Tracie Peterson (22 page)

“There are currently several studies being done to calculate what would be the most beneficial to both the employees of this state and the taxpayer.”

“But a state filled with unemployed people is a state in trouble. Taxpayers are working people,” Melissa said boldly. “You can’t pay income taxes unless you have an income.”

Kerns narrowed his eyes. “That’s where private industry comes in, Mrs. Jordon.” He saw her as a definite adversary. He’d hoped to be rid of her by moving Cara to Wichita—after all, Cara had told him that Melissa was to be her assistant. “Private industry,” he offered, “will snap up those unemployed workers as they assume the jobs once performed by the state.”

“What type of jobs might this include?” a Wichita reporter asked.

“There’s really no limit to the possibilities,” Kerns replied. “Highway construction can be privitized, hospital and mental health workers, even clerical staff can be hired through private agencies. In some cases, this has already been tried and found to work quite well. The employee can remain the responsibility of the private company, while working for the state. This way the private sector is paying for benefits such as health insurance, retirement, and so forth.”

“And you are confident that layoffs aren’t in the picture?” Melissa dared again.

Kerns drew a deep breath and leaned both hands on the podium. “No, Mrs. Jordon, I’m not. As governor of this fair state, I will have to be strong enough to make some unpopular choices. Choices that may seem detrimental to the individual, while benefiting the greater masses. We have to look at the big picture here. Layoffs are a possibility. So too is the dissolving of obsolete agencies. Over all, it is my intention that the elimination of state employee positions be a voluntary thing. However, I have broad enough shoulders to square the load if that’s not the case. I was elected governor because I promised to eliminate waste, and that is exactly what I intend to do.”

Kerns answered only two additional questions before bringing the conference to a halt. “I will keep you informed as we have new developments. This will be a program that requires cooperation from all sides. The better we work together on it, the better for Kansas.”

Thirty-One

Russell Owens listened with marginal interest as the Association wrapped up their weekly meeting. He was anxious for the various matters to be resolved so that he could get on a plane and fly down to Wichita. Cara Kessler was awaiting his arrival, probably not with the same kind of enthusiasm he had for the job at hand, but nevertheless, she was waiting.

“We took possession of an entire bag of shredded documents,” Patrick Conrad was saying. “I believe it will be possible to reassemble some of these. After all, no one thought to really stir up the bag, and the shredder appears to have rather dull blades. Some of the pages are still partially intact at the bottom.”

“Good. If it was worth shredding, it’s worth our knowing more about it,” Kerns announced. Russell watched as he picked up a neat stack of photocopied information. “This is all very helpful, Pat.” For once Pat Conrad didn’t seem to need a cigarette to steady his nerves.

Russell noted that George Sheldon wasn’t faring as well. The EPA was formally charging him with various forms of environmental negligence, and Kerns was cutting him loose from the Association. Sheldon hadn’t taken the news well. In fact, Russell had seen the man actually press a hand to his chest and grimace. Perhaps he’d have a heart attack and rid them all of the liability he was bound to become.

When Serena Perez appeared at the door, Russell was surprised to find her motioning him outside. Usually her messages were for Kerns, but this time it was evident that Owens was the object of her interest. With reluctance, Owens took up his suit jacket and followed her outside.

“What is it?” he asked, shrugging into the coat.

“You’d better get out to Clarion Estates. Debra’s ranting and raving and making quite a scene. Security just called and suggested someone come talk to her. She says she’s going to leave Bob because of his infidelity.”

“I’m on my way,” Russell said, realizing how desperate the situation could become if any of the press caught wind of this. “When the meeting breaks up, let Bob know where I’ve gone.”

****

When Russell pulled into the cul-de-sac off of Clarion Drive, he was again struck by the grandeur of the palatial three-story estate. Brass lighting fixtures capped the tops of two massive brick entry posts, while black wrought iron encircled the grounds like a line of shadowy sentries. Driving through the open gates, Russell tried to imagine what it would be like to call such a place home.

