“I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Edwards. I would like to be scheduled as a speaker in your lecture series at Fordham Hall as soon as possible. I was hoping there may be an opening in the next two weeks—or perhaps you could juggle. I am prepared to provide assistance with publicizing the event.” She paused. She knew the request was arrogant, but that couldn’t be helped. Besides, she figured he was used to self-important people and she was just another in the line.
He opened his mouth and paused. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was bolder than the usual self-important people after all. She smiled at him—and at herself.
“I’m a bit taken by surprise—don’t mind me. I’m certain that we’d love to include you. You are a Pulitzer Prize-winning author and a leading researcher, not to mention a political leader as well…I will work on it. We’ll set the wheels in motion right away. What will your topic be, Ms. Grace?”
“The nature of sex and the media in the political campaign process in the United States today. I have some original research to share.” She held her face in a serious line, but it was hard because Mr. Edwards’s mouth hung open this time. His PR side wanted to drool, but the side of him with the academic hat was seriously alarmed. She took pity.
“My lecture will be every bit as serious as I am—in spite of the media circus. I won’t pull punches, Mr. Edwards. I intend to pop the balloon the media has set sail and bring the campaign back down to earth. My lecture will give serious people something serious to think about.”
“No doubt. And no doubt there will be representation by the media at the lecture.” He sounded unsure as to whether this was a good thing.
“There always is. As far as I know, the university has always welcomed the press and the publicity they bring for this esteemed lecture series. Don’t worry, it will be good press for you, although it will likely be mixed press for me. I will be controversial at worst and you will be congratulated for being on the leading edge of the controversy, for providing the public forum as you always have, for debate on all the latest and most difficult issues of the day.
“And this issue—about the media—can’t be handled by the media. You provide a unique forum, the only one appropriate for this debate.” She stood. He rose with her.
“I believe you are right, Ms. Grace. We will call with the scheduling arrangements. I think I can arrange it for two weeks from now.” He shook her hand. She gave him her card.
She mentally clapped her hands. Two weeks from now was perfect. It would be only days before the primaries. As she walked away, she could imagine him saying to himself, She really is mad.
Chapter 13
Glancing at the candy dish with the dwindling supply of Lindt chocolate balls, Madeline immediately punched in the number on her wireless for the factory store in Stratham and ordered a new supply to be shipped. Everyone was eating the chocolate now, and she was becoming rather friendly with these people. Even though they were in New Hampshire, they made a modest donation to her campaign. She would have preferred a lifetime supply of free chocolate truffle balls instead.
She laughed out loud. Sarah looked up with a frown from the appointment book she’d been studying.
“Don’t mind me.” Madeline stopped her pacing. It was late.
“I usually don’t. But you realize if you don’t quit that we’re going to have to pay for a new carpet when we leave here.” She looked back in her book. “We’re going out to western Mass tomorrow. We have three appointments in the Berkshires and two in the Connecticut River valley. I’ll schedule more while I’m out there. We should spend a week at least. You’re starting to appear out of touch and eccentric to the rabble.”
Madeline raised her brows. “I suppose the rabble is right about that. I’ll call my mother. I’ll stay with my parents.”
“Val scheduled the Holyoke Mall,” Sarah added.
“That’ll get me back in touch in a hurry. Are the latest polls by clever boy saying I’m out of touch?”
“No. The latest polls by the other party. They are published. You’re behind in your reading.” They both glanced at the pile of clippings and reports sitting on her table next to her notebook computer.
“It’s another of those pesky catch-22s of campaigning. The more you get out the more they write about you and the less time you have to read it. We’ll have to shortcut it. Have Valerie read everything and brief me each morning—or evening. Whichever she feels more comfortable with. I can’t afford not to be alert at either end of the day.”
“I guess your chocolate ball habit is coming in handy after all. It certainly keeps you ‘peppy,’ shall we say.” Sarah got up and left the room. Madeline laughed. Perhaps Clever Dennis was having a positive effect on Sarah’s personality as well as the campaign.
Jonathan entered the office, picked up the remote on the coffee table and punched some numbers. Madeline watched the evening ritual as the scoreboard changed. Even though she heard the words from Sarah, it was dismaying to see herself not only behind PJD in the polls, but also behind the other party’s leading candidate, Jimmy Mack.
“Don’t worry, we’re on it. Scheduling some neighborhood visits now. We’ll take a van. Looks like I’m elected driver. Clever Dennis said he needed his hands—for something or other.” Jonathan wiggled his brows at her.
“Don’t start believing all the rumors and innuendos, Jon. Remember, they aren’t real.”
“I know, but I wish they were. What’s wrong with him?” Jonathan sat on the couch now and watched her. She was sure she looked startled. This was even brasher than she was used to from him. It was beyond blunt—it was personal.
“Hey, that’s a personal question.”
“I know. So what’s the answer?”
“Nothing is wrong with him. I’m not in romance mode. I—we are in campaign mode. Remember? Now go away and do something campaign-y.” She shooed him with a wave of her hands and resumed pacing.
Her cell phone rang; the private line. She pressed the button before the first ring ended.
