As always, my sophisticated mentor and confidante had hit the target question squarely. Surely Samantha wouldn’t return to her wanton ways … would she? Her latest liaison with the elderly diplomat and advisor to presidents indicated that Samantha’s ability to choose high-profile and controversial companions indicated she still enjoyed shocking the Powers That Be.
An idea wiggled out of the mist and danced through my mind suddenly. It was outrageous, but perhaps it would take something outrageous to counteract the damage Samantha had done to herself. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Eleanor. Samantha has a lot of repair work to do, especially after being dragged through the mud in the news media. I have an idea that might help, but it would involve your cooperation.”
“And what might that be, pray tell?” Both brows shot up this time as Eleanor eyed me.
“Perhaps you could take Samantha under your protective wing, so to speak,” I suggested. “Have her accompany you to all the charitable functions and social events you attend every week. That ought to keep her busy and occupy her evenings at the same time. No free evenings for stray dalliances.” I gave a wicked smile. “With your busy schedule, I predict Samantha will be exhausted. Which is not a bad thing, in this case.”
Eleanor’s smile started slowly until her eyes danced. “Molly, my dear, you’re a woman after my own heart. What a brilliant idea. Positively diabolical. Have Samantha serve a very public penance for all to see.”
“And how better than by your side, doing good deeds. Samantha already supports multiple charities. This would be a logical extension. More dramatic, of course, but this situation calls for a dramatic solution, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “I agree with you, Molly. But the question is whether Samantha will agree to an arrangement like that. I rather suspect she will not. Samantha values her independence.”
“Well, I’ll wait for a good time to suggest it to her.” I grinned. “Oh, by the way, she told me who her evening companion was and gave me permission to share it with you. That way, Eleanor’s Network will have privileged information to share.”
Eleanor’s blue eyes danced again. “How considerate of you, Molly. Tell me, who was the lucky gentleman?”
“Bernard Bergstrom.” I didn’t have to wait long for her reaction.
Her eyes popped wide in a very un-Eleanorlike expression. “Bernie Bergstrom!” she whispered. “He was one of Beauregard’s old pals. And he’s advising the President!”
“Yes, I was as shocked as you. Samantha has usually kept her dalliances within the Legislative Branch.”
Eleanor gave a low laugh. “A member of the Administration. And a Republican, to boot. My, my, Samantha’s tastes have broadened over the years.”
I couldn’t resist teasing. “I have to admit that Senator Russell’s Independent political status has rubbed off on me, so I think a little cross-party activity is beneficial.”
Eleanor laughed out loud this time. “Will you be joining us for dinner? I sincerely hope so.”
“No, I have dinner plans already,” I said. I glanced at my watch and was surprised by the time. “In fact, he should—”
“I believe he’s here now,” Eleanor said, gesturing behind me.
I turned around and saw Danny standing at the front door, talking to Albert. I started backing away from Eleanor. “Enjoy your evening, Eleanor. And Samantha gave permission to spread the word far and wide.”
“I will do my best, my dear. Now get away from us and join that handsome man waiting for you. We’ll talk again soon.”
I took my mentor’s advice and hastened to meet Danny.
_____
I took another deep drink of the delectable pink nectar in the Martini glass. It was my second Cosmo. Spaced by a wonderful goat cheese salad and a delicious broiled snapper, which I picked at while updating Danny on the latest chapter of the Samantha Saga. Usually I stayed with wine when I was with Danny, but tonight I was so relieved about Samantha that I’d ordered my favorite poison without even thinking.
I glanced across the table at my dinner companion. Danny was sipping his scotch and smiling at me. That amused smile of his that lit up his dark eyes. I’d gotten really fond of that smile these last four months.
Suddenly, the realization that I’d spent the last half hour talking about Samantha registered despite the Cosmo cloud that cushioned me right now. “Sorry to go on about Samantha like that,” I said.
