Chapter 39
Sandra emerged from the bathroom drowning in a plush white hotel bathrobe, slippers, and a towel wrapped around her head, surprised to find a large room service table with two salmon entrees, salads, a basket of bread, and a couple of crème brûlées for dessert. Maya sat on the edge of the bed in a pair of sweats and a pink T-shirt. The flat-screen television on the wall was broadcasting the Flash News channel but was muted.
Sandra’s eyes lit up at the presentation. “What’s all this?”
“I thought you might be hungry, so I ordered us room service. It arrived when you were in the shower.”
Sandra’s eyes flicked to a bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket of ice on the desk next to two long-stemmed glasses. “What are we celebrating?”
“I know we haven’t cracked the case yet, but we had a win today, a big one, which we desperately needed, so I thought we could toast to that.”
Sandra walked over to the room service table and plucked a dinner roll from the basket and took a bite. “I like the way you think.”
Maya climbed to her feet and went to pop open the bottle of champagne. “There’s plenty of food. Should we call upstairs and invite Stephen to come down?”
“He’s not there.”
“Where is he?”
“The moment Senator Grisby resigned today, Stephen called his troops back to his office. They are going to burn the midnight oil and make up for the lost time when he was in hiding.”
“It must be a relief to know he is finally off the hook.”
“Well, he’s not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Just because it’s out now that the Grisbys were trying to frame Stephen, the press is not about to give him a free pass, especially given the lingering questions about what happened to Tess and why it happened in his apartment,” Sandra said solemnly before cracking a smile. “But yes, we had a win today, so let’s celebrate.”
There was a loud pop as the cork shot out of the bottle, hitting the wall as fizzy champagne bubbled up and down the sides as Maya quickly poured some into the two glasses and handed one to Sandra.
They clinked glasses.
“To a good day,” Maya said.
“Well played.” Sandra chuckled.
They both took a sip.
Sandra glanced at the TV screen.
An image of Kyle Grisby’s drawn face filled the screen.
“Maya, where’s the remote?”
Maya scooped it up off the desk and pressed the volume button until they could hear the female news anchor speaking.
“Grisby was picked up by FBI agents this afternoon for questioning about his role in the scheme to paint Senator Stephen Wallage as a philanderer and, most unsettling, as a possible murderer . . .”
The anchor continued. “The two agents showed up at Grisby’s home, where he voluntarily agreed to accompany them back to FBI Headquarters.”
“You want to bet that the two FBI agents are named Markey and Rhodes?” Sandra asked.
Maya smiled knowingly and took another sip of her champagne.
The anchor continued. “Sources within the FBI say the younger Grisby has admitted to the political hit job in order to take down Senator Wallage and promote his father’s political goals, but he is adamantly denying any involvement in the death of Wallage’s intern Tess Rankin and claims to have never even met her.”
“Of course he’s going to say that. Fake emails is one thing; murder is quite another,” Maya remarked.
On the TV screen, an unflattering photo of Charles Grisby looking as if he was foaming at the mouth replaced the one of his son, Kyle, as the anchor continued reading her cue cards. “Although Senator Grisby continued to deny any knowledge of his son’s scheme, he resigned today, saying he did not want to be, and I quote, ‘a distraction to the United States Senate getting on with the country’s business.’ Joining us now to discuss this very consequential day in American politics . . .”
Maya hit the mute button on the remote and observed Sandra, who had sat down in a chair and was picking at her salmon with a fork, a pensive look on her face. “Everything okay?”
Sandra finally took a bite of the salmon and nodded with a smile. “Yes, why?”
“You look a little troubled. You should feel good about this. It turns out Stephen was telling the truth.”
“I know. I am happy about that; really I am. It’s just that . . .”
“Just what?”
“I just keep thinking about something Deborah Crowley said. She was so conflicted about her relationship with Stephen. On the one hand, she admired him so much for the good work he was doing; genuinely caring politicians are a rare breed, and having been married to the man for twenty years, I know he’s the real deal. But on the other hand, he’s a flawed human being with a spotty track record when it comes to marriage fidelity.” Sandra paused, then put her fork down and looked at Maya. “I understand why Deborah had to move on. Can he truly be trusted?”
Maya shrugged. “Is it really up to you to decide that?”
Sandra gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“In a matter of weeks, days even, your divorce is going to be final. It will no longer be any of your concern. You can just focus on him as first, the father of your boys, and second, that caring politician everybody seems to look up to. The loyal husband part will be moot.”
Sandra stared off into space. “I guess you’re right.”
“Unless . . .”
Sandra snapped back into the moment. “Unless what?”
“Unless you are reconsidering going through with the divorce,” Maya said, eyes boring into Sandra.
Flustered, Sandra pushed her plate of salmon away and stood up. “What? No, of course not.”
“Sandra, we have been working together for almost two years now; I know that look, that indecision, like you’re not sure what to do. Are you still in love with Stephen?”
Sandra hesitated. “No . . .” She let it hang there for a few seconds and then deflated, knowing the last person she could con was whip-smart Maya, before muttering, “I don’t know . . .”
Maya let it go. She could sense Sandra was uncomfortable discussing her feelings. But there was no doubt what was left unspoken.
The door to a possible reconciliation was open.
At least a crack.