Poisoned Politics

by Maggie Sefton

  “I know who she is. And this woman owes it to those of us who’re grieving Quentin’s untimely death to confess what she knows. Tell the police the truth.”

  With that, Widow Wilson spun around and walked away between two men, who were hired security from the look of them. The tabloid reporter, clearly salivating for more, sputtered and called her name again and again, only to be ignored. Then he turned to the cameras again.

  “Well, there will certainly be more to this story. Back to you, Miranda.”

  Still stunned by what I’d seen, I stared at the television as Samantha clicked off the screen. “Good God …” was all I could manage. Then I took a really large gulp of my Cosmo, feeling the vodka rush through my veins.

  “That’s what I said,” she agreed then took another drink.

  I looked over at my friend. “You know what you have to do, Samantha.”

  She closed her eyes and closed her hands around the crystal glass. “I won’t do it, Molly. I won’t compromise my dear friend.”

  The vodka egged me on. “Dammit, Samantha, be sensible. If this dear friend really cares about you, then he won’t want to see you dragged through the mud. That’s what’s going to happen now, and you know it. Sneers and innuendoes won’t be enough for the vultures. They’re waiting in the trees ready to swoop down on you. You can’t simply stand there and let them do it. Protect yourself! Give the police his name, dammit!”

  Samantha looked over at me and smiled. “You’re cute when you get mad. I know you’re trying to protect me, sugar, but it’s already too late. Word is spreading around town even as we speak. I can almost hear the buzz. Too late to stop it.” She took a deep drink.

  “That’s the cicada outside,” I countered, frustrated that she wouldn’t listen to reason. “You know police are going to question you again. If for nothing else than to humor the grieving widow.” I gestured toward the blank television screen.

  Samantha stared into her glass. “They already have. That was why my lawyer called when we last talked. He and I went over to the police department in Fairfax this afternoon. It was quite an experience, I’ll say that.”

  My stomach clenched despite the vodka. “Oh no. What kinds of questions did they ask this time?”

  “In addition to asking me where I was that night and who I was with, they wanted to know more about Quentin’s prescription pill habit. Particularly what I knew about the young man my surveillance video captured on the day Quentin died. They said the medical examiner found opiate-based prescription drugs in Quentin’s system along with sleeping pills. I told them everything I knew, which was exactly what I told you. It isn’t much. I never knew his name, just that he was some research staffer who delivered Quentin’s pills.”

  “Did they act like they believed you?”

  She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. But I did notice their tone of voice was decidedly colder this time. Chilling, actually. I definitely felt they were looking at me with suspicion.”

  I leaned my head back on the chair. “Damn, damn, damn …”

  “That’s about what my lawyer said. Not in so many words.” She gave me a wry smile.

  I scowled at her. “This isn’t a joke, Samantha. Your lawyer is as worried as I am. More so, I’m sure. You’re the only one who’s not worried. I’ll bet your army of mice are chewing their little mousey toenails off, worrying. Everyone who cares about you is panicked. Everyone but you.” I drained my glass and pictured Samantha’s bevy of confidantes and informants spread throughout the city. Unfortunately, this situation called for more than gathering info.

  “Believe me, Molly, I’m not laughing. They also asked me how often I saw Quentin taking the Vicodin. I told them I didn’t know for sure since I wasn’t with him all the time. He kept the pills in his briefcase. But I had seen him use them occasionally when he was all wound up and couldn’t get to sleep. With that terrible insomnia problem he had, anything that got Quentin all riled up would set him off. And between you and me, Quentin had been pretty wound up those last few weeks.” She drained her glass. “Here, let me refill that.” She reached for my empty glass as she rose from her chair.

  “What was Quentin all wound up about? Was his wife starting to give him hell? Do you think she’d learned about you and Quentin a few weeks ago?”

