What a sham. I hated politics.
Finally, just when I thought I was going to have to slip into the ladies' room and forcibly remove my nylons, the door to the congressman's office opened.
Two men came out, one patting the other on the back.
"It will all be over soon," Chanson said.
I tried not to appear as if I was staring, but frankly, I think I gawked. "Easy on the eyes" was an understatement, and the TV did him no justice. Men had no right to be so, so, so utterly beautiful.
The shorter man walked out the door and Congressman Chanson took a step toward me, his hands tucked into his pockets as if he were a six-year-old boy with something to hide. He grinned a sheepish grin at me.
Oh, he definitely had something to hide.
"Ms. Quinn, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting."
Offering me a hand, he shook it while pulling me out of my seat. Impressive. Smooth. Practiced.
I smiled, saying nothing, afraid I'd be tempted to give away my imaginary money.
"Why don't you come into my office and we can chat?"
He placed his hand on my back and steered me into his office, which was luxuriously furnished. Not bad digs, if you asked me. Weren't politicians supposed to appear on the verge of bankruptcy so that people would bankroll their ambitions?
He guided me to a leather high-backed chair and sat down in a chair next to mine. Mahogany paneling encased the room. Oil portraits hung on the walls. The pile of the carpet seemed three inches deep. Even the air smelled rich.
"I really am sorry to have kept you waiting. An emergency came up that couldn't be avoided."
"I see."
He tipped his head. "I heard you want to make a donation to my campaign. May I ask why?"
His face was Botticelli perfect. He looked like an angel living in a man's body. A girl angel. It was disconcerting. Curly blond hair was styled just so, his cheeks rosy with what I would've sworn was blush if it had been on a woman, and he had the rosiest red lips I had ever seen. Snow White would have been jealous. Androgynous? I checked his hand. A large gold band glistened on the ring finger of his left hand. I wondered what kind of woman would marry such a perfect-looking man.
I hated to burst his bubble, but I decided to be as honest as I could. "I really don't have any money to give you."
His lips turned down, barely denting the skin around his mouth. Botox? "Then why did you want to see me, Ms. Quinn?" His voice had lost its charming edge.
"I came to see you about the Sandowskis."
Perfect morning-glory blue eyes narrowed. "Who?"
"Oh, come now." I tsked.
Part of his masked slipped. "I think perhaps you should leave."
"I think not."
He rose. "Then perhaps I should call security."
"Then perhaps I'll have to go to the press with this whole sordid mess. And if you aren't involved, your name will still be dragged through the mire with everyone else who has a stake in Vista View. What would your constituents say?"
"Who are you?"
I slid my card across the desk. "I'm a friend of the Sandowski family."
"I've heard of you," he said, looking up from the card. "My wife is enamored of the work you did on the Joneses' house. I, however, did not ask for a consultation with you, but seeing as though you're here, maybe we can set something up. My anniversary is in a few months . . ."
"Sorry. All booked up. About the Sandowskis . . ."
His eyes clouded, his lips thinned into a tight line. I wondered how often he was told no.
With an edge to his voice, he said, "What about them?"
Even in anger, his looks hadn't changed. A raging angel. There was something about him and his perfection that disgusted me on a vain level. No man should look that good. Or maybe it was on a subconscious level. I knew he wasn't what he portrayed himself to be. Nobody could be that charming, that boyish.
"I'd like some answers." I tried kindness. "Please."
"About what?"
"About Sandowski's Farm. About what's been happening there."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
I stood. I didn't like him staring down at me.
"No?" I queried, arching an eyebrow. My meter was working on overdrive.
"No."
"What about Joe Sandowski's death?"
He scratched his chin. "What could I possibly have to do with his death?"
"I would think a murder investigation linking a congressman to a run-down farm would spark your constituent's interest, don't you? Enough bad PR and your next election is shot."
In a graceful move, he sat in his chair behind his desk. He leaned forward and folded his hands on top of each other.
"So maybe," I said, "you'd like to keep it all quiet, cover up Joe's murder as quickly as possible."
A hint of a smile played on his rose red lips. "I'm sure I have no idea of what you're speaking. I'd like to help you, Ms. Quinn, but I think you ought to go now."
"Are you trying to tell me that you don't want Mrs. Sandowski to sell?"
"I didn't say anything of the sort. I would love her to sell."
"Aha!"
His eyes widened into an amused expression. "I said sell, Ms. Quinn."
"And how far would you go, Congressman Chanson?"
"She'll sell eventually. Money always wins."
I scratched the back of my leg with my foot. I was beyond pretenses. "And if it doesn't?"
