When Passion Flares (The Dark Horse Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

This otherwise dull day came to an abrupt halt when something beeped after Brenda’s credit card was swiped.

Brows twisting in puzzlement, the clerk apologized for the holdup and tried running the card again. The same beep popped up, and the woman behind the counter hurried to find a correction. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “For some reason the machine says that the card has a hold on it.”

“A hold?”

Kerri’s lips quivered. “That’s a nice way of saying it’s been declined.” The clerk would not look at her.

“Now hold on.” Brenda slapped her hand onto the counter and lowered her voice, although anyone else in the boutique would’ve still been able to hear her hissing. “I paid off this card a week ago. It should have a two-thousand limit on it. Don’t tell me it’s been declined!”

“I’m sorry.” The clerk bowed her head multiple times to get her point across. Didn’t matter. Brenda was fuming in her red cheeks that puffed up with every huffy breath she took. “Do you have another one?”

Flustered as if a hurricane blew through the upscale boutique, Brenda fished through her purse for another card, her hands tearing everything apart as if she could not control herself. Kerri saw this madness whenever her mother felt she had been slighted, like now. “Another card! I’m going to scold the bank something fierce later. I
did
pay it off!” Brenda slapped down another card and looked away, head hanging in shame.

Kerri put her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay. There must be an explanation.”

The clerk ran the next card. The same damned beep.

Brenda let her outrage fly at the poor clerk who looked as if she were about to crawl into a hole and die.
Poor thing.
Granted, Kerri was also confused by what was happening. In all her years she had never seen something like this occur. Brenda was meticulous with money, even if the family spent more and more over the years. At the very least she kept good track of where it was coming from and where it went out… so crap like this never happened. Let alone in public. Let
alone
during campaign season.

It didn’t matter how many credit cards Brenda used. And she didn’t have many, since she was so meticulous and avoided debt as much as she could. Odds were good she would have paid this charge off in another week anyway. So what was going on?
All
of the cards? One was a fluke. All of them was a conspiracy.

“I don’t understand…” Brenda was in near tears, and Kerri had to pat her mother’s shoulder again to keep her contained. “I don’t!”

In the end, Kerri handed over her one credit card and paid the rest in debit. Her mother promised over and over that she would pay her back as soon as possible.
I’m sure.
Kerri didn’t doubt her mother’s true intent. But she did doubt what was going on with this money crap.

“First there isn’t enough money in the bank for your trip…” Brenda said while they rode back home in the car. “Then I tried to pay our tab at the country club the other day and it wouldn’t take. I also couldn’t figure out why I had to pay off that one credit card so quickly… and now this? Do you know what’s going on?”

Kerri shrugged. She didn’t like to see her mother so upset, but it wasn’t like she had a clue what to say.
I don’t meddle in their affairs.
In turn she wished they wouldn’t meddle in hers.

Brenda finally broke down into a sob as they pulled into the driveway. Both mother and daughter remained in the car long after the driver put it in park and went inside to get Raymond.

“He has to know…” Brenda rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. Suddenly her delicate perm and light makeup looked more mussed than fuss. “Your father has to know what’s going on. He’s the only other person with access to those cards. Unless… unless someone is stealing from us… oh God, I always worry about this stuff when it comes to campaigns! So many of these interns I don’t know running in and out… who knows who has access to what!”

All Kerri knew was that she had nothing to do with it. One of the only sad truths she had.

Chapter 6

The first major debate of the year may have been a town hall format, but it was held in the largest auditorium at the local university. Thousands of people wanted in, but only a few hundred from the public – all carefully checked, of course – were allowed, and they now swarmed the auditorium with a buzz of excitement. The media took up residence in the front row, where video cameras, news reporters, and the high definition photo cameras flashed every few minutes. The second, slightly raised row was reserved for campaigners and their families. The front private balconies overlooking the stage were for the Mitchells and the Halls, and that night Hunter had a lovely view of his girlfriend as she sat in the balcony across from him.

“Don’t look so sad,” Ronnie said when they had a little privacy. The campaigners were too busy arguing among themselves to pay mother and son in their seats any mind.

“I’m not sad.” Quite the opposite. Hunter had his opera glasses fixed on Kerri’s face as she took a moment to do her makeup.
You’re lovely as you are.
Kerri caught a glance of him, smiled, and took right to her phone. Within a few seconds Hunter felt his pocket buzz from a text message. “I have no idea why you would think I’m sad.”

Ronnie pursed her lips and had a look at Kerri as well. “I have to hand it to you, she is pretty. Prettier than her mother, anyway.”

Hunter didn’t know what to say to that. He couldn’t say he looked at Brenda a lot.

“As much as I wish I could say have at it,” Ronnie continued, “I’m afraid that it truly is foolish to pursue such a relationship. But like you said, you’re an adult, and if you want to ruin your father’s campaign you’ll go right on ahead.”

Not listening.
Ronnie always had a flair for dramatics when she wanted to. Hunter pressed the opera glasses against his eyes again, smiling in Kerri’s direction – until Brenda leaned into view with a scowl the size of Alaska plastered on her Botox.
Impressive.

“Well, family,” Terrence said as he pushed his way into the balcony, his self-satisfaction permeating the people around him, “I’m off to win the hearts of everyone watching at home. I know I already have your hearts. Not that I don’t need them, but this is an easy audience!”

