Poisoned Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  Copyright Information

  Poisoned Politics © 2013 Margaret Conlan Aunon

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2013

  E-book ISBN: 978-0-7387-3328-9

  Book design by Donna Burch

  Cover art : Vintage US Flag: iStockphoto.com/Leslie Banks

  Lincoln Memorial: iStockphoto.com/mingusen

  Photo composition: John Blumen

  Cover design by Adrienne Zimiga

  Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

  Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

  Midnight Ink

  Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  2143 Wooddale Drive

  Woodbury, MN 55125

  www.midnightink.com

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  dedication

  To my four daughters—Christine, Melissa, Serena, and Maria—

  who have always believed in me and supported my work.

  Thank you, girls.

  one

  Mid-July, 2007

  Summer heat in Washington, D.C., is unlike any other. It brushes against the skin velvet-soft, seductive. When first stepping out into a midsummer morning, that velvet caress sidles up beside you, tempting you to linger outside.

  “Walk with me,” it whispers. “Stay awhile. See how nice it is, here in the shade.”

  Beguiled, you stay, and before you know it, you’ve walked blocks along shady avenues. The brief warning bursts of heat at intersections, ignored. Shade beckons across the street again. Not noticing the sheen on your skin or the dampness of fabric, you linger. “A little longer,” it whispers. Seduced yet again, you stay.

  Not unlike the city of Washington itself. Its seductive whisper can enthrall for a lifetime. Before you know, twenty years have passed in summer’s languorous heartbeats. Politicians and the press are especially vulnerable, as is anyone who works within sight of Capitol Hill and Congress. For them, the enchantment is particularly strong. The whiff of power is an intoxicating perfume. Some can break free. Others cannot. They die here, even if the burial is delayed for years.

  Some of us are lucky. We suddenly find ourselves out of that seductive summer shade and standing in the brutal noontime sun—sunburned and sweating and wondering how we got there. Walk outside in the dog days of summer? Are you crazy?

  That was precisely what I was thinking as I stood at the corner of Wisconsin Avenue and M Street, waiting to join the throngs of tourists to cross the main intersection of Georgetown. Most of them were prepared for their summer visit to Washington, with sun hats, fanny packs, and water bottles. What I wouldn’t give for one of those water bottles, but I was too rushed to stop for one now.

  Why I’d chosen to walk down to the Georgetown Mall on my lunch hour, I didn’t know. It had been one of those partly cloudy, sultry mid-July mornings when I left my office at Senator John Russell’s home. The shady Georgetown streets beckoned, and I decided to squeeze in a lunchtime visit to the high-rise Georgetown shopping mall.

  Unfortunately, when I’d emerged from the mall’s air-conditioned cocoon, the sun glare was brutal. My new royal blue silk blouse was drenched, and I’d only been walking five minutes. I’d look like a dishrag by the time I returned to the Russell mansion. What was I thinking? I should have saved the shopping until later in the evening.

  However, this evening I was already meeting my old friend Samantha Calhoun at her McLean, Virginia, home. Picturing an icy martini waiting for me, I joined the tourist throng and traipsed across the street when the light changed. My cell phone’s music barely penetrated the street noise surrounding me, but my ears had grown even sharper these last four months of working for the Independent junior senator from Colorado. I retrieved the phone from my purse once I reached the curb.

  “Molly, where are you?” Peter Brewster’s voice even cut through Wisconsin Avenue traffic. “We need you here now.”

  “I’m on my way, Peter,” I said to Russell’s chief of staff as I picked up my pace along the avenue, the package banging into my hip as I walked. “I ran down to the shops on lunch. I figured you and the senator would be on your way to the airport like usual on a Friday. What’s up?”

  “No trip to Colorado this weekend. Russell just got a call from the Majority Leader. Stanley appointed him to Karpinsky’s vacancy on the Senate Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs Committee.”

  That caught me up short. I stopped so abruptly on the sidewalk that a guy nearly ran into me from behind. “What! I can’t believe that!”

  “Neither did I at first, but I’ll fill you in when you get here. Hop in a cab and hurry back. I need to go over some things before the senator and I head back to the Hill.”

  “Okay, flagging down one now,” I said, ending the call as I stepped off the sidewalk to wave at a passing taxi. He ignored me. Damn. I guess I’d have to do the Death Wish hail as I stepped farther into traffic and prayed a delivery truck wouldn’t run me over.

  _____

  “That is one plum assignment. The Majority Leader is obviously trying to woo Senator Russell into the Democratic fold permanently,” I said, following Peter from my office into the mansion hallway. Polished walnut floors stretched to the front entry doors.

  “That’s what the Senator and I figured,” Peter said, as he texted a message while striding down the hallway. Me, I had to slow down and text, otherwise the message would be gibberish.

