I scanned the rest of the titles, looking for some answers. A profile in PEOPLE magazine caught my eye. A click later, the article popped on the screen.
Riley Thomas announced his engagement to Veronica Laskin, daughter of Virginia senator Ed Laskin. The two lovebirds hope to tie the knot sometime later this year.
Ed Laskin? I shook my head in disbelief. Riley’s future father-in-law was the man running against Michael Cunningham. No wonder Riley knew so much about local politics. No wonder he insisted Laskin had nothing to do with this.
My broken heart hardened.
I closed the webpage, unable to take anymore news today. Maybe cleaning the house would appease me. I collected trash from the bathroom and kitchen and carried it outside. Bill nearly collided with me when I opened the front door.
“You look distracted,” I said.
“Big interview coming up. I’m going to the university in a minute to get some material for it. Decided I should change my shirt.” He pointed to a coffee stain on the pocket.
“Probably a good idea.” I stuffed my garbage bag into the container. “What’s going on at the college?”
“A big political debate between Senator Laskin and Michael Cunningham.”
I paused. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s sold out.”
I released the breath I held. “Too bad.”
“I have an extra ticket if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you were into politics.”
“It’s my newest crusade, you could say.”
Ten minutes later, Bill and I sped down the road, heading toward the university located less than a mile away. Bill rambled on about public education and taxes, but I barely heard him. I just knew this was my opportunity to find some answers.
The parking lot overflowed and we ended up having to walk three blocks. As we approached the convocation center, red, white, and blue balloons decorated the area. A moderator welcomed everyone as we slipped into the press area. Then the debate began.
I studied Michael Cunningham on the huge screens they’d set up on either side of the stage. He showed no signs of the traumas that had occurred. A confident smile plastered across his face. His shoulders jutted back. His chin raised. Way too happy for a grieving husband.
Maybe I was being too hard on him. Parker did say the man most likely couldn’t have shot himself. I still wasn’t convinced. I’d seen his temper, up close and personal. I knew the man had potential for violence.
My attention switched to Ed Laskin as he appeared on screen. Riley’s future father-in-law. Was this man capable of murder? Laskin had held his seat in the senate for almost two decades. The talk was that Cunningham offered his toughest competition to date. Was Laskin desperate enough to kill Cunningham’s wife to take him out of the running?
The man’s white hair and graceful wrinkles contrasted sharply with Cunningham’s youthful charisma. The younger crowd would lean toward Cunningham, I guessed.
Laskin held himself like a solider. His movements seemed measured and strong. I couldn’t imagine Riley fitting into his world. Of course, what did I really know about Riley? Apparently, nothing.
The two candidates argued their sides on the issues, but my interest was in their actions, their mannerisms, their psyche. Which of these men was capable of murder? Either of them? Was their quest for power enough to end a life?
“There’s no way Laskin will win this one. He’s burnt out, finished, old news,” a woman whispered behind me.
“I just can’t believe Cunningham is still in the running after everything he’s been through. It takes a strong man,” her companion replied.
Bill shushed them.
“Gloria would want me to continue in this race,” Cunningham said. “We shared the dream of serving our country.” His voice cracked and he paused. The crowd hung on his every word. Visibly gathering himself, he went on. “Though many times I’ve wanted nothing more than to give up, it’s not in my spirit to do so. Gloria,” he looked toward the sky, “I’m going to win this election for you.”
The crowd went wild, though the debate rules required silence. Cunningham was convincing. Very convincing. I could see how he had people wrapped around his finger.
The debate continued. A crowd shot panned to Veronica and Riley sitting in the front row. Of course Riley would be here. Why was I surprised? Still, the sight of them together threw my emotions into a tailspin.
“Isn’t that our neighbor?” Bill whispered.
“Yep.”
“I wouldn’ve guessed him to be a part of that crowd.”
“What do you mean?” I didn’t stay up on the political scene the way I should. Obviously.
“Their noses are so high in the air they have no idea what ‘middle America’ is about. When Laskin talks about helping the middle class, everyone knows it’s a joke.”
“So, why do we keep re-electing him?”
“That’s why a lot of experts don’t think he’ll be reelected this year. He’s got a terrible track record.” The reporters behind us copied Bill’s earlier request and shushed us.
I turned my attention back to the big screen, set up so even us peons in the nosebleed section could gaze upon our fearless leaders. What if Laskin was a murderer? What would that mean for Riley? If his future father-in-law was guilty, why would he be defending Harold?
Unless he purposely planned on blowing it. That thought pulled me to a stop so fast it left skid marks on my brain.
I buried my head into my hands. That would make Riley a coconspirator. I didn’t want to believe Riley could have a hand in this mess. But there was no denying that he’d lied to me. Or, at least, he’d kept things from me. Big things. Fundamental things. Three carat emerald cut things.
When Bill wanted to slip out early to avoid traffic, I let him lead me away. My head spun with too much information to try and strike up a conversation as I plopped into his vintage mustang.