  Samantha walked over to one of the tall cherry wood bookcases and opened a discreetly concealed liquor cabinet. “No, Quentin would have told me if she had. He was all upset about something he’d overheard about a month ago. He was at some function in the State department and had stepped into a sitting room to nurse a headache. Quentin said he was seated in a tall armchair on the other side of the room, massaging his temple, when a Congressman and some European man suddenly came into the room. They must have been at this reception, too, because they started talking about a banking bill coming up in the Congressman’s committee.” She reached into the small fridge and withdrew another martini glass, already filled with my beverage of choice and handed it to me.

  I took a sip of the yummy drink. “I can’t believe you kept another Cosmo in there for me.”

  “Always prepared, you know me,” Samantha smiled. “Anyway, Quentin said this foreign guy was really concerned about when the bill would be passed in committee. Well, that got Quentin’s attention, and he figured he’d better stay quiet so they wouldn’t discover he was there. God forbid the powerful chairman of an important congressional committee found a lowly Midwestern congressman eavesdropping on him.” Samantha poured a couple of fingers worth of bourbon into her glass.

  Meanwhile, her last sentence stopped the martini glass at my lips. The words powerful chairman of an important congressional committee got my attention, even through the vodka. “Who was the congressman? Did Quentin say?”

  Samantha walked back to her chair, sat down, then took a drink before answering. “I’m afraid he was your old nemesis. Edward Ryker.”

  That name and the memories it evoked burned through the vodka in my veins. Old nemesis, indeed. “What was that bill they were talking about again?”

  “Some banking bill is all Quentin heard, but the fact that this European guy was so anxious about it captured Quent’s curiosity. That, plus the way Congressman Ryker was talking to this guy. Quent said it sounded like Ryker was reassuring him, saying something like, ‘it’s going to be fine’ and ‘don’t worry.’ Oh, yes, and ‘tell them I’ve got it under control.’” Samantha gave a little shrug. “That caught Quent’s attention, and after that, he was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t leave it alone.” She took a deep drink of her bourbon.

  I pondered the words Samantha remembered Wilson saying. Don’t worry. Tell them I’ve got it under control. What was the “it” they referred to?

  “They had to be talking about some bill in Ryker’s committee,” I said after a moment. “He’s Chairman of the House Financial Services Committee. But why would Wilson get so interested? Banking bills were not his area, were they? He wasn’t on any congressional financial committee, was he?”

  “Nope. He was on the House Energy and Commerce Committee. In fact, I asked him the very same thing. Suddenly, Quent started researching banking legislation and all sorts of stuff outside his area. I told him he shouldn’t be wasting his time.” She shook her head. “But Quent was like that. He’d get all wrapped up in something and couldn’t let it go. He was obsessive that way. I’d warned him to be careful, because he could step on powerful toes. But he wouldn’t listen.”

  I sipped my Cosmo as old memories beckoned to me from the past. Old enemies and old battles. I’d had some obsessions of my own years ago after Dave’s death. But I’d finally been able to break free of that anger and resentment and live in the present. I wasn’t about to step into that quagmire again. Still, I couldn’t help wondering what Quent Wilson overheard that fascinated him so much? Who was Congressman Ryker talking to? Could it have possibly been Ambassad
or Holmberg? He’d been a European Finance Minister.

  Suddenly, memories of my recently murdered niece Karen Grayson rushed into my head. Still painful and raw. Karen’s daytimer had written notations about Ambassador Holmberg speaking to various members of congress. And Danny and I had seen Ryker and Holmberg together with other political types at a Washington reception last spring. Karen had also been researching an organization, the Epsilon Group, that concentrated on global financial policy. Karen said that some of their policies had made it into the legislative process and had become laws. Maybe that’s what the conversation Wilson overhead was all about. But what was so intriguing about a financial bill that would entice Wilson to spend his valuable time researching it?

  No answers came. I took another deep drink of my Cosmo, feeling the vodka re-awaken in my veins and chase those old niggling thoughts from the edges of my mind.

  I needed to stay in the present. Samantha had some very real problems staring her in the face. Serious problems. I smiled over at my old friend. “Okay, that’s enough with the news, tawdry and otherwise. I say we raid your refrigerator for some of those gourmet leftovers, then find a good trashy movie and escape for a while. How about it?”

