Deadly Rumors

by Jeanne Foguth

  Strange that she’d never thought to exercise here. While, the lab lacked a shower and steam room, it had a privacy that a locker room could never hope to achieve. Not having to compare herself against tall women with perfect curves made up for a lot.

  Kelsey slid out of her navy blue skirt and folded it across her jacket. Clad in pantyhose and ivory tank top, she bent over, grasped her ankles and elongated her leg muscles for a twenty count, while Lucky leaned against her shin. Five. Six. Seven. Something thudded against the connecting door to her office.

  If Doran caught her like this, she'd die of embarrassment.

  Kelsey straightened so fast that she felt dizzy. She darted across the lab, grabbed her skirt and scrambled into it.

  Someone pounded on the door. Amber should have used the intercom to warn her. Kelsey snatched her lab coat, then a horrible thought struck her. What if Amber had been mugged and was lying unconscious in a pool of blood? Icy fingers of fear spread through Kelsey's stomach and breath caught in her throat.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Kel, are you in there?” Zoë yelled.

  What the heck was she doing here? Had Doran really meant everyone, when he told her not to open the door for anyone except him? Surely not.

  “Hang on a minute," Kelsey called. "I’m coming.”

  “So you are in there.”

  “Where’s Amber?”

  “Beats me. Everyone must be at lunch.”

  12:08, yes, they would be gone. “How’d you get in?”

  “The door was open. What’cha doing in there, playing with yourself?”

  Debating if pursuing friendships with sluts, who weren’t actually kin, was necessary. Kelsey bit her tongue on a remark she would have loved to make. “Why are you here?”

  “I thought we could go out for lunch.” Zoë’s voice held a plaintive tone. Had she spoken to Martha? Learned that the truth about her paternity was known? Kelsey unlocked the door. “It’s about time.” Zoë strutted in on four-inch metallic gold heels. Her skin-tight black lace strapless top probably had more fabric than her black leather skirt. Black pantyhose and a wide gold belt somehow made the outfit seem briefer.

  Her top and hose had been modest by comparison.

  “I can’t go out,” Kelsey said.

  “You never like spending time with me.” Zoë pouted. Her fire engine red lipstick made the action appear lewd. “Everything is more important than I am. Why don’t you just say you hate me and that I should leave you alone?”

  Oh, the temptation, but would it be true? Kelsey sighed. “I think of you as a sister.” Even now, when I know we aren’t. “When we were little, we were the best of friends. I don’t know what happened. Maybe we both changed when I got sent away to school.”

  “Always the right thing ... You always say the right thing.” Zoë’s mouth flattened. “Did they teach you that in your fancy boarding school?” Zoë clutched the end of the hydroponics table as if she wanted to hurl it, or do something drastic.

  “Zoë –“

  “Don’t you Zoë me.”

  “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She turned toward the growing table.

  Kelsey darted between Zoë and her work. "Don't lie to me.” She grasped her arm. “Something is obviously wrong. Talk to me." What had gotten into her?

  “It's everything." A sob shook Zoë.

  Kelsey maneuvered her toward the chair. Tossing her jacket onto the counter, she helped Zoë sit. What had Martha told her? Had she just learned that she was a product of violence? Did she know that her own mother distrusted her so much that she even suspected her of murder?

  Zoë wiped away her tears. “Why are you running for senate?”

  Kelsey blinked at Zoë’s serious expression. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Marvin Frederickson is an evil man and having him in office is detrimental for everyone.”

  Zoë’s hair whipped back and forth over her shoulders as she disagreed. “He's your uncle.”

  How could anyone be this dense? “Only if you want to get technical. Assuming I viewed him as family, every family has a least one black sheep. In my opinion, we MacLennans have a lot more than one, but that's another topic. Bottom line: Marvin Frederickson is not my family and voters deserve honest representation.”

  “Marv is honest.”

  Kelsey laughed at such a ludicrous thought. Zoë glared back, her look serious and defiant. “Do you know why Grandfather had him thrown out of the party?”

  “Marv didn’t get thrown out. He left because he couldn’t stand Old Calhoun dictating to him.”