“Whadya think?” Bill asked. “Did you get any answers?”
“More questions, actually.”
“You’ll have the chance to ask some of those questions tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cunningham’s going to be on my show. You can call in. I’m always in need of intelligent questions.”
“I have a better idea—can I go in and watch?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Later that afternoon, I realized I needed to find Cunningham’s girlfriend, the one from the pictures. She appeared to be someone who worked for him. So, somehow, I needed to get into Cunningham Law Offices.
I considered dressing as a custodian. I contemplated faking a business deal. I even thought about being brazen and walking in without an excuse. As I thought through all those brilliant plans, they all ended up with me being hauled away by the cops. I needed something better.
I hopped back onto the Internet and did a search on his practice. Several criminal cases that they were handling came up. I browsed through them, looking for something of interest.
Bingo.
His firm was representing a fast food chain being sued for serving a boneless piece of chicken that had a bone in it. The person eating it had choked and would have died if it hadn’t been for a fellow customer who did the Heimlich.
I remembered hearing that the chain, Wilbur’s Chicken, had been accused in the past of being cruel to the chickens they raised. My next thought was so obvious that even Detective Parker would have been able to detect it.
Sierra.
She would have a heyday with this.
I hurried downstairs and knocked at her door, but no one answered. After standing there frustrated for a minute, it came to me. Of course Sierra wasn’t home. The circus was in town.
***
Protestors gathered in front of The Scope, a massive entertainment plaza where the circus would take place. I pulled my van alongside the crowd, searching for Sierra.
Finally I spotted her locked inside a cage, wearing tiger ears and an animal-print leotard.
“Animals have rights, too! How would you like to be caged?” Sierra shouted. Everyone around me cheered in agreement.
I honked and rolled down my window. “Sierra!”
My friend turned to see who called her name. “Gabby? Where have you been? We’re supposed to keep an eye on you, you know?”
My best friend was sitting in a cage with furry ears. Who needed looking after in this picture? On the other hand, that might be my only hope of getting her sprung.
“I thought you’d never offer. Get in the van.”
She threw her hands in the air. “But I’m in the middle of a protest.”
“Hand over the ears to someone else, She-ra. This is important.”
My friend scowled. “It better be. I’ve been planning this demonstration for a month.”
Good thing, too. Rental on the tiger outfit was always booked way ahead this time of year.
She climbed out of the cage and grabbed a bag from beside it. As Sierra shoved her ears at a friend, I held my breath, afraid she’d hand over the leotard right in public. It didn’t look like there was room under it for much.
She settled for the ears, thank heavens, and a moment later, she slammed the van door and looked at me skeptically. “What’s going on?”
“I found out something about Cunningham Law Offices.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“They’re defending Wilbur’s Country Chicken in a law suit.” I played my trump card. “In essence, they’re supporting a restaurant chain that’s cruel to animals. Cunningham could lose votes if your organization decided to boycott him.”
“They’re taking up for that butcher shop? Have I ever told you about what they do to their chickens?”
Only about six hundred times. All from Sierra. “It’s awful. Don’t you think you should talk to someone at the firm? Tell them what it will mean if word of this gets out?”
Sierra’s little orange and black striped body trembled with outrage. “Onward, ho!”
We pulled away and five minutes later stopped outside of Cunningham’s building. After I parked by the garage exit, Sierra turned to me. “So, why are we really here?”
Rats! I kept forgetting that inside that obsessed animal loving body lived a phi beta kappa who graduated near the top of her class from Yale.
“I’m trying to figure out Cunningham’s motive for killing his wife.”
She blinked. “You mean Michael Cunningham?”
I nodded.
Sierra pressed her head into the seatback. “On second thought, I don’t want to know the details. I’ll trust you.”
My friend opened the bag by the floor and pulled out jeans and a cotton shirt. She squirmed around in her seat, tugging on jeans.
“So, who was the woman with Riley this morning? She was wearing a leather skirt.” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Some people.”
Another reason to hate her. I was glad I’d brought Sierra along. “She’s his fiancée.”
Sierra paused with her arms raised over her head, shirt half on. Through the pink cotton, I heard the muffled word, “What?”
I shrugged, then realizing Sierra couldn’t see me, I said, “She introduced herself to me last night.”
She pulled on the shirt the rest of the way, her gaze fixed on me. “That’s impossible.”
“Obviously not. I saw the ring. I saw the articles announcing their engagement. I saw him hug her hello. It’s real.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.” Sierra shook her head. “I mean, I saw the way he looked at you, the way he talked about you. He can’t have a fiancée.”
I wanted to ask how he’d looked at me. “Not the first man who’s been looking when his eyes should stay home where they belong. In fact, maybe he should go into politics. Seems to have the traits for it.”
“But that woman is totally not Riley’s type.”
“I saw her, you didn’t. Trust me, she’s every man’s type.”
“She’s too high maintenance. Riley’s just a simple guy.”
