Deadly Election (9781101619223) (4 page)

“Julius,” Clint said, extending his hand, “nice to meet you.”

“It wouldn’t be seemly for the butler to shake hands with the master, sir,” Julius said, “but it’s my pleasure to meet you.”

He opened the large white door for the three of them to enter.

“Is Mrs. Bigelow here?” Carla asked.

“Yes, miss, she’s in the kitchen.”

“Good, we want her to meet Mr. Adams as well.”

“I will tell her to make herself available, miss.”

“Thank you.”

“Look,” Clint started, “I don’t know about this—”

“Let me show you the rest of the house,” Carla said, rubbing his arm and pressing her hip against his.

“I’ll see about dinner,” Gryder said. “See you two a little later.”

Carla tugged Clint over to the stairway and said, “Why don’t we start upstairs?”

Clint allowed himself to be led upstairs, but knew he was going to have to put a stop to this. He couldn’t let Carla think she could get away with using her wiles to lead him around for the length of the campaign.

Upstairs she showed him several bedrooms before taking him to the largest one.

“This is the master bedroom,” she said, “your bedroom.”

She released his arm, walked to the huge, oversized bed, and sat down on it. She was wearing a comfortable, loose-fitting dress which had been meant for comfort on the train. Her jet-black hair was up, revealing
her long, beautiful, pale neck. She studied him and licked her full lower lip.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think we need to make some rules.”

“What kind of rules?” She tilted her head to the left, used the fingers of her right hand to gently touch her neck.

“You have to stop thinking you can lead me around by the nose, Carla.”

“The nose, Clint?” she asked, smiling. “I haven’t been leading you around by the…nose.”

His cock was hard, and it would have been easy for him to take her right there on that big bed—but that was what she wanted. That would have meant she was still in control.

“You and I will get along,” he told her, “as soon as you realize who the boss is. Now come on, let’s go downstairs and have something to eat. I need to get cleaned up…and so do you.”

“But—” she said, but before she could get any further, he turned and walked out.

Cleaned up? she thought. She sniffed herself, then called out, “Hey, wait,” and ran after Clint.

Clint was shown to a room with indoor plumbing where he could clean up. He was told there was another such room right off his master bedroom. Carla had not shown that to him.

When he’d finished, Carla went in and used the facilities, and then Gryder got himself cleaned up as well. They then all met in the dining room, where the butler, Julius, was waiting.

“Sir?” he said to Clint, holding out the chair at the head of the long, mahogany table.

Clint decided to go ahead and sit there. He’d put his foot down about this stuff later.

Gryder sat to his right, and Carla on his left. She was still stinging because of her failed attempt to seduce Clint and completely wrap him around her finger. Clint had guessed what she was up to when Gryder said to them, “See you a little later.”

Now she knew he wouldn’t tumble into bed with her when she crooked her finger. He wondered if she would tell Gryder that he’d walked out on her.

The door to the kitchen opened and a middle-aged woman came out, carrying plates.

“Clint, this is Mrs. Bigelow,” Gryder said.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” he said. He didn’t offer to shake hands, not because it would be unseemly, but because her hands were full.

She set the plates down in front of them, glared at them, and then returned to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with her?” Clint asked.

“My fault,” Gryder said. “I telegraphed ahead and told her to make a simple dinner. She wanted to welcome you with a proper four-course meal.”

Clint looked down at the steak and potatoes she had set before them.

“This looks great.”

“Yes, in my telegram I told her that you liked steak.”

There was some noise from another part of the house and Clint noticed that Julius was gone.

“Where’s Julius?”

“He’s having your things brought up to your room,” Gryder said. “Tomorrow, Carla will take you shopping for your wardrobe. And tomorrow night will be your first function.”

“Function?”

“That’s what they call them,” Carla said. “It’s actually a party.”

“Ah, a party,” Clint said. “I see. Well, why don’t we eat these steaks before they get cold.”

They each attacked their dinners.

*   *   *

When they were finished, Mrs. Bigelow came in and collected the plates.

“That was excellent, Mrs. Bigelow,” Clint said. “I can’t remember when I had a better steak.”

