Smoke and Mirrors (19 page)

One by one they sidled back to their desks. Only Christie remained, facing her superior. "They're at it again," she said.

"I can hear that," Kay said caustically. She put her handbag down on the nearest desk. "Rosemary isn't back, is she?"

"No. It's the triumvirate. Sounds as if Joe and Nick are doing most of the yelling." Christie's smile was broad and unashamed.

Kay marched to the door and opened it. The voices stopped abruptly, but resumed as soon as she had closed it after her.

"What's going on?" Erin asked.

Christie had been more affable recently, perhaps because Erin's humble station had become so apparent. Christie didn't wash dishes or brush hair. She didn't even bring coffee to other people; they brought it to her.

Now her eyes sparkled with excitement. "There's a rumor going around that Joe was the one who leaked the story about Buzz Bennett and the Shady Lane Motel. Set him up."

Erin's face betrayed her bewilderment, and Christie was happy to display her superior knowledge. "Look, the
Times
had to get a tip from somebody; how else would they know exactly when Buzz and his floozie were going to be there? I mean, did you see that photo? They caught him in his underwear, and her right behind him, wearing even less."

Erin hadn't given the matter any thought, but she hated to admit she was as innocent as Christie thought her. "I assumed the floozie—the girl—was the one who tipped off the photographers."

"Sure, she was part of it. Got her cute little bod right out there where the cameras could catch every curve. She was paid to perform—by the same person who called the paper."

"Well, suppose that person was Joe," Erin argued. "It's a rotten, low-down trick, but all's fair in—"

The door exploded outward and Nick emerged. His face was crimson. Joe's voice followed him: "Get the hell back in here!"

Nick's reply was emphatic and of the variety that would, in earlier times, have been considered unprintable. A mild ripple of amusement ran through the avid listeners. Nick's glazed eyes focused on Christie and Erin. "Excuse me, ladies, " he snarled, and stormed out of the room.

"Wow," Christie said appreciatively. "He's really pissed, isn't he? Go on after him, and see if you can find out what's going on."

"I really don't think—"

"Oh, for God's sake, don't be such a self-righteous prig." Christie gave her a shove.

Erin expected to find Nick in the kitchen; he had a thing going with Sarah, the cook, and often retreated to the comfort of motherly sympathy and muffins when things got too much for him. Nick wasn't there. Sarah was staring at the back door, which still vibrated from the fury of his exit.

"He's gonna break that door one of these days," Sarah said critically. "What's the matter with him this time?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"He didn't stop to talk," Sarah said. "Just came roaring through like a cyclone and slammed out the door. '

She went back to rolling out pie crust, and Erin said, "Men! They can be so childish sometimes. '

"So can women, honey. '

"Got me there," Erin admitted. "Okay, I won't be childish; I'll go after him and see if I can calm him down."

"Good idea. He's gonna do himself an injury someday, banging around the way he does when he gets mad. ' She glanced at Erin, her eyes twinkling. "He's not so bad, you know—for a man."

As Erin crossed the stableyard the dogs howled a welcome, but she didn't stop to chat. In the pasture below the house she saw a lonely figure running wildly in circles.

By the time she reached him the circles had decreased in diameter and the run had slowed to a jog. He rolled his eyes in her direction but did not stop.

"Say it," he wheezed as he passed her.

"Say what?"

She had to wait for the answer until he came around again.

"Childish. Me."

"Oh, Nick. . . ."On the next round she caught hold of him with both hands. He had taken off his coat and loosened his tie; his blue shirt showed dark patches of sweat.

"The wind is chilly," she scolded, reaching for the jacket he had flung carelessly onto a rock outcropping. "Sit down. Put this on. You'll catch cold."

She suited the action to the words, draping the garment over his shoulders and tugging at him until he sat down beside her. Nick grinned. "I love being mothered. Do it some more."

"You don't need a mother, you need a kick in the rear. What are you doing out here, running around in circles like a mad dog?"

"Working off steam," Nick replied. His breathing was still quick and his cheeks were flushed with exercise, but his voice was calm. "More socially acceptable than punching your boss in the nose, don't you think? Do you know what that louse accused me of?"

"Setting Senator Bennett up for a photo opportunity? They're saying he was the one who did it."

"Who says? Oh, the kids in the office?" Nick swabbed his wet forehead with his sleeve. "That shows you how rumors get started. They were half-right. I accused him, he accused me. The story is all over town. I heard it from one source, he got it from another. He was steaming when he arrived and I was in no mood to take any crap from anybody. Jeff kept trying to play peacemaker and both of us turned on him. . . ."A reluctant smile twitched his lips. "That's what usually happens to peacemakers."

"Explain it to me." Erin shifted position. The rock was not the most comfortable of seats. "I thought politicians did this sort of thing all the time. Why the high moral indignation?"

