Milt didn’t shake his hand, merely gave him a patrician nod and ignored him. Davis said, all bonhomie, “General Court? I’ve never heard of that before.”
Milt said, civil but cold, his Boston accent pronounced, “No one has. The name is a holdover from Colonial times. It’s what we call our state legislature.”
Milt had scarlet-red hair, threaded through with white. He was a distinguished-looking sixtysomething gentleman who looked reasonably fit, with no saggy jowls, probably because of some nice pull-up face work he’d had done. He spoke quietly to Natalie, giving her troubled looks. Was he concerned about the propriety of Natalie bringing Davis with her tonight? He thought it might be so, because Old Milt was looking at him with seamed lips and well-bred contempt. It was, he thought, the inevitable lot of the boy toy.
They were directed toward a dining room across the hall that held three large circular tables for ten guests each, set with silver and white table linens that sparkled under special lighting that made the guests’ diamonds glitter as well. Davis held Natalie’s chair for her and sat down in the chair to her right. A massive-bosomed matron wearing more diamonds than Natalie sat on her left. She was the wife of the big muckety Natalie had just met, no doubt a large contributor to the party coffers. The husband was fulsome, filled every small moment of silence with great enthusiasm, and spent too much time looking at Natalie. The wife was quiet, content, Davis supposed, to let the massive quantities of diamonds she wore speak for her. Perry sat across from them. To her left was a four-star from the Joint Chiefs who didn’t seem all that happy to be there, and on her right sat Day Abbott. But when the four-star suddenly realized who Perry was, everything changed. He took over the conversation entirely, talking mostly about the Patriots, the general’s favorite team. Day Abbott slugged down a straight whiskey and looked like he was used to this and didn’t particularly like it.
When Natalie’s salad was served, Davis discreetly exchanged plates. The same with her dinner plate that held a finely cut filet mignon and potatoes whipped up so high they looked sprayed in place. And there were dainty little lemon tarts that followed for dessert, only enough to tease the taste buds. If anyone noticed what he’d done with the plates, no one said anything. Davis’s feeling was that no one had noticed, either because they were too self-absorbed or he was good at it. When he looked up from a bite of a lemon tart, he saw Perry’s head was cocked at him. He grinned at her.
After dinner, Madame Secretary rose, tapped her goblet with her fork, and announced to the group that she had a surprise. They were going to enjoy an hour of dancing—to work off all the calories from dinner, she said, earning a few laughs and a couple of male groans. And so the group walked back into the large living room, where a small dance band had settled on a dais at the far end, all the furniture moved out of the way. A slow, easy dance song, one Davis hadn’t heard before, started up, and most of the guests stepped out onto the floor. Davis danced the first number with Natalie, and spent the next few minutes watching everyone around her watching her, or them. What did they expect? Coitus in the middle of the dance floor?
When the song came to an end, the speaker of the House, Herbert McGuffen, lightly touched her arm to get her attention and asked her to dance. Tall enough to carry off his weight, and looking as arrogant as a French aristocrat, the speaker wore a very finely made rug that blended well with his own light-colored hair. Davis was sure no one had ever said a word about it. The speaker seemed to be arguing with her about something, very discreetly, of course, but Davis was paying attention. Natalie shook her head at him, and he didn’t seem to like her reply. Her half-brother, Milt, was on the spot when the song finished, and she smiled at the speaker, added a light laugh, and traded partners. For a moment her eyes followed the speaker of the House, who didn’t appear to be at all happy. What would her half-brother have to say? Then it was Davis’s turn again.
“Trying to pump you for information?”
She laughed. “Yes, both of them are very good at it. But I’m the master. Davis, it was close tonight, but we nearly got him. He’s here and he’s close.”
“I took a call a couple minutes ago. The black truck belongs to a Mrs. Betty Steffens, of Nantuck, Maryland, reported stolen early this morning right out of her garage. We’ll go over it for fingerprints, but I doubt there’ll be any. What’s that song? I mean, it isn’t hot and fast like the Sex Pistols.”
