Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
“Yup. The commissioner assigned them to us himself. Two Philadelphia cops, a sergeant and a lieutenant.”
Damn. “A lieutenant. I’m surprised they would send someone with that high a rank. Rather a waste, isn’t it, for such a routine duty?”
“I think the cops feel the same way, but they’re pretty much doing what they’re told. Ashley feels better having them around, though. She wasn’t happy about it in the beginning, but I can see that she’s changing her mind.”
“The Senator’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen her pictures in the papers. Very photogenic.”
“You could say that. She’s gorgeous.”
“I haven’t read anything about the police bodyguards.”
A furrow appeared between Meg’s dark brows. “Would they mention that in the newspapers?”
“Perhaps not,” Ransom replied hastily, aware that he should change the subject. “Have you been keeping tabs on the Senator’s potential opponent? How is the other side doing?”
Meg shook her head. “Too early to tell for sure. We’re following the polls, but as we get closer to summer they will become much more important. Right now they’re not as accurate as we’d like; there’s too much time for things to change.”
“Your man is assumed to be the underdog.”
“Like Harry Truman after the war?” Meg asked, grinning. “Like John Kennedy in 1960?”
“I can see that you won’t give up until the swearing-in ceremony.”
“Not even then. There’s always the future, the next term. Four years isn’t very long when you consider a lifetime or a century.”
The waiter brought the main course, and Ransom watched Meg remove the bacon bits from her quiche with a single tine of her fork. She looked up and caught him studying her.
“I don’t like bacon,” she explained sheepishly.
“Would you prefer something else?” he asked, glancing around for the waiter.
“Oh, no. This is fine. I’ve mutilated it sufficiently.”
He smiled. “Your name is Margaret, but you prefer Meg?”
She nodded.
“Why? Margaret is such a charming name.”
“It means ‘a pearl.’ Difficult to live up to, don’t you think? Especially for someone with my coloring.”
“There are black pearls, just the shade of your hair. They’re far more rare and valuable than the white ones.”
She looked up at him, and he could see her examining him for sincerity. He marshaled all his resources to project it.
She looked down again. “‘Margaret’ always makes me feel like I’m back in fourth grade.” She lowered her voice to a male register. “‘Margaret, how do you explain this failing grade in conduct?’” she said, imitating her father.
“You got poor grades in elementary school?” he asked in surprise.
“Not in academic subjects. In behavior, deportment.”
“I can’t believe you misbehaved.”
“I didn’t misbehave, really, but the school had a demerits system. You lost points if you broke the rules. I didn’t cut class or sass the teachers, but I was always reading novels during arithmetic and doing homework when I finished the test early, that sort of thing. Each incident added up, and the total usually caught up with me at report time.”
“Sounds like the place I was in,” Ransom said dryly.
“Where was that?”
“A boarding school,” he said lightly, surprised at himself for making the admission. Why had he told her that?
“So you understand what I mean,” she said.
“Yes, I do, Meg.”
She smiled. Then she glanced at her watch and said, “Oh, dear. I’m afraid I have to get going, I really lost track of the time.”
“Can’t you have some dessert, coffee?”
“Maybe just coffee, but then I have to run.”
“All right.”
The waiter cleared the plates, and while they waited for the coffee Ransom said, “I’d like to take you to dinner soon.”
She hesitated.
“No gorilla suits, I promise,” he said.
She smiled. “Okay. I’ll give you the number in New Hope where we’ll be staying. You can call me there.”
He held her gaze. “Meg, I like you. I like you a lot. Please don’t make me leave here without a firm commitment.”
“I’m very busy with the campaign,” she said weakly.
“Saturday night?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, I have a political dinner. There are functions to attend most weekends.”
“Thursday, then. Is anything happening Thursday night?”
“No.”
“We’ll make it an early evening. Where will you be staying?”
“The Chanticleer Hotel in New Hope.”
“I’ll pick you up in the lobby at eight. Chez Ondine is only a short distance away, if I remember correctly. Would that be all right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have you back by ten-thirty.”
“Okay,” she agreed. The waiter poured the coffee, and as she sipped it she checked her watch again.
“My car is out in the parking lot,” Ransom said, watching her. “I’ll drive you back.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, that’s all the way across town in the midday traffic,” Meg replied firmly. “I’ll go by cab, the way I came.”
He saw that she would brook no argument, and so he signaled the maitre d’, who was standing at the entrance to the dining room. When the man appeared at his side, Ransom took a folded bill from his wallet and said, “Please call the lady a cab. She’ll need it in ten minutes.”
“Very good, sir,” the maitre d’ said, and went to the desk to use the telephone.
“Thank you,” Meg said to Ransom.
They drank their coffee and made small talk until the maitre d’ returned and said, “The lady’s cab is here.”
Ransom rose and pulled out Meg’s chair, then walked her to the door. They emerged into the afternoon sunshine and turned to each other to say good-bye.
The taxi was waiting at the curb.
“Eight o’clock on Thursday,” Ransom reminded her.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Until then.”
Meg nodded and climbed into the cab. Ransom stood on the sidewalk and watched it disappear around the corner, then he turned back into the restaurant and went directly to the bar.
“Jameson’s straight up, no ice,” he said to the bartender. The barman nodded and went for the bottle while Ransom sat on the leather stool and studied his reflection in the Victorian mirror.