You sure do have a low opinion of us, don't you?" Nick shook his head sadly. "Wish I could say it was undeserved. But in this case it is. Oh, I admit I'd have been sorely tempted if the information had come my way. Buzz has flaunted his sexual peccadilloes for years, and believe me, some of them were pretty vile. But aside from the fact that the idea makes me sick, it's simply bad politics. If you're caught, and chances are you will be, there's a backlash of
sympathy for the victim. Americans hate a snitch. Remember back in grade school, when 'tattletale' was the worst name anyone could call you?"

"I can recall a few that were worse," Erin said wryly.

"So can I, now that you mention it. But you know what I mean. It's a stupid, dangerous attitude; there are times when you are morally obligated to blow the whistle on someone, friend or foe, to prevent serious trouble. But I sure didn't see it that way in my salad days, and most Americans still feel that betrayal is worse than the crime itself. Remember Chambers and Alger Hiss?" He was silent for a moment; then he said slowly, "I guess I shouldn't have sounded off to Joe. He's too smart to pull a stunt like that— at least he's too smart to be caught. But it really burned me when he suggested I was the one who did it."

"What you resented, in fact, was not the insult to your integrity but the implication that you had made a stupid mistake."

"I should resent
that,"
Nick said. "Actually, I think I do resent it."

"Weren't you the one who suggested I was hopelessly naive about politics? I'm learning. It's not a very pleasant process."

"You got it. " He slid off the flat surface of the rock and propped his head back against it, knees drawn up and head tilted back. "I admit the whole business seems pretty trivial on a day like this. "

From where they sat they could see the valley fields stretching down toward the stream and its rich green-and-gold boundary of trees. The summer crops had been garnered in; amber stubble of cornstalks, yellowing close-cropped hay glowed in the sunlight. Across the stream, figures moved slowly across a velvety square of pasture: white and bay and chestnut brown, graceful and remote as horses in a Persian miniature.

Nick uncoiled himself and stood up. "Therapy complete. I'd better go back and grovel to Joe. Then maybe we can figure out how to handle this latest mess. "

He offered his hand to Erin and pulled her to her feet. As they stared up the hill he said casually, "I hear you went shopping with Laurence today. Lucky girl."

"How on earth did you find that out? We just got back half an hour ago."

"Kay mentioned it." He added with a grin, "She had to out-shout both me and Joe to get a word in, but she managed. What she actually said was that you had had a long talk with the lout, singly and together, and that he hadn't mentioned the rumor, which he, of all people, should have heard."

"She's got a point." Erin stumbled over a rock concealed by the long grass; Nick's hand was quick to steady her. "If it's all over town, he must have heard it. He didn't say anything. Unless ..."

"Unless what?"

"I'm starting to find sly innuendos in a simple good morning," Erin grumbled. "But he did emphasize his willingness to do anything he could to help Rosemary. Could that have been a subtle way of warning us this was about to break? Oh no, that's too silly."

"It's not silly, but it's a little obscure even for Laurence."

"I wondered at the time why he was so insistent about it," Erin mused. "Could he have meant it as a warning to me personally? I'll do anything I can to help Rosemary win, and you'd better not get in my way?'"

"Nah. That is silly. Unless you are a political Mata Hari in disguise—a very good disguise—you have no connection with any of these people. And you don't know a setup from a place setting."

"But I'm learning," Erin said again. The words left a sour taste in her mouth.

She still had a lot to learn, though, as she was soon to discover. Rosemary had returned, tired and cross after a long day of meetings and luncheon speeches—"Concerned Mothers for Nuclear Disarmament" and "Future Farmers of America, Northern Virginia Chapter." Erin was at her typewriter when Rosemary entered the office; her expression was so formidable that only Christie would have dared to speak to her.

"How did it go, Rosemary?"

"I expect to suffer from indigestion the rest of my life." Rosemary didn't stop; she went on to the inner office.

"She's heard it too," Christie muttered. "By the way, somebody delivered a package for you. It's on the table in the hall."

"For me? I didn't buy anything."

"Oh, really? Then it must be a present."

As Erin started out of the room someone said, "Make sure it's not ticking before you open it."

The package was not ticking. It was wrapped in glittery bronze paper stamped with little figures of running foxes, and tied with an elaborate medley of gold, russet, and green ribbons. It may have been the foxes that touched off a quiver of premonition; instead of taking the parcel to her room Erin attacked it immediately, ripping off the paper and opening the box. Inside was the sweater she had admired that afternoon. Blue cats, green cats, rosy-pink cats marched across the creamy white wool. The tiny gems in the embroidered collars winked and twinkled, and the cats' tails— some braided, some wisps of fluffy angora—swung as she held the sweater out at arms' length. The price tag had been removed, but she remembered the figure. Three hundred and ten dollars. Middleburg shops had a peculiar penchant for those extra ten dollars.

