“We have someone new joining us tonight. As most of you are probably aware, my son Adam has recently become engaged to a nice young woman, Phoebe Moss. Phoebe is a speech therapist who has only lived in New Skye for a year, but she says she is willing and able to participate with us in this worthy cause. Stand up, Phoebe.”
In the midst of a sea of casual sophistication, Phoebe got to her feet, certain she looked like a drab milkmaid.
“I know there are several committees who could use another member to get their work accomplished. Phoebe, do you have a preference? Is there one committee you would be particularly interested in helping?”
How kind, to make her choose in front of everyone concerned. She would have loved to play it safe, stay with Kate and Mary Rose, whom she knew. But that wasn’t the point here. Getting to know people, serving the community, meant branching out and trying new things.
“I don’t have a preference,” she said honestly. “I’ll be glad to help wherever I’m needed.”
“Aha.” Cynthia looked down at the agenda in her hand, which listed each committee in the order their reports were made. “In that case, perhaps you’d like to work on the committee responsible for running the raffle that will take place during the dance.”
“That’s just fine,” Phoebe said. A raffle wouldn’t demand too much attention except on the night of the event.
“And the head of that committee is…” Cynthia checked her list, looked up and smiled. “Why, Kellie Tate, of course. Our illustrious mayor’s wife.”
CHAPTER NINE
KELLIE TATE, ONE OF THE honey blondes seated across the room, lifted her chin and met Phoebe’s stare. “Welcome to the Raffle Committee. Give me your phone number and I’ll let you know when we have our next meeting.”
“Thanks.” Knees shaking, Phoebe sank back into her chair. She couldn’t imagine what Cynthia hoped to gain from forcing her to work with the mayor’s wife. But her only recourse was a pleasant smile and a stiff upper lip, though Phoebe wasn’t sure she could manage both at the same time.
The meeting ended with Cynthia’s invitation to enjoy refreshments and “socialize.” Phoebe started calculating how soon she could sneak out.
“That’s a dirty hit, if ever I saw one.” Mary Rose hitched her chair closer to Phoebe’s. “Working with you isn’t going to make Kellie happy. What’s the point?”
Kate put her hands on Phoebe’s shoulders. “Maybe she knows Phoebe doesn’t have a lot of free time, and the Raffle Committee has the least to do before the actual night of the dance.”
Mary Rose lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a bitchy bone in your body, sister dear?”
Miss Daisy laughed. “No, she doesn’t. I’d say Cynthia saw the Raffle Committee as a chance to…oh, what do they call it in politics?…marginalize Phoebe. Keep her out of the way.”
And that was the most insulting possibility of all. Phoebe got to her feet. “I refuse to be marginalized. I’m going in there and make my mark on this soiree.”
“We’re right behind you.” Mary Rose pumped her fist in the air. “You go, girl.”
Surrounded by clusters of chattering women, the dining room table offered a bounty of finger foods, savory and sweet. Phoebe selected a plate of goodies she didn’t intend to eat and looked around to determine which group she would conquer first.
She chose the nearest and stepped close, positioning herself between and just behind two women. “Lisa sold the shop on the Hill and moved down to Main Street,” the woman to her left said. “I still go to her because she does color better than anybody else in town. But I can tell you I’m not happy sitting in that big picture window with my hair spiked in foil and all of Main Street looking on.”
The group laughed and nodded. “Have you suggested a curtain? Or blinds?”
“Of course, but Lisa insists it’s good for business to have people see her at work. I told her, ‘It might be good for your business, honey, but it’s hell on my marriage. You think I want my husband to know this color isn’t real?’”
When Phoebe chuckled along with the group, the speaker looked back over her shoulder. “Are we in your way?” Before Phoebe could answer, the huddle broke apart and reformed farther along the room, leaving her standing quite awkwardly by herself.
The second group she approached represented a slightly older population. A woman across from Phoebe was relaying the latest news. “He started up an affair with the church organist. She had a husband and three children of her own, but here she is, meeting the pastor late at night in a restaurant out of town.”
“And now he’s left the church without a preacher or an organist,” said another, “and his children without a daddy and it’s just the biggest mess.”
Phoebe listened for a while as the saga was expanded and commented on, but none of the group acknowledged her presence and she didn’t have any fascinating gossip with which to break into the story…unless she told them about the mayoral candidate’s counterfeit fiancé. That would probably draw a great deal of attention.
She looked around the room, assessing other possibilities. Kellie Tate stood in the center of a small circle, and the glances cast Phoebe’s way over the last few minutes suggested that she was more important to them as a topic than as a participant. Kate and Mary Rose had been cornered by Adam’s mother. Miss Daisy sat by herself in the living room with a cup of punch for company. Sometimes, the best way was the easy way out.
Sinking down into the chair by the older woman, Phoebe sighed. “You have the right idea, Miss Daisy.”
“Of course. I’ve been to so many of these over the years, I could probably tell you what they’re all talking about.”
“Besides me, you mean?”
Daisy put her hand over Phoebe’s. “Have they been cruel?”
“Oh…no. Just exclusive.”