“Don’t apologize. You were worried about your friend. And with good reason. I’m glad Samantha finally came to her senses.” He sipped his scotch. “Bernie Bergstrom, huh? I remember meeting him when he was an assistant to the Secretary of Defense. That was years ago, so Bergstrom must be in his eighties by now.”
“Samantha has always had a fondness for older men. Powerful older men.” I said with a sly smile, then drained my glass, letting that delightful vodka float take me. “This is the first time Samantha’s left both the Legislative Branch and the Democrats for her extracurricular activities.”
Danny laughed softly and placed his warm hand over mine. “You’ve got interesting friends, Molly. I’ll say that.”
The warmth of his hand penetrated even the vodka. So much so, I spoke without thinking. “I’m curious…why haven’t you made a move on me?”
Danny’s eyes lit up as he leaned over the table toward me. “I’m waiting.”
I leaned forward, getting closer. “I guess Samantha was right. She said you were waiting for my signal.” Encouraged that I’d finally ventured into the territory I’d been dancing around for months, I waved my hand. “Consider yourself signaled.”
Danny leaned closer and brushed his lips across mine. “Message received,” he whispered. “Do me a favor and hold next weekend open for us.”
I blinked. Surely the vodka float was distorting my abilities to process information. Not an infrequent occurrence. Surely Danny hadn’t suggested we wait until next weekend. “Wha-what?” I managed, knowing I looked confused as hell. “What’s wrong with tonight?”
Danny’s grin turned wicked. “Remember that evening back in May when we stayed up all night talking? Your ground rules. No wine, no liquor. Just food and coffee and talk about the past, Vietnam, and everything in between. Well, my ground rules this time. No wine, no liquor. Just us, and I doubt we’ll do as much talking.”
I stared into Danny’s laughing eyes. Well, damn. Payback really was a bitch.
“Besides, one night’s not enough for us. We’ll need the whole weekend.” Then he slid his hand into my hair and pulled my mouth to his. The heat of his kiss burned all vestiges of vodka from my veins. Sober as a judge in an instant.
“Come on, you need to get home, and I have an early flight tomorrow.”
Danny came around to my side of the table and held out his hand. Good thing. After that kiss, I wasn’t sure I could walk.
eleven
Friday morning
I clicked out of one of Peter Brewster’s rental property spreadsheets and moved to the next in the spreadsheet files. The familiar address at the top was my townhouse. Well, not mine. Peter Brewster had thrown in free rent on his Georgetown property in order to woo me into accepting his job offer last March. It worked. Once I’d seen the lovely two-story brick on P Street with its shady backyard patio, side patio, sunny kitchen, and Jacuzzi in the master suite … I was hooked.
I never regretted my decision to move back into the familiar neighborhoods from my days as a Georgetown University student, and from when I was married to my college sweetheart who became a fresh-faced young U.S. Congressman from Colorado after law school. Our two young daughters had played in the playground down the street. Memories were around every corner. But just as there were new children enjoying that playground now, I had decided to make new memories. New life replacing the painful memories of the past.
My personal cell phone’s
music cut through my wanderings in the past. Early Jefferson Airplane this time. Samantha’s name flashed and I clicked on just as Grace Slick’s voice rose.
“How’re you doing, Miss Thing?” I asked as I relaxed into my leather desk chair. “I’m sure Eleanor’s Network has spread the news far and wide.”
“I should say,” Samantha drawled. “My mice have been calling and texting me since the crack of dawn. I swear the phone woke me up.”
“Yay for your mice. I’m sure they’re as relieved as I am that you’re out of the police spotlight. And the D.C. Dirt’s evil eye as well.”
“Well, to be honest, half of me is relieved. But the other half is sad dear Bernie is now going to be the subject of that trashy gossip rag.”
I couldn’t resist. “Hey, Bernie’s in his eighties. He’ll be flattered. I bet his buddies are calling to congratulate him right now.”
She let out a bawdy laugh. “You are so bad, Molly. God, I love you! You always say exactly what I need to hear.”
