Breaking the Story

by Ashley Farley

  “Not this time. The camera would spoil my disguise. I can’t very well wear my press pass with my yoga clothes, and my professional lens screams reporter. We need to use our eyes and ears while we’re getting the lay of the land.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I brought my binoculars.” He produced a pair of Swarovski binoculars from the center console.”

  “Whoa. Now those are cool.” She snatched the binoculars away from him and held them to her eyes. “Good grief. I can see the veins on that man’s bulbous nose three blocks away. They’re every bit as clear as my L glass. Is this what you use for cattle driving?” She returned the binoculars to him.

  “And bird watching.”

  “Are you willing to share them?”

  “Sure.” He dropped the binoculars into her handbag. “In fact, it’ll be a little less conspicuous if you keep them.”

  Event planners had cordoned off three blocks of King Street where local businesses had organized, for the citizens of Leesburg and surrounding areas, a Saturday Sunrise Social—which included an opportunity to meet and greet the candidate. At one end of the street, a fresh market, set up by merchants and farmers, featured wooden trolleys overflowing with locally grown fruits and vegetables, and tented booths carrying specialty items—Virginia peanuts and wines, as well as jams and jellies and honey. At the other end of the block, restaurant owners were offering generous portions of their most popular breakfast items—mini quiches, pastries, and ham biscuits. Banquet tables with red-checkered tablecloths and white folding chairs occupied the center of the block, giving those gathered an opportunity to greet their neighbor or meet a new friend.

  A long line of people waited at the coffee kiosk for their choice of freshly ground coffee grown from all around the world. Once they had coffee in hand, his from Ethiopia and hers from Colombia, Scottie and Guy found an out-of-the-way spot to survey the crowd.

  “Look, there’s the senator.” Scottie inclined her head at a cluster of people laughing and talking on the opposite side of the street. Two Secret Service agents stood to attention on either side of the candidate, their eyes darting about as they scanned the crowd. They were not the same agents as the two she’d seen in the alley. She recognized the woman standing behind the senator as the same young woman who had followed Caine when she exited the convention center that night in Philadelphia.

  “I’m going to meet her,” Scottie said.

  Guy cut his eyes at Scottie. “You’re kidding, right? Her people will recognize you right away.”

  “I don’t think so. I was wearing dark clothes that night. Besides, those aren’t the same Secret Service agents from the convention.”

  “If they know where you live, they know what you look like,” he said.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Scottie knew she was flirting with danger, but her investigation depended on her exploring every avenue. Whether or not she unearthed any clues, Scottie had a strong feeling that making Catherine Caine’s acquaintance would one day pay off. “Who knows? If I make a lasting impression, she might offer me a job as the White House press secretary when she’s elected president.”

  “When she’s elected president,” he scoffed. “I thought our goal was to expose her affair with Brosnan so she’s not elected president.”

  “Careful, Guy. You’re starting to sound like a Republican.” Strolling off in the direction of the candidate, she called to him over her shoulder, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  She kept an eye on the Secret Service agents while she waited her turn to speak to Catherine Caine. Both men gave her the once over, as they did everyone who approached the senator, but neither man gave her a second look.

  As for the woman who stuck close to Caine, she barely glanced in her direction.

  When the group ahead of her walked away, Scottie stepped up to the senator and offered her hand. “I’m Mary Scott Westport, and I’m honored to meet you. I’m impressed with your record in the Senate as well as your honest concern for the American people.”

  “I hope that means I can count on your support in November,” Caine said.

  “I’m considering it, yes. But voting for you would make me the first to vote outside of the Republican Party in my family’s history.” Scottie leaned into the candidate. “You won’t tell my father now, will you?”

  At the exact moment Catherine Caine tilted her head back and laughed, the woman standing behind Scottie—who was inappropriately dressed for her age and for the time of day—stumbled on her four-inch heels and fell into Scottie, sending Scottie’s coffee down the front of Caine’s blue silk sheath.

