Smoke and Mirrors (26 page)

"I don't think so. It would be too difficult to start a fire that could cause serious damage, much less bodily harm. There are smoke detectors in every room, people coming and going all day,
the dogs patrolling at night. It seems more likely to me that the fires aren't portents of future events, but reminders of a past event."

Erin felt a cowardly sense of relief. She and Kay would be most vulnerable to an attack by fire; the rooms on the second floor had wide windows and a relatively easy drop into thick shrubbery below.

"That's ingenious," she said. "Rosemary's past, you mean?"

"She's the focus," Nick insisted. "Maybe I'm unduly influenced by the political angle, but that's the nightmare of every campaign staff—the fear that the candidate has something nasty lurking in the closet, disclosure of which could wreck his chances. Rosemary has run for office before, but those were shoo-ins, virtually uncontested races. This is different. This could lead ... all the way to the top. Buzz Bennett isn't the only one who would pay any price to get something damaging on Rosemary. "

"Agreed. But Nick, if Bennett knew about the skeleton in the closet, he wouldn't play cat and mouse, he'd just leak it to the press. Wouldn't he?"

"I would think so. I've been over this again and again, and I can't make sense of it either. But I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here like a toad on a rock and wait for the next fire. '

"Have you discussed this with anyone else?"

"Who, for instance?' He turned to face her, his eyes narrowed and his lips tight. "You're too intelligent to miss the logical conclusion, Erin; you just don't want to admit it. The arsonist isn't an outsider. It has to be one of us. "

Erin was unable to produce a convincing counterargument. Not only had she reached the same conclusion, she had carried it one step farther; to an unbiased observer, she must be high on the list of suspects, if not at the top.

Luckily for her, Nick was not unbiased. She saw no point in mentioning this little aberration, since it would only have hurt his feelings; and anyway, he could undoubtedly come up with a convincing rationalization for his naive trust in her.

She edged closer to him and he responded at once, draping his arm around her shoulders and smiling as cheerfully as if the ominous scenario he had produced were only a plot for a novel he
planned to write. If she had cheered him, he had done the same for her; bad as it was, his theory wasn't as grisly as some of the ones that had occurred to her.

"Do you suppose Rosemary knows?" she asked.

"Well, she'd have to, wouldn't she? She hasn't given anything away, but that's only to be expected; these days a politician has to cultivate a poker face and outperform Gielgud. But did you see her face last night when we burst into the room and saw the blazing dollhouse?"

"No."

"I did. All I can say is, I'm glad she's never had occasion to look at me that way. Now it's not Rosemary's style to remain passive; sooner or later, she'll act—confront her adversary, if she knows who it is, or take steps to find out, if she doesn't. That's why I decided to get you in on this. I can't be with her all the time—"

"Wait a minute. " Erin stiffened. "You don't mean . . . spy on her? On Rosemary?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it like that. ..."

"I would." She moved away from him, to the farthest end of the bench. It was depressing to discover the real reason why Nick had confided in her—not blind, doting trust, but brutal necessity. And the idea of spying sickened her. "Maybe I should get one of those Groucho Marx masks with a big nose and a mustache," she added bitingly.

"You look ridiculous when you're mad," Nick said, grinning.

"Why don't you say I'm cute when I'm mad, and be thoroughly offensive? If a man took offense at your behavior, you wouldn't tell him he was cute—"

"He wouldn't
be
cute. Okay, I'm sorry. Look, Erin, I don't like the idea any better than you do, but it has to be done. For her own good."

"I'll bet that's what the boys in the CIA tell themselves," Erin grumbled; but when he put his arm around her and pulled her back to his side she didn't resist. "It's impossible, Nick. Aside from the moral issue, how are you going to keep up with Rosemary's activities? She's always on the go these days."

"Ah, but most of her activities are public," Nick said. "It's her
private time that interests me, and God knows she has little of that. I'm not suggesting you should listen at doors or anything like that, just keep an eye on her, and try to let me know if she makes an attempt to sneak off on her own. That would be significant; she almost always has someone with her during the day, Joe or Jeff or Kay."

"All right, I'll try. But it's a far-out chance, Nick."

"Admitted. There is one other thing we could