“Quick on the draw—you must have known it was me calling. You going to be at the mall in Holyoke tomorrow?” It was PJD. She calmed the sudden leap in her pulse.
“Yes, I am. You’re following my campaign pretty close—trying to pick up tips?
“No—I mean—of course. Looks like the mall management figured it would be a good way to increase traffic—they invited us all. See you there.” She thought he was going to click off, but there was a hesitation. And then he added, “How about if we get together? Are you staying at your parents’?”
“Don’t be foolish. Of course I’m staying with them, but I’m leaving them out of all this. That was the deal. They’re shy academics, apolitical types, remember? Besides, you and I can’t be seen together on any personal level—not even for old time’s sake.”
“Oh, we won’t be. I love the cloak-and-dagger stuff, remember? Besides, I need to update you on some fascinating developments that we have a mutual interest in—on the QT. See you there at the end of the day.”
The smile she didn’t realize she’d held now faded. That was foolish of her. She should know better than to appreciate his attention. And not only because the attention was strictly professional, but because it would be really crazy for her to even consider what she kept considering.
Road Trip
Madeline, Dennis, Sarah, Jonathan and Valerie walked down the small-town street lined with small-town businesses. Madeline noted there was even a shoe repair shop. The goal was to meet with the selectman who was “un-enrolled,” or otherwise known as an independent. Madeline spotted the storefront for the local weekly newspaper, but not before Dennis ducked in.
“Good. Now maybe he’ll stop his grumbling about what a waste of time this is.” Valerie folded her arms in front of her. They all stopped. The stop in this small town had been Valerie’s brainchild to make sure they were still in touch with the people. Clever Dennis didn’t see the point of getting in touch with the people unles
s the press knew you were getting in touch with the people. Madeline smiled at Valerie, appreciating the disconnect between her and Dennis and appreciating both perspectives. Of course they were both right.
She squinted through her sunglasses on this perfect bluebell day. Sunny blue skies and seventy degrees with light breezes reminded them of the perfection that could be August in New England. It was a perfect day for a walk, no matter if they didn’t see a soul. They should consider it a way to refresh themselves.
“Stand still and breathe deeply everyone. Look around you at the blue skies. Listen to the rustling trees and the birds chirping in the absence of traffic noise.” She paused and took her own advice. Even Sarah did not dare give her a skeptical look. It might sound hokey, but it was real. This was their group reality check.
Dennis burst out the door into the middle of the silent group. “Okay everyone, we’re all set. Let’s go. They’ll meet us at the town green with cameras.” Their peaceful moment ended. Valerie gave him a face that told him exactly that.
“What?” He looked at them all, puzzled. “You all need more coffee. The reporter told me the coffee shop down the next block is always full this time of morning. Let’s go. We’ve got a few minutes.” Dennis spread his hands and attempted to herd them in the direction of the coffee shop. They all looked to Madeline, and she shook her head at Dennis.
“Incorrigible.” But she moved on nevertheless. This time Jonathan let out a sigh. She was determined to enjoy every last second of the relative calm of this small town—the crowded coffee shop included—because later they’d be making an appearance at the dreaded Mall.
If the parking lot was any indicator, the Holyoke Mall was packed. Jonathan drove up to the main entrance to let them all out. Madeline hoped the young campaign workers they sent ahead to set up a small booth with pamphlets and buttons had done their job. No doubt all the candidates made the same arrangements.
“Brace yourself. The mob awaits—again. Could be the same mob,” Dennis half joked as he slid open the back door of the van for her, Sarah and Val to get out. They all wore suits with mid-heel pumps and needed help climbing down. Maybe they should have opted for an old-fashioned but easy-to-get-out-of station wagon.
“I’m going to have to start wearing pantsuits when we go for rides in this van,” Madeline said as she landed on the walk.
“No!” Valerie, Sarah, Dennis and even Jonathan all said at once. She looked at them and laughed.
“Okay. I get it. No need to give up my advantage—my legs, after all, are an important campaign issue.”
They lined up, moved forward and pushed through the doors of the mall.
It didn’t bother Peter, but Rick muttered about the fact that the mall management hadn’t even covered over the raw plywood of the platform when they slapped together the makeshift stage in the two-story atrium at the center of the mall.
“What’d you expect? I’m not running for king and this isn’t exactly Camelot.” Peter enjoyed watching the frown turn into a scowl on his friend’s face.
“Don’t be so complacent. St. Cyr is here. Something is up for him to travel this far from home base.”
“Yeah, something is up. It’s called a hot campaign and politics is his beat. That and he’s enjoying his role as Mad’s personal antagonist.” A little too much. Peter was careful to keep his tone neutral. That was probably what gave him away.
“Jesus frigging Christ. Will you stop worrying about her? Start covering your own butt. She has people,” Rick almost sputtered. Peter didn’t bother to squelch his chuckle. It was either that, or show that he was seriously concerned. Rick was right, though. Something was up. He needed to talk to Madeline and see if she had any ideas about what it might be. He had his own ideas, but he wanted to make sure she was on her guard, especially for leaks about sensitive information.
