Hazardous Duty (23 page)

I pulled my hat down as we were seated.
I sat closest to the other booth, the best place to overhear their
conversation. The hostess handed us menus and I held mine up. It was just the
right size to conceal my face.

“Bratwurst. Gag me. How can meat eaters
even down those things? Do you know what they’re made of?” Sierra scrunched her
nose.

I shook my head. “Don’t know. Don’t want
to know.”

A man in a charcoal suit approached
Cunningham and sat across from him.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Cunningham
said.

“No problem. Glad to offer some help in
times like these.” The man paused. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s been tough. Really tough.”

“You have to give yourself time to
grieve.”

“I can’t. I have an election to win.
When I win, then I’ll take the opportunity. Right now, I can’t lose momentum.”

“You could always run next time around,
Mr. Cunningham. Who says you’ve got to be senator now? You already have a
successful law office.”

“This is all I’ve dreamed about since I
was a boy. I’ve been working toward it for my entire life. Every decision I’ve
made has been with this in mind. Nothing will stand in my way.”

Including, say, your wife?

“Don’t think of it as standing in your
way. Think of it as healing—”

“Look, if I wanted a shrink, I would
have hired one.” Anger singed his voice. I could imagine the fire in his eyes,
the same fire that blazed when I spoke with him at his mother’s.

“Sorry.” I could hear defeat in the
lawyer’s voice. “I just don’t want to find yourself in over your head.”

“It’s too late for that.”

I had to agree with Cunningham on that
one. I’d say he was in about forty thousand leagues over his head already. The
waitress interrupted them. The two ordered their meals and then resumed
conversation. I pressed my ear into the wooden booth trying to hear better.

“How’s everything going on the case?”
Cunningham asked. “Anymore evidence found to convict William Newsome?”

“A former friend of his has agreed to
testify. He says Newsome talked about different ways to keep Gloria quiet. All
of the evidence is stacked against him.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t know why he simply
doesn’t admit to it. It would make it easier on him.”

“He has no interest in doing that.”

Silence. Sierra and I glanced at each
other.

“A girl accused me of killing Gloria.”
Cunningham said it with such sorrow that I almost thought whoever the girl was,
she had to be nuts.

Oh, wait—that girl was me.

“The gun does look suspicious. It’s hard
to explain.” The lawyer cleared this throat. “How did it end up in your closet,
Michael?”

“Can I take your order?”

I jumped and glanced up at the waitress.
I desperately wanted to shush her, but refrained. Could she have picked a worse
time?

“Go ahead, Sierra. You first.”

I strained to hear Cunningham’s answer.
Instead, I heard, “Well, that makes sense.”

What makes sense? Argh!

“And for you, miss?”

I glanced at the menu and ordered the
first thing I saw, wiener schnitzel.

“Your food will be right out.”

I turned my attention back to the
conversation, which had moved on to sports. I sighed and leaned back, kicking
myself for missing that important piece of information. What was Cunningham’s
excuse for the gun? I couldn’t think of a single one that made sense.

And what about William Newsome’s former
friend, testifying against the man? Newsome did not kill Gloria Cunningham. It
wasn’t even a possibility.

“So, what do you think?” Sierra
whispered.

I shook my head. “I have no idea. The
mystery just keeps getting more confusing by the moment. None of the pieces are
fitting together.”

“Then maybe you need to come at it from
a different perspective.”

It sounded like a good idea, in theory.

The waitress placed plates of steaming
food in front of us. The conversation at Cunningham’s table quieted a moment. I
picked at my food, waiting for the talk to resume behind me.

The two began talking about sports
again. It seemed as if the juicy conversation was over.

Sierra made a face. “You know, I never
have liked German food, even if it is vegan.”

“Sauerkraut balls no good?”

“They’re rotten cabbage that’s been deep
fried. What do you think?”

“Then why did you order it?”

“My options were limited.”

I shook my head. I could always count on
Sierra for some comic relief. Today was no exception.

I glanced across the table and smiled as
my friend took a bite and wrinkled her nose. I’d somehow have to repay Sierra
for coming with me today. Somehow.

