Smoke and Mirrors (39 page)

Erin pried his fingers away. "Nobody's eavesdropping. They're all too full of their latest triumph. Including you. I found a set of those clippings—you know the ones I mean—hidden in an
old photograph album. Along with the list of names. I was right about the boy. Jeff is in the clear."

"Wait a minute. I have to get my mind back on track, I've been so busy with other things. . . . Jeff's okay? Good. The clippings . . . That means she knows. She's always known."

"We assumed that," Erin said. "The search was wasted effort, actually. I didn't find out anything we didn't already know."

"Nothing happened while I was gone?" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "No fires?"

"The whole goddamn state is on fire," Erin snapped. "You can smell the smoke everywhere."

"Yeah, I know, but . . . You're mad at me, aren't you?"

Erin opened the oven door.

"Here, let me do that." Nick took the casserole from her. He put it in the oven, burned his hand on the rack, swore, and closed the door. "I'm sorry, Erin, honest. I'm still in a state of shock. I mean, I knew Rosemary was a pro, but after today . . . She had that crowd in the palm of her hand, it was pure magic, and she's got nowhere to go but up. We're going to win; I never really believed it till now. And after that—anything is possible."

His eyes were dazed by visions. Erin knew what he saw, heard the music that played in his inner ear. "Hail to the Chief"—brasses blaring, full military band. Even the secondhand echoes of it stirred her blood like bubbles in champagne, but it could not overcome her sense of foreboding. She said harshly, "Not if someone is holding a dirty secret over Rosemary's head."

Nick came back to earth with a painful thud.

"But nothing has happened lately. Maybe it's over."

"It will never be over," Erin said. "Not for me. Not until I know what happened."

"Erin." He reached for her hand. She tried to pull it away, but he held on, closing hard, warm fingers over hers. "I know we can't just drop this business; I don't intend to. But insofar as your father is concerned, it's your personal problem. Either he had guilty knowledge of that fire, or he didn't. Nothing is going to change, except your perception of him."

"And that's not important?"

"Sure it is. But Rosemary's father was a lush and a bigot. My
mom found Jesus a few years ago and now she sends every penny she earns to some slimy TV evangelist, and reads me long lectures about my sins every time I put my face in the door. She thinks Rosemary is an instrument of the devil because she refuses to fight abortion or condemn those dirty homosexuals."

"Is there a point to these rambling reminiscences?" Erin inquired.

"Oh, hell, you know what I'm driving at. You're responsible for yourself, not for anybody else—mother, father, brother, husband. Nobody's perfect—"

"Oh, Nick, what a stupid cliche!' She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. "You always know just what to say, you silver-tongued devil, you."

The swinging door banged open. "Ha, caught you," Joe said cheerfully. "Can that wait till after supper? I'm starved."

"Twenty minutes, " Erin said. "We were just about to—"

"I can see what you were just about to." Joe picked up a plate of rolls, popped one into his mouth and left, chuckling deep in his throat.

"Shit," Nick said, untangling himself. "This place is like Georgetown on Halloween. Look, honey, we'll keep at it. I promise. I just don't know what to do next."

"You don't have time to do anything. I understand. And it's going to get worse before it gets better. I guess all we can do is wait."

"I'll think of something, " Nick promised. "I'd better put some food on the table before the rest of the crowd busts in here. ' He picked up a bowl of chips. "One good thing," he said with a grin. "If Rosemary makes it to the White House she'll be able to afford some servants."

He kicked the door open and passed through, balancing plates in one hand and the bowl of chips in the other. He was still on an emotional high, unable to believe anything could cloud the glorious future he envisioned. Erin wished she could believe in it—see herself opening the door of the Oval Office and telling the President (the President!) that the Prime Minister and the Premier were arriving at the East Portico. She lacked Nick's natural ebullience, his ability to bounce back from depression.

By the time the food was on the table, Rosemary was back. She had changed into her baggy jeans and campaign sweatshirt, but it wasn't the comfortable clothes that made her look twenty years younger.

"I think my granddaughter is a little confused about the election," she reported with a chuckle. "She wants to know when she can come visit me in the White House and meet Mr. Lincoln."

