THE GOOD THING ABOUT KIDS is that they usually don’t ask many questions about the lives of grownups. My kids are no exception. Unless I’m doing something that directly affects them, they don’t show a lot of interest in my life. And that morning I was thankful that the conversation was about what they were looking forward to in their day rather than them asking about where I’d been the night before.
Fortunately, Mom slept in, so I wouldn’t have to face her questions until later. By then I would hopefully know what my employment situation was and could spin things accordingly. I gulped down my coffee and went to Penny-wise to hear the verdict.
P.W. was her usual fashionable self. Her burnt orange jacket, dark brown slacks and flamboyant scarf featuring the outlines of orange and brown leaves proclaimed “winter is on its way.” Yuri looked tired. And concerned. Grant looked rested, like he’d somehow managed to squeeze eight hours of sleep out of five. I didn’t know how I looked. I’d put on something comfortable and run a comb through my hair. That was about it.
“You act like you’re facing the coach after soundly losing the game,” P.W. said, looking first at Yuri then me. “And, Grant, I know you were just trying to protect Cameron, but did you consider trying to talk her out of it?”
“Yes, I did consider it. But it seemed worth a shot to me.”
“And yet it was almost a disaster.”
“Ashley surprised us,” Grant admitted. “We shouldn’t have let that happen.”
P.W. was being remarkably restrained. She hadn’t once reached for her cigarette. “What you do on your own time is up to you,” she began. “But if you had asked, I would have advised against doing what you did. That said, let’s hope Ashley doesn’t sue you. Although I think that would be unwise on her part.”
“My guess is that if it doesn’t get in the news, she will let it drop,” Yuri said.
“What I’m hoping is that the police find something to implicate her in the murders,” I said. “Detective Connolly promised he’d look into it.”
“Without our assistance, I assume?” P.W. raised one eyebrow and waited for confirmation from each of us. “Then, unless either Ashley or the police decide otherwise, let’s get back to normal. Understood?” Each of us gave a nod of understanding. And I gave a silent sigh of relief.
Back in the pit, Yuri gave me a surreptitious thumbs up that I acknowledged with a subdued smile. Another slide for us.
I never seriously thought Grant’s job was in danger, but I was sorry I’d put him in an uncomfortable spot with P.W. When I tried to apologize, he waved me off. “You were doing what you thought was the right thing. That’s why I agreed to help. Please don’t ever hesitate to ask for any kind of assistance—at work or outside of the office.” I was thankful to have such a supportive and smart colleague. I owed him big time.
There was very little kidding around in the office the rest of the day. Everyone worked quietly, eyes on their computers, taking the occasional coffee break, talking about the election, avoiding talk of Ashley. I regretted not being able to torment Yuri with a reference to a cauldron of bats and a prickle of hedgehogs, but that would have to wait for a less somber moment.
Detective Connolly called early afternoon to let me know that Ashley had been released not long after us. She had apparently threatened to sue everyone who had been involved, from the three of us to the police officers who detained her at the scene to the police station admin who had brought her what she labeled as swill, not coffee. Her lawyer had somehow managed to calm her down, but it wasn’t clear whether they would eventually press changes or not. If she didn’t and we didn’t, it would be a wash. All of the weapons were legal, and although it could be argued that Grant had thought he was doing the right thing by detaining her, her lawyer could probably twist the facts to make it seem like Grant had overreacted. Despite the fact that I “claimed” she had pulled a gun on me. It was probably in everyone’s best interest if the incident didn’t make the news.
Connolly also said that the press had been sniffing around, but he was pretty sure they were sufficiently distracted by the election turnout and several tight races. I didn’t ask what direction his investigation might take after what happened because I didn’t think it was any of my business, and I knew what his answer would be anyway—that it was none of my business.
That evening Yuri came over for pizza while we watched the election returns come in. Mom joined us. Mara grabbed some pizza and retired to her room to avoid what she considered to be a drawn out, unexciting event. Even Jason seemed bored with all of the lead up to the final count. He hung around for a while, then decided he would rather watch the returns on his computer so he could switch back and forth when he wanted to instead of having to fight us for the remote.
We hadn’t shared enough about Brian’s research with my mother to make her as concerned about the outcome of the congressional race as we were. Nor had I told her about what had happened with Ashley. There would be time for that later.
Since she knew nothing of the quagmire of political intrigue behind the scenes, it wasn’t surprising that Mom zeroed in on the trappings of the evening, who was attending which party, what people were wearing, what they were being served.
The Mann party had a lot of celebrities, the movers and shakers from our neck of the woods. And it looked like the Mann campaign had spared no expense on their event. The food was being served on silver platters placed artistically on tablecloth covered tables. There were waiters in black attire circling the room offering plates of hors d oeuvres to well-dressed guests. They were putting on a good show, as if a win was a sure thing.
“I wish they would zero in more on the food,” Mom said. “I’m curious about what’s written on that huge cake at the end of the table.”
“Pretty presumptuous to have a victory cake,” I said.
I could tell that Yuri was struggling to come up with something clever to say about the cake in advance of knowing the outcome of the election. Mom saved him by pointing at a couple just coming into view on the screen and saying, “Is that who I think it is? The Mann camp has certainly attracted the creme d la crème of our local elite.”
Whenever the station switched to the Knight campaign, Mom lost interest. Admittedly, the contrast was startling. An upscale adult party versus a student get-together. But in both instances the energy level was high. Both camps still expected—or hoped—their candidate would win.
The Knight-Mann returns continued to jockey back and forth for the lead as the district votes were tallied. At one point, Mom said, “Poor Ashley. She is probably off biting her nails somewhere, anxiously waiting to find out if her dream of becoming the wife of a congressman is going to come true.”
Yuri raised his eyebrows in question, and I gave him a quick “no” nod. “Later,” I mouthed. Mom deserved to know. After all, it was what she had said about Ashley that had inspired me to try to entrap her. But now wasn’t the time. Not until the election was over.
“She’s been looking exhausted,” Mom continued. “Not her usual bubbly self. She’s probably in a room at the hotel, resting until the announcement is made. It will be interesting to see what she wears. I wonder if she chooses her wardrobe based on whether her husband wins or loses?”
Whenever they went live to the Mann campaign party, I scanned the screen for members of the Mann family, and specifically for Ashley. But there was no sign of her caught on camera. Occasionally one of the Manns was approached by a member of the press, but all they said was that they remained optimistic about the outcome and they looked forward to Bobby winning the seat. Everyone at campaign headquarters looked upbeat and seemed to be celebrating in anticipation of a win.
The Knight campaign party was lively but a bit more subdued than the Mann event. It had been a tough few days for them, fighting against the tsunami of negative ads. Even though they had as much reason to expect a win as the Mann campaign, there wasn’t as much bluster when reporters pressed campaign officials on how they thought things were going for their candidate.
I went into the kitchen to open another bottle of wine, and Yuri followed me in. “I know we can’t do anything more, but I can’t get the thought that she’s a killer who is going to get away with it out of my head.”
“Me neither. And there’s one thing I haven’t mentioned. I forgot about it given everything that happened last night. But there was another car there, just up the block. I didn’t remember it being there when I parked. At first, I thought it might have been Ashley’s, but it drove off when Grant cuffed her. I can’t quit thinking about that.”
“Are you suggesting that she may have had an accomplice?”
“No, I think she was on her own. But what occurred to me was that maybe I’m not the only one to be suspicious of her.”
“The beloved family. I think they were keeping an eye on her.”
“If that’s the case, they are probably tidying up loose ends as we speak. Damn. No breaks in this case. Not a single break.”