Bloody Politics

Copyright Information

Bloody Politics
©
2014 by Margaret Conlan Aunon, writing as Maggie Sefton

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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 © 2014

E-book ISBN: 978-0-7387-3999-1

Book design by Donna Burch-Brown

Cover design by Kevin R. Brown

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one

Washington, D.C., October 2007

Rain was coming. The
scent of it was on the breeze that blew
in from the coast. Whipping up small whitecaps on the Potomac
as it flowed past. Fast river. Currents shifting, rising, as it surged toward the sea. The Atlantic, birthplace and Mother of Storms.

“Watch the river,” I remembered an old fisherman once saying. “It will always tell you when a storm's coming.”

I watched the Potomac as I ran along the parkway trail that bordered the river all the way to Mount Vernon. The fast-flowing current seemed to swell as it rushed toward Chesapeake Bay and the sea. Any storms Mother Atlantic spawned would surge up the Potomac on its strong tides, flooding lowlands filled with beautiful homes as easily as it flooded colonial farmlands hundreds of years ago.

The grayish-white clouds above had darkened in the last few minutes, and I decided I'd better cut my Sunday afternoon river run short. My lightweight running jacket had a flimsy hood that would thwart a light spring shower. But this was mid-October. Still hurricane season, officially. There were few light showers this time of year. Now was when the rainclouds thickened and brought forth drenching downpours. Some of the Atlantic's most capricious and brutal hurricanes had come in October, bringing vicious storm surges up the Potomac, the Rappahannock, and the James rivers, flooding Virginia throughout the Tidewater areas, the capital city of Richmond, and all along Virginia's river lands and coastline.

I checked over my shoulder and made a quick U-turn on the trail, heading back toward the parking area where I'd left my car. It had been sunny and warm when I began my run, but no more. A gust of wind blew my hair toward my face from the back. I watched a seagull swoop overhead, then hang suspended for several seconds as it rode the air currents above the river. A storm was definitely coming.

I glanced over my shoulder again and saw the clouds had blackened and thickened, angry now. I picked up my pace, faster, then faster, hoping I could make it back to my car before the rain began. No such luck. Raindrops appeared on the trail before me. Only a few now, but there would be more. The wind whipped up and I sprinted, hoping to outrun the rain, but my gut told me there was no way I was going to escape the approaching storm no matter how fast I ran. This storm was no longer coming. It was already here.

Monday morning

I watched the black stream pour into my oversized ceramic mug. I inhaled the aroma of the dark, strong coffee as it wafted upward to my nostrils.
Ahhhhhh
. Brain cells were snapping awake. Coming online, I took a drink of the hot brew made by Luisa, Senator Russell's housekeeper—shocking my taste buds and nervous system at the same time.
Now
, I was awake.

“Morning, Molly,” Casey said as he headed for the coffee urn on the counter beside me. “Don't you just love these gray fall Mondays.”

“I'll tell you when I wake up,” I said to the senator's African-American security guard. “Another sip should do it.”

“Did you and Danny get out to the Blue Ridge Parkway this weekend?” Casey asked as he filled his coffee mug. “I remember you saying you wanted to.”

“No, we didn't. Danny's plans changed. One of his consulting clients needed his attention,” I said, catching the former Marine's eye. “So we had to take a rain check on the parkway leaf tour.”

“Ah, yes, consulting,” Casey gave a knowing smile, then sipped his coffee. “I'm sure you two will get to reschedule it.”

I leaned against the counter as I drew the mug close to my chest. “I never know how much to worry when he goes off on those trips, or even if I should. Sometimes he swears he's in meetings most of the time. Part of me believes him, but there's another part of me that wonders if he's out in the field, or wherever, getting shot at.”

Casey and Danny had served together years ago in the early
1980s when Danny was a young Marine lieutenant. Casey had
helped carry out the dead bodies of Danny's men from the bombed-out barracks in Beirut. Older now, gray darting through his cropped hair, Casey smiled at me. “Don't worry. Danny knows enough to get out of the way of trouble. You develop a sixth sense in special forces. He'll see it coming.”

I thought about that while I took another deep drink of coffee and felt the caffeine rush hit my veins. “Yeah, but what if it sneaks up on him when he's not looking?”