Movement at the table behind me caused
me to tense. Were they getting up?

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.
I’ve always appreciated your support,” Cunningham said.

“Anytime, Michael. Anytime.”

I ducked my head lower, trying to look
natural, yet conceal my face. One glance was all it would take for him to spot
me. I grabbed a menu and held it up.

“What’s he doing?” I whispered.

“Walking away,” Sierra said.

Panic trembled at my hands. “Does he
recognize me?”

My friend paused. “I can’t tell. No,
he’s leaving. I don’t think he knows who you are.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“That was close.” I closed my eyes,
thankful that was over. “Let’s pay for this and get out of here.”

***

Because of rush hour traffic, it took us
over an hour to get home. To my chagrin, Riley’s car waited in the parking lot
when we pulled up.

“What’s that look for?” Sierra asked.

I nodded toward the car. “He’s back.”

“Maybe he has a good excuse.”

“He doesn’t need an excuse for being
engaged. It’s a perfectly honorable activity.” He didn’t need an excuse for me
being stupid enough to fall for him, either. But that was my problem.

“Do you want me to go upstairs with
you?” Sierra asked. “Just in case you run into him?”

I shook my head. “I’ll be okay. I’m a
big girl.”

I trudged upstairs, praying I wouldn’t
see Riley. I’d had about all the excitement I could stand for one day.

I cleared the landing without a “Riley”
sighting. It looked like I’d make it to my apartment without seeing him or the
lovely Veronica.

My keys jangled as I unlocked my door.
No sooner had I opened it and taken a step inside, did the door across the hall
fly open.

“Gabby! I was hoping it was you,”
Veronica said.

There’s not much she could have said
that would have surprised me more than that. Although she’d been nothing but
polite, I’d gotten the distinct impression snooty Veronica hadn’t cared much
for me.

Maintaining a poker face, I turned
around and smiled. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I wanted to thank you for letting me
wait in your apartment last night. That was really kind, especially considering
I’m a stranger.”

I waved it off. “It was no problem.”

Riley’s muscular form appeared behind
Veronica, a white apron over his neck. His smile dropped when he saw me. An
unreadable look replaced it.

Embarrassment? Pity that I had thought
there was something between us? Regret that he’d led me on?

“Why don’t you come over and eat with
us?” Veronica asked, looping her hands in a circle, as if to say, “Come.”
“We’ve got plenty of food.”

I shook my head. “I just ate, but thanks
for the offer. Besides, I’ll let you two lovebirds have some time together.
You’re probably not going to be in town long, and I’m sure you want to spend
every minute together.”

“Riley’s going to come back to California with me, so
we have time. Isn’t that right, baby?” Veronica let out a soft laugh and
glanced up at Riley.

Baby’s smile looked forced, but he did
plant a kiss on her lips.

So, it was true. Any doubts I’d clung to
dissipated. There were no misunderstandings. No misconceptions. Riley and
Veronica were engaged. Now Riley was moving back to California. What exactly did he plan on
doing about Harold’s upcoming hearing? It was still a week and half away.

I’d talk to him about that when Veronica
wasn’t around.

“Well, have a good evening. Enjoy your
meal!”

Before they could say anything else, I
slipped inside my apartment, acted like a perfect lady by not slamming the door
in their faces, and leaned back, trying to control my shaky breaths.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

How would Cunningham react if
he saw me? The question nagged at me as I drove to the radio station the next
day. I pulled my khaki newsboy cap lower. I’d worn a respectable red shirt,
jeans, and brown blazer. I’d have to stay in the background, keep my face
hidden.

As I cruised down the road, I grabbed my
cell phone and dialed Mildred’s number. Her sister answered on the second ring
and handed the phone over. Mildred’s voice had lost the frantic edge it
contained when I last spoke to her.

“How are you?” I held my breath, waiting
for the answer. She had to be a wreck, with her husband sitting in jail and her
left to wait it out.

“I’m doing just fine, Gabby.”

“Just fine?”