Owens could understand the desire to use this as the governor’s mansion instead of the ancient Cedar Crest. This impressive creation bespoke of the money and power that Kerns held. It also said loud and clear that Kerns would not conform to tradition merely for tradition’s sake.

Because it was almost February, the landscaping was rather impoverished beside the $850,000 home. Stark bare ground had been covered with sod, but the lifelessness was evident, as was the case with a variety of newly planted trees. Behind the house a stand of forest seemed to help break the barren look, but even these were devoid of leaves and life. It made the house take on a haunted appearance.

Parking the car, Owens hurried up the brick walkway and rang the doorbell. When security opened the massive oak door, Russell was immediately assaulted by Debra’s tirades.

“If that’s my husband, tell him he can just turn around and go back to the arms of his press secretary!”

Russell looked at the guard, who shrugged and closed the door.

“Debra, it’s me, Russell Owens.”

The petite blonde appeared in the arched entryway to the
main living room. Her short hair was neatly sprayed into place, and her makeup was impeccably applied. She wore a gray flannel jumpsuit whose finely tailored lines promised to bear a designer label. All of these were secondary dressings, however. The rage in Debra Kerns’ eyes was clearly the only thing she was interested in wearing at the moment.

“What do you want, Russell?”

“I, well . . .” He thought for a moment. It wouldn’t do to tell her that security had called to report her. “I came for some papers.”

She clenched her teeth and nodded. “Take whatever you want. I’ll even give you the combination to the safe.”

“That won’t be necessary, Debra,” Russell replied soothingly. “Sounds like you’re having a bad day. If you want, I can come back later.”

“No.” A bit of the anger seemed to leave her face. “Get what you need.”

Russell thought for a moment, then said, “What I really need is a drink. I think your husband’s administration is taking its toll on me.”

Debra smiled, sensing a comrade. “I have some very old Scotch,” she offered. “A drink sounds like just the thing.”

It was just as Russell had hoped. He nodded and followed her across hardwood floors into the living room. Here was more evidence of the grandeur to which Kerns was accustomed. An antique Persian rug sprayed out across the floor in reds, blues, and golds. Red and gold throne chairs sat at either end of the room, while two gold brocade antique sofas sat at right angles to the massive native stone fireplace.

“Here you are,” Debra said, smiling in what might have once been an attractive manner.

Owens noted she’d poured a drink for herself, and he raised his in salute. “Cheers.”

“Whatever,” she answered and tossed back the Scotch as though it were nothing stronger than tea.

“Want another?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she returned to the bar and poured herself another drink.

“I’m still good on this one.” Russell knew if he could just keep her drinking she would eventually pass out.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you,” Russell finally said.

“Have you got a couple of years?” she questioned snidely and finished off the second drink. She poured another, and this time took the bottle with her, motioning for Russell to take a seat. “I’m divorcing Bob,” she announced without fanfare. “I’ve absolutely reached my limit of tolerance.”

“Tolerance for what?”

Debra glared at him. “What do you suppose? His affairs are driving me insane. I’ve had it up to here.” She drew her drinking hand across her neck, sloshing Scotch on her jumpsuit. She contemplated the spill for only a moment before shrugging and continuing her list of grievances. “I have a feeling—no, I’m almost certain that Bob is sleeping with Serena Perez. That woman is always with him, always flashing her white teeth and swinging her hips. Of course, she hasn’t got a thing in her wardrobe that comes below the knee. She even wore a mini to the inaugural activities.”

Russell nodded. He remembered only too well. Serena had made quite a hit in her clinging red sequined dress.

“Well, if Bob thinks I’m going to sit back and take this public humiliation, he’s got another thing coming.”

She poured more Scotch and sipped it awkwardly. Russell noted she was slowing down. Her rigid posture had relaxed to a kind of sprawling disinterest.

“He’s an animal,” she whined.

“I’ve never known him to dally with Serena,” Russell stated honestly. In fact, for all of Serena’s teasing and provocative dress, Russell had actually seen her put Kerns at arm’s length.

“Bob takes what he wants,” she said and downed her fourth glass of Scotch.