  The Secret Service agents closed in around them. When Scottie saw the damage to Caine’s dress, tears welled in her eyes and her hand flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. And embarrassed.”

  Alerted to the disaster, the crowd around her gasped and mumbled disapproval, making Scottie feel even worse.

  The young woman with Caine rushed to her side with a handful of napkins, and began to blot the stain on the senator’s dress.

  “Don’t worry, Mary Scott. It wasn’t your fault at all. These things happen all the time.” Caine lifted the silk fabric away from her body while the blotting continued. “The coffee is a little warm though.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding,” Scottie said. “I don’t imagine Andrew Blackmore would be so gracious.”

  Caine tilted her head back and laughed. “You’re probably right. But don’t tell him I said so.” Then Caine turned to the young woman and said, “Thank you, Lucy. That’s fine for now.”

  “I’d be happy to pay for your dry cleaning,” Scottie offered.

  “No need. I have two more dresses just like this one on the Cruiser for situations like these.”

  “Okay, then. I won’t take up anymore of your time,” Scottie said. “I’m sorry we met under these circumstances, but your kindness has earned you another fifty points in my polls.”

  “Well then, it was coffee well spilt,” Caine said.

  “I’d love to help out on your campaign. How does one go about doing that?”

  “Wonderful. We are always looking for enthusiastic volunteers such as yourself.” Caine motioned for her assistant. “Lucy, this is Mary Scott Westport. She’s interested in working on our campaign.”

  Lucy keyed Scottie’s name into her cell phone, then pressed a business card in her hand. “I’ll have someone call you.”

  Scottie studied the card as she fought her way back through the crowd.

  “That was some last impression you made,” Guy said, shaking his head in amazement. “Only you could spill hot coffee down a senator’s dress and walk away with her business card in hand.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Scottie said, tucking the business card in her purse. “These numbers are generic, nothing I couldn’t have gotten myself from the Internet.”

  16

  Making Guy promise not to look, Scottie climbed into the backseat on the way to Charlottesville and changed into denim shorts and a pale-blue tank. She wore the same clothes but changed her hat for the next two events, choosing first a floppy straw hat and then an Atlanta Braves baseball cap. Guy swapped out his polo shirt for a Rolling Stones tongue and lips T-shirt, a leftover from his high school days if the yellow armpits were any indication.

  Much like the Sunrise Social, city executives blocked off areas of downtown for each of the remainder events on Saturday, giving the candidate an opportunity to mingle with pedestrians. Other functions were more like political rallies with local politicians speaking on behalf of the Democratic Party as well as the presidential candidate. Although her wording often varied, adapted to fit the needs of each particular town, the fundamentals of the candidate’s speech were the same at every stop. She shared her position on issues like abortion and same-sex marriage, touched on her record in the Senate, expressed her concern over the recent terrorist attacks in the country, and expounded on subjects such as immigration, the state of the economy, and foreign
affairs. Scottie grew to like the senator more and more with every mile they traveled.

  In Virginia, the charming townsfolk of Charlottesville and Lexington set up hot dog and ice cream stands, and brought in magicians and puppeteers for the children’s entertainment. Charlottesville hosted a pie baking contest with the honorable senator as the judge. Lexington organized a kick-off parade with gleaming fire engines, antique cars, and magnificent show horses decked out in all their glory. And Roanoke, the final stop of the day, brought in a popular local bluegrass band and provided BBQ, slaw, and all the fixings from local vendors.

  Catherine Caine spent time with every person she met. She kissed babies, shook the hands of old people whose fingers and knuckles were gnarled with arthritis, and discussed agriculture with scruffy-bearded farmers dressed in overalls.

  After what Scottie deemed a successful mission in Leesburg, she felt comfortable wearing her press pass for the rest of the day’s events. She and Guy approached their search for Brosnan in an organized manner. They’d separate the crowd of attendees into sections and scrutinize every face through a magnifying glass—his binoculars as well as her camera fitted with the largest zoom lens.