“No, he’s actually a ‘hot shot’ lawyer from California—the newspaper’s words, not mine.”
“You been doing research on him?”
I shrugged. “A little.”
“You’ve got it bad, huh?”
“I just want some answers.”
“Did the answers make you feel better?”
I sucked in my cheeks as I contemplated the question. “Not really.”
Sierra opened her door. I would worry about Riley later. Right now, I needed to find some answers for Harold.
***
After a very persuasive argument with the receptionist, Sierra and I ended up in the public relations office. We sat in massive leather chairs across from a mahogany desk.
“I have nothing prepared,” Sierra mumbled, frowning at the black animal skin making up her seat. “Are you sure you have your facts straight?”
“Yes, I read several things about it online. Michael Cunningham’s law firm is defending cruelty to animals by representing the company in this case. They need to be shut down.”
A young man with trendy clothes walked into the room. “Hello, ladies. How can I help you today?”
Sierra glanced at me before launching into her shock and disillusionment upon finding out the company supported restaurants that practiced animal cruelty. I would have never guessed she wasn’t prepared, the way she charged ahead, talking on fast forward.
I glanced out the glass petition to the faces walking by as she continued. I searched for that hair in the picture, the earring. I wouldn’t find out anything by sitting in here.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where your restroom is?” I asked.
The man gave me directions, and I left Sierra to do what she did best—nag. My gaze wandered the block of petitioned offices. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, I realized.
I walked past the bathroom. Just who was this mystery woman? Cunningham’s secretary? A vice president of the company? An intern?
The mermaid from the picture had been located on the north side of the building. That would narrow my search. I headed toward the opposite hallway. I’d walk by those offices and see what I could find.
An older woman approached. Keep your head high, Gabby. Don’t give any hints that you don’t belong here.
I smiled and the woman continued past. I let out my breath when no questions were asked. Maybe this wasn’t as tricky as I’d made it out to be.
As I walked past the offices, I saw blonds, redheads, brunettes with short hair, brunettes with curly hair, bald men, women with white hair pulled into buns, a woman with long auburn hair, but a heavyset build. The mystery woman remained just that—a mystery.
A noise at the end of the hallway grabbed my attention. I looked up and saw Cunningham approaching, surrounded by a gaggle of people. I spun around before he spotted me. The maze of chest level office petitions wouldn’t offer many places to hide.
The space narrowed between us. I ducked behind a divider and bent to tie my shoe. The voices became louder. I continued playing with the strings, looping and unlooping them until I heard hear the click of their heels across the tile behind me.
“I can’t stay,” I heard Cunningham say. “I’ve got a meeting with my lawyer in thirty minutes.”
“If there’s anything we can do to help . . .” a male said.
The crowd passed, not giving me a second glance. Relaxing, I stood and wiped off my jeans.
“Can I help you?” My gaze snapped to a bright-faced blond. Where had she come from? Her wide-eyes soaked in my appearance.
“I . . . uh, I was looking for the bathroom.”
She pointed in the opposite direction. “It’s right over there.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I hurried back to Sierra. We didn’t have any time to waste—I had to follow Cunningham.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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“You were right. I can’t believe that law firm is defending that slaughterhouse of a restaurant,” Sierra said.
I rubbed my neck, waiting for Cunningham to leave the building. I tried to care about the chickens, I really did. But I’d seen what was left of Gloria Cunningham and somehow the senator defending chicken abusers didn’t surprise me.
I would follow him. I would eavesdrop on his conversation. I would get answers.
I glanced at Sierra, with her feathers all ruffled. I’d give her a few seconds alone with Cunningham when I was done plucking him.
Finally, a white Mercedes pulled from the garage. Mentally thanking the State of Virginia for outlawing tinted windows, I recognized Cunningham through the glass and pulled out after him. The Mercedes wove through traffic until reaching the downtown tunnel. I stayed a safe distance behind him, never letting the car out of sight. Ten minutes later we pulled off the interstate into downtown Portsmouth.
“He’s going to the Bier Garden,” I said, referring to a popular German restaurant. “You hungry?”
“Only for some good gossip.”
I found a parking space and we walked down the sidewalk to the restaurant. As we approached the door, I hung back. “Has he been seated yet?”
Sierra peered through the window. “I don’t see him.”
“Okay, let’s go inside. But walk in front of me, just in case.”
“You’re not going to get me killed, are you?”
“I make no promises. But there’s safety in numbers.”
The cool chill of the air conditioning blasted us as we opened the door. I lingered behind Sierra, searching the diners for Cunningham. I’d seen him come in. I knew he was here somewhere.
Finally, I spotted him sitting at a corner table, away from other patrons. “Can we have that booth over there?” I asked
The backs were high and with the right angling, Cunningham wouldn’t spot me.
“Sure,” the hostess said.
I pulled my hat down as we were seated. I sat closest to the other booth, the best place to overhear their conversation. The hostess handed us menus and I held mine up. It was just the right size to conceal my face.
Hazardous Duty Page 17
