Hazardous Duty

by Christy Barritt

  “Bratwurst. Gag me. How can meat eaters even down those things? Do you know what they’re made of?” Sierra scrunched her nose.

  I shook my head. “Don’t know. Don’t want to know.”

  A man in a charcoal suit approached Cunningham and sat across from him.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” Cunningham said.

  “No problem. Glad to offer some help in times like these.” The man paused. “How are you holding up?”

  “It’s been tough. Really tough.”

  “You have to give yourself time to grieve.”

  “I can’t. I have an election to win. When I win, then I’ll take the opportunity. Right now, I can’t lose momentum.”

  “You could always run next time around, Mr. Cunningham. Who says you’ve got to be senator now? You already have a successful law office.”

  “This is all I’ve dreamed about since I was a boy. I’ve been working toward it for my entire life. Every decision I’ve made has been with this in mind. Nothing will stand in my way.”

  Including, say, your wife?

  “Don’t think of it as standing in your way. Think of it as healing—”

  “Look, if I wanted a shrink, I would have hired one.” Anger singed his voice. I could imagine the fire in his eyes, the same fire that blazed when I spoke with him at his mother’s.

  “Sorry.” I could hear defeat in the lawyer’s voice. “I just don’t want to find yourself in over your head.”

  “It’s too late for that.”

  I had to agree with Cunningham on that one. I’d say he was in about forty thousand leagues over his head already. The waitress interrupted them. The two ordered their meals and then resumed conversation. I pressed my ear into the wooden booth trying to hear better.

  “How’s everything going on the case?” Cunningham asked. “Anymore evidence found to convict William Newsome?”

  “A former friend of his has agreed to testify. He says Newsome talked about different ways to keep Gloria quiet. All of the evidence is stacked against him.”

  “That’s a relief. I don’t know why he simply doesn’t admit to it. It would make it easier on him.”

  “He has no interest in doing that.”

  Silence. Sierra and I glanced at each other.

  “A girl accused me of killing Gloria.” Cunningham said it with such sorrow that I almost thought whoever the girl was, she had to be nuts.

  Oh, wait—that girl was me.

  “The gun does look suspicious. It’s hard to explain.” The lawyer cleared this throat. “How did it end up in your closet, Michael?”

  “Can I take your order?”

  I jumped and glanced up at the waitress. I desperately wanted to shush her, but refrained. Could she have picked a worse time?

  “Go ahead, Sierra. You first.”

  I strained to hear Cunningham’s answer. Instead, I heard, “Well, that makes sense.”

  What makes sense? Argh!

  “And for you, miss?”

  I glanced at the menu and ordered the first thing I saw, wiener schnitzel.

  “Your food will be right out.”

  I turned my attention back to the conversation, which had moved on to sports. I sighed and leaned back, kicking myself for missing that important piece of information. What was Cunningham’s excuse for the gun? I couldn’t think of a single one that made sense.

  And what about William Newsome’s former friend, testifying against the man? Newsome did not kill Gloria Cunningham. It wasn’t even a possibility.

  “So, what do you think?” Sierra whispered.

  I shook my head. “I have no idea. The mystery just keeps getting more confusing by the moment. None of the pieces are fitting together.”

  “Then maybe you need to come at it from a different perspective.”

  It sounded like a good idea, in theory.

  The waitress placed plates of steaming food in front of us. The conversation at Cunningham’s table quieted a moment. I picked at my food, waiting for the talk to resume behind me.

  The two began talking about sports again. It seemed as if the juicy conversation was over.

  Sierra made a face. “You know, I never have liked German food, even if it is vegan.”

  “Sauerkraut balls no good?”

  “They’re rotten cabbage that’s been deep fried. What do you think?”

  “Then why did you order it?”

  “My options were limited.”

  I shook my head. I could always count on Sierra for some comic relief. Today was no exception.

  I glanced across the table and smiled as my friend took a bite and wrinkled her nose. I’d somehow have to repay Sierra for coming with me today. Somehow.

  Movement at the table behind me caused me to tense. Were they getting up?

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I’ve always appreciated your support,” Cunningham said.

  “Anytime, Michael. Anytime.”

  I ducked my head lower, trying to look natural, yet conceal my face. One glance was all it would take for him to spot me. I grabbed a menu and held it up.

  “What’s he doing?” I whispered.

  “Walking away,” Sierra said.

  Panic trembled at my hands. “Does he recognize me?”

  My friend paused. “I can’t tell. No, he’s leaving. I don’t think he knows who you are.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “That was close.” I closed my eyes, thankful that was over. “Let’s pay for this and get out of here.”

  ***

  Because of rush hour traffic, it took us over an hour to get home. To my chagrin, Riley’s car waited in the parking lot when we pulled up.

  “What’s that look for?” Sierra asked.

  I nodded toward the car. “He’s back.”

  “Maybe he has a good excuse.”

  “He doesn’t need an excuse for being engaged. It’s a perfectly honorable activity.” He didn’t need an excuse for me being stupid enough to fall for him, either. But that was my problem.