“These younger women are so ill-behaved.” She clucked her tongue. “I tell you what—I’m having a tea for Kate and a few of my friends Thursday afternoon. I want you to come. I’m staying with LuAnn Taylor while my house is being renovated, so we’ll be holding our little celebration there.”
“That sounds lovely, Miss Daisy, but you don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“I don’t. I feel sorry for these young hussies who are going to regret snubbing you when you’re the wife of our mayor. And I’m going to introduce you to some people who have a lot more courage and courtesy, and a lot more leverage when it comes to affairs in this town. You’ll get the last laugh. I promise.”
Phoebe couldn’t help being enticed by the prospect of winning in the end. But she was only pretending to be Adam’s fiancée, deceiving Miss Daisy as well as her friends and the voting public. The whole situation was becoming too complicated to sustain without a slip-up. Could they really expect to keep the masquerade going for the eight weeks between now and the election?
And after all that time spent in Adam’s company, could she once again be satisfied without him in her life?
SAM LET THE DUST FROM the Sunday engagement article settle for a week before she called Adam DeVries’s mother to arrange an interview. Cynthia DeVries met her at the front door on Wednesday morning and invited her into the living room.
“Please, sit down. Would you like coffee?” A silver service on a silver tray occupied the table in front of the gold brocade sofa.
“No, thank you.” The elegant room looked like a photograph from a museum catalog. Sam had toned downed the vamp look, but she still felt out of place. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mrs. DeVries.”
“Of course. I’m glad to get the opportunity to publicize our Stargazer Fundraiser.”
As Sam tried to remember what the hell her hostess was talking about, footsteps descended the stairway out in the hall. Shrugging into his coat, Preston DeVries came into the room. “I’m out of here.” He bent and gave his wife a sweet kiss on the mouth. “Have a good day.”
She touched his cheek. “Thanks, darling. Before you go, Preston, th
is is Samantha Pettit from the New Skye News. She’s doing an article on the Stargazer Fundraiser.”
Dr. DeVries gave her a smile. “That’s great. Should be a fun evening.” With quick strides, he crossed to the front door and left the house.
“I’ve prepared an information sheet about the fundraiser.” Cynthia offered a folder that Sam had no choice but to take. “I hope that will help you with your article.”
“Um…sure. But, Mrs. DeVries, the real purpose of the interview—”
“Is to talk about my son Adam and his campaign for mayor.” She nodded. “Of course. But I thought that you would also be able to run a feature on the gardens and the dinner dance. Not at the same time, of course, but in the near future. We certainly can use all the publicity we can get.”
“I understand.” And she did. If Sam agreed to write up the fundraiser, Mrs. DeVries would agree to be candid about the candidate. If not… “I’m sure an article on the Stargazer Fundraiser will be a great addition to the paper. I’ll talk to my editor about scheduling when I go back to the office this morning.”
“That’s lovely.” Cynthia stirred her coffee and took a delicate sip. “Now, what did you want to ask me about Adam?”
An hour later, Sam had almost more facts than she knew what to do with—his grades, “average,” his dating history, “minimal,” his college years, “uneventful.” She had the family perspective on his run for mayor, “quixotic, at best” and “foolishly unnecessary.” As for Phoebe Moss…
“I’m not certain about their relationship,” Cynthia confessed. “We had never heard of her until your article in the paper. She came to dinner on Sunday and she seemed like a nice-enough young woman.” Her shrug expressed doubt. “I didn’t feel quite comfortable about her, if you know what I mean. She says she’s from Atlanta, but who knows, really? I’m concerned that Adam may have gotten involved with someone he doesn’t really know, and shouldn’t trust, but will he listen? I’m afraid I don’t have the influence with him I once did. And the suddenness of it all…what does that mean? Is there something disreputable going on?”
Cynthia DeVries looked the picture of bewildered motherhood. Sam took down the quotes, shoving to the back of her mind her distaste for the woman across the table. She had the feeling she was being used as a weapon against Cynthia’s son. And while she wanted the facts, she didn’t intend to be anybody’s tool.
She folded her notebook. “Well, that covers all my questions. I really appreciate your time and your candor.”
Cynthia stood as Sam did. “I regret being at such odds with my son’s purpose, of course. I did my best to talk him out of this doomed effort. But if he’s being honest, then I must be as well.”
“I’m sure.” Sam escaped from the elegant, immaculate house, feeling as if she wanted to rush home and jump into the shower. Though she’d committed herself to the investigation of Adam DeVries, she’d never expected his mother to be such a…a rat.
The questions about Phoebe Moss were interesting, though. And Sam knew one sure way to answer them. Instead of a shower, she went straight to the office and knocked on her editor’s door. “I need to take a trip out of town. This week or next, at the latest.”
Laura Custer stared at her over the tops of her glasses. “Just like that?”
“Yeah.”
“What story?”
“DeVries.”
“DeVries lives, works and runs for office here.”
“But his fiancée came from Hot ’Lanta. And I’ve got a gut feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye. The only way I’m gonna find out is to dig on-site.”