  Tall, silver-haired, and distinguished, Senator Russell appeared at the end of the hallway. I zipped around still-texting Peter to catch the senator before he answered the ringing Blackberry in his hand.

  “Congratulations, Senator. That’s fantastic news!” I said as I strode up, hand outstretched.

  Russell grabbed my hand in his huge paw and shook it vigorously. “Thank you, Molly. We’ll have more time to talk tomorrow night. I’m inviting the entire staff from the Hill here to celebrate, and I have forbidden Luisa to lift a finger,” he said, smiling at his housekeeper of nearly forty years. “The caterers will handle it all.”

  “Sounds great, Senator, but right now you’d better lift a finger and answer that phone. Could be Majority Leader Stanley,” I teased, pointing at the still-buzzing phone in his hand.

  Russell flashed his huge grin. “Just finished talking with him, Molly.” He clicked a button on the phone. “This is Senator Russell,�
� he said into the phone as he headed through the open door Luisa held for him.

  Peter followed behind. “Text me when you’ve sent those e-mails we talked about. And check with Annie at the Hill office on tomorrow night’s dinner. She’s handling arrangements.” Peter looked over his phone at me, brow furrowed. “There was something else.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Text me when you remember it later.” I pushed him toward the still-open door. “Albert’s revving up the engine. Get out of here.”

  Peter scurried out the front door and down the steps to the sidewalk leading to the driveway.

  “Is there anything I can get you, Molly?” Luisa said as she closed the door.

  “Just keep that coffee coming, Luisa. Peter left me a list as long as my arm.” I headed to my walnut-paneled office at the end of the hallway.

  _____

  I slipped off my heels and stretched my legs on the floral-print-covered hassock, then took a deep drink of my martini. Ohhhh, yes. Samantha did know how to mix a drink, no matter what the poison.

  “Oh, my, that’s exactly what I needed,” I said, sinking back into one of the cushioned chairs on Samantha Calhoun’s screened porch. Another icy sip, and I felt the day’s scorching heat fade into memory. “You’re still the best bartender this side of the Potomac, Samantha.”

  “Thank you, sugar,” Samantha’s lilting Mississippi accent floated through the humid early evening languor. She lifted the cut crystal glass to her red lips and took a deep drink of her favorite bourbon. “You do look a little frazzled. Usually it’s quiet over at the Russell Ranch by Friday evening. Didn’t the senator head for Colorado this weekend?”

  I tasted the delicious flavors of my Cosmo and listened to the cicadas buzzing in the tall oak trees bordering Samantha’s backyard. The droning sound rose and fell as other cicadas picked up the refrain and started their own chorus, some higher pitched than the others, some lower. Cicada harmony. I’d missed that distinctively summer sound. Sea level sound, that is. We didn’t have cicadas in Colorado. Like a lot of insects, cicadas couldn’t live at those higher, drier altitudes. Colorado had less-pleasant pine bark beetles that munched away on our pine trees—and didn’t make a sound.

  “No, he didn’t go to Colorado this weekend, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, that’s a first. Russell’s been a poster boy for tending to his constituents ever since he came here last January. What happened to make him change his plans?”

  Samantha had the best instincts of anyone in this city. Sometimes I was convinced she could read my mind, which was seriously scary. “Right as usual, Miss Thing. Russell’s got much more important meetings here in town this weekend.” I deliberately didn’t elaborate, savoring the one time I knew something that Washington-seer Samantha didn’t.

  “Come on, Molly. You haven’t given me any really good intel since you came back to town last March. You owe me, girl.” Samantha gave one of her trademark smiles and brushed her auburn hair back from her face.

  The vodka tempted me to tease. “Whenever there was something that wasn’t privileged, I let you know.”

  “Tiny morsels. My mice find more than that on their coffee breaks. Now, what’s Russell up to? Who’s he meeting with?”

  I took another sip just to make her wait, picturing Samantha’s network of Congressional staffers, assistants, higher-ups, and spouses—her mice, as she called them. They were the reason she managed to stay on top of all political news despite her powerful elderly senator husband’s death several years ago.

  “Come on, Molly. You know I’ll get it out of you.”

  “Russell got a call from Majority Leader Stanley today. He’s been offered Karpinsky’s spot on the Senate Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs Committee.”

  Her big blue eyes popped wide, clearly surprised. That didn’t happen often with Samantha. I exulted inwardly that I’d been able to surprise her. She set her crystal glass down on the end table. “Well, now … that is a juicy morsel, indeed. In fact, it’s huge. You’ve redeemed yourself, sugar. Thank you for that.” She sent a lazy smile my way.

  “I’ll wait while you spread the word,” I said, then took another sip of vodka and cranberry nectar.

  Samantha gave an airy wave of her hand. “This will only take a second.” She reached for her phone on the coffee table.

  “Who’s the lucky mouse who’ll get the news first?”