  "Where did you hear with that nonsense? Political advertisements?" Kelsey laughed harder, then realizing Zoë was serious, she sobered. “That’s what Marvin told anyone who’d listen, but what he says and what he does are two different things.” Kelsey rubbed a wrinkle and thought back to conversations she’d unintentionally overheard. “Grandfather discovered Marvin was impersonating my father.”

  Zoë’s features contorted into a ‘get real’ look.

  Kelsey nodded. "He got arrested while buying drugs. The DA's secretary recognized the name and called grandfather." Kelsey closed her eyes and condensed the details from several scraps of conversation and angry comments. “Grandfather was ready to wring dad's neck, but when he discovered it was Marvin he decided to have him prosecuted for drug possession, forgery and anything else he could think of.”

  Zoë snorted. “That never happened.” Her expression proclaimed that she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Only because the next day Grandmother died and Grandfather had his stroke."

  “Marv hates drugs, everyone who listens to his campaigns knows that.”

  Too bad that Zoë didn’t know the senator well enough to watch what he did instead of listen to the propaganda he spouted. “He was a recreational user when Dad met him in college. From what I hear, he's still one.”

  “Then how come you haven’t told that to the reporters?”

  “I don't have proof, and even if I did, I wouldn’t use it. I hate campaigns that turn into mud-slinging matches.”

  “Oh, really? Maybe you don’t put it in the headlines, but you do make comments. What about the rumor that he's a pusher? Did you start that?"

  "I heard that from you, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was true."

  Zoë clinched her fists. "Take that back."

  Kelsey shook her head. The lights went out.

  Zoë screamed so loud that it hurt Kelsey’s ears.

  Though power losses weren’t that unusual, Kelsey darted to the door and threw the deadbolt, then scooted behind the lab’s center island and crouched out of sight.

  Zoë continued shrieking Kelsey ground her teeth against the noise, torn between comforting her, as she had countless times while they were growing up and letting her scream herself silly and be a decoy. Kelsey held her breath, listening beneath the high-pitched screeching. Nothing, not even telltale sounds of a lock being picked.

  Inch by inch, Kelsey maneuvered around the island until she could put her ear to the door, but the only sound she heard was the toilet dripping from the tiny hole Lucky had nibbled in the plastic line.

  Staying low, she moved to the main door, which connected to the greenhouse. Through the thick metal fire door, she heard the faint hum of the misters.

  “Zoë, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Someone keeps touching me. He’s going to knock me senseless then rape me.” Her piteous wail made Kelsey wince.

  Kelsey crept to the emergency drawer and felt for a flashlight. She swiveled and trained the beam on Zoë, who was cringing and fighting off a furry paw. She dropped the beam and spotlighted Lucky.

  Zoë screamed in terror.

  Kelsey laid the flashlight on the counter, and then scooped up the playful rabbit. “Zoë, open your eyes and look at the horrid beastie that was attacking you.” She held up Lucky, whose ears both stuck straight out from his head, as he stared at Zoë.

 
; She gasped for air while she peered at Lucky as if she’d never seen the French lop before. “It’s a bunny.”

  Kelsey nodded. “I'm sorry he scared you. It sounded like he brought back a horrible memory.” Zoë brushed away tears. Black streaks remained on her cheeks. Kelsey wet a paper towel and began cleaning her up, like she was one of the kids in the neighborhood. “This reminds me of when we were kids.”

  “Like when you found that tube of magenta lipstick stuck in the sofa and you put it on me and your favorite doll?” Kelsey nodded. “You know something? One tube of lipstick lasts a whole lot longer now days.”

  “That’s only because we’ve learned it doesn’t have to be an inch thick.”

  “I thought Mom was going to shoot me,” Zoë said.

