Elected for Death

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Wish I’d thought of that. The sexiest males in our house are my daughter’s boyfriends—and I don’t want to know what that means.”

  Laughing together, the women moved away. Susan wondered if it would be bad policy to visit the away team’s side of the field. Bradley and Cassandra, due to their patrician height, were clearly visible across the field and she thought it might be interesting to take a peek at the enemy on its home ground. Well, why not?

  She thought about McKnight Prep as she wandered around the end of the field. Connecticut was as full of excellent public-school systems as it was of prestigious private schools. Parents in Hancock who wanted their children to get a private-school education had more than a few choices. But McKnight Prep was known to Susan only as a group of gray fieldstone buildings surrounded by large green playing fields in a neighboring town.

  The McKnight Prep parents were an even preppier group than those on the other side of the field. Plaid prevailed. As did loafers that looked like traditional Bass Weejuns—were such things still made? Susan wondered. She wandered around, keeping one eye on the game and looking for the Chadwicks with the other. Of course, she ended up running smack into a man wearing an itchy-looking Harris-tweed jacket.

  It turned out to be Bradley Chadwick. Ever the good candidate, he grabbed her shoulders, stabilized her, and then shook her hand and asked for her vote.

  “This is Susan Henshaw, dear.” Cassandra Chadwick appeared at her husband’s side. “You know, her husband, Jed, is the candidate who invested in the Malloy Fund.”

  Bradley smiled. “Well, I guess your husband did my side a little favor when he did that, didn’t he?”

  “You know, Jed would never, ever—”

  “I think it’s charming that you continue to defend him,” Cassandra interrupted, slipping her hand through her husband’s arm. “We both do, don’t we, dear? Loyalty is such an important family value.”

  “Essential.” He agreed, smiling to the surrounding crowd, but not looking directly at Susan. “In fact, loyalty is in many ways the basis for any relationship—a fact that is well known to the people who are here today, cheering on their children.” Suddenly his general beam dissolved into a scowl. “Dear, what are the girls up to?” he asked his wife.

  “Well, Blake is helping out at the boosters’ club booth, and the last time I looked, Brooke and Brittany were sitting in the bleachers cheering on their brother.” A brief frown crossed her unlined face. “Why do you ask, dear?”

  “They seem to be standing together at the end of the bleachers talking with some horrible upper-school boys. I thought you said you were going to stop gadding around and pay more attention to the children.”

  “I’ll go check on them,” Cassandra offered. “You know how children are,” she said to Susan.

  “Of course,” Susan agreed, trying to hide her delight at the other woman’s obvious distress. It was tempting to investigate this particular mystery. But she knew she wouldn’t: children were to be protected not used.

  “Your son is quite a soccer player,” Bradley commented.

  Susan wondered if he had been reading her mind. “Your son seems to be good, too,” she offered an exchange of compliments.

  “Yes, Junior has had opportunities to go to many of the Ivies, but instead he has decided to follow me to my own alma mater. He’ll be captain of the soccer team there as I was in my time, I predict.”

  “How wonderful,” Susan said. She thought about the pile of college applications on her son’s desk. He probably hadn’t touched them in weeks. “Princeton?” she asked, noticing the orange-and-black scarf Bradley wore around his neck.

  “Peterborough.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard …” Susan began.

  “It’s small and selective. I’ve always thought a small liberal-arts college offered the best chance for a well-rounded education, don’t you?”

  Susan was beginning to realize that Bradley asked questions in a manner that implied that you were somehow lacking if you didn’t agree with the opinion he had just expressed. “Where did you go to medical school?” she asked.

  “I went abroad. I was very interested in exploring other cultures when I was young and adventurous. I think that’s the way to be when you’re still unformed.”

  Susan found herself wondering about Bradley’s ability to make a less than illustrious education sound like an enviable choice. “Were you involved in politics in college?” she asked, wondering if he would answer that he was president of the student council or make something less than that sound important.

  “I have always been seriously committed to community service. It is as important to me as the air that I breathe. And I have instilled that belief in my children. My God, what is your son doing to my son Bradley! Junior!” With that, the public-spirited mayoral candidate dashed onto the playing field.

  Susan jumped up and down, trying to see what was happening over the crowd of spectators.

  “Public schools simply don’t teach morals or civility,” a man next to her said.

  “Of course, you’re right,” someone agreed. “How could they? They take absolutely everyone.”

  Susan realized that she was standing on the wrong side of the field.

  There was a time-out on the field and she took advantage of it to dash across to her husband, who was standing by Hancock High’s bench.

  “Is Chad okay?” she asked anxiously, glancing at the young men from both teams standing or squatting in the middle of the field. It was impossible to pick out her own son from the pack.

  Jed nodded. “He sure is. It’s someone on the other team who fell. I don’t think it’s serious. Only the coaches and a few parents are out there and no one has called for doctors.

  “Where are you going?” he asked as Susan turned and started to walk away.