She hesitated, then the grim set of her face cracked slightly.

“Thank you, sir. Will you be wanting dessert? I prepared a peach pie.”

“Peach?”

“Yes sir,” she said. “I was told it was your favorite.”

“Yes, it is. I’d love peach pie.”

“And coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Black, and strong?”

“Exactly.”

“Coming up.”

She left the dining room and Clint looked at Gryder.

“You have me well scouted, Mr. Gryder.”

“Will, please.”

“All right, Will.”

“Yes, sir,” Gryder said. “You see, that’s my job. To make sure everything is right.”

“I thought that was Carla’s job.”

“Um, yes, well,” Gryder said, “it’s her job, too.”

“Tell me who I’ll be meeting at this party tomorrow night.”

“Local dignitaries,” he said, “and possible contributors to your campaign.”

“Ah, the contributors.”

“They’re necessary,” Gryder said, “if we’re to run a strong campaign.”

“I suppose so.”

Mrs. Bigelow came out and put a slice of pie before each of them. Clint noticed that his was twice the size of anyone else’s. She then walked around and poured coffee for them all.

“Anything else, sir?” she asked.

“Wait,” Clint said.

She stood there while he took a chunk out of the pie and tasted it.

“Oh, my God,” he said, “this is the best peach pie I’ve ever had.”

This time she almost smiled.

“Perhaps,” she said, “tomorrow night I’ll be able to cook you a proper meal.”

“We won’t be here for dinner tomorrow night, Mrs. Bigelow,” Gryder said.

“We have a party to attend,” Carla said.

Mrs. Bigelow sighed.

“What about breakfast?” Clint asked.

“Sir?”

“In the morning,” he said, “I’d like a nice big breakfast.”

“That would be fine, sir,” she said. “Yes, that would be no problem.”

“That’s great.”

She looked pointedly at his guests, whom she obviously had no use for, and asked, “Will there be any others for breakfast?”

“Yes,” Gryder said, “Carla and I will both be here early.”

“Very well,” she said. “Three for breakfast. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bigelow.”

“I’ll be in to clean up when you’ve finished your dessert.”

She went back to the kitchen.

“She likes you,” Gryder said.

“Does she?”

“And she absolutely hates us,” Carla said.

“That’s okay,” Gryder said. “Clint’s the one she’ll be working for.”

“About that—”

“If not,” Gryder said, “if you should decide you prefer a hotel, well…Julius and Mrs. Bigelow will be let go.”

“Let go?” Clint asked. “You mean…fired?”

“Well, yes,” Gryder said, “I mean, if that’s what you really want.”

Clint thought about the steak that had almost melted in his mouth, and about the hunk of delicious peach pie before him. He picked up the cup of coffee and sipped it. It tasted wonderful.

That decided the matter.

“No, no,” he said, cutting another hunk of pie and lifting it with his fork, “this house will be fine, just fine.”

Clint spent the night in a bed more comfortable than any he’d ever slept in before. In the morning, as the sun was streaming through the window, he didn’t want to get up.

A man could get used to a bed like this—too used to it. He made himself rise.

He could smell the scent of breakfast coming from the kitchen, and decided to go down and surprise Mrs. Bigelow.

He walked through the dining room to the kitchen door. He knew he was taking a chance. Cooks in these kinds of houses were usually very territorial about their kitchens. He took a deep breath and walked in.

The sounds of bacon sizzling in a pan greeted him. Mrs. Bigelow turned to face him, a stern look on her face, but when she saw that it was him, her look softened.

“Good morning, sir,” she said.

“Mrs. Bigelow,” Clint said, “I’m not going to have any of that.”

“Of what, sir?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to call me Clint, not sir.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“I’m going to have enough trouble with Julius,” Clint said. “He’s such a stuffed shirt, but you…I sense that you and I are going to be good friends.”

She stood there with a spatula in her hand, and it could have gone one of two ways. She could have chased him from the kitchen, swinging it, or she could do what she did—smile.

“All right…Clint. If I give you a cup of coffee, will you get out of my kitchen?”

“I will,” he said.

She poured him a cup and handed it to him, then smiled again as he backed out.