Natalie laughed. “Nope, it’s soft and flowy, from ancient times. You’ve never heard it?”
“No, but then again, it’s easy to dance to, I don’t have to concentrate and can keep my eyes on all the desperate characters around us. Why was the speaker of the House upset with you?”
“You saw that? You’re good, Davis. Let’s say he’s not happy with a stand the president’s taken on a particular trade bill that affects his district. Despite the current situation, he knows I’m close to the president and he wanted me to help him change his mind, which I refused to do.” She shrugged. “He’ll get over it, since he’s got to know it’s going to be a no-go without the president’s backing. I think his biggest wish, though, is that I’ll be resigning to keep the party safe.”
She smiled up at him. “Any symptoms of poisoning?”
Davis grinned at her. “Not yet. Why is your kid giving me black looks? She was all smiles earlier.”
Natalie looked over at her daughter, now dancing with her uncle Milt. “She heard the gossip floating around tonight, told me in the ladies’ room I should have come with her and Day tonight, not drag you here to add to the gossip, what with your being so hot.”
“She thinks I’m hot?”
Natalie laughed. “Guys—you never change. I think she said hot, but, hmmm, maybe it was something else. I’m getting old, my hearing’s on the wane.”
“Yeah, right.”
“She thinks I bought your tux.”
“She doesn’t have a very good eye.”
“Not in this case, evidently. Your tux is obviously bespoke.”
“Yeah, my mom forced me to my dad’s tailor, told me if I ever gained weight, she’d shoot me.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. You dance well, Davis.”
“Thanks. I haven’t heard music this old in forever. What is that song? So she thinks I’m hot? Do you know I invited her to come into my house for a cool drink?”
“The song is ‘Moon River.’ It’s been popular for decades. Maybe she thinks you’re hot because of your derring-do yesterday morning. I told her it was probably an everyday sort of deal for you, particularly the part about the Starbucks in one hand and a gun in the other. You’re perfectly right, though, ‘Moon River’ sure isn’t James Taylor.” She gave him a fat grin.
“James Taylor? You mean that balding guy who played hippie ballads back in the Stone Age?”
She lightly smacked his arm. “Don’t be snarky. He was my favorite back in the day—not quite the Stone Age. He still is. Hey, I like ‘California über Alles’ as well as the next person, but it’s sometimes nice to slow-dance. You don’t have to perform, and you can actually talk to your partner without shaking anything loose. Believe me, that’s a concern as you get older.”
Mom would really like Natalie. “What’s up with Old Milt, your half-brother?”
She spurted out a laugh. “He’d have you measured for concrete boots if he heard you call him old. He looks good, actually, after he got his face perked up last year, and he’s very proud of that. He said he stood ready to support me in my time of need.” A small resigned sigh escaped. “He’s fully capable of Victorian sentiments like that when it comes time to ask me for help to bankroll one of his campaigns. He really hates to delve into his own coffers or hoof it out on the streets for his contributions. He hates asking for money, always has. He’s simply no good at it, and he knows it.”
“Except you, right?”
She began tapping her fingertips on his shoulder. “He hasn’t yet. I think he’s trying to ass
ess the damage my situation will have on him. Obviously, I speak to my parents quite often, and I know Milton has been pestering them for information about me. They listen and thank him for his visits and go about their business. Dad’s eighty-five, my mom’s nearly eighty, and both of them are still healthy and bright-eyed. Milt hates it, but they’re the ones who hold the reins, since they hold most of the assets. The truth is both of them are stronger and more competent than he is.”
She tap-tapped again on his shoulder. “Have you noticed anyone behaving not quite as they should? Anyone looking at me with burning rage in his eyes?”
“Not any rage I can see, more like rampant curiosity and speculation. No surprise there, since you’re the latest scandal inside the Beltway.”
She grinned. “I’m enjoying all the speculation about you, the looks. You’d think they’d understand why you’re with me with all that’s happened, despite what you look like.”