  “I think that’s Brett over by the police car,” she said. “I need to talk to him.” Now that she was sure her son was unhurt, she could get on with her investigation—and find out what had happened to Ivan Deakin’s speech.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Ivan Deakin’s speech had spent the week sitting on the edge of Brett’s desk. And that’s the spot Susan returned it to when she had finished reading it.

  “So?”

  Susan looked at Brett, who had been watching her as she read. “I certainly don’t see anything there to murder someone over.”

  “That’s what everyone around here who’s read it thought.”

  “Unless, of course, someone decided to kill him for breaking his promise,” Susan mused. “After all, he did announce that he would offer a solution to the Landmark Commission mess that would please everyone—and I don’t see anything there that would please anyone.”

  Brett read through the speech again. “Nope. The concept of voluntary preservation is rather quaint in its belief in human goodness, but that’s about as interesting as this speech gets.”

  “Of course, he might have gotten a number of votes just because people are tired of the squabbling between the other two candidates. I mean, coming in at the last minute like he did gave him a sort of glamour … or maybe it also gave the election a boost,” she added slowly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, attendance had really dropped at most of the election events and speeches the candidates were giving”—she tried not to think about the possibility that attendance had only dropped at the Martel events—it wasn’t possible, she decided—“and when Deakin called this meeting, not only did a record number of people show up, but they appeared at the debate last night.”

  “You don’t think the debate would have been popular without Ivan’s candidacy?”

  “I don’t think the debate would have been as popular if Ivan hadn’t died and I think he wouldn’t have died if he hadn’t announced his candidacy.”

  “Are you sure? Think about it,” Brett said. “People are involved in this election.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been getting the impre
ssion for weeks that most people have pretty much made up their mind about who they’re going to vote for. So why would anyone go to the debate—except to support a friend? There are certainly a lot more interesting things to do on Friday night. I mean, these debates happen every two years and I’ve never even considered attending one.”

  “The election and the murder sure have taken the attention away from other things—like the national election,” Brett said, tucking the speech away in a folder.

  “What else?”

  “What?”

  “You said the election and the murder had taken people’s attention away from other things … what things?”

  Brett looked at her with a frown on his face. “Now that you mention it, I can’t think of anything else that is going on in town.”

  “Maybe that just proves your point. Maybe if the election hadn’t been causing such a furor, we would know about other things.”

  “Possibly. But I know that nothing unusual has been happening down at the station. It’s just been the usual round of traffic violations, burglaries, petty crimes downtown, and some rather sad domestic disturbances in the past few weeks. And I don’t know how you might find a record of anything else without going through records of every meeting and committee in town.”

  “But I do,” Susan said. “In fact, I know someone who has gone through it all for me: Tom Davidson.” She stood up. “I think I’ll go find that young man.”

  “You’ll let me know right away if he tells you anything that might have some bearing on all this?”

  “Sure will.” She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Any news about Erika?”

  Brett sighed and shook his head. “And I sure wish there were. I can dismiss the fake blood on her bed as a prank, but I’ve been thinking over what you said yesterday—that she didn’t take any clothing with her—and I can’t think of a single explanation that doesn’t worry me. Where would a woman go with no clothing?”

  Susan stood still as an answer occurred to her. “Maybe a health spa?”

  Brett didn’t move for a minute and then a large smile broke out on his face. “You know what? Erika mentioned a few weeks ago that she was negotiating with someplace in upstate New York—they wanted to carry a line of all-natural products that she’s importing from Sweden—or Denmark—or someplace Scandinavian. Now, where did she say it was?”

  “Maybe Holland?”

  “I mean the health spa.”

  “Give Kathleen a call,” Susan suggested. “She’s been collecting pamphlets and rate cards from spas around here ever since Alice was born.”

  His hand was on the phone before she had closed the door behind her.

  Susan was in her car and halfway to the cable station before she realized that it might have been smart to call first. But as she arrived at the station she noticed a car in the reporter’s spot and Tom Davidson was getting into it.

  Susan honked loudly and pulled her car in behind his. “I need to talk to you!” she called out.

  “I have to cover the end of the junior high girls’ soccer game. It’s important. The niece of the station’s owner is on the team.”

  “I could drive you to the playing field,” Susan suggested. “Then we would have time to talk. It’s important.”

  “Is it about the murder or the election?”

  “Both.”

  “And you’ll share the story with me first?”

  “If Brett says I can.”

  Tom pulled a huge black canvas bag from his trunk, threw it in the backseat of her Jeep, and climbed in. “You know where the games are played?”

  “I’ve spent more fall afternoons there than I’d care to count,” she answered, backing into the street. She had often thought that the extraordinary amount of time suburban parents spent watching their children perform probably had something to do with the decline of the gross national product.

  “So what can I help you with?” he asked.

  Susan explained her mission.

  “Everything that’s been happening since the election began to take up everyone’s attention, heh?” he mused.