  Samantha smiled and picked up the remote control once again. “Sounds good to me. If there’re no trashy ones, why don’t we watch one of those blow-em-up, shoot-em-up war movies? I learned to love those living with Beau.”

  I laughed out loud as I followed Samantha from the library.

  eight

  Friday

  The early morning sunshine filtered through the leaves overhead, casting shadows and light along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal as I ran along the towpath. I depended on these early morning runs, the quiet time helped me sort through my thoughts, work out problems, and worry if necessary. Even when Danny joined me, we ran mostly in silence, saving our talking for post-run breakfasts at a French café along Georgetown’s M Street.

  Striding along the packed dirt path, I spied another runner farther ahead. I’d already passed two women a few minutes ago. Thanks to running with Danny, my pace had increased gradually. That sly fox had picked up his pace little by little until I was running faster. Of course, I’m sure Danny had to downshift just so that I could try and keep up with him. “Throttle back” as he called it.

  Rush hour traffic clogged busy M Street above, as it paralleled the canal. It was far enough away so that I could still hear morning birdsong as I ran along. Not as peaceful as my Georgetown townhouse garden, but—

  My office cell phone rang, shattering the morning quiet and birdsong. I quickly dug it from my running shorts’ inner pocket and saw Peter Brewster’s name and number flash on the screen. That was why I carried the phone wherever I went. No telling when Peter would call me.

  “Good morning, Peter. The closer it gets to August recess, the earlier you get to the office.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s only seven ten and I’m already behind. Are you outside running?”

  “Yep. Gotta grab these early summer mornings before the heat builds. What do you need? I left that file you gave me on your desk before I left last night. I’ll be in the office in a little while if you need anything else.”

  “Actually what I need is some of your time tonight. I’d promised Eleanor MacKenzie that I’d stop by her charity fundraiser with the Senator’s check and mine. Would you be able to go in my place? I know that’s asking a lot. You probably have a date with Danny. I’ll be leaving for the Hill in a minute. The Senator’s already there. He and I will be buried in meetings with the Banking Committee staff all day and into the evening.”

  “Actually I’m free as a bird tonight. Danny’s still out of town, and I was going to do errands, that’s all. But I’d much rather go to Eleanor’s fundraiser and deliver your contributions.”

  “Fantastic! Thanks, Molly. I’ll put an envelope with the checks on your desk before I head for the Hill. The Senator and I are leaving for Colorado late tonight. So, we’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Enjoy Colorado. Temps will be hot, but there’ll be low humidity. You’ll love it.”

  “Believe me, we always love escaping to Colorado,” he said with a laugh before clicking off.

  I checked my watch. Time to head home. I would have to hurry to shower, dress, and walk to Senator Russell’s home by eight o’clock. Spying stone stair steps leading to the main streets above, I angled toward them, leaving the peaceful sunshine and water behind as I picked up my pace.

  _____

  The string quartet finished with a vibrant chord that shimmered in the air, floating above Eleanor MacKenzie’s glorious garden. Flower beds, shrubs, vining trellises, all meticulously pruned and tended, manicured in the manner of yesteryear. An authentic English garden. I always loved an excuse to attend one of Eleanor’s musical evenings, but her charity fundraisers were a little rich for my blood, and more importantly, my bank account. Thanks to Peter Brewster, however, I was able to revel in the lavish spread Eleanor was famous for and be the bearer of gifts at the same time.

  Of course, politicians and politicos of all stripes were also mixed among the business elite and other movers and shakers of Washington. All of them bending elbows and gossiping or stabbing someone in the back—figuratively, of course. It hurt just the same. Tonight, I sensed my friend Samantha’s recent notoriety was providing rich fodder for many. Consequently, I’d deliberately shied away from joining any clusters, choosing instead to speak with several new freshmen Congressional couples that I recognized. Still adjusting to the Washington social scene, their conversation would cover safer ground.