  Samantha’s manicured fingertips sped across the miniature keyboard. “Oh, I have my lieutenants, who’ve been helping me longer than anyone else.” She tossed the little phone aside and reached for her drink.

  “Lieutenants, huh? I didn’t know your mice could rise in the ranks.”

  “Battlefield promotions,” she said with a grin.

  I threw back my head and laughed, feeling the vodka rush through my veins as I remembered a similar conversation. “Danny once told me the same thing when we were at Dumbarton Oaks listening to Ambassador Holmberg talk about international finance. I’d spotted Jed Molinoff in the crowd and started tracking him. Danny was a big help with logistical support.” I snickered over my glass. “He promoted me to corporal after that mission.”

  Samantha stared off into her backyard. Twilight was creeping around the edges of the bushes and trees. In between the Summer Solstice and the Fall Equinox, darkness inched closer each night. Since summer was my favorite season, I chose to ignore the creeping changes. Fall could wait.

  “I was surprised that Jed’s suicide and affair with Karen didn’t stay front-page news for long. After his funeral, it was like the press forgot about him.”

  “His family was luckier than most,” I said, the memory of my niece Karen dying at Jed’s hands diluted the vodka in my veins and brought back my own ugly memories of my husband’s death. “When Dave killed himself, it was red meat for the press for a long time.”

  Samantha glanced over at me. “It’s best to let those tortured souls rest in peace. Don’t stir up old ghosts. You’ve finally started a new life here in your old hometown. You should be looking forward, not back into the past. That’s how I handle the losses.”

  I swirled the remaining Cosmo in my glass. Samantha was right. She knew as much about losing loved ones as I did. Her young Navy pilot husband was shot down in Vietnam. Mine shot himself in the head a few years later. Hounded by the jackals that lurked at the edges of Congress. Not every enemy was found in foreign jungles. I took another deep drink and sent those old memories slithering back into the bushes where they belonged.

  “You’re right. Thanks to this job with Senator Russell, I really feel like I’ve made a fresh start here. Even though there are ghosts and memories around every corner.” I drained my glass and set it on the coffee table.

  “I’d say retired colonel DiMateo has helped you concentrate on the future. Is he still away on one of those assignments of his?”

  “He said he might be back this weekend,” I said as Samantha scooped up my glass and walked to the small bar she kept on the patio porch. God forbid we have to go far for the liquor.

  I settled into the cushions, preparing for Samantha’s customary grilling on the status of my relationship with my old high school friend. Danny had found me right after I returned to Washington, thanks to my photo that appeared in a sleazy local rag, the D.C. Dirt. So much for flying beneath Washington’s radar.

  Samantha handed me a re-filled glass. “Well, whenever that former Marine returns, you two need to get down to business.” She sank back into the cushioned loveseat. “You’ve been seeing each other for over three months now.”

  I took a sip and decided to tease. “Off and on. Whenever he’s in town. He travels a lot.”

  “Well, all the more reason for you two to get it on when he’s here. Give him some incentive to stay home.” She winked before returning to her favorite bourbon.

  I laughed out loud. The truth was
that Danny’s frequent absences were the only way I’d been able to keep from taking that next step. Why I was hesitating, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  “I cannot believe he hasn’t made a move on you yet.”

  I grinned at my old friend. Samantha and I had met as teenagers years ago. We’d both been senator’s daughters, thus our behavior was always under scrutiny. Both of us were rebels at heart who couldn’t afford to be openly rebellious. Our fathers were two of the most powerful men in the U.S. Senate. Consequently, we were watched, despite our best efforts to escape the scrutiny.

  “I credit it to Marine Corps discipline.”

  “Discipline, my ass. He’s waiting for a signal. Good God, girl! What’re you saving it for?”

  I laughed and laughed until tears came to my eyes. “God, Samantha … I don’t know,” I said when I caught my breath. “I don’t know why I haven’t.”

  “I know why. You’re scared. Scared of jumping into the deep end of the pool again.”

  I pondered her astute assessment. Trust Samantha to be able to zero in and hit the target. That girl’s aim was unerring.

  “Yeah … maybe you’re right. I don’t know if I want to get into the water again.”

  “Bull,” Samantha pronounced in her magnolia-dipped voice. Somehow the word sounded almost proper when she said it. “You’re just afraid of getting involved with Danny, that’s all. I can tell you care about him. A lot. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. That night he picked you up here, I watched the two of you together. You two give off sparks.” She tossed down the last of her bourbon and headed for the patio bar again.

  “You’re right as usual, Miss Thing. I’m afraid if I jumped into the pool with Danny, I might drown in that deep water. He stirs up things inside I haven’t felt in years. And yes, that does scare me.”

  She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry, sugar. You know how to swim. Go ahead, jump in. The water’s fine. I’ll be standing by to throw you a life preserver if you need it.” She laughed that low sultry laugh of hers as she settled into her chair.