By all rational standards it had gone very well. She had seemed to enjoy his company and he’d made another date with her. If their relationship continued in this vein, he would be able to accomplish his mission with no problem. Yet he was vaguely uneasy. Why?
It was Meg, he realized. He really never liked anyone; respect was the closest he could come to affection. But she was attractive and pleasant, witty and bright. Worthy of respect. Why couldn’t she have been the dull, driven career woman he’d expected, a thing, a patsy it would have been easy to use and discard? Instead she was a person, a personality, and he didn’t like that.
His drink came, and he bolted it, asked for another. Something was off center, he mused, something was wrong with him. He was thinking about vacations, giving away unnecessary information to a mark, considering the feelings of a woman whose trust he was plotting to abuse. How many other people had he violated in the past without even losing his concentration? He must be slipping, getting old.
Oh, what the hell, he thought. It was probably just starting-gate tension. He had never hit anyone as prominent as Fair before, finding his clientele primarily among businessmen who wanted to eliminate rivals and husbands who wanted to eliminate their wives. He felt different this time because the situation was different.
His target was a U.S. Senator, and that was bound to generate some jitters. Nothing to worry about, certainly.
But when the second drink came he bolted that too.
* * * *
The next day, Meg glanced up from her computer terminal to find Capo standing three feet away from her, smoking languidly.
“Sergeant Capo,” she said, “I would appreciate it if you would take that cigarette into the other room. I’m wearing my contact lenses, and the haze bothers my eyes.”
Capo crushed out the cigarette and came closer, which wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d anticipated.
“You don’t always wear them, huh?” he said.
“No, but for prolonged close work they’re helpful.”
“You can’t see without them?”
“Not well. I need to wear them or my glasses,” she answered, continuing to type.
“I’ve got great eyes myself,” Capo volunteered. ‘Twenty-twenty, twenty-fifteen, something like that. I can read billboards, signs on the road, anything.”
“How fortunate for you,” Meg observed, not looking up.
“What are you working on?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“I’m revising the Senator’s schedule,” she replied.
“He’s a pretty busy guy.”
Meg’s fingers ceased their activity. “Sergeant Capo, are you waiting for something?”
“Not really. The Senator’s taking a nap. I guess I’m waiting for him to wake up.” He grinned, displaying teeth as perfect as his eyesight.
“Where’s Lieutenant Martin?”
“He’s with Miss Fair at the VA hospital, remember?”
So, no hope of distracting him with his buddy, she thought. Capo seemed nonchalant, but he missed nothing, and she wanted a break from his penetrating gaze for a little while.
“The flowers just came?” he asked, gesturing to the large basket of gladiolas on her desk.
“Yes.”
“Who are they from?”
Meg’s thumb hit the space bar, and the computer jumped a line. “A friend,” she said stiffly.
“Boyfriend?” Capo asked, picking up the enclosure envelope.
“A man, Sergeant. Does that serve to make it any clearer?” Meg replied archly.
“Don’t get huffy,” he said equably. “I’m just doing my job.” He examined the card, which featured a caricature of a gorilla on its cover. He opened it and read the legend aloud: “ ‘I’m just ape over you.‘“
“It’s an inside joke, Sergeant,” Meg said. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I understand your friend’s got classy handwriting,” he said dryly, replacing the card.
“That’s the florist’s handwriting,” Meg answered, annoyed. “The order was placed over the phone.”
“How do you know?”
“It came through the Teleflora service. The tag is on the basket. Sergeant, is all of this leading somewhere? I resent the invasion of my privacy, and I don’t see what this has to do with Senator Fair.”
“I’m just checking on what comes in and goes out. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. Bombs and other dangerous devices can be concealed in almost anything.”
“Feel free to search the gladiolas for fuses, Sergeant,” Meg said sarcastically, and went back to her typing.
“Miss Drummond?” Capo intoned with infuriating calm.
She looked up with exaggerated patience.
“I’ve already told you that you can call me Tony,” he confided, and winked.
He ambled back into the hall as Meg rolled her eyes and then returned her attention to her work.
* * * *
Ashley had returned from the hospital and was in her bedroom reading when her father knocked on her door.
“Honey, are you busy?” Fair said.
“No, Dad, come on in.”
Fair entered his daughter’s hotel room and sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. He was wearing one of his outrageously expensive but interchangeable dark suits, and his thick hair was neatly combed. His namesake and Ashley’s half brother, Joe, looked just like him, right down to the high-bridged nose and widow’s peak.
“I just thought I’d take a moment to come in and chat,” Fair said. “We’re both so busy that we rarely get a chance to talk in private.”
Ashley waited. Her father never wasted time; this visit had a purpose.
“I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for giving up your job to work on my campaign,” Fair said.
“I didn’t give it up, Dad, I just took a leave of absence.”
“Nevertheless, you made a big change in your life for me, and I want you to know I appreciate it.”
Ashley smiled.
Fair sighed, and she could see that he was choosing his words carefully.
“I’m aware,” he began, “that you and Sylvia have not been the best of friends.”
“We just have different interests, Dad, that’s all,” Ashley said quickly. Too quickly.
Fair shook his head. “No. You felt excluded when she had the children. I never should have sent you away to school.”
“Dad, it doesn’t matter now,” Ashley said uncomfortably.
“Yes, it does. You said that was what you wanted, and I just went along because it seemed best at the time. But I did see, later, that I’d made a mistake.”