  “Exactly. Brett says there haven’t been any notable things happening at the police station—at least nothing they’re aware of down there,” she amended.

  “Nothing I can think of either. Let’s think about the rest of Hancock. You’re not interested in things like school events … or church events.”

  “Not unless you can somehow relate them to the election or the Landmark Commission or the murder.”

  “There seem to be some women in the PTA at the elementary school who would like to murder each other,” he muttered.

  So what else is new? she thought. “What about the historical society—or maybe there’s something going on in the parks department that the Landmark Commission decision would affect.”

  “Nothing I know about. The historical society has been pretty quiet in recent months—maybe waiting to see what the Landmark Commission is going to do.”

  “And, of course, there is the summer lull,” Susan said, pulling up to her second soccer game of the day.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Tom said, pulling his equipment from the car. “No one is around here for most of the month of August. By Labor Day, the station had even run out of human-interest stories about children, cats, and dogs. And then, the second week of September, every organization in town has a meeting or two and we run our butts off trying to find airtime for them all.”

  “Do you want me to help you carry anything?” She was astounded by the amount of equipment he was hanging on various parts of his body.

  “Nope. I’m fine. Follow me. I think we should tape from the other side of the field—not into the sun. Too much glare.”

  “What about the garden clubs?” she asked, trotting to keep up with him. Oh, to be young.

  “They’ve spent most of the fall having bulb-planting parties, getting ready for their holiday fund-raisers … and there was some sort of participation in the Fall Festival, I think. I don’t know how any of the things we’re concerned with might be affected by those things.”

  “What about—”

  “On the other hand, the Zoning Board has been going through a lot of brouhaha recently.”

  “I didn’t think the Landmark Commission and the Zoning Board had much to do with each other.” She remembered her husband saying something about this in fact.

  “Well, not now. But if Bradley Chadwick wins and the Landmark Commission is given the power they want, the Zoning Board’s powers will be severely limited.”

  “Which might infuriate someone on the Zoning Board,” Susan said, wondering if she had checked out the members of the wrong group.

  “Sounds possible to me.” Tom hiked the camera up on his shoulder. “Unless, of course, you were one of the people who are on both the Zoning Board and the Landmark Commission.”

  “Some people are on both?”

  He frowned. “Penelope Thomas, of course, and …”

  “And who?” Susan prompted when he stopped, hitched the camera up on his shoulder, and began taping. “Who?” she repeated.

  “That man,” he answered. “I don’t remember his name. He owns a large company … part of the military-industrial complex.”

  “Lyman Nearing? Lyman Nearing is on both the Landmark Commission and the Zoning Board?”

  “That’s his name. Who would name a poor innocent baby Lyman? I think—hey, where are you going?”

  “I have to go talk with Lyman Nearing.”

  “Not until we’re done taping this thing. You brought me here, remember?”

  “But—”

  “And maybe you could learn more if you go back to the station with me and watch the tapes of the meetings of the Commission and—”

  “You have their meetings on tape?”

  “Sure do. There are notes taken by secretaries, of course, but they’re not complete—and you can tell more from the tapes. Facial expressions and all that.”


  “And if I wait here with you until you’ve finished this story, you can get the tapes for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “And I’ll be able to take them home and watch them?”

  “It’s against station policy to allow our materials to be given out.”

  “But—”

  “But I don’t see what’s wrong with allowing you to view them down at the station. We recently allowed a high school student to do that—he was doing some sort of term paper on local government or something. Poor guy fell asleep over them. He was real enthusiastic about going to college and majoring in political science when he came in—but not when he left. That’s probably how colleges end up with so many art-history majors.”

  “How long do you think this will take?” Susan asked, not terribly interested in his opinions about higher education at this particular moment. “It looks to me like the game is just beginning.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It is. It should have started six minutes ago—if it started on time, that is.”

  “But we’ll be here over an hour more!”

  “So sit down and enjoy the game,” he suggested, moving down the field as the action changed direction.

  Now, attending a game in which your child is playing is one thing; attending a game and watching other people’s children play is another. Susan had no intention of doing the latter. She didn’t know anyone who would—except Lyman Nearing, she realized. Lyman Nearing, a man whose name did keep popping up, didn’t it?

  The sun was getting lower in the sky and Susan was beginning to wish she’d worn a jacket over her favorite sweater. Trying to warm up, she paced back and forth along the field, thinking about Lyman Nearing. She liked the man. He was charming, enthusiastic, and appeared to have a firm moral center, valuing his adopted son and showing a real commitment to his community. He even enjoyed standing around chatting with neighbors. He would, she realized, have been a natural to run for mayor. He’d be good at the job—and he’d even love the campaigning. It was, Susan had realized in the past few months, a rare person who was a natural campaigner. The ability to be friendly with strangers, most of whom wanted something, was less common than the perfect noses Bradley Chadwick made a living creating.