"Tell her to wait a few years," Joe grunted. "By that time she'll be old enough to settle for sleeping in Lincoln's bed."

Rosemary's performance had impressed even blase Washington. The phones rang all evening with inquiries and messages of congratulation, and florists' vans made repeated visits. An arrangement of long-stemmed red roses moved Joe to a cynical comment. "That's a good omen; he never jumps on a bandwagon till it's at the finish line."

Most ostentatious of all the offerings was a basket of delicate, rare green-and-white orchids. Kay read the card first and handed it to Rosemary. Rosemary glanced at it and tossed it aside without comment. Later, when she was tidying the room, Erin found it and was unable to resist reading it. "To two beautiful women, and a bright future for both of them and their most faithful admirer." That was so typical of Laurence, she thought, to include himself in the good wishes—and not so typically tactful of him to include Kay. What was the nature of the bond between that particular odd couple? Erin was no longer certain that her original theory explained the relationship. Former lovers could remain friends, but Laurence didn't strike her as the sort of man who would bother making, or keeping, a friend.

Thirteen days
to election. Everyone was counting down. As she trotted around the house answering phones, helping with mailings, and running errands, Erin wondered if anything short of a major conflagration would be noticed in the general frenzy. Yet she couldn't dispel the feeling that something was going to happen; that the temporary lull was only the calm before the storm.

Shortly before noon Jeff appeared, looking even more impassive than usual. He paused at Erin's desk to ask when Nick and Joe were expected back.

"I think they said around two. They're finishing the commercial. Aren't you supposed to take Kay to the doctor?"

Since the accident Kay had not used the Mercedes or allowed anyone else to do so, though it was back from the shop and the mechanic had assured them it was perfectly safe. He couldn't understand how such a freak accident could have happened. He had personally checked those connections when the car was last serviced, only a few months earlier. It wouldn't happen again, not in a million years. . . .

"I did, " Jeff said. "I took her in, but she told me not to wait. Said she had errands to do, and she'd call or get a ride from someone."

He seemed to expect a response, though she couldn't think why. "There's bound to be someone around who can go and get her, Jeff. Don't worry about it."

"I'm not. I just ..." Erin looked at him more closely and saw the fine parallel lines between his brows. He leaned closer. "She was acting kind of strange. Said some peculiar things."

"Like what?"

Jeff hesitated. "Quoting Scripture. The word sin' kept recurring."

A trickle of cold touched Erin's spine. "That is odd. I've never heard Kay quote from the Bible."

"Suggest anything to you?"

"No."

"Well." Jeff straightened. "It isn't important, I guess. See you later."

The word had suggested something to her, though—a well-known phrase that had a grim, personal application. "The sins of the fathers ..." With an effort, she forced herself to concentrate on her work. There were a lot of other mentions of that word in Holy Writ. She wished she had dared ask Jeff what Kay had actually said.

Later she got a call and recognized a voice she hadn't heard for some time. "Oh, hello, Fran. I'm sorry, but I can't tie up this line; we've had so many calls—"

"I know, I got busy signals all morning. Things are pretty lively around here, too. "

"At the office?"

"No, I'm at Democratic headquarters in Arlington. I called in sick this morning. I figure I'm entitled to a few days off, and right now is when I'm really needed. Boy, you should see this place, Erin. That speech of Rosemary's yesterday—"

"
I'll
tell her you were impressed," Erin said. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it. '

"Impressed? I was bawling so hard I got my popcorn all wet. How's that hunk of a manager?"

"I presume you're referring to Nick," Erin said, unable to repress a smile; the description certainly didn't fit Joe. "He's not the campaign manager, he's consultant for media affairs."

"Oh, right. He's doing a great job."

"I have to hang up," Erin said, knowing the usual polite evasions wouldn't work with Fran.

"What's his sign?"

"His what?"

"His sign. What's the matter, can't you hear me? My horoscope says a Libra will surprise me with a romantic gesture that could lead to a long-lasting affair."

"Oh, his astrological sign. Honest to God, Fran, of all the idiotic questions!"