Davis said, “You should meet Agent Griffin Hammersmith, the newest agent in the CAU—that’s the Criminal Apprehension Unit. Women look right past me if he’s in the room. I have fielded a couple of questions about how you and I know each other. One of the ladies asked if I worked in one of the local clubs.
“Perry’s been besieged about football all night, and not just by the four-star general at the dinner table. Day Abbott doesn’t look very happy about that. I mean, they’re talking sports here, all about quarterback stats and the latest injuries, and it’s his date they’re talking to. He’s left out of it. I’d say his ego is hurting.”
Natalie paused for a moment. “Of course Perry gets all the sports questions since Brundage was a legend, as well as her father. He should be used to it. Maybe you’re right, maybe Day’s tired of her claiming the spotlight. To top it off, Day himself is a sports nut; like most guys, give him a beer and some nuts and a football game and he’s a happy camper. He followed his own father’s footsteps and attended the West Virginia School of Mines, which wasn’t a choice his mother expected, since it isn’t much of a big-time sports school.”
Davis said, “Well, if the guy wants to get anywhere with your kid, he needs to get a grip, join in the conversation instead of looking pissed off, and start treating her like the expert she is,” and then he dipped her.
She came up laughing. “You’re not bad, Davis.”
He gave her a nice twirl, slowed again. “Do you think Perry and Madame Secretary’s son are headed toward an engagement?”
She was silent for a moment, again tapping her fingertips on his shoulder. “As I told you, she resists talking to me about Day. I can still remember the screaming matches between the two of them when he was fifteen or so and she was ten or eleven, exactly like a brother and sister. Ah, the song is winding down. Why not go ask her to dance before someone else snaps her up. I’ll go stand over there, my back to the fireplace.”
Davis asked Perry to dance, smiling at Day Abbott, who didn’t look particularly happy at his showing up. Actually, he looked like he wished he had Darth Vader’s lightsaber with him. Luckily, it was another slow number they could talk over without his worrying about stepping on the toes peeking out of her black stilettos. He was beginning to like the oldies, even though he didn’t know any of the words and recognized the music mostly from elevators.
The first thing she said was, “I saw you changing your plates with my mom’s.”
“I liked the looks of her steak better than mine.”
“Yeah, right. She’s made you a deal, hasn’t she? To keep away nosy people, right? Like the media? No, that’s all right, you don’t have to say anything, I’ll get it out of her later. I wish she hadn’t brought you. It’s adding to the gossip that you’re her lover.”
“Yeah, so what?” So Natalie hadn’t told her about the black truck after them on the way to the party. He grinned down at her, but not all that far down, maybe two inches at most. “Was your dad tall?”
She pulled back. “What? My dad? Well, about six feet, I guess. Why?”
“Without those towering stilettos, you’re what, maybe five foot two?”
“You pinhead. Stop trying to distract me.”
“I like your dress. You look pretty dishy. Isn’t that an 1890s phrase, like this music? I hardly recognized you without the leather, the helmet, and the fishtail braid. And I’m hot, right?”
“How does an FBI agent afford a tux like that? Did you borrow it? Is it your dad’s?”
Of all things, his cell belted out “I Wanna Be Sedated” by Ramones. People around them turned and stared. He immediately turned the cell to vibrate, checked the screen. Cindy from the FDA. He let it go to voice mail. Perry saw Cindy’s name, looked up at him, and laughed.
“One of your girlfriends?”
“Nah, my aunt.”
“Yeah, right. Why would Mom think she needed a bodyguard here, of all places? The car that tried to run her off the road—that was four thousand miles away, in England.”
Natalie hasn’t told her daughter about Buckner Park, either.
“Has something happened since then?” She stopped dead in her tracks. He saw fear flash in her eyes. “All right, what hasn’t she told me?”
He dipped her and pretended to nearly drop her, which made her grab on to his arms, and said, still balancing her low, “You gotta ask your mom. I’m only her boy toy.”
“Pull me up.”
He did, and whirled her around in a fast twirl. “Really, Perry, ask your mom.”
