by Hart Johnson
There were many drawers of files, but she concentrated first on his in-box—the things that had arrived since she had sorted things for him two weeks earlier to help him set his affairs in order. The other things could be sorted later.
She picked up the stack from his in-box and set it on the desk in front of her. It was four inches thick. “Tommy? Can you get me a coffee? Two sugars? And help yourself if you'd like some. This might take a while.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He gave a tilt that fell short of a bow, but felt the same. The kid was only twenty or so, but his grandfather had worked for her father for more than four decades and made the recommendation when his eyesight began failing. Nothing like a family recommendation. Especially after that many years of loyalty. Dorene didn't really need a driver or manservant in her normal life, but at least for several months, she could find things to keep him busy. The only downside to the arrangement was it made her feel old.
The first inch of the stack told her nothing more than that she should avoid politics in the future. She wasn't suited to the schmoozing or the games. But then she reached an urgent memo and stared at it. It didn't make any sense.
There was a list of acceptable places and a list of places to avoid. That was clear enough. But why? The letter only made it murkier:
Senator Radcliff
Please report to The Capitol Building or one of the official sites listed for your flu shot.
Do not, I repeat, do NOT go to your regular physician or a public clinic for this. Bring your family and have them do the same. It is very important for your own safety that you not share this information publicly, as we cannot afford panic, but public servants need to be protected with the very best medicine, and so it's important you attend an official site.
Georgia Secretary for Health and Human Services
Tommy's head bolted up as she rushed out of the office.
“Daryl!”
Her father's page was in a conversation with a secretary, but he came over as soon as she said his name. He'd said his condolences at the funeral and knew why she was there. They'd talked enough that she knew he was only a year out of law school. A lot of politically ambitious law students spent time with national policy makers before beginning a more profitable practice, so he might as well have been her classmate.
“What can I do for you?”
“Can you explain this?” Dorene pushed the memo at him.
He skimmed it before answering. “As far as I know, it was widely circulated. I faxed a copy to your house. I would have called with it, but your father already had the flu.” He looked guilty then. “I suppose I should have called anyway, so he could let your household know.”
He was missing what she was upset about and she tried to slow down so she could ask intelligent questions. “Explain to me why this memo would need to be sent at all. Why would Georgia's VIPs need to go to a special place?”
He shrugged. “I thought it was to make sure the publicly funded supply didn't run out.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
Except as she went back to her father's office, that didn't actually make sense. Her father's insurance was publicly funded, too. Was there something fishy about the vaccine? Something so big that the government had been warned? But was that all government? Several states had lost all their politicians. Had that set off this warning? Or was that part of some master plan? She owed it to her father to figure out what it was.
Acknowledgments
Book babies take a village and I'm particularly grateful for the help I had on this one. The pace has been crazy and this is my first self-published adventure, so it required more rounds of eyes and feedback than when I just hand it over to a publisher and let them at it.
Huge special thanks to early readers for their feedback and encouragement: Teresa Coltrin, Jill Haugh, Jade Jamison, Marissa Montano, Leigh T Moore, Jan Morrison, Jean Pearson, Ashlee Robson, Jackie Santoro, and Susan Kaye Quinn who not only read the first, but who I’ve also been following shamelessly as I try to learn how a serial should be released.
Special mention goes to Stacy Gail for her careful feedback (and apologizing every time she doesn’t understand me--as if that’s her fault). I LOVE the Neil Gaiman quote: “When people tell you there’s something wrong with a story, they’re almost always right. When they tell what it is that’s wrong and how it can be fixed, they’re almost always wrong.”--this is nearly always true. But Stacy and I share a brain, so she is my one friend who manages to say stuff with my voice. (It’s a bit spooky, actually).
Also special thanks to my copy editor Leanne Rabesa who has read everything I’ve ever written and whose comments in her editing alternately teach me how to be better or make me laugh, and to Joris Ammerlaan, long-time friend and go-to graphics guy for his fabulous cover designs.
And I would be remiss if I didn't mention my wonderful social network, the blogging writer network, my Facebook friends, my ABNA friends. There are many people who've helped with both writing and promoting tasks along the way, but perhaps more importantly, with encouraging me to keep going on those days when every word is a struggle.
You can learn more about Hart Johnson at
http://waterytart23.blogspot.com/