Shaken by a blend of fury, bewilderment, and shame, she didn't hear the footsteps, or realize she was not alone until Jeff said, "Very pretty. Just your colors, too."

Erin whirled around. Jeff wasn't the only one who had crept up on her; Joe and Nick were with him. Christie had wasted no time spreading the word. Or it might have been one of the others, someone who recognized the distinctive wrapping paper and wondered how a humble typist/maid-of-all-work could afford to shop at such an expensive boutique.

She waved the sweater defiantly. "Take a good look. I'm sending it back, right this minute. There's some mistake."

"No, I don't think so," Joe said. He took the cigar out of his mouth, studied it as if wondering where it had come from, and tossed it into a Sevres bowl. "I don't think it was a mistake."

"Is there a card?' Nick's voice sounded strained.

"No," Erin said.

"Hardly necessary, is it?" Jeff caught the garment as Erin flung it away. "Not that a mere male like me would know, but I gather the price on this is about the same as the yearly income of a Third World peasant. Kay said Laurence had taken you shopping. He assumes we have enough intelligence to put two and two together, but not enough to recognize this as another of his dirty little tricks."

Erin turned to him. "Then you don't believe—" "Believe, hell. I
know
you aren't conspiring with Philips Laurence. "

Slumped against the wall, hairy arms folded, Joe emitted a hoarse Humphrey Bogart chuckle. "Don't be simple, sweetheart. If you were spying for Philips he wouldn't pay you off so publicly. Besides, he doesn't need a snitch inside the organization. He's got Rosemary."

Erin rewrapped
the sweater in plain brown paper and addressed it to Laurence in care of the newspaper that carried his column.

The suggestion had come from Jeff: "A public slap in the face—much more effective than sending it to his home address. "

"I dunno," Nick said doubtfully. "I mean, it's certainly more effective, but it could be dangerous. Laurence doesn't like being publicly humiliated."

"Too bad," Erin growled. She handed the parcel to Jeff, and gave him her most caressing smile. He had jumped to her defense with a speed and certainty that made Nick's failure to do so a double affront. Come to think of it, Nick still hadn't . . . She put both hands on Jeff's broad shoulders. "Thanks, Jeff. For everything."

Jeff blinked as if in surprise, but looked pleased. "Hey, you don't owe me. I wish I could . . . It's the least ..."

"Good gracious me, you've got the poor chap all in a swit," Nick said caustically. "Come off it, Jeff. That aw-shucks, little-boy routine is pretty corny, don't you think?"

Jeff's expression did not change. Slowly and gently he moved away from Erin's touch and started to turn. It was the way he moved that warned her, smooth and controlled as a snake coiling before it struck. She caught at his arm.

"Jeff, don't. Nick, what are you trying to do, start trouble? Seems to me there's enough of it around here already."

The two men eyed one another challengingly. Nick was the first to back off, though he obviously hated doing it. "I was out of line," he mumbled. "Sorry. Can't imagine what got into me."

"Can't you?" Jeff's tight muscles relaxed; he even smiled faintly. "Think about it—buddy. I hate to tear myself away from one of you, but if you'll excuse me. ... By some miracle there is no fundraiser, speech, meeting, or conference scheduled for this evening, and I intend to make the most of what may be my last night off before the election. I am going home. If I can remember where it is."

He walked away, leaving Nick looking, and obviously feeling, foolish in the extreme. As soon as the door closed, Nick began, "Listen, Erin, I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did! I've never been so disgusted in my life. How could you be so rude to Jeff?"

"Well, dammit, you didn't have to fall all over him!"

"I expressed my appreciation for his thoughtfulness and his trust. He spoke up for me. Unlike some people I could mention."

"Jesus Christ, how often do I have to tell you—"

"Oftener than you have. You stood there with your mouth hanging open, looking glum—"

"Glum! That was my introspective look. I was trying to figure out why Philips L. has gone to such lengths to get you in trouble. A flunky like you should be beneath his notice—"

Erin was so furious she couldn't speak. Instead she let out a wordless shriek that stopped Nick in midsentence and gave her time to catch her breath. "You've really outdone yourself, Nick McDermott! I never thought even you could get so many insults and nasty insinuations into a single speech. If you don't leave, I'll— I'll—"

"Oh, shit," Nick said gloomily. "I can't win. Go on, hit me. It'll make you feel better." He offered a tanned cheek.

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction." Erin turned on her heel and stamped up the stairs.

Once in her room she flung herself on the bed and contemplated the iniquities of Nick while she pounded the pillow with both fists. She was still pounding when she heard someone giggle, and realized, with astonishment, that the sound came from her own throat.