When he got out to the dining room, he heard a knock at the front door. He started to go to answer it, but saw Julius getting there ahead of him. He figured he might as well let the man do his job.

He stood back and watched as Julius opened the door, spoke, and then stepped back to allow the visitors to enter.

Carla came in first, followed by Will Gryder.

“Is Mr. Adams up yet?” Gryder asked.

“I believe he is in the kitchen with Mrs. Bigelow, sir.”

“Really?” Gryder seemed surprised. “That lady doesn’t usually let anybody into her kitchen.”

“Nevertheless…” Julius said.

The fact that Julius knew Clint was in the kitchen led
Gryder to believe that the man pretty much knew everything that went on in the house.

Clint came walking out of the dining room with his coffee cup.

“Good morning,” he called out.

Carla and Gryder looked his way.

Julius turned to face him and asked, “Is there anything I can do, sir?”

“Not right now, Julius,” Clint said. “Have you had your breakfast?”

“I have, sir.”

“Then you can go…and do whatever it is you…do about now.”

“Yes, sir,” Julius said with a bow. “Thank you, sir.”

He walked away.

“Wow,” Carla said, “the house smells great.”

“Bacon,” Gryder said.

“And much more,” Clint said. “Come into the dining room.”

He led them to the table, and as they sat, he stuck his head in the kitchen and said, “Mrs. Bigelow, our guests are here.”

“Yes, si—Clint. I’ll bring out some coffee.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to his guests and said, “Have a seat.”

They took the same seats they’d had the night before.

“How’d you sleep, Clint?” Gryder asked.

“Like a log,” Clint said. “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time, and the best bed I’ve ever been in.”

“That’s great,” Gryder said. “I wanted to brief you a bit on the people you’ll be meeting tonight. We can do
that over breakfast, and then I’ll turn you over to Carla. She’s going to dress you.”

“Dress me?”

“From head to toe,” Gryder said.

“Will I have any say in what I wear?”

“Well, of course,” Gryder said. “You’ll have a say in everything. But just remember, we
are
the experts.”

“We’re all experts in one thing or another, Will,” Clint said.

“That’s true,” Carla said.

Mrs. Bigelow came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee and set them before Gryder and Carla.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bigelow,” Gryder said.

She went back to the kitchen without speaking.

“How are you getting along with your cook?”

“Great,” Clint said. “We have an understanding.”

“That’s good,” Gryder said. “She’s not an easy woman to get along with.”

“Really?” Clint said. “I haven’t found that.”

Carla sipped her coffee and watched them.

“Well,” Gryder said, “let me tell you a little about the people you’ll be meeting tonight. Of course, the governor will be there…”

Gryder talked about the governor and other local dignitaries until Mrs. Bigelow came out carrying various plates. By the time she was done, the table was covered with eggs, bacon, potatoes, flapjacks, biscuits, and muffins, with their choice of honey or butter, and then maple syrup.

“It all looks great, Mrs. Bigelow.”

“I hope you and your guests enjoy it, Clint.”

As she went back to the kitchen, Gryder looked at him and said, “Clint?”

“Like I said,” Clint replied, “we have an understanding.”

“I guess so,” Gryder said. “I don’t know anyone else Mrs. Bigelow has ever had an understanding with.”

“What can I say?” Clint asked. “I have a way with women.”

“Some women,” Carla said into her cup.

“I think we better eat while it’s hot,” Clint said, ignoring her. “Keep talking, Will.”

They all reached for food while Gryder went on…

After breakfast Clint, Gryder, and Carla went into the living room so Gryder could finish his rundown on who Clint would be meeting that night.

“You’ll have to be cordial and charming to everyone,” Gryder ended. “After all, we need their money.”

“Charm the women,” Carla said.

Both men looked at her.

“Sorry?” Clint asked.

“Charm the women,” she said again. “They’ll get their husbands to give you money.”

“She has a point,” Gryder said. “The way to the men is through their women.”

“What if they get jealous?”

“We said charm them,” Gryder said, “not take them to bed.”

“Will!” Carla said, but there was no blush. She was not as outraged as she wanted them to think.