  “Dad did." Kelsey chuckled. "I still have the photo.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Concealed behind the banquet hall's heavy red velvet curtains, Doran surveyed the white linen covered the buffet tables and glanced over the gleaming silver braziers, which emitted a variety of aromas. Waitresses clad in mock tuxedos carried shiny silver serving trays as they circulated through the room; some loaded with bite-size morsels, others had trays of drinks. False laughter came from one of the small groups, which had coalesced from the two-hundred-people, who’d purchased tickets for this fund-raising dinner; others milled around the room, as if being in a group was beneath them. A few clustered near the waitresses' path, as if their goal was getting their money’s worth in booze from the five-hundred-dollar-a-plate meal.

  The three who amused Doran the most were an older woman and a pair of artificially developed women who were using the fund-raiser as an opportunity to wear haute couture gowns and be seen in the ‘right’ circles. He peered around the room, wondering whose mistresses they might be. The elderly grand-dame with intricate lavender hair, bustled around the room, her purple velvet shawl trailing in her wake, as she patted arms and assured everyone except the bosomy duo - that their candidate was a winner.

  His attention kept coming back to Kelsey as she stood half-hidden behind the far end of the curtain behind the makeshift stage and licked a crumb from her fingers. Heat raced through his blood. Oh, to be a fleck on her finger and feel her hot, moist tongue wrap around him.

  A tall, broad-shouldered woman let out a booming laugh, which temporarily hushed the others. The dapper Master of Ceremonies used the opportunity to step to the lectern and tap the microphone. As the wail reverberated through the room, all eyes turned to him. The distinguished gray haired gentleman placed his hands on top of the podium. “Thank you for coming.” A scattering of polite applause and smiles circled the room. The gentleman smiled benevolently. “It’s time to take our seats and hear Kelsey MacLennan’s views.”

  A few people moved toward the tables, but the majority stayed huddled in groups. Doran studied the movements, alert for odd actions or suspicious looking people.

  The Master of Ceremonies smiled. “Good, since we have plenty of time, I can tell you about my grandchildren. Nan and I have fourteen of them and they're all exceptional. He gestured to the lavender haired lady. "I believe my wife has pictures, if any of you are interested.” The tempo of the flow to the table visibly increased in speed. The Master of Ceremonies winked his wife. She smiled back at him, as she tossed her shawl over a chair and settled into the adjacent one. “Does this mean none of you are interested in my photos and stories?” The false injury in his tone brought laughter. He sighed dramatically. “That must mean you’re only interested in political platforms, so I’ll simply have Kelsey MacLennan, granddaughter of my dear friend Calhoun and his late, lost Rose, tell you how she sees the issues." With a gesture, worthy of a circus ringleader, he brought all attention to Kelsey. Several flashes signaled that the photojournalists had arrived.

  She gave the Master of Ceremonies a hundred-watt smile as she walked to the podium. Three people began applauding. Within a heartbeat, nearly the entire room was on their feet clapping for her. She stepped onto the raised platform and stood next to the lectern, hands folded and smiling as she looked out over the room. She scanned the crowd in some sort of pattern, as if she was either looking for someone in particular or making eye contact with as many people as possible.

  When her wandering look came to his section of the room, he stepped out from his secluded vantage point and motioned for her to get behind the lectern. She gave him a sunny smile, but shook her head. His teeth clamped together. She’d refused to wear a Kevlar vest under her suit jacket and was making herself a prime target standing there in the open. He took a step toward her. Her radiant smile widened, then she calmly stepped behind the mammoth mahogany podium. A shiver of heat rippled through him. How could he ever have thought of this quiet woman as an ice queen?

  As the prolonged applause lowered in intensity, Kelsey took the microphone off its holder. “Thank you for your warm welcome. Normally, I begin with a joke, but since Ramsey has dropped out, and I chose to run, my grandfather assures me that’s enough of a joke.”

  Most of the members of the audience chuckled, as they settled into their chairs, however, a table-full of women wearing power suits looked insulted by the remark. Kelsey strolled from behind the lectern, to the edge of the makeshift platform near them and gave the ladies and exaggerated wink. “Having grown up in a family that swore the man was the head of the household and thus the only one fit to run the country, at first, I doubted my ability to be your official representative in the Senate.” A horsy-looking woman wearing a black trouser suit looked outraged. "Then, I realized that I wanted someone in office who will represent me and my needs; the needs of my family and my neighbors." She paused significantly. "You are all my neighbors. I want the best possible life for each and every person present and for our loved ones. I particularly want that for our children as they go forward into the uncertain future. Since Ramsey does not feel well enough to do this. I will.”