  “Do you want me to go upstairs with you?” Sierra asked. “Just in case you run into him?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl.”

  I trudged upstairs, praying I wouldn’t see Riley. I’d had about all the excitement I could stand for one day.

  I cleared the landing without a “Riley” sighting. It looked like I’d make it to my apartment without seeing him or the lovely Veronica.

  My keys jangled as I unlocked my door. No sooner had I opened it and taken a step inside, did the door across the hall fly open.

  “Gabby! I was hoping it was you,” Veronica said.

  There’s not much she could have said that would have surprised me more than that. Although she’d been nothing but polite, I’d gotten the distinct impression snooty Veronica hadn’t cared much for me.

  Maintaining a poker face, I turned around and smiled. “Oh? And why is that?”

  “I wanted to thank you for letting me wait in your apartment last night. That was really kind, especially considering I’m a stranger.”

  I waved it off. “It was no problem.”

  Riley’s muscular form appeared behind Veronica, a white apron over his neck. His smile dropped when he saw me. An unreadable look replaced it.

  Embarrassment? Pity that I had thought there was something between us? Regret that he’d led me on?

  “Why don’t you come over and eat with us?” Veronica asked, looping her hands in a circle, as if to say, “Come.” “We’ve got plenty of food.”

  I shook my head. “I just ate, but thanks for the offer. Besides, I’ll let you two lovebirds have some time together. You’re probably not going to be in town long, and I’m sure you want to spend every minute together.”

  “Riley’s going to come back to California with me, so we have time. Isn’t that right, baby?” Veronica let out a soft laugh and glanced up at Riley.

  Baby’s smile looked
forced, but he did plant a kiss on her lips.

  So, it was true. Any doubts I’d clung to dissipated. There were no misunderstandings. No misconceptions. Riley and Veronica were engaged. Now Riley was moving back to California. What exactly did he plan on doing about Harold’s upcoming hearing? It was still a week and half away.

  I’d talk to him about that when Veronica wasn’t around.

  “Well, have a good evening. Enjoy your meal!”

  Before they could say anything else, I slipped inside my apartment, acted like a perfect lady by not slamming the door in their faces, and leaned back, trying to control my shaky breaths.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  How would Cunningham react if he saw me? The question nagged at me as I drove to the radio station the next day. I pulled my khaki newsboy cap lower. I’d worn a respectable red shirt, jeans, and brown blazer. I’d have to stay in the background, keep my face hidden.

  As I cruised down the road, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Mildred’s number. Her sister answered on the second ring and handed the phone over. Mildred’s voice had lost the frantic edge it contained when I last spoke to her.

  “How are you?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer. She had to be a wreck, with her husband sitting in jail and her left to wait it out.

  “I’m doing just fine, Gabby.”

  “Just fine?”

  “It’s been tough, but Harold and I have both realized we just have to put the situation in God’s hands.”

  “God’s hands?” I’d been reduced to repeating everything she said as understanding eluded me.

  “We know He’s in control and that everything happens for a purpose. We didn’t trust at first, but now we’ve realized that trusting God is all we have. It says in the Good Book that we’ll have trouble in this world. But this world is not our home, it’s just a passing phase.”

  “So, you think God is going to get you out of this mess?” I didn’t want to sound skeptical, but her reasoning frightened me.

  “Whether Harold’s framed or not, God is still in control. We’ve chosen to trust instead of worry, Gabby-girl. We’re going to be just fine, however the tide turns.”

  At least it made her feel better, I reasoned. I guessed religion was good for that, if nothing else.

  I flipped my phone shut as I pulled up to the station. I’d purposely arrived late so Cunningham wouldn’t see me. I snuck in and joined a crew of people listening to the interview. Most of the crowd wore suits and dress shoes. I smoothed my jeans and tugged my hat again.

  My gaze roamed the people around me. No doubt there were producers, campaign managers, publicists among the faces, but no girlfriend. Cunningham probably had her tucked carefully away in a love nest somewhere. Did any of his staff suspect the man they supported was a killer?

  Cunningham talked about the changes he planned on making regarding funding to our state park programs. He and Gloria had enjoyed visiting many of them. He believed in preserving nature.

  Too bad he didn’t feel the same way about human life.

  As he droned on, I studied the people around me. A blond scribbled notes. An effeminate male mouthed the words along with Cunningham. A brunette nodded in cadence with each of the political superstar’s words.

  The show cut to a commercial. Everyone’s shoulders seemed to relax collectively. The girlie-man glanced at me.

  “Robert Brown. Publicist.” He extended his hand. It felt abnormally soft and sticky.

  “Gabby. I’m . . . a friend of Bill’s.”

  “Would you like a bumper sticker?” the blond asked. She held up a “Cunningham for a Better Virginia” monstrosity.

  Everyone’s eyes were on me. “Sure.” I grabbed it and stuck it in my purse. Maybe I could use it to fix a crack in the plaster in my bedroom. Then I’d have it handy for a dartboard.