“It isn’t right. She shouldn’t keep things from me. She’s only known you a day and she’s known me all my life.”
“True, but I know how to use a gun.”
“So do I, and I know where you live.”
He wondered why Natalie had kept her daughter in the dark. Probably because she didn’t want to scare her more than she was already. Perry wasn’t a kid. She was an adult. Davis made a decision. “I’m sure your mom’s told you everything that happened in England.”
“Yes, yes, she told me, and the cops didn’t believe her and the British press called her a liar. She wouldn’t let me come over.”
“Someone tried to run your mom down while she was running in Buckner Park last Saturday. It was her decision not to tell you.”
“But you just did.”
“I think it’s important you know what’s going on here. But listen, Perry, it’s critical you not tell anyone else about this, though, not even Day Abbott. I’ll speak to your mother and she’ll explain it all to you, even about what happened on the way here tonight.”
She grabbed his arm. “What happened?”
“Your mother will explain. Personally, I think the more people who know, the better. You’re right, I did make a bargain with her. I would protect her tonight and she will tell everything to my boss, Special Agent Dillon Savich. Come to her house tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. You can meet him, ask all the questions you want. If you want to tear a strip off your mom for not telling you about the latest two attempts on her life, please do it when you’re alone. I don’t like shouting matches. They give me indigestion.”
They danced in silence, Perry stiff, her breathing choppy. Finally, the music came to a predictable end, soft and smooth, with a final trickling series of notes. She said, “I’ve heard of Agent Savich. Do you really think he can help?”
He squeezed her hand. “I’ll bet my bespoke tux on it. Don’t worry, we’ll get this all figured out.”
Natalie Black’s house
Chevy Chase, Maryland
Wednesday morning
Savich and Sherlock kept a sharp eye out on their drive to Natalie Black’s house. They’d seen no one suspicious following them. Savich’s GPS announced they’d arrived at their destination, 2318 Ridgewood Road.
Sherlock surveyed the empty guardhouse, the high stone fence, the intercom with the camera mounted beside it aimed at the driver. “Anyone could avoid that camera, climb over the wall, no problem. There must be another camera—there, in the lower branches of
that oak. Someone needs to dirty it up, it’s a dead giveaway, so nice and sparkly new. Installed this week, I’ll bet.”
Savich pressed the button, identified himself and Sherlock.
A man’s deep voice came from the speaker. “Agent Savich, please hold your ID up toward the camera.”
Savich did, and the gate swung in quickly and smoothly away from them, and the Porsche cruised through. “Lovely grounds,” Sherlock said. “I can picture a tire hanging from that low oak branch over there. Sean would really like that.”
“I can see him and Marty fighting over who can spin faster.” There was a low branch on the maple tree in their backyard, actually. Maybe it was time to hang a tire.
He pulled up the circular driveway and stopped at the front door. “Ah, here’s our questioner from the gate.”
Hooley stood in the open front door, arms crossed over his massive chest, looking them over thoroughly as they walked toward him.
He said to Savich, “I know who you are, Agent Savich. Who is she?”
Sherlock gave him her sunny smile. “I’m his keeper,” she said, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Mr. Hooley. I’m Agent Sherlock. He never goes anywhere without me. It’s in my employment contract.”
Hooley stared at her for a long moment and shook her hand. “Your hair is an even brighter red than Mrs. Black’s. Curlier, too.” He said to Savich, “You’ve got quite a rep. Is it deserved?”
Savich said, “Rep for what, exactly?”
“Not wrestling, that’s for sure,” Sherlock said. “I’ve got that gold medal.”
Hooley looked like he wanted to laugh but didn’t. “A rep as a hotshot, like when you were in the papers for bringing down those bank robbers in Georgetown. Follow me. Your boy and Mrs. Black are in the sunroom.” He paused for a moment. “I’m glad Mrs. Black consented to bringing you in. What’s going on isn’t good, and there are only three of us to watch her. Beautiful machine,” he added, nodding toward the Porsche.