  When the bluegrass band strummed the last chord on the banjo, signifying the end of a very long day, the senator’s team swept her away to the Caine Cruiser. But an hour later, the tour bus was still idling across the parking lot from where Scottie and Guy sat waiting.

  “I wish they’d make a move already,” Guy said, watching the Cruiser with his binoculars. “If I have to drive to North Carolina tonight, I’d like to get on the highway.”

  They didn’t have access to the senator’s personal itinerary, but the schedule posted on her website indicated Caine would attend services the following morning at eleven o’clock at St Paul’s Church in Asheville, North Carolina. Everything else, such as highway routes and hotels, was all top secret.

  Scottie had spent the past fifteen minutes scrutinizing her images of Caine and Brosnan. “Look at these photographs closely, Guy.” She handed him her iPad. “I’m not convinced these two are romantically involved. Look at the kiss, just off to the side of her lips.” She swiped her finger across the iPad as she scrolled through the images. “And the way he holds her at arm’s length when he embraces her. Who’s to say this wasn’t an innocent encounter? My brother, Will, suggested that this man is just a big donor who prefers to remain anonymous. I’m starting to think he might be right.”

  “I’m not seeing it, Scottie. There’s no doubt in my mind these two are lovers.” He handed her back the iPad. “You’re buying too much into the bullshit Caine is preaching. Don’t go getting soft on me.”

  “I’ll admit I like her message, but it’s more than that. She handled the whole coffee incident with the grace of a truly nice person, not some unscrupulous woman who cheats on her husband.”

  “Give me a break. She’s a politician. She understands all too well how copping attitudes costs votes.”

  “Spoken like a true campaign worker.” She dropped the iPad in her bag on the floor. “You’ve been driving all day. Let me drive for a change.”

  Before Guy could argue with her, Scottie got out of the car and went around to the driver’s side, the sundress she’d changed into billowing out behind her.

  “I am kind of tired,” he admitted. He climbed out of the car and stretched his long limbs. “I’ll take a little nap, then we can switch somewhere along the way.”

  Guy had no sooner gotten back in the car when the tour bus pulled slowly out of the parking lot. Scottie had every intention of driving the entire four hours to Asheville, but her eyes grew heavy just the other side of Johnson City, Tennessee. She turned up the volume on the music and sipped on her Diet Coke, but nothing she tried helped her to stay awake.

  She nudged Guy. “I’m sorry, Guy. I just can’t stay awake. If you’re not up for driving, we can find a hotel somewhere.”

  “I’m fine to drive,” he said, returning his seat to an upright position. “Pull over at the next exit.”

  Scottie was sound asleep by the time they got back on the highway. She didn’t stir when they arrived at the Mountain Park Inn, and slept the whole time Guy was inside talking to the night desk clerk. She bolted upright when he slammed the door upon his return.

  “Where are we?” she asked, looking around confused.

  “Asheville. At the Mountain Park Inn.”

  “Did we lose the senator?”

  “No. I imagine she’s inside sleeping, counting sheep as we speak. Her driver dropped Caine and all of her staff off at the front of the hotel, and then drove around back to park. At least I assume that’s where he went.”

  “I don’t care how much it cost to stay here. I can’t wait to crawl into a real bed.” Scottie made a move to get out of the car, but Guy grabbed her by the arm, holding her back. “I hate to tell you this, sleeping beauty,”—he brushed a stray strand of hair out of Scottie’s face—”but there are no available rooms at the inn.”

  “That’s not good. Are there other hotels close by?”

  He tilted his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “A bunch of them, but according to the desk clerk, they are sold out as well. There are a lot of people here for Caine’s rally tomorrow, but there is also a big wine and food festival in town.” He continued, without opening his eyes, “Did I ever tell you about the cross-country road trip I made the summer after I graduated from Chapel Hill?”

  “No. I’ve always wanted to do something like that, but I would need to take at least a year off to photograph my way across the country. Did you start out in Wyoming?”