Everyone laughed except for Hunter. His eyes wandered the crowd below, trying to ascertain who was there for whom. Sure, there were some undecided voters in the audience, but most of them had been selected due to their loyalty to one extreme or the other. They would frame their questions based on who they wanted to win – who they wanted to look good answering, while making the other flounder. Once upon a time Hunter had played that part for an election in some other state.

Terrence kissed his wife on the head and patted Hunter on the shoulder before going off for his grand debating adventure. Hunter crossed one leg over the other, ignoring his mother’s berating that he should sit up straight in case one of the reporters snapped a photo of him sitting like that.
The horror.
He doubted anyone cared.

There was still some time to kill before the start of the debate. It did not help that they couldn’t start until the sound checks were completed, which required multiple volunteers getting up on the stage and doing some songs and dances while the video cameras and booms adjusted. Instead of subjecting himself to that torture, Hunter peered at the audience once more, and had a surprise when he saw Holly the girl sitting in fifth row, a piece of paper clenched in her hand.

Interesting.
Hunter had never asked his father about the girl’s visit. Sometimes he forgot it, until something like this reminded him of her appearance at the Hall house all those days ago.

He then looked at the woman sitting next to Holly. Just a woman, presumably the girl’s mother. She was young, perhaps in her early thirties, and kept one protective arm around Holly while she looked upon the stage as if she expected the Queen of England to appear. There were no men or other children to account for near them.

“Do you know that girl?” Hunter asked his mother when she was free to talk to him. “There, in the red sweater.”

Ronnie held up her opera glasses and peered where her son pointed. “That girl? No, I don’t recognize her. Why?”

“Oh, no particular reason.” Tonight was not the night to drag stuff like that out in the open. Better to wait for some other night, like the day after the election.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The moderator, a college professor of politics, stood in the middle of the stage and held his hand up to the nearest camera. “I would like to welcome you to the first debate for state governor of this election year. Tonight we will be hearing from the three leading candidates representing their respective political parties. May I introduce your incumbent, Governor Raymond Mitchell.”

Applause erupted as the governor strolled onto the stage, waving at the audience as he adjusted the bottom button on his suit jacket. A stage hand directed him to his podium, where he stood straight and wore a smile that said, “I’ve got this.” Hunter tried not to laugh.

“Next we should welcome Representative Terrence Hall. Representative?”

Hunter’s father walked with the grace of a supermodel.
I doubt that’s what he’s going for.
But showman Terrence could never step on a stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people and
not
preen like a pastor on his first day preaching. He made a gallant show of standing at the front of the stage to raucous applause, which made Raymond seethe at his podium.

“Finally, let us welcome candidate Joshua Payne to the stage.”

The third podium in the middle was soon occupied, as Joshua walked out with his hand held in the air and minimum applause coming his way. If it bothered him, he did not let it show. However, both Raymond and Terrence cleared their throats as Joshua took his spot.

“Thank you, gentlemen, for coming here today for this marker of freedom.” The moderator went on to give a spiel about political academics, the role of town hall meetings in making personal decisions, and the history of the building they were in. Hunter barely paid any attention as he stared at the candidates – and gazed at his girlfriend, who looked as pleased to be there. “Let us begin with our first question.”

An older woman wearing a tweed jacket and a floral skirt was brought up to one of two mics setup in the aisles. “Yes, this is directed to all candidates.”

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Oh! I’m Judith Klyde, a schoolteacher around the corner from here.”

All three candidates flashed their practiced smiles. A schoolteacher! How grand!

“Anyway, as I said this is directed to everyone. As a schoolteacher, I see firsthand how difficult it is to get funding for certain programs. At my school alone, we have had to cut many of the art programs, and the children are suffering for it. What will you do to make sure our children get the education and programs they need for the future?”

Raymond had won the toss earlier, meaning he got to answer first. He gave his usual platform speech about nothing, although Hunter watched for a hint of that old idea he had that Kerri told him about. He didn’t hear anything about it.

To say that the rest of the debate was any better would be the lie of the century. Hunter didn’t know what the ratings were like for this sort of thing, but he didn’t doubt that people in their living rooms were changing the channel in droves as every candidate gave stock answers that didn’t really answer the questions.

When the lights had dimmed, however, Hunter finally had the chance to pull out his cell phone and check his messages. They were from Kerri.

“Hey handsome. How’s it going? Are you on the verge of death as well? Because I’m about to pass out against this railing. Anyway, what are you doing after the show? Because I wouldn’t mind taking a ride on the Hunter Express.”

Hunter chuckled. His mother glanced at him, then his phone, and then looked at the stage again. Her husband was pontificating about the unemployment rate.

The people who came up to ask questions were not surprising. They were the same sort of people who showed up every time, and this year was no different. There was the single mother who worked three part-time jobs, asking them what they would do about the minimum wage. There was the elderly war veteran, who lamented a lack of support in the community. A teenager, who wanted to know why she should have to go thousands of dollars into debt to attend a state college. The young adult, who wanted to know why she went into thousands of dollars of debt and still couldn’t get a job. On the surface, these looked like real people who applied to be on here. Maybe some of them were. But Hunter recognized about a quarter of them from volunteer meetings at the Hall house.
They were profiled for these questions.
Questions Terrence had long prepared adequate answers for.

There was one man, however, who didn’t fit any profile Hunter knew of. He was white, middle-aged, and nothing fancy to look at. The demographic he was supposed to represent was lost on Hunter. A small manila envelope dangled in his hand as he approached the microphone.

“I’m a reporter for the Tribune,” the man said with a shaky voice.