“It’s been tough, but Harold and I have
both realized we just have to put the situation in God’s hands.”

“God’s hands?” I’d been reduced to
repeating everything she said as understanding eluded me.

“We know He’s in control and that
everything happens for a purpose. We didn’t trust at first, but now we’ve
realized that trusting God is all we have. It says in the Good Book that we’ll
have trouble in this world. But this world is not our home, it’s just a passing
phase.”

“So, you think God is going to get you
out of this mess?” I didn’t want to sound skeptical, but her reasoning
frightened me.

“Whether Harold’s framed or not, God is
still in control. We’ve chosen to trust instead of worry, Gabby-girl. We’re
going to be just fine, however the tide turns.”

At least it made her feel better, I
reasoned. I guessed religion was good for that, if nothing else.

I flipped my phone shut as I pulled up
to the station. I’d purposely arrived late so Cunningham wouldn’t see me. I
snuck in and joined a crew of people listening to the interview. Most of the
crowd wore suits and dress shoes. I smoothed my jeans and tugged my hat again.

My gaze roamed the people around me. No
doubt there were producers, campaign managers, publicists among the faces, but
no girlfriend. Cunningham probably had her tucked carefully away in a love nest
somewhere. Did any of his staff suspect the man they supported was a killer?

Cunningham talked about the changes he
planned on making regarding funding to our state park programs. He and Gloria
had enjoyed visiting many of them. He believed in preserving nature.

Too bad he didn’t feel the same way
about human life.

As he droned on, I studied the people
around me. A blond scribbled notes. An effeminate male mouthed the words along
with Cunningham. A brunette nodded in cadence with each of the political
superstar’s words.

The show cut to a commercial. Everyone’s
shoulders seemed to relax collectively. The girlie-man glanced at me.

“Robert Brown. Publicist.” He extended
his hand. It felt abnormally soft and sticky.

“Gabby. I’m . . . a
friend of Bill’s.”

“Would you like a bumper sticker?” the
blond asked. She held up a “Cunningham for a Better Virginia” monstrosity.

Everyone’s eyes were on me. “Sure.” I
grabbed it and stuck it in my purse. Maybe I could use it to fix a crack in the
plaster in my bedroom. Then I’d have it handy for a dartboard.

Cunningham approached the glass door
that separated us from him. I spun around and flashed a smile, hoping my heart
shaped face would do its job. “I need to run to the restroom. Excuse me.”

The radio blared from tiny speakers in
the bathroom. I waited until the show started before emerging and taking my
place in the back of the crowd.

I didn’t know what I expected to find
out. I just hoped the answers were somewhere in this room. The brunette glanced
back at me and did a double-take. My throat went dry, and I wanted to shrink.
Did she recognize me? Did Cunningham have a hit list he shared with his staff?
Was my face the biggest and most dominate on it? I tugged at my hat again.

“I love your necklace,” the brunette
whispered.

I fingered the heart-shaped pendant that
used to belong to my mother. Relief rushed through me. “Thanks.”

I glanced at the pretty woman and
wondered what her role in this campaign was. My eyes traveled to her earrings.
I froze at the golden daisies.

Cunningham’s girlfriend wasn’t tucked
away at all. I was staring right at her. She’d changed her hair color, but the
earring gave her away.

“I like your earrings.”

She touched them with her manicured
fingers. “These old things? I love them, too. Wear them all the time.”

I leaned in closer and nodded toward
Cunningham. “So, what’s your role in all this?”

The woman flashed a bright smile.
“Candace Mills. Campaign manager.”

When I saw the mermaid in the picture,
I’d assumed the “other woman” was a coworker. I never considered she could be a
member of his campaign.

“Nice to meet you.” Finally, I had a
name. I had a motive. And I had a killer.

I had to call Parker.

Bill wound down toward another
commercial. I had to leave before Cunningham saw me. I took a step back, just
as he looked up. His eyes darkened.

Ignoring the looks of those around me, I
fled. I hopped in my van and pulled out my cell phone. A minute later, I rang
Parker’s private line.