"Don't you know? I always ask guys, it's one of the first things—"

"No, I don't know. You really believe that nonsense?"

Fran giggled. "I believe it when it's something I want to believe. He's probably a Leo—or maybe Gemini. Libras are calm and well-balanced. Maybe that gorgeous Jeff—"

"Do you have anything sensible to say?" Erin demanded. "If not, I'm going to hang up."

"Yeah, okay; some millionaire could be trying to get through to offer Rosemary lots of bucks. Call me when you get a chance, will you? I want to hear everything. By the way, are you going to spend election evening there at the house, or are you coming home? I'd love to have company while I watch the returns. ..."

The hint was so blatant it ended Erin's fading patience. She
said, "Good-bye," and hung up without giving Fran a chance to reply. She couldn't have said why the call had left her feeling cross and on edge. She ought to be used to Fran by now.

That evening she ate alone and spent the evening watching television. The others were all out on campaign business, scattered across the state from Arlington to Charlottesville. Apparently she had not been needed. Rosemary's commercial had its first airing; though she meant to study it critically and impartially, Erin had a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes when it ended, even though she had learned enough about media techniques to understand how the effect had been produced. She picked up the book she was reading, on the running of a presidential campaign, but it failed to hold her attention; she didn't want to read about it, she wanted to do it. She knew she had a long way to go and a lot to learn, but she ached to be in on the action instead of being relegated to typing lists and washing dishes.

In that sullen mood of self-pity she went to bed. Voices and the sound of car doors slamming roused her; she pulled the blankets up over her head and went back to sleep. She did not hear Kay come up the stairs and enter her room. She heard nothing more till the birds woke her at dawn.

Down the stairs at a dead run, stumbling over the hem of her robe, catching herself with a desperate grab at the banister. Into the commons room and through the kitchen. No smell of coffee brewing, no comforting, calm presence... it was too early, the sun was barely over the horizon, Sarah wouldn't be there for another hour.

It seemed to take forever to turn the key and release the chain. Her fingers kept slipping. Out the door finally; there was frost on the ground, it burned like hot coals on her bare feet. They left dark prints across the whitened macadam of the stableyard. She pounded on the door with both fists and kept pounding till she heard a gruff, resentful voice grunt out a sleepy question. She would have answered it if she could, but when she opened her mouth no sounds came out. She beat on the door again.

It opened with an abruptness that sent her stumbling forward into Nick's arms. He was wearing only a pair of skimpy shorts, and she clung to him, grateful for the warmth of bone and muscle.

"Jesus, Erin! What happened?" "Kay. She's dead. I just found her."

He made her sit down while he put on jeans and shirt and slipped his feet into sneakers. "Take deep breaths," he instructed. "Put your head down."

"It's all right. I'm all right now. I just can't . . . seem to catch . . . my breath."

"Are you sure?"

"About . . . Kay? Yes, I'm sure. I tried ..."

"Okay. Let's go."

He didn't notice she was barefoot until she stepped on a sharp-edged pebble and cried out in pain. He picked her up, barely pausing, and carried her into the kitchen, where he deposited her in a chair.

"Stay here. You could make some coffee, if you feel up to it. "

"Sure. That's a good idea."

The familiar domestic routine steadied her, as Nick had anticipated. He was back down before the liquid had finished dripping, his face visibly paler.

"She's dead, all right. Was that how you found her—lying on her back, with the covers down to her waist?"

"No. She was on her side, curled up—peaceful. I thought she was asleep. Then ... I don't know what it was that alerted me. . . . Yes, I do. I couldn't hear her breathing. Usually I can hear her through the closed door. She snores. ..."

"Yes, okay. So you turned her over—felt for a pulse?"

"I don't remember exactly what I did." Erin's brow wrinkled painfully. "Pulse, yes. I felt for a heartbeat. Then I tried mouth-to-mouth—"

"Jesus Christ, Erin! She was cold! Not ice-cold, but definitely chilly."

"I noticed that," Erin said dully. "That was when I lost my head and ran out of the house."

"Why didn't you wake Rosemary, or Joe?"