“Before or after Tex loses the election or goes to jail?” I scoffed, dismissing her prognostications as cynicism and not knowledge. “We’re not counting on anyone but ourselves. If Tex goes down, Nick has the credentials to apply elsewhere. And if Tex loses the election, maybe he’ll have more time for you. We’ll take opportunity where we find it.”
Mallard arrived with a steaming serving dish that he set with much ceremony in the center of the table. He didn’t serve us individually as if this were a formal occasion, but his attitude gave him away.
“Magda left, remember?” I reminded him. “We’re still here. We’re still slobs. And we’re still annoying.”
He gazed soulfully over my head. “You brought Miss Maximillian home. Your grandfather would want the occasion appropriately marked.”
Ignoring the pomposity, Nick lifted the lid and sighed in gratification. “Beef Stroganov. Mallard, you’re a genius. I say we always mark occasions with Beef Stroganov.”
“Mallard stays here,” the candelabra intoned in warning, intruding upon our fantasies. The implication was clear—we did not.
Nick and EG and I exchanged glances. We knew our chances of winning this battle were slim. But this was our moment, and we wouldn’t let Graham ruin it.
We stood as one. Nick lifted the elaborate candelabra. I blew out the candles. And EG opened the sideboard door. With the offensive apparatus deposited inside, Mallard slammed the door on it.
~
There were worse ways to end a miserable day than with Beef Stroganov and Death by Chocolate. Deciding life outside my tiny cave had a roller coaster quality that I might learn to handle, I tucked EG into bed at nine. We didn’t exchange sentimental sophistries or discuss what was left unsaid. EG knew she had a home with me if she wanted it. Examining that fragile bond would only lead to questions neither of us were prepared to answer. I wasn’t prepared to be a mother, but I could learn anything once I put my mind to it. And EG knew it.
Nick had gone out for the evening. Even if by some miracle we acquired the mansion, I didn’t expect him to live here. He needed his friends and his privacy. Unlike me, he probably had a sex life, and EG probably shouldn’t be subjected to evidence of it.
Leaving her room, I passed Mallard on the landing carrying stationery boxes up the stairs. Or boxes of envelopes? The brand label on them was from an office supply store that delivered.
I had better things to worry about. Maybe Graham was starting a letter writing campaign. I hurried downstairs to the Whiz to see if miracles had happened in my absence.
None of my e-mail revealed Pao’s whereabouts. For all I knew, Pao lived within walking distance of the reception. The transportation path of investigation was a deadend. This was Thursday night. The reception was tomorrow. I was reaching desperation.
EG’s school expected me to blow up balloons for their festival, and Graham had insisted I attend, forbidding me to go to the reception. Did that mean he thought I should look after EG rather than earn my keep?
“Anastasia.”
The pen I’d been using to take notes flew out of my hand and off the table. Blinking, I glanced around. I must have dozed off to be so startled.
Fully awake and irritated now, I attacked the intercom with my heavy notebook, pounding it as if it were a terminally annoying insect. The box let out an ear-piercing squall that would raise the dead if we lived in a cemetery. Fortunately for me, we didn’t.
“That was unnecessary.” The mechanical voice had a cranky note to it now. “I merely wished you to take a look at the textbooks I left for you.”
Rubbing my eyes, I checked the massive library table. I hadn’t bothered turning on any lights, so the table was cast in shadow from the light of the monitor. At the far end was a stack of EG’s textbooks.
I was too sleepy to be smartassed. I simply retrieved the books and flipped through them. “Boring,” I concluded. “Two American history books, one social studies, and a rather oppressive tome on civics that looks way too advanced for a fourth grader.”
Neither of us mentioned Max or Mindy or their fascination with textbooks. The thread dangled there temptingly.
“Your sister is reading the Encyclopedia Britannica from 1956. None of those volumes you hold compare in quality or depth, as she has told you ad nauseum. If you will open your eyes, you will see that she is right about the tampering with history and the slanted contents of the text. The books constitute extreme right wing propaganda. Check the copyright pages.”
