for Kenny, myself.

  A fish sandwich with coleslaw and french fries at Long John Silver wasn't at all what I'd had in mind for lunch, but it was quick, and it left ample time for me to run errands after eating. Because I did know virtually everyone in town and worked at City Hall, errands always took longer than technically necessary. Talking to the postmistress as I bought stamps - discussing the best multi-vitamin with the pharmacist - stopping in at the newspaper office to speak to the editor about the town meeting's agenda - waving and exchanging a word in passing to the most popular doctor, and then one of the leading lawyers.

  Women. All women. I wasn't sure whether this was a peculiarity of Pittsville, or whether it had become typical of many communities in recent years, but women ran nearly all of the local offices and businesses. Not merely behind the scenes, or employees, as I ran Mayor Pitt's office, but the women owned the businesses or were elected to public office. In some cases they inherited businesses and continued to operate them; in others they started up on their own, or bought out previous owners or employers. They were in the professions - the most capable lawyer, the most trusted physician, the newspaper editor.

  There were men around, yes. George Pitt, and old Father O'Dowd and his younger assistant, Father Tyszko, and R. N. Quinlan (whom everyone called Quin), the undertaker. There was Chief Judd and his small force, and, of course, the veterinarian. However, the men generally farmed, or commuted to work in Springfield, some thirty miles away, or just plain left it to the women.

  Where politics were concerned, Pitt was pretty characteristic of what we used to have in office - inept, and at times downright dishonest. A few women got elected and did such a superior job that more ran, more were elected. It worked for us, so it snowballed.

  In addition to the businesswomen, I was slowed by talking with other customers. Some I enjoyed, others I eluded whenever possible. It wasn't always possible.

  "Well, hello, Mary Alice. I didn't expect to see you out and around at this time of day. Isn't Doc still open over the noon hour?"

  My second cousin's widow was one I'd just as soon avoid, one of those very earnest worthy characters devoted to good works - and trying to draft everyone else to join her in volunteering for them. For most of us, charity began at home; we just didn't have time to attend mass on weekdays as well as Sunday, for endless calls upon the sick, and volunteer work. We had trouble keeping up with our own jobs and families. There were only so many hours in a day.

  "I'm not with the veterinary clinic any longer."

  She was a tall, rawboned woman who certainly didn't look like an Endrizzi - but then, she had been a Ditzenberger by birth. She always wore walking shoes, gloves, and hats remarkable in their dowdiness, and carried big heavy handbags.

  "Oh, er - really?" I wished someone would interrupt us, give me some excuse to break away, but I wasn't the only one who tended to give Mary Alice a wide berth. My smile felt stretched, and must look as false as it was. "You mean you're a lady of leisure now?"

  Her expression reproved me. "Oh, dear, no. Now I'm doing Meals On Wheels. We start at eleven, so we finish early." She checked her watch.

  "Oh, then you have the whole afternoon ahead of you." Like an echo, I checked my watch. "Well, Mary Alice, I really must be on my..."

  "I'm going to Mrs. Romano's funeral. Poor old thing, she outlived all her friends and family. I always attend for the people like that. It doesn't seem right, funerals with no mourners. Will you be there?"

  "I can't. I'm going to go over and sign the guest book, but..."

  "At least say a Hail Mary for her while you're there," Mary Alice urged.

  Mary Alice was among the most devout in the parish. Delivering Meals On Wheels and attending funerals for those who died alone seemed far more appropriate for her than working in the veterinarian's
office.

  As I entered the funeral home I spotted my cousin Rosa. She was the undertaker's wife, a plump, soothing, Italian Mama with a warm manner, peaches-and-cream skin and big dark eyes that could melt with sympathy - or sparkle with amusement. She was a good contrast for her tall, somberly Lincolnesque spouse. Today she seemed a trifle distracted, concerned about something, and far less chatty than usual. Ordinarily she was full of young Tim's doings at college, and describing or showing me the latest improvements to the funeral home, asking my opinion on colors and fabrics.

  I signed the register - for myself and also Hizzoner, since he hadn't been in himself - took the obligatory look at the deceased and remarked on how natural the little old lady looked, then hurried back to City Hall.