Peter walked up the platform steps, the last candidate to take his place for the introductions to the shoppers at the Holyoke Mall. Glancing around, he noted the generous sprinkling of press, most of them unfamiliar locals, with St. Cyr, Mary Porter and a couple of other Boston area regulars thrown in. Then there was the TV camera and crew carving out their space in the crowd. Not much of a surprise. Performing for TV tended to ratchet up Rick’s intensity, though. Being in an “I’ll show them—go for the jugular” frame of mind was over the top for this event, but that wasn’t a bad thing. He could control Rick.
Taking in the intros and pretty little down-country speeches with only one ear, Peter appreciated the chance to watch Madeline to his heart’s content. She turned from the podium and gave him a look while the modest audience clapped on cue. It wasn’t much of a guess to figure she didn’t appreciate his appreciation. He knew better than to smile at her. This was the part where the media shouted questions, and they had to be quick on their feet and fast in their talking.
“Mr. Douglas, if you will answer a question?” St. Cyr started. “The state and local police haven’t announced their endorsement yet and you, being a district attorney would naturally be expected to garner their support. Can you tell us why they might be holding back?” The man was good if your yardstick was how contentious and controversial this campaign could possibly be made. And of course, that was the yardstick for the press.
“I’ll tell you exactly what’s holding them back from supporting me. Madeline Grace. She’s been a superstar on the parole board, working her genius to complement the task of law enforcement, as I have also been doing, I should add—in all immodesty.” He paused for chuckles from the crowd. “Which is why I have invited Ms. Grace to consider running with me as lieutenant governor. We’d make a great team.” That was bound to segue the Q&A session into talk of their romance, but he wasn’t above fighting unfair in love and political campaigning warfare.
But no.
“Are you sure it’s not something stemming from your handling of the Moroni murder charge six years back? Many in law enforcement felt that you should have gone to trial in that case,” St. Cyr said.
That got his heart going, but he kept his face in mildly unconcerned mode. It would be death if the media picked up any tension. They were like circling sharks sniffing for blood.
“I doubt anyone except Moroni himself, and apparently you, Mr. St. Cyr, even remember that one case among the hundred or so I’ve prosecuted in my term.” He turned to another reporter who had a romance question. Even if he couldn’t afford to, he spared a glance at Madeline. She was the only other person here who knew the significance of St. Cyr’s question about the Moroni case. Peter wasn’t even sure St. Cyr himself knew the significance or he wouldn’t have let it go. There was definitely too much inside info getting out for his comfort.
They had to talk to Senator Brown, or, remembering her connection with Mayor Torini, maybe it was more important to talk to the senator’s wife, and soon.
Madeline walked and talked with the others after the show on the way to the mall manager’s offices for a safe haven from the press and people while they dispersed. She smiled at Peter, and he took her up on her invitation for conversation. He sidled over to her with his arms folded while she sipped her tepid coffee, not really wanting to drink it, but being polite. She had to show her appreciation for the hospitality of the mall management. The management was taking advantage of the opportunity to get the ear of the future governor while they had the chance, practically herding them behind the closed doors of the hidden offices with the security escort.
“You’ve given up your position by being too passionate and, yes, honest about what you want,” Peter said.
“Aah, free political advice…” She nodded and smiled at the others in the room, attempting to appear distant and disinterested.
“You’ll never get funding from the legislature for your plans because you won’t be willing to compromise. They’ll tie your baby so tight to some horrific piece of legislation that the press and your precious people won’t be able to untangle it. They’ll make you compromise to unti
e it. They will make you give up a valuable chessman off the board, not some cheap pawn.
“And you won’t be able to bring yourself to do the deal because it would feel like you were cutting off your own right arm—that’s what they’ll want from you.” He paused and smiled and she looked into his eyes, forgetting to be disinterested.
The terror overtook her before she had a chance to defend against it. His face was coldly serious and his attack was meant to be ruthless and mean. He’d gone for the jugular while she wasn’t looking. No doubt he’d see it as a lesson for her, or an inoculation.
She stepped back, both physically and emotionally. She didn’t need his protection; he was trying to scare her right into his arms.
“I know how to play chess,” She said. “In chess, you can still call it a win even when you’ve wiped all your opponent’s chessmen off the board. But that kind of win doesn’t work as well in real life. In real life it matters if there’s something left to take home with you when the game is over.” She smiled sweetly at him. He, of course, did not flinch.
“Only you care about that. They don’t care. You’ll end up accomplishing nothing.” He was hitting low, but she was up to it now.
“There’s more than one way to win—even at chess. I’m willing to take risks to do things differently.”
“They don’t call you Mad Madeline for nothing, I’ll give you that—for now.”
“We have a stalemate?”
“Checkmate. Game over,” Dennis said as he appeared over her shoulder. He was looking at Peter, addressing Peter. Maybe he’d heard the tone of their discussion, she thought, because the look he gave Peter was nothing other than menacing. When she looked back at Peter she was surprised to find a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as if he would laugh if they were somewhere else.
“Eavesdropping on our discussion, McBain?” Peter asked.
The Scotland Yard Exchange Series Page 19