I switched on an antique gooseneck desk lamp and scanned the pages. Two of the books had the same New York publisher, the other two had different ones. I shrugged. “Three different publishers. They were all copyrighted last year. Pablum for the masses. So, what else is new?”
“If you knew history as well as your sister, you would understand how the masses can be manipulated through propaganda—although we call it marketing or ‘spinning’ these days. I would like you to research the publishers.”
“Now?” I grimaced. “You’re about to throw me out because I haven’t found Pao, and you want to make certain I don’t have time to find him?”
“Check the publishers.”
I was too tired to go up three flights of stairs to fling a book at his head. Handicapped or not, the man’s social skills needed more improvement than mine.
Before I could beat the intercom into submission, Graham quietly added, “I gave you a very minor thread to investigate, and you may have unraveled the entire cloth. Don’t quit now.” The intercom clicked off.
I stared at it for a full minute before deciding I’d dozed off and dreamed. But just in case the compliment was real, I studied my assignment.
In comparison to privately-held companies like Edu-Pub, researching big honking corporate publishers is no big deal. The SEC requires all publicly-held companies to file forms and statements and they’re all on-line somewhere. I’d already compiled a textbook publisher file for my Oracle client—Max. I pulled up his documents and tried not to choke on shock. Max had asked for information on these same publishers before he’d died. Max and Mindy had been studying textbooks, and both had died. Envelopes, poison, tophat, pow—envelopes. Graham was investigating envelopes—and poison. And now, textbooks.
Heart pounding, not wanting to consider that my grandfather had been poisoned over textbooks, I flipped through the screens of SEC reports I had gathered and located the board of directors for each of the publishers. Most of the directors had addresses and names I didn’t recognize. Directors weren’t necessarily major stockholders, but the likelihood was high.
Under the assumption that Graham wasn’t leading me astray and this had something to do with our search, I compared the board list to that of Edu-Pub’s, but nothing leaped out at me. I Googled the unfamiliar names of the individual directors to see what turned up.
By the time I’d sorted and filed the results, I had a pattern, and my throat was closing up in fear. Had this been what my grandfather was working on when he died?
I opened an Excel file, set up headers for the three New York publishing companies plus another for Edu-Pub, and started inputting names from each set of directors under the headers.
By the time I was done, I had a chart for a dozen directors for each company, and every frigging one of them were interrelated—a dozen men ran all three textbook publishers and Edu-Pub was their distributor.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, trying to calculate the scope of this discovery as I stared at the worksheet.
“Not precisely the adjective I would choose,” said the intercom. I assumed Graham was looking at the material I’d just compiled.
“You want to tell me what this is all about?” I wanted to demand it in a belligerent voice, but I was too overwhelmed. I’m a detail person and not good at big pictures. I just knew this one smelled.
“Read your history. I’ll order a few books on Nazis and propaganda. Start with the monopolies of the early twentieth century. But use the Britanni
ca and not those textbooks.”
Oh yeah, I’d fit reading an encylopedia right into my schedule. “Why don’t I start with Livy in the original Latin?” I asked sarcastically. “If you’re so smart, why didn’t Max tell you what he was looking for?”
“He did. I didn’t listen.” He clicked off, but I still heard the regret in his voice.
I gazed at the stack of thick tomes, sighed, and dragged them upstairs to bed with me. Might as well give up both sex and sleep.
~
I sneezed loud enough to set off earthquake alarms in southern California. A hard object covering my face slid sideways and hit the rug with a thud. I’d fallen asleep on my daybed with a book on my nose.
Sneezing again, I blinked blearily and tried to read the mantel clock. Two inquisitive amber eyes stared back at me from the desk.
I sneezed. I screamed. I jumped up and sent the cat soaring for the file cabinet. The cat’s leap dislodged my purse, propelling it to the floor in a cascade of notebooks, an assortment of pens, batteries, subway tokens, and the miscellaneous detritus that gathers in the bottoms of bags.