"It will."
He tapped my business card on the desktop. "I trust if you need to speak to me again, you'll know how to contact me." He slid my card across the desk, making his point clear. He wouldn't speak to me about this again unless I agreed to a TBS makeover for his wife.
I left the card on the edge of the desk. "Bribery, Congressman?"
Sparkling white teeth flashed in a wide smile. "It is the American way, Ms. Quinn." Pulling out a stack of papers I suspected were left on his desk as a diversionary tactic, he said, "Now if you don't mind, I'm a busy man."
Ana shrieked. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?"
I sat across from her in a booth at the front of Gus's. We'd been sitting there since eleven, ordered at eleven thirty, and now it was twelve and we still hadn't been served. I'd just told her about my meeting with Bridget.
I winced. "Probably."
"This is serious. Joe Sandowski was murdered. This isn't some game of Clue."
"Hey, I was always good at Clue."
She dropped her head in her hands. "I don't like this. Not one bit. What's Bridget have to say about it?"
Ana and Bridget had met a few times over the years, at barbecues and the like. "About the same as you."
"Do you see a trend?"
"I've always been a rule breaker."
"I don't like it, Nina. Tell Kevin."
I pulled a face. "No."
She sighed. "I'm not gonna convince you to change your mind, am I?"
Thinking of Farmer Joe, I shook my head.
"Then I suggest we change the subject before I'm forced to smack some sense into you."
"Bridget's pregnant," I said.
Ana smiled, wide and bright. "Good for her. I know how bad she wanted a baby." She picked at the edge of the table, not quite looking me in the eye. "Does that, uh, mean Tim's not free yet?"
I placed a napkin on my lap—wishful thinking—and looked around for Gertie. "I really hope you're not holding out for him."
"A girl can dream."
"It's been way too long since you've had a date."
"Tell me about it." Her eyebrows dipped. "This single life is seriously getting old."
"It's not as if people don't ask you."
"I'm a probation officer, Nina. Cons will say anything."
I swiped at the table, brushing stale crumbs to the floor. "Even still."
Ana leaned back, her eyes wide. "I'm not that desperate. Yet. You think Tim has a brother?"
"He doesn't."
"Damn."
"I'm having dinner with Bridget and Tim on Friday night—wanna come?" It'd been a long time since I'd felt like a fifth wheel.
"Oh no. Not me."
"Why not?"
Her eyebrows knit together. "I'm sure I have something to do."
"Like what?"
She waved her hands. "I need to, uh . . ."
"Since you're so desperate, you can pretend it's a date."
She barked out a laugh. "With you?"
"Why not me?"
"Wrong chromosome makeup, Nina."
"I said pretend. Besides, what's wrong with me?"
"You're cranky these days. I hate dates with attitude."
"Me!?"
"Not that you don't have good reason."
Gertie appeared out of nowhere and slapped two plates on the table. I stared at my BLT, my appetite suddenly gone.
Softly, Ana said, "Okay. Spill. You never did tell me about the big confrontation. The last thing I knew you had found his boxers in the wash, smeared with lipstick."
I groaned, remembering.
"What happened?"
Lowering my head, I rubbed my temples, trying to head off a budding migraine while remembering my near fainting spell at the school. I needed to eat, so I forced myself to pick at my sandwich.
"That bad?"
"Worse," I answered.
She took a bite of her turkey club, then put it down on her plate. Somehow, she managed to wave Gertie over. "Gertie, can you please bring us two of your largest hot fudge sundaes? Extra whipped cream, and please don't be skimpy with the cherries."
This was why I loved Analise. She always knew exactly what I needed.
"I assume you waited until Ry was out of the house," she prompted.
"Yes, but I think old Mr. Cabrera heard everything."
"That nosy old buzzard is going to get himself in trouble one of these days if he keeps snooping in other people's business."
"He's harmless." I frowned. "I think." Besides, I think foisting Mrs. Krauss on him made up for anything he'd done to me.
"Did he deny it?"
She didn't need to clarify that the topic had switched from Mr. Cabrera back to Kevin in the bat of an eyelash. We had been close for so long that we had a kind of shorthand with each other.
"At first. Told me I was crazy, blah, blah, blah."
"Did he tell you who?"
Miraculously, Gertie came back in no time flat, giving me a pitying look. Great. The Mill had heard about Kevin and me. I piled my spoon high.
The chocolate did nothing, however, to soothe my rising anger as I told Ana about the Big Boxer Blowout. "He had the gall to tell me he had busted a massage parlor and he was the fake John."