  Hizzoner wasn't back yet, which was faintly annoying but not surprising. He often took prolonged absences from the offices - and he'd had several calls from his lady friends. The mayor was a widower, not well off even though he was Mayor Pitt of Pittsville and the last of the founding family - plus a handsome figure of a man. In fact, the ancestral mansion was now Rosa's and Quin's funeral home. Pitt was also quite the ladies' man, and every so often he became lost in the moment and said rather more than was prudent, and then found it necessary to hide out until he came up with a solution to his dilemma. He was as fond of his independence as I was of mine, although he used his to court half the widows in town and he was known for never cooking or buying a meal - his ladies vied to feed him. And it was entirely possible that he and his latest widow were dallying in her bedroom; night wasn't the only time he could tomcat around. Or, more respectably, they could be lingering over an extra-special lunch, I supposed, trying to be completely fair to them. Especially as neither would be all that young. Or maybe it was a combination of the two. That was even more likely, knowing him. My fairness could stretch only so far.

  Now several more calls came in for him, which I parried with the expertise of long practice. I found it was much easier to use my secretarial phrases to make excuses for him when he wasn't actually in his office, to snore at the wrong moment or for one of his video games to make a betraying electronic noise. However, as the afternoon continued, I began to wonder. I made a series of discreet calls of my own in an attempt to track him down. Had his watch stopped? Could he have confused today's schedule with some other day's? Ordinarily he was greatly in evidence when notables were expected. Public appearances, especially with state or national figures, were the part of the job he loved. He should be here now, fussing around, making me stop and listen to him as he practiced his introductory remarks. It seemed worth stepping down to the police station section of City Hall, for a word with Chief Judd.

  "Could you patrol, and keep an eye open for his car - it's a white Cadillac Eldorado you know. If he had a flat or some other trouble, out on a side road..."

  "Sure. I'll even fix it for him."

  "Get him back here first. Senator Warren will be here before long. The town meeting begins at three-thirty. If Hizzoner needs to freshen up, change..."

  "Maybe I better put out an APB for him, then. The county and state guys might have an idea where he is." His eyes under those ferocious brows studied me with genuine concern - concern for me, I realized, rather than Mayor Pitt. "You're worried about him, aren't you, Cristina?"

  "Well - yes. It's out of character for him. Common sense says it isn't anything serious, and yet..." Abruptly I realized what he might be thinking. "I'm not one of his widows! Don't get that into your head!"

  Judd shrugged. "He is a handsome guy, with a lot of charm. And secretaries have been known..."

  "Not me." I was emphatic about it. For some reason it was important to convince him of that." I looked him in the eye. "And not Pitt. You know the saying, what familiarity breeds. But he is the mayor, and the senator is coming."

  "Yeah. So what if we can't produce him in time?"

  It was my turn to shrug. "The meeting won't be cancelled or anything like that."

  Mentally I skimmed through the list of city officials who might sub for him. A town this size didn't have too many, and not all of those were available. Anita, for example, had needed to see Pitt before she went to a conference over at the county seat - and by now she would be on her way. She couldn't get back in time, even if willing to return.

  "No, not with the senator coming, and I suppose the press will be here, too."

  "Yes. It will. I suppose I'll have to make apologies for him - unavoidably detained and so on - and fill in for him, if need be."

  I had before, on occasions he wanted to avoid. Was this another of those, which for some reason he hadn't told me about?

  "Sure. Bet you do a great job of it, too." His eyes smiled, in that battered face.

  "Thanks. And thank goodness I'm wearing this suit today. It's appropriate for the occasion."

  Pitt was a big boy, I told myself as I went back to my own office. He knew what he was doing. I needn't worry about him. But, as I drafted a brief speech of apology and introduction, I still felt uneasy. Where could he be? This wasn't like him. Out-of-character behavior made me uneasy. Where was he? And what could he be doing that he considered more important than hosting Senator Warren's town meeting?

  CHAPTER TWO

  "You mean that old reprobate hasn't surfaced yet?" Barbara sounded utterly outraged, and leaned forward in her chair - my living room rocker, actually - as if ready to leap up and charge out to find him.