  I passed by the table that held the constantly changing hors d’oeuvres and gave in to the temptation of a rich pate. As I sipped my Sauvignon Blanc, I noticed a friendly face smiling at me. Congresswoman Sally Chertoff headed my way. I angled away from the table so we could be far from the grazing herds.

  “Congresswoman, how nice to see you,” I greeted as she approached. “It’s a wonder you were able to escape all that committee work you’ve undertaken.”

  “I feel like I’m playing hooky,” she said, her square face lit up with her wide, bright smile. “But my staff insisted I take a break. And I’m so glad I took their advice. That quartet is fabulous, and I’ve had the most amazing canapés. I must have gained two pounds at least.” She laughed lightly.

  “You can always depend on Eleanor to have the best musicians and the best caterers. Her functions are always a joy. I’m here in place of Senator Russell and Peter, bearing charitable gifts for the worthy cause.” I grinned. “They’re both leaving for Colorado tonight.”

  “Well, I’ll be leaving for Iowa in the wee hours tomorrow morning. I simply had to finish some projects that ran late into the afternoon.” She sipped her red wine and glanced about the garden. “This is absolutely gorgeous. Eleanor MacKenzie has impeccable taste. When I grow up I want to be her.” She laughed again.

  “Hey, that’s my line,” I teased. “Changing the subject, I heard that you hired a new staffer last week. Natasha Jorgensen, Quentin Wilson’s former chief. I’ve heard good things about her.”

  “Yes, indeed, I grabbed Natasha as soon as one of my staff hinted she was looking to jump ship. Natasha is whip smart, and I was impressed with her when Quentin and I worked together on a project.” Her expression saddened. “He will be greatly missed. What a loss.”

  I pondered how to broach the subject and where I wanted to take it, deciding to nibble around the edges first. “I never really knew Congressman Wilson. I’d only seen him at the large reception Senator Russell gave for the Midwestern congressional delegation last spring. But it certainly was a shock to hear that he died so suddenly.”

  Sally Chertoff frowned. “I still cannot understand why Quentin would take his own life. He was so committed to his work and the people in his district of Ohio. It must have been accidental. That’s the only way I can f
athom how this happened.”

  “None of us can ever know the pressures others are under,” I ventured. “We all become expert at hiding those concerns from everyone. Particularly those close to us.”

  Chertoff glanced at me. “You’re right about that. The Virginia police detectives investigating Quentin’s death actually came to the office yesterday and interviewed Natasha. Apparently, they had more questions about Quentin’s prescription drug habits. Natasha was quite shaken by the entire episode. She told me afterwards that police asked if Quentin was using any other drugs, like prescription painkillers. Natasha had to tell them that he was. She’d seen the pill bottles on his desk.”

  I pretended to look surprised. “Oh, my, that does change things, doesn’t it? If Wilson was mixing powerful painkillers with sleeping pills, that’s a lethal mixture.”

  “Absolutely. That’s why I suspect Quentin’s death was accidental. If he was worrying about something, who knows?” Chertoff stared into her wineglass, not venturing any more.

  I sensed the congresswoman had deliberately not said more, so I used that as an opportunity to venture into more controversial territory. “Well, considering what we all witnessed on the news channels Wednesday, I’d say Quentin Wilson had a lot to worry about. His widow certainly comes across as a powerful woman. If she’d gotten word of an affair, well … I imagine Wilson would hear from her. Loud and clear.”

  Sally Chertoff glanced up with a wry smile. “Yes, she seems quite imposing.”

  “There are rumors she plans to take over Wilson’s seat for the remainder of his term. Assuming Ohio’s governor agrees, that is,” I said in a deliberately sardonic tone.

  Chertoff’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Natasha confirmed that’s true. That’s why she jumped ship. Apparently, Mrs. Wilson let it be known when she visited the office that she would ask the Governor to appoint her to Quentin’s seat. And she would bring some Ohio staff with her. I’ve also heard she’s been meeting with other members of Congress from both sides of the aisle. Apparently she has a list of people to meet. Her father’s been involved with Ohio politics for nearly thirty years. So, she has a great many connections.” Chertoff gave a wry smile.