  Cunningham approached the glass door that separated us from him. I spun around and flashed a smile, hoping my heart shaped face would do its job. “I need to run to the restroom. Excuse me.”

  The radio blared from tiny speakers in the bathroom. I waited until the show started before emerging and taking my place in the back of the crowd.

  I didn’t know what I expected to find out. I just hoped the answers were somewhere in this room. The brunette glanced back at me and did a double-take. My throat went dry, and I wanted to shrink. Did she recognize me? Did Cunningham have a hit list he shared with his staff? Was my face the biggest and most dominate on it? I tugged at my hat again.

  “I love your necklace,” the brunette whispered.

  I fingered the heart-shaped pendant that used to belong to my mother. Relief rushed through me. “Thanks.”

  I glanced at the pretty woman and wondered what her role in this campaign was. My eyes traveled to her earrings. I froze at the golden daisies.

  Cunningham’s girlfriend wasn’t tucked away at all. I was staring right at her. She’d changed her hair color, but the earring gave her away.

  “I like your earrings.”

  She touched them with her manicured fingers. “These old things? I love them, too. Wear them all the time.”

  I leaned in closer and nodded toward Cunningham. “So, what’s your role in all this?”

  The woman flashed a bright smile. “Candace Mills. Campaign manager.”

  When I saw the mermaid in the picture, I’d assumed the “other woman” was a coworker. I never considered she could be a member of his campaign.

  “Nice to meet you.” Finally, I had a name. I had a motive. And I had a killer.

  I had to call Parker.

  Bill wound down toward another commercial. I had to leave before Cunningham saw me. I took a step back, just as he looked up. His eyes darkened.

  Ignoring the looks of those around me, I fled. I hopped in my van and pulled out my cell phone. A minute later, I rang Parker’s private line.

  “Can you meet me at the Grounds?”

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I found something out.”

  “How does seven o’clock sound?”

  I glanced at my watch. It still left me with four hours to kill. I got a shot of brain freeze with that thought. Killing was too much a part of my life these last few days. Shaking off the chilly thought, I knew I’d have to make it work. “See you then.”

  ***

  I’d been pacing my apartment for an hour, with no clue as to what to do with myself. My hands were tied until I spoke with Parker. I sat down at my desk and tried to catch up on some paperwork for my cleaning business, but my mind was distracted.

  When I heard a car door slam outside, I rushed to my window. Bill. I hurried downstairs. The talk show host jerked his head back as I charged toward him.

  “Whoa! Where’s the fire?”

  “Bill, I need to get in touch with Michael Cunningham’s campaign manager. Do you have her contact information?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “Can you find it?”

  “What’s this about, Gabby?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “If it’s juicy, can I have first dibs?”

  I grinned. “Absolutely.”

  A few minutes later, I dialed Candace’s cell phone. She answered on the second ring.

  “Candace, my name is Gabby. I met you at America Live earlier today.”

  “You were the redhead, right?” she said, her voice crisp. I could hear voices murmuring in the background and wondered where she was.

  “That’s me. I was wondering if I could meet you sometime.”

  “Concerning . . . ?”

  I had to choose my words carefully. “How I can help with the campaign.”

  “I can put you in touch with the right person. I’m really very busy.” The voices became louder, and I could tell she was distracted.

  “It’s important I speak with you.”

  “Can it be done over the phone?”

  I could hear the agitation creeping into her voice and knew I had to cut t
o the chase. “I know about your affair with Michael.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally muttered. The background noise muted. I could picture her moving away from the crowds for privacy.

  “I think you do. I have pictures to prove it.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I just want to talk.”

  Pause.

  “When?”

  We arranged to meet in an hour at the seawall in Norfolk. I would give her the pictures. I swung by the local drugstore’s one-hour photo to make copies before making my way downtown. After parking, I hurried through Waterside, an upscale international mall on the Elizabeth River in downtown Norfolk, and stepped onto the seawall outside of it. The heat had let up some today and it didn’t feel as much like a sauna outside.

  Large yachts docked in a lazy row and a ferry paddled across the water, full of passengers waving to those on shore. I searched the various platforms along the wall, looking for Candace. Finally, I spotted the brunette standing by a bench, chatting on her cell phone.

  Gone was the earlier smile. In its place, she wore a scowl. She quickly closed the phone when I approached. I gripped the envelope and braced myself for the conversation.

  “Where did you get the pictures?” Her eyes gleamed with fire and anger. My eyes zeroed in on her earrings, the ones she always wore.

  “Someone left them for me.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “I’m trying to figure out who killed Gloria Cunningham.”

  After a moment of silence, she chuckled. “That’s what this is about?”

  “I hardly think this is laughing matter, especially since I’m convinced your senator-in-the-running is the person guilty of the crime.”

  She studied my face. “You’re the crime-scene cleaner, aren’t you? Michael told me about you and your silly accusations.”

  “He has motive.”

  “What?”

  “You.”

  She let out an airy laugh. “Michael and I ended our fling months ago. Gloria could have him, for all I cared.”

  “You don’t sound very fond of him.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why are you running his campaign?”