  "Let's just put it that he didn't come in to the office today, no."

  "What do you suppose he's doing?" She was both repelled and fascinated. "I mean - at his age and all."

  "They do say it takes longer, as a person gets older." But I shook my head "Not having shown up yesterday, I wouldn't really expect him today. This probably only means he hasn't come up with a good excuse yet. Give him another day or so and he won't offer any excuse at all."

  But privately I wondered - and not for the first time - whether Pitt might be an alcoholic, the sort who doesn't drink at all for weeks, then goes on a several-day binge. It rather fit with his tendency to drop out of sight for a few days from time to time. If he'd started drinking day before yesterday, he could have forgotten all about the town meeting. During those absences, he wouldn't be seen anywhere in the Pittsville area, which indicated he went to the city, where he wouldn't be recognized. It was only seventy miles away, and offered other illicit pleasures. I'd often wondered why he kept one drawer of his desk locked, and whether there might be any connection.

  "Well, anyway," I returned to the subject at hand, "it was a great town meeting, and Hizzonner'll be sorry he missed it. I'm getting my picture in the paper with the senator instead. For what that's worth."

  "Senator Warren - what's he like? As good-looking in person as in his pictures and on TV - or does he just have good photographers?"

  "Oh, he's fantastic. Great-looking, and very charming. As warm and sincere as can be, of course, and I think that with him, it's genuine, not put on."

  I tried to place some old country-and-western song that had a line about cool as a salesman. That always sounded wrong to me. It should be warm as a salesman, and what were politicians if not salesmen, selling themselves to the voters as utterly sincere and devoted to the public weal. I never quite trusted that most politicians were genuine, particularly since becoming Hizzoner's secretary. Though I wanted to think he wasn't necessarily typical of all politicians. Senator Warren - lord, he was an attractive man, tall and authoritative, with keen blue eyes and dark hair dramatically silvering at the temples. Appearance - personality - he was definitely on his way up in the political world, and there was no saying how far up he might be able to go. He made me feel younger and far more attractive than I knew myself to actually be, and fantastically intelligent and efficient.

  He had lingered after the meeting ended, talking to me, rather than departing immediately. "But I'm sorry Pitt wasn't able to get back. I always enjoy talking to the old boy. Can't he tell a story? He said
he had something to give me - you don't know about that, I suppose?"

  "Not off hand." I couldn't remember seeing anything with the senator's name on it. "What was it, do you know? I could look." And very willingly, too, to prolong this encounter. For once I was glad Hizzoner hadn't showed up and I'd had to deputize for him.

  He shrugged easily, smile lines crinkling at the corners of those blue-blue eyes. "Beats me. You know how he enjoys being mysterious. I'm an avid gardener when I get a chance, and read seed catalogs - you know, dream books? - when I can't. Might be a catalog. Seeds, even." He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  I shook my head. "I haven't seen anything of that sort in the office. He may have it in his car. In his briefcase, perhaps." Hizzoner had a very handsome calfskin one that he enjoyed carrying, but he seldom used it for conventional items. Gardening - Senator Warren? Now if he'd been the one to dig up my lawn...

  After he left, I wondered whether the senator was recruiting volunteers for his next campaign, if that might be why he was so attentive to me. It was already time to begin thinking of the national elections. And, if he asked me, would I join his staff? It was tempting. Very tempting. Politics was a heady experience, particularly with a candidate with Senator Warren's star-quality.

  I came back to the present, realizing Barbara was eying me knowingly. "He's also happily married, with children, so you can quit looking at me that way!"

  "You're sure of that? Well, I guess I'd better be going..." However, Barbara didn't get up, or sound enthusiastic.

  "Oh, don't - not yet. Frank's liable to drop by, and..." We exchanged a glance.

  "Well - you twisted my arm." Unlike me, she didn't enjoy single life at all, and Frank was definitely a cut above most of the Pittsville available males. This made it easier for me to arrange for him to meet my friends. And Barbara - small and lusciously curved, with warm ivory skin - was easily one of the more attractive free women in town. They'd make a good pair. "You're positive you don't want him? I can't imagine why!"