Casey chuckled as he turned toward the doorway leading out into the Russell mansion's hallway. “Danny can take care of himself. Trust me, Molly.”

I followed after him. No doubt my computer screen was filled with tons of new messages, waiting for me to answer, blinking, demanding. There was no escaping. Why was it that Mondays made everything loom larger? Especially dismal Mondays. That's when the Dreaded Monday Lethargy struck. Both Casey and I must have been affected, because I noticed we walked more slowly down the polished walnut hallway of the Russell mansion. Normally, we were each fast walkers but not today. Not on gray Mondays. Especially an Autumn Gray Monday.

“I assume the senator and Peter returned on the usual nine-thirty nonstop from Denver last night,” I said. “When I got in this morning, I heard Peter in the library working the phone.”

“Actually, I picked them up from the airport early Sunday afternoon. Peter said they both had to catch up on committee research before today.”

“Wow, that Senate Banking Committee appointment has really added to the senator's workload. He and Peter have been putting in pretty long hours since late July.”

“At least he cut back on his entertaining,” Casey said as his cell phone buzzed. “I'm sure that's made it easier for you to balance the senator's budgets.”

“Amen, to that.” I turned toward my office at the end of the hall as Casey headed toward the front door. There was no escaping Monday morning routines for either of us.

Monday afternoon

Trask's cell phone buzzed on the glass table beside him. He reached for the phone as he relaxed in the Adirondack chair. Shaded from the morning sun by a dark-blue canopy above, Trask took a sip of coffee as he saw Raymond's number flash on his screen. “Hello, there. Haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks. Everything still quiet?”

“Yep. Just the way I like it,” Raymond's scratchy voice came over the phone. “Where are you now? Still cruising the Bay?”

“No, I'm at one of those resorts along the Eastern Shore. Got in right before the storm hit Sunday. It's sunny now, so it should be a great day on the water.”

Raymond's raspy chuckle sounded. “Are those other sailors drooling over your new boat?”

“Ohhhhhh, yeah,” Trask said with a smile as he looked out on the broad expanse of still-green lawn that sloped down to the water. White wisps of sails dotted the waters of the Chesapeake Bay that surrounded the grounds. “You should have seen their expressions when I told them I bought it in the south of France.”

Raymond laughed out loud at that. “I'll bet. Whatever you do, don't tell them the price tag. They'll choke on their Scotch.”

“I'll remember that. Well, if everything's all quiet, I may plan a sail down to the Caribbean next month. Winter in warmer climes.”

“Between you and me, I hope you get the chance. It was starting to get a little messy there with Quentin Wilson and that staffer Levitz. Those two jobs, following so close to each other, really set the committee off. Spencer said they were panicking like a bunch of schoolgirls. Especially after the Malone woman almost walked in on you while you were searching her computer files. That really upset some of the original members. The ones who've been here the longest.”

Trask took another sip of his Bloody Mary. “She really spooks those guys. Some day you'll have to tell me exactly why. It's gotta be more than her congressman brother-in-law's death years ago. No one's ever questioned that car crash. Not even in his hometown Denver press. So the Malone problem must go back farther.”

“Well, you're right about that. But, it's complicated.”

Trask laughed softly. “That's what you always say.”

“That's because it's all dead and buried, like the congressman. And let's hope it stays that way.”

Trask changed the subject. “Is that voice transcription software I set up on Natasha Jorgensen's phone still working? I haven't heard any complaints since I left two months ago.”

“No problems. I've checked it every day, but all her phone calls are either work related or personal. She's had a couple of calls to Malone to meet for lunch, but nothing that aroused attention. I think we damped that situation down for good.”

“You may be right, Raymond. But my gut still has this feeling about Jorgensen and that Malone woman. You know the feeling.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. But let's hope your gut is dead wrong. Those guys would not handle it well. Personally, my gut and I are both hoping you get the chance to winter in the Caribbean. Nothing would make those guys happier.”

Trask laughed out loud as he signaled a server who was walking across the green.