“Most women carry lipstick and a comb,” a deliciously masculine voice announced in the privacy of my chamber. Hearing a man in my room sent shivers down my spine, but recognizing the sexy voice, I knew they weren’t shivers of fear. I’d been dreaming about him again.
I glared at the early morning emptiness of my bedroom. Someone must have removed the duct tape from the camera lens. I was going to kill Graham. Or Mallard.
Fortunately for everyone, I’d fallen asleep still clothed, so murder dropped down my priority list. I jumped up, ripped the poster and painting off the wall, and sure enough, the lens was untaped. I shook my fist at the lens. “You will not drive me out of this house!” I declared rashly in my sleep-deprived fog.
“As events yesterday should have warned, D.C. is a dangerous place. Security measures are necessary. Your sister has just e-mailed your mother that she is staying here. Expect rash consequences.” I heard the distinct click of the intercom switching off.
Rash consequences, I muttered, kicking the fallen encyclopedia and searching for the cat that had scurried from the cabinet during my diatribe. I’ll show him rash consequences.
I wanted Graham to come down here and fight it out like a man. But with the bed in the room, I probably didn’t have kickboxing in mind. Damned good thing he stayed upstairs.
Locating the shiny amber eyes beneath my desk, unwilling to lift the furry creature, I opened my bedroom door—how in hell had he come in if the door was closed? Shit. Now I’d have to start hunting for secret passages.
Leaving the door open, I stalked down the hall to EG’s room. Of course, she wasn’t there. Since I slept with the laptop, the available computers were downstairs in the library.
Uncaring that my braid had come unraveled and my jumper had a slept-in look, I stalked downstairs. The library lights were out, but in the gray light of dawn I could tell my old Dell was playing a screen saver instead of resting in sleep mode as it should have been if someone hadn’t been playing with it recently. What else had EG been up to while I was sleeping? And was I really prepared to put up with her dangerous mischief for another nine years or so?
That was one too many questions for this hour of the morning after too little sleep.
“There’s a reason I didn’t talk to Magda for years!” I shouted, hoping EG could hear me.
I wasn’t in a mood for playing hide-and-seek. EG was probably already in the kitchen with Mallard, stealing breakfast. I stomped back up the stairs and took a shower. Besides, I had no clue what to say to her. She had every right to communicate with her mother.
Fortunately for the cat, it had taken the opportunity of my absence to disappear. I’m sure cats are loveable creatures, and once upon a time I would have loved to have had a pet, but this just wasn’t going to happen now. I had enough to do without looking for allergy pills so I could take on another irritant in my life. I might be a doormat for my family, but not for animals.
I’d located Mallard’s laundry but hadn’t got around to doing any wash, so I was down to a choice between jeans and shorts, neither a personal favorite. August hadn’t gone away and the air conditioning hadn’t improved, so I opted for black shorts, and with a hint of Magda, a red halter-strapped pullover. Leaving my hair down to dry, I ran downstairs to catch Nick and EG before they left.
They both appeared more than usually gloomy. “What now?” I poured a glass of orange juice from the sideboard and didn’t bother sitting down. Although from the looks on their faces, I probably should have.
Nick pointed at the front page of the Post. As far as I could tell, we didn’t get the newspaper, so he must have stolen it from the neighbor’s doorstep.
“If you’d pay attention to the news once in a while, you might learn something.”
I was getting just a bit tired of people telling me I was ignorant. My little world didn’t require the depressing news of the day—or of the past—to function. I had started reading the textbooks last night—in defiance of Graham’s edict—but reading how Rothschilds and Vanderbilts had built their fortunes on skill and ambition, then had given their wealth to charity, hadn’t been fun or informative. I might not know history, but I know the rich. They build their wealth on the backs of labor and don’t give their wealth to charity without getting something in return, so there was more to the story than the books were telling, which was why I’d picked up the encyclopedia. I’d fallen asleep before I grasped the big picture.