I took a sip from my newly refilled coffee mug, listening to Samantha’s laughter while I pondered bringing up the plan Eleanor and I had discussed the other night. She had given me the perfect opening. Now … how to phrase the subject of Samantha Calhoun’s rehab?
“You know, Eleanor was worried sick about you, Samantha,” I wiggled in sideways. “She hated watching you being dragged through the mud as much as I did.”
“She’s such a sweet old dear,” Samantha’s voice gentled. “I’m amazed she hasn’t washed her hands of me long ago. I know I’ve given her fits these last few years.”
Another opening … I couldn’t pass that up. “You’re lucky Eleanor’s a forgiving sort. In fact, she was so relieved that you would no longer be under suspicion in connection with Wilson’s death that she and I came up with a plan. A rehab plan, so to speak.” I held my breath, waiting for Samantha’s reaction.
There was at least a ten-second pause before she spoke. “Rehab? Exactly what are you two planning to rehabilitate?” she asked, clearly amused.
Not exactly sure how to phrase it, I simply plunged in. “Your reputation, Samantha. The Widow Wilson may have opened the door, but there were scores of people who were waiting for an opportunity to drag you down in that mud. Jealousy, resentment, or just plain nastiness. Whatever. You handed them the opportunity when you refused to explain your whereabouts to the police the night of Wilson’s death. If you had, this would never have become the scandal it did.”
“You’re right. As much as it pains me to admit it, I made this horrible event worse by not cooperating with police earlier.”
Relieved by her honesty, I continued. “Eleanor said that there were a lot of people who’d envied you your social standing over the years and were waiting gleefully for you to step off that pedestal. Hell, Samantha, you didn’t step off, you jumped off when you started your congressional dalliances a few years ago.”
“You’re right about that, sugar,” she said with a low laugh.
“It’s no laughing matter, Samantha,” I chided gently. “Eleanor and I and all your friends hate what’s happened to you. That’s why Eleanor and I came up with what we think is the perfect way for you to redeem yourself, so to speak. Rehab. Redeem. Re-establish. Whatever you want to call it. Our plan is a little unusual, but it’s dramatic. And it’ll totally flummox your enemies. Especially the Widow Wilson.”
Samantha chuckled. “I can hardly wait to hear the details. I love the idea of flummoxing enemies.”
Encouraged, I charged ahead. “Eleanor’s offering to take you under her protective wing. You would accompany her to all the charitable functions and social events she attends every week. And they are considerable. You’ll be busy seven days and evenings every week. Needless to say, there’ll be no time for stray dalliances. Eleanor’s Rules, if you will.”
“Stray dalliances …” she said with a genteel snort.
“I know, I know. You’d be serving a public penance, and that will stick in your craw. But, face it, Miss Thing, it will take something dramatic like that to re-establish yourself in Washington. How better than by Eleanor MacKenzie’s side? No one would dare attack you while you’re perceived to be under Eleanor’s protection. They’d never risk losing favor in Eleanor’s eyes, you know that.”
“Ah, yes, the Queen Mother would not be pleased.”
Sensing that Samantha was considering the idea at least, I continued to pitch. “You would be standing by Eleanor’s side, doing good deeds, working with charities. It’s a natural. You’re already involved with umpteen charities.”
“You can stop ladling it on, Molly,” she said, laughing. “You’ve made your point. Yours and Eleanor’s.”
I sent a brief prayer of thanks heavenward, even though I’d stopped praying years ago. “So, you’ll consider it?”
“Yes, I’ll consider it. No promises, though. God, it would be like joining a convent with Eleanor as the real Mother Superior. I don’t know if I could do it, Molly. I love my freedom too much.”
“Just consider it, okay? That’s all I ask. Eleanor doesn’t think you’ll do it, for the very reasons you mentioned.”
“Sharp as ever. You’ve got to hand it to her. Tell me, when did you two come up with this redemption plan? Was it at Eleanor’s charity fundraiser the other day?”