"He doesn't work Vice!"
"I know. He said they were short a guy. I think he thinks that I'm dumb." I lifted my bangs. "Do I have sucker stamped on my forehead?"
Ana leaned in, squinting. "Yes."
"What?" I sputtered in righteous indignation.
"You have to admit you're gullible."
I took another bite of my ice cream. I couldn't really ar- gue with her—she was right.
"Was it Ginger?" she asked softly.
My mouth dropped. I was sure it wasn't a pretty sight considering I had just spooned in a heap of ice cream. "How is it you knew and didn't tell me?"
"I suspected is all." She sighed, resting her spoon on the table. "What are you going to do?"
"I've already hired a lawyer."
"Have you talked to Riley?"
"Not yet."
"Do you know what you're going to say?"
"Not really."
We sat in silence for a minute.
"Any hope of reconciliation? Counseling?"
"Castration?"
She laughed. "It would solve all the problems, wouldn't it?"
I licked my spoon. "You know, Ana, I don't think it would."
She tilted her chin downward, waiting for me to continue. I searched for the words. "I just—" I just what? I tried again. "I'm just so angry." I thought about that whole weird thing with Riley's vice principal yesterday, shook my head. "I don't know what's real."
"Nothing comes easy, does it?"
"Not these days."
Eyes intent, she pointed her spoon at me. "Throw your self into work. That'll keep you out of trouble."
"Speaking of work . . ."
"Uh-oh. I know that tone."
"Several tools are missing."
"Who made it to the shortlist this time?"
"Jean-Claude, Coby, and Marty." Ana, as their probation officer, would know best who had the stickiest fingers.
"Have you talked to them?"
"Didn't want to spook them."
"Hmmm. Good idea. I'm not sure, Nina. They're all good guys."
"With a penchant to steal."
"Only Coby was arrested for theft, and it was a college prank gone wrong. Which is why he got probation."
Like most of my other employees, Coby had come to me through Ana. He'd needed a good-paying job quickly, to repay his debt to his lawyer and the courts.
I had an idea, as unconventional as it was, of a way to catch my thief. "What are you doing tonight?" I asked her.
"I hesitate to ask why."
"Just be at my house at seven."
"How do you know I don't have a date? Stop that grin. I could."
"Do you?"
"No."
"Then it's settled."
Nine
After lunch with Ana, I headed home, despite my inner voice telling me I should go to the office. I told it to be quiet since TBS was in Tam's capable hands. Heck, she ran the place better than I did.
Unfortunately, as I set my backpack onto the kitchen counter, my mind was already skipping to the design consultation I had downtown at three o'clock.
Shaking my head, I tried to clear all thoughts. It was twelve forty-five now. I had an hour and a half to myself before I had to leave, and I fully intended to use it to relax. A good book. A hot bath. Something to get my mind off my crazy, messed-up life.
The blinking light on the answering machine caught my eye. I groaned. Do I or don't I? After a moment of deliberation, I gave in and pushed the PLAY button.
Two hang-up calls beeped at me before a message from Bridget: "Hey, Nina. I just left your house. I stopped by to see if you were free for lunch, but you weren't there, so maybe some other time?"
I deleted the hang-up calls, then called the telephone company to subscribe to Caller ID. The person behind the calls undoubtedly knew how to avoid detection, but it was worth a shot.
After turning on the radio in hopes that music would soothe the savage Xena to sleep—wherever she was, I hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, where I was safe from slithering reptiles.
I worried my lip. The more I thought of it, the more I wondered if maybe Kevin and I couldn't reconcile. Perhaps I could forgive him over time.
Perhaps I was deluding myself, which broke a personal commandment.
I scanned the floor, feeling ridiculous. I'd had enough of keeping an eye peeled for Xena. Grabbing the Yellow Pages, I flipped the book open. I was going to put a stop to this once and for all.
I looked under the heading of Animal Rescue and found a listing for Pesky Pests. I didn't hesitate to call. Their voice mail told me they were out in the field and to leave my name and number. I did and hung up, feeling safer already, just knowing someone would be out soon to catch Xena.
Flipping off the radio, I grabbed the ever-present hockey stick and a package of raw cookie dough to munch on, and headed upstairs to change out of my all-purpose dress and into something more comfortable.
Feeling suddenly wary, I stopped at the top of the stairs. The hairs on the nape of my neck rose.
I couldn't deny that my instincts screamed that someone had been in the house. That someone might still be in the house. I took a deep breath, warding off impending panic.
A Hoe Lot of Trouble Page 10