Briefly, I wondered what Graham had wanted me to see in the encyclopedia, but I had more immediate concerns. The Post headline read: D. A. TO PRESENT CHARGES AGAINST SENATOR HAMMOND TO GRAND JURY.
Scanning the article, I sipped my juice the wrong way and choked. The police had found a notebook in Mindy’s handwriting briefly outlining a connection between Tex, Edu-Pub, and the textbook recommendations of some obscure education committee for public schools that Mindy Carstairs was working with on Tex’s behalf.
The police, in their obviousness, seemed to think Tex was involved in a little profiteering.
Just wait until they found out about Pao and money-laundering.
Chapter Twenty-one
Tex faces resignation; Ana investigates Hagan and shoes.
For EG’s sake, I was almost willing to believe the beleaguered senator was innocent. I felt sorry for his wife and his kid. But mostly I wondered what the hell Tex had to do with Pao, because I knew damned well that Graham wasn’t chasing the little scum because he thought it would keep me busy and out of trouble. Not any more, at least.
I had issues with the man who had uncovered the camera in my room and returned the candelabra to the table. I whacked the silver with my knife. “You knew Max was looking for Pao, didn’t you?” I yelled at the silent base. “You’re as clueless as I am about why, aren’t you?”
The candelabra didn’t answer. Wise decision. I hadn’t broken the news about Max possibly being murdered to anyone else yet.
I hadn’t found Pao, hadn’t solved anything, and now EG’s dad was going down. It was Friday, and I’d blown my little piece of the game, along with the chance to win a mansion and a family for EG. I was a loser. My propped-up image of myself as a do-gooder collapsed.
“CNN says they’re calling for him to resign,” EG said gloomily, picking at her granola and ignoring my outbreak.
I scowled. “CNN? I didn’t even know we had a television.”
Nick made a rude noise. “Would you watch one if we did? I saw it last night and EG picked it up online. Pay attention, Ana. There’s a big world out there, and we’re part of it.”
I leveled my scowl on EG. “You’re the one e-mailing Magda and stirring up a hornet’s nest. Serves you right if she comes sweeping in here to wisk you away to Switzerland.”
“I hid my passport. She can’t take me anywhere,” EG said haughtily. “I’m not a child, you know.”
Yeah, I knew. S
he only looked like one. And sometimes, she acted like one. Like now. “Graham duplicated my passport. What do you think Magda is capable of?”
“He duplicated your passport?” Nick asked in awe. “That requires...”
“Keeping your mouth shut,” the candelabra said.
“Someone had a busy night,” I retorted, referring to the candelabra and the untaped camera. “Do we need to lock Mallard in his room?”
Ignoring me, Graham continued, “You have failed to locate Pao. The offer of a school for the gifted in St. Louis is still open. I strongly suggest that you take it. Nicholas can go to St. Kitts. You have no further need of these premises. I expect you to be gone by evening.”
Silence fell like a pall over the coffin of our dreams.
There it was, the eviction notice I’d feared from the first. What had happened since last night when Graham seemed to admire my research? I’d thought we were coming to some understanding, that maybe he needed me. How could he have become such a vital part of my life that I would actually miss the bastard and his insults, the challenge of getting to know him?
We would be out on the street again like the strangers we’d been when we first arrived.
Despite all my brave attitudes, I knew Graham had the right to call the police and have us physically removed. I suspected he would be a little more subtle than that. He’d just have Mallard pack our things and heave them into the street while we were out. Or if he was being really polite, he’d put them on a bus to St. Louis and hand us the tickets.
Nick’s mouth formed into a stubborn set I’d not seen there before. EG shoved her cereal bowl away and stood up, apparently ready to pack and leave. That’s what she’d done all her life.
My little dream of a safe haven was crumbling fast.
“I have a friend with a spare room,” Nick said carefully. “I’ll go to St. Kitts when you’re ready, but I’m not leaving D.C.”
I nodded agreement with that wise decision, unable to speak just yet. I didn’t cry, but something uncomfortable stuck in my throat. I shook my head at EG when she gave me an inquiring glance.
Evil Genius Page 24