Monday evening

I slid across the dark wood bench in the high-backed booth. That way I could sip my Guinness and watch the front door of Billy Martin's tavern at the same time. The nights were getting chillier, and the normal Georgetown crowd was trickling into the landmark pub. Hopefully, my old friend Samantha Calhoun wouldn't be late, or I'd have to bribe the waiter to let me keep the booth. Just then, Samantha appeared in the doorway, and I gave her a wave.

“Hey, there,” I welcomed as she approached. “Has the rain started up again? You look a little wind-tossed.”

“That's the residue of aggravation from having to direct the taxi driver through Georgetown rush hour traffic.” Samantha hung her raincoat on the booth hook before she sat down. “I swear, he will not survive long in D.C. unless he learns these streets. Don't they have to take an exam or somesuch?”

“I have no idea. I simply try to dodge them in traffic. Thanks for coming on short notice. I wanted company for dinner on this dreary Monday. I didn't want to eat alone in Fortress Malone.”

Samantha gave me a warm smile. “I know exactly how you feel, sugar. Once you've gotten used to having a companion for dinner, it feels lonely when you don't. Where's Danny Dangerous off to this time? Out of state?”

“Yeah, he headed for Dulles Saturday morning, which totally cancelled our plans for a Blue Ridge Parkway getaway.” I sipped from the last of the froth atop my Guinness.

“The leaves will be around for a couple more weeks, barring any big storms. You know October.” She glanced up at the approaching waiter. “I'll have your best Kentucky Bourbon. Neat.”

“Now that my friend's here, could you bring us two bowls of your oyster stew, please? I'll bet you've been selling a lot of that today.”

“Yes, ma'am, we have. Shall I bring it now or wait?”

“Bourbon first, please, then the stew,” Samantha ordered with her best Southern belle smile.

“You got it, ma'am,” he said with a grin, then scurried away.

I leaned back against the booth. “So, tell me what you've been up to this last week. What's been on Eleanor's social agenda? Last I heard you both attended the symphony season opening night. Dvorak, as I recall. Now that the Kennedy Center's fall season has started, you won't have an evening to spare, I bet.”

“You bet right, sugar,” she said, settling into the booth. “Eleanor's in her element now that fall has come. Every night is filled with performances of some sort. Concerts, theatre, recitals. If it's on a stage, we're there.” She smiled and thanked the waiter for the amber-filled glass. “And of course, daytimes are filled with charity lunches, tedious lectures, and poetry readings. Some good, but mostly bad.”

I laughed as she sipped her bourbon. “Ah, yes … culture and charitable works. The nuns would be proud, Samantha.”

She rolled her eyes. “To tell the truth, I've actually enjoyed the charity lunches. Thanks to Eleanor, I've discovered some new groups that I've started supporting. Got to keep spreading it around, as Beau always said.”

Samantha's husband, elderly Alabama Senator Beauregard Calhoun, was one of the most powerful men in the Senate until his death several years ago. He'd left Samantha as one of the wealthiest widows in Washington—and the merriest until last summer's scandal. I recalled the events that had sent her to the Grande Dame of Washington society, Eleanor McKenzie. Samantha had been serving a very public and dramatic penance under Eleanor's protective wing since August. Her days and evenings were filled with activities overseen and supervised by the Queen Mother herself.

“I daresay all that generosity on your part has silenced any wagging tongues for good. Charity is truly good for the soul, right?” I raised my glass.

“And the reputation,” Samantha raised her glass, then sipped. “Nary an eyebrow is raised when I walk into a room now. I swear, it's gotten so calm it's almost boring. I'm tempted to misbehave just to rile them up a bit.”

“Please tell me you're kidding.” I gave her a pained look.

“Of course, I am, sugar. You know I've reformed.” She grinned at me over her glass. “I'm done with the scandalous liaisons. Of course, now there are no liaisons at all. So I'm doomed to boring celibacy, I suppose.”

Somehow I doubted my dear friend would remain in that state forever. “I'm proud of you, Samantha, and I know Eleanor is. You've totally silenced all the critics and vicious gossips. And even the Widow Wilson has stopped making snide comments to the sleazy
D.C. Dirt
.”

Samantha stared off into the tavern's main room, more crowded now than when she arrived. People were escaping the chilly weather. “Sylvia Wilson has her hands full trying to transform herself into an effective congresswoman, from what I hear.”