“No, it was last night when she came to one of Senator Russell’s senatorial dinners. One of the couples couldn’t make it, so Eleanor was kind enough to fill in at the last moment. Peter was her dinner partner, which he thoroughly enjoyed, listening to him talk this morning.” A stray memory resurfaced. “By the way, I did meet Natasha Jorgensen at Eleanor’s fundraiser. Congresswoman Chertoff had invited two of her staffers to the event with her, and she introduced me to Natasha.”
“That was nice of Sally. How’d you like Natasha?”
“She impressed me. Smart, savvy, with a sense of humor. That will help her survive on the Hill. Sally mentioned that the police came to the office and questioned Natasha about Wilson’s prescription pill habit. Naturally, I couldn’t resist following up on that when I spoke with her alone. Natasha admitted that she’d seen Quentin Wilson with pill bottles on his desk. But when I asked if she knew how long he’d also taken Vicodin, she looked really uncomfortable and acted nervous. She kept glancing away. I didn’t let on I knew anything more.”
Samantha paused. “I’m sure that’s because she didn’t want to reveal to police she was the one who gave Quentin that staffer’s name. The guy was an old college friend of hers.”
“What!”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want Natasha to get in any trouble. It’s not her fault Quentin took too many pills.”
“Do you think Natasha lied to the police?”
Samantha released a long sigh. “I was hoping they simply asked about Quentin’s pill-taking habit. Natasha’s a smart girl, but she’s probably afraid the police will try to implicate her. Good Lord! Quentin’s death keeps ensnaring people. It’s like stepping in quicksand.”
I noticed a message from Peter flashing on my computer screen. Time to get back to work. “Well, you can step out of that quicksand with Eleanor’s help. Just think about it. Now, I’ve got to answer this message from Peter. Back to work.”
“I promise I’ll think about it. And thank you for being such a dear loving friend. I appreciate it, sugar.”
There was a trace of the old Samantha’s joie de vivre in those words. “Anytime, Miss Thing. That’s what dear friends are for.”
Friday evening
Raymond blew out a long stream of smoke, then spoke into his cell phone. “He’s all set up and ready, just waiting for the signal.”
“Has Levitz gone out or contacted anyone since he’s been there?” Spencer asked.
“No, he’s being a good boy, nice and obedient. Following all the instructions Fillmore gav
e him. He’s staying inside his motel room, waiting for Mr. Smith to call.” Raymond chuckled softly then took another drag on his cigarette. “He’s expecting a new driver’s license and the location of a hotel in El Paso where he can stay. Or where he thinks he’ll be staying.”
Spencer laughed softly. “Has our Mr. Smith been keeping him in his sights.”
“All the time.
“How’s he going to, ah … finish it?”
“With the same pill mixture he saved from Wilson. That way there will be a match in dosage. Hypo to the neck. Kid will never know what hit him.”
“Good. We want it nice and neat. No loose ends.”
“As always. When do you want it done?”
“Tonight. Get it over with, so the news can come out and we can put this Wilson project to bed.”
“You got it. Tonight it is.”
twelve
Monday morning
I turned the pages of the Washington Post, aiming for the editorial page, when my eye caught a familiar name headlining a smaller paragraph nestled below the fold on an inner page.
Sylvia Wilson, widow of recently deceased Congressman Quentin Wilson, appointed to late husband’s seat in the U.S. House of Representatives.
I smiled and sipped my coffee while I read the official confirmation of the gossip that had buzzed through Washington for over a week. Point for Widow Wilson. Widows had been claiming deceased husbands’ congressional seats for nearly a century.
Folding the paper, I went to the kitchen sink and rinsed out my coffee mug. Another beautiful August morning beckoned outside. I grabbed my briefcase and purse and left through the back door in the kitchen. A pungently sweet scent greeted me from the graceful mimosa tree beside the back patio. Laden with delicate pink blossoms, the sweet perfume engulfed me as I walked toward the front yard and sidewalk.
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