  “What can you do?” a heckler called.

  “I’m glad you asked. For starters, I want to see what I can do to minimize the effects from NAFTA. I think we can all agree that free trade made sense when NAFTA was passed. However, since 9-11 we’ve realized how vulnerable our country truly is and with so much industry shipped overseas, I now see how NAFTA makes our country vulnerable.”

  “You gonna bring the jobs back?” a woman shouted.

  “If I can, but we all know that things will never be the same as they once were and it takes more than one person to make a change for the good. Times change. People change. Technology change. And hopefully laws change.”

  “Is NAFTA the only thing you’re interested in fixing?”

  “Definitely not. I care about people and all their problems. I also care about the earth. This is the only planet we have, so we must learn to live with it in a way that keeps the land healthy.” She paused and looked over the audience. “I’ll give you an example. Every year during hurricane season, millions of dollars worth of real estate are ruined. I believe we need new building standards – standards that take the fury of Mother Nature into account, instead of alter building standards in the hope that when she does PMS, what we’ve built will survive. Instead, we humans often build things that make the situation worse.”

  Several people laughed. But the horsy-faced woman looked outraged and demanded, “What do you mean?”

  “About PMS or how we human’s make it worse?”

  “Worse!”

  Kelsey gestured around the auditorium. “Look how large this building is. Think about the acres of asphalt surrounding it.” She paused and looked at everyone. “When it rains, where does the water go?”

  “Drains,” several said.

  She nodded. “And the drains eventually dump the runoff in our rivers and creeks… Have you noticed how much worse the floods get every year?” Murmurs of agreement swelled. “Every building. Every parking lot. Every road… it all covers land, which was once permeable. When we humans alter the land, we change it and make the
flooding worse. I don’t know how we could build in the future to change this, but I do know we have to find a way.” Several seated guests leaned forward, intent to hear her ideas. The horsy-looking woman's expression eased from outrage to grudging consideration.

  Doran scanned the room for anyone who wasn’t listening.

  “Too many citizens don't exercise their vote, then wonder why they have lost control of our government.” Kelsey paused. “I firmly believe that lobbyists for major corporations control many of our elected officials and if I'm elected, I vow to you that I will not become one of them." Several people clapped.

  When the applause died, she smiled. "While I feel that many of the laws have been made to protect us, I also feel that too many laws take away our rights as individuals. Do we really need legislation to replace common sense?"

  "No!" a woman shouted.

  Kelsey smiled at her. "I'm glad someone agrees with me.” She scanned the audience. “I believe that humans are intelligent, but much of the recent legislation takes too much choice from the average individual. I would like to change that trend. If given the chance, I want to return the voice of the people to the Senate."

  Another ovation. She stood at the front edge of the platform, making herself an easy target. If she didn't get behind the safety of that lectern, he was going to drag her back there. As if reading his mind, she smiled at him.

  "Today, a large percentage of our elected leaders are lawyers." One brazen reporter held a second microphone toward her. "Another large percentage had careers with the insurance industry. Do any of us wonder why such a large percentage of the legislation that gets passed favors the insurance industry and encourages people to file ridiculous law suits?" People shifted to look at each other. "A few days ago, a friend stated that he was trying to understand how the world works." She moved behind the podium and picked up her notes. "I quote, 'If a man cuts his finger off while slicing salami at work, he blames the restaurant. If you smoke three packs a day for 40 years and die of lung cancer, your family blames the tobacco company. If your neighbor crashes into a tree while driving home drunk, he blames the bartender. If your grandchildren are brats without manners, you blame television. If a deranged madman shoots your friend, you blame the gun manufacturer. And if a crazed person breaks into the cockpit and tries to kill the pilot at 35,000 feet, and the passengers kill him instead, the mother of the deceased blames the airline'." She paused and looked over her audience. "Is this the kind of world we want to pass on to the next generation?"