Now less agitated, she became almost more focused on her
vocal assault. Though stammering somewhat, she managed to express every injustice, real or imagined, that Bob had ever put upon her. After an hour of listening, Russell couldn’t help but wonder why Kerns hadn’t at least called to find out the status of the situation.

She began to cry when the Scotch ran out, and Russell was in no way experienced in comforting drunken females.

“Come on, Debra. Let me help you to bed. Maybe you’ll feel better after you sleep it off,” he suggested.

“But I loved him,” she said, turning mascara-smudged eyes on Russell. “I gave up my entire life for him.”

Russell grew uncomfortable. He could competently handle himself in court or crisis-manage a political campaign, but weepy women were something he’d never been able to figure out. They never seemed to respond the same way, and it was almost always a real feat of mind reading to figure out just how he should react.

He offered her a helping hand, and Debra clung to it as if he were some kind of lifeline. Getting her to her feet, Russell could tell she’d never be able to negotiate the stairs. Not knowing any of the security staff by name, Russell called out in the only way he could.

“Security!”

The same man who’d let him into the house appeared from the entryway arch. “Problem?”

“Yeah, she’s dead drunk. Can you carry her up to her room?”

The broad-shouldered guard nodded. Russell handed Debra over to him and glanced at his watch. He’d wasted a great deal of time here. “Go ahead. I’ll follow.”

The guard grunted and took off up the stairs as though Debra weighed no more than a child. Just then the front door opened.

“Mother, I’m home,” Danielle Kerns called out.

“I’m afraid,” Russell said, coming into the foyer, “your mother is indisposed.”

Danielle paled. “What’s happened?” She put her books on a small oak receiving table and pulled off her coat.

Russell imitated tossing back a drink and Danielle immediately understood. “Where is she and why are you here?”

As Danielle hung up her coat, Russell explained, “Security called me. She was drinking heavily and they were afraid she’d hurt herself. Your father was in an important meeting, so I came to see what I could do.”

Danielle marched into the living room and spied the empty bottle. “It isn’t like her to drink so early in the afternoon.”

Russell wondered if she’d question the two drinking glasses, but with a frown Danielle turned to the stairs just as the security guard was descending.

“Hello, Pete. How’s Mother?”

“I just put her in her bed. She’s still pretty upset, though.”

Danielle nodded. “I’ll go right up.” She turned back to Russell and offered a grim smile. “Thanks for helping her out.”

“No problem. That’s what I’m here for.”

Thirty-Two

Cara was less than delighted at the prospect of spending her evening discussing affairs of state with Russell Owens. He had made it clear that he’d arrive in Wichita around five-thirty, and he’d come directly to her office after checking in at the Marriott, unless of course she wanted to meet at the hotel. She had declined and agreed to wait around for him instead. She was scarcely more settled now than she had been three weeks ago. She’d hired an older woman as her secretary and immediately appreciated her skillful organization. Liz Moore had worked in a previous gubernatorial administration and knew the job of running the Wichita office better than Cara could have hoped.

“I’m heading home,” the plump dark-headed Liz announced.

“Thanks for all you’ve done. I’m grateful for your patience.”

Liz smiled. “Hope your meeting with Mr. Owens goes well. Are you sure you won’t need me to take shorthand?”

“No. Supposedly he’s bringing me copies of everything important. The rest I’ll just depend on remembering and take my own notes if necessary.”

“Well, if you’re sure. Don’t forget we’re interviewing office staff tomorrow.”

“Right.” Cara watched Liz gather up her things and cross the outer office. Just as her secretary opened the door, Russell Owens appeared in the opening.

“Well, hello,” he said with a suave kind of smile. He noticed Cara and motioned to Liz. “Care to introduce us?”

“Liz Moore,” Cara replied, “this is Russell Owens. Liz is my new executive secretary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Owens. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

“All good I hope.” Russell took hold of Liz’s hand and turned on the charm. “I’m looking forward to spending this week with you both.”

Cara felt like rolling her eyes, but instead she waited for Russell to wrap up his performance. “Liz has an important date this evening with her granddaughter, otherwise she’d be staying for our meeting tonight.”