  “Yep. I traveled the southern part of the country heading east and the northern half going west. I ended up in Washington State, and then drove all the way down to the tip of California before going home. There were times when I had nowhere to stay—for any number of reasons. Sometimes I was just too damn tired to go any farther, so I’d pull into the nearest parking lot and sleep for a few hours in the back of my Explorer.”

  Scottie cast a doubtful glance at the backseat. “How is that even possible considering your height?”

  “You’d be surprised. Putting the seat down makes for a nice bed.”

  “And you’re suggesting we sleep in the car tonight.” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of lying next to him in such close proximity.

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “It doesn’t appear we have any other choice. But we can’t stay here.” He started the engine and drove around the side of the hotel to the employee parking lot adjacent to the spa. He found an empty space and backed in between a Suburban and a minivan. He got out of the car, opened the back door, and pulled a lever that folded the rear seat flat. He stuck his head in the car. “Come on, Scottie. I promise I won’t bite.”

  “But we don’t even have any pillows or blankets.”

  “We can use the clothes from our suitcases.”

  Scottie got out and shuffled around to the back of the SUV. She unzipped her suitcase and removed several T-shirts, rolling them up into a neck pillow. “Brrr… It’s cold out here.”

  “You’re in the mountains, sweetheart. Do you want to borrow my jacket?” He plucked a windbreaker out of his duffel bag.

  “No thanks. I have a sweatshirt.” She tugged her favorite one of Brad’s old UVA sweatshirts over her head. The worn article of clothing was like a baby blanket to her. When she kicked him out, she couldn’t bring herself to pack the sweatshirt with the rest of his things. Was it wrong of her to sleep next to another man while wearing her husband’s sweatshirt, even if he was her soon-to-be ex-husband? Scottie mentally slapped herself. Brad slept with another woman, you fool. She heard Will’s voice in her right ear, like the devil sitting on one shoulder. Be free, little birdie. Spread your wings and fly. Then in her left ear, she heard Guy whispering, I don’t want to compete with ghosts from your past.

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Guy waved his hand at the SUV, gesturing for her
to get in. She climbed in the back and he crawled in beside her, closing the rear door behind him. He cuddled up to her, spooning her, his tight abs and muscular thighs pressing against her. He tickled her neck with his nose. “Mmm. I could get used to this.”

  “You’re crossing the line, Guy.”

  He wrapped his arm around her. “I’m protecting you against ax murderers.”

  The idea of him protecting her appealed to Scottie. Everything about him appealed to her. Five more minutes in this position and she wouldn’t be able to control herself. You can’t afford the distraction, Scottie.

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m serious, Guy. If you don’t face the other way, I’m going to drag my suitcase up here between us.”

  “All right,” he said, groaning as he rolled over. “But if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to wake me, no matter the time.”

  She lay next to him for hours, unable to sleep, thinking of all the things she wanted him to do to her. She finally drifted off, and woke again as the sky was turning pink over the mountains. Rolling over on her side, she propped herself up on one elbow and watched Guy sleep. His breathing was soft, and every now and then, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He moaned, and Scottie hoped he was dreaming of her. The scent of man soap had long since worn off, and his body smelled of last night’s dinner—barbecue and vanilla ice cream cones.

  Anyone who sleeps so peacefully must have a clean conscience, she thought.

  His eyes opened suddenly. “I see you decided to wake me after all.” He cupped the back of her head and pulled her lips to his. He rolled on top of her, and his tongue parted her lips. For a brief moment she was totally lost to him. He was struggling to take off her sweatshirt when a man’s face appeared in the window. Scottie caught a glimpse of a khaki uniform. The security guard. Of course.

  “Hey!” The man banged on the back window. “What’re you doing in there? You can’t sleep here.”

  Guy fumbled in his pocket for the car keys. “Hold tight. This might get rough.” He scrambled into the driver’s seat. “The last thing we need is the police on our trail.”