“Reporters and their gut feelings. Give me just one who operates on logic and reasoned argument—a breath of fresh air.” Laura drew a deep breath and let it out again. “Why do you need to investigate Phoebe Moss? She’s peripheral to the campaign. DeVries is the one running for mayor.”
“You assigned me a piece on Kellie Tate, and a companion on Ms. Moss.”
“Yeah, the usual fluff stuff. Can’t you just interview the subject?”
“Will she tell me the truth?”
“Why would she lie?”
“Because the truth would hurt the campaign.”
“You’re making assumptions.”
“So let me go to Atlanta for the facts.”
Laura sighed. “Two days. After that, expenses are on you.”
“Thanks.”
Sam went to her desk and flipped through the Stargazer information with her mind already halfway to Atlanta.
Two days and an expense account. What couldn’t she find out about Phoebe Moss in two whole days?
IN THE MIDST OF THE campaign madness, Adam looked forward to his therapy appointments with Phoebe, since that was the only time these days they could be together without a crowd of people looking on. She kept the sessions focused on work, but that work included the chance to talk with her, to catch her sweet smile, to enjoy the relaxation being with her created inside of him.
The third week of September, he canceled his Tuesday appointment because of a campaign event Tommy scheduled without consulting him. Thursday started out with a problem at one of his construction sites and went downhill from there. By one o’clock, when he was due at Phoebe’s, he was several hours behind on his schedule for the day with no hope of catching up.
He stopped at her office to apologize. “I c-can’t b-believe the way this week has g-gone. Every time I turn around, s-s-some new d-disas-ster cr-crops up.”
“Do you have minute to sit down, have a cup of coffee?”
“I really d-don’t.” He allowed himself the pleasure of stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “How’s your week b-been?”
“Okay. I’m going to a tea this afternoon for Kate. At Miss LuAnn Taylor’s house. That’s pretty exciting.”
“It’s a terrific old house, always taken c-c-care of. The Taylors are p-powerful in this town. I’m glad to have them as supporters.”
Her brows drew together and she turned her gaze away from his. “I can imagine.”
He had the feeling he’d said something wrong. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She slipped away from him, barricaded herself behind her desk. “Do you want to reschedule an appointment for next week?”
“I don’t think I can…seems like Tommy’s got every minute booked, even the ones I don’t have to spare.”
“Well, then.” She fiddled with a pencil for a few seconds, then looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you at the wedding on Saturday?”
“You’re going to let me pick you up this time, right?”
Again she hesitated, but finally nodded. “Sure. That would be fine.”
With the distance she’d put between them, Adam didn’t try for a kiss. On his way out, he remembered he’d meant to ask her about the fundraiser meeting. He turned back to Phoebe. “How was the meeting Monday night at my mother’s?”
She didn’t smile, as he’d thought she would. “Enlightening.”
“What does that mean?” He took a couple of steps back into the room, toward her desk.
But someone knocked at the door. “Phoebe? Can I interrupt?”
“Come in, Jenna.” The relief in her eyes made plain the fact that she didn’t want to deal with the issue. Considering Phoebe’s direct approach, that gave him an idea of just how bad things had been.
“We’ll talk about this,” Adam promised her as Jenna came in behind him. “I want to know what happened.”
If his mother had been anything but kind to Phoebe, he was going to raise hell. She would not be allowed to sabotage their engagement. The success of the campaign depended on his relationship with this intelligent, compassionate woman.
Almost as much as he did, himself.
THE MAYOR OF NEW SKYE waited on Cynthia DeVries, not the other way around. Curtis Tate hadn’t become a successful businessman and politician without understanding exactly how important the support of the community could be. Especially the wealthy members
of the community.
“Mr. Tate, please come in.”
“Be glad to, Mrs. DeVries. Do you suppose this weather is ever going to break? We’re about due for cooler temperatures, I’m thinking.”
“Yes, indeed.” She showed him into the living room. “Have a seat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chose an armchair, and she faced him from the mat across the fireplace. “You had something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Your wife mentioned the possibility that the city could provide matching funds for the money we raise at the Stargazer Fundraiser.”
“Yes, ma’am, she talked over the idea with me. And I told her I thought that might be a possibility.”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Something like that will take a little juggling, a little smooth talking, you know what I mean. There’s never a guarantee when you have to deal with the bureaucracy.”
“I would like a guarantee.”
“Ma’am?”
She slipped a folded piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and smoothed it into the shape of a check. “I thought this might…secure…me that guarantee.” Holding the check between two fingers, she offered it to Curtis Tate.
The mayor looked at the sum, and then at Cynthia. “That’s…that’s very generous of you, Mrs. DeVries.”
“And do I have my matching funds?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. I can definitely promise that the city will match you dollar for dollar. Your Stargazer Fundraiser is guaranteed to be a huge success!”
FRIDAY BROUGHT RAIN showers and a weather front that blew through quickly, cutting the humidity and settling the dust on the roads. Saturday dawned with a soft blue sky and high white clouds, gentle autumn sunshine and a playful breeze. Kate and Dixon’s wedding day would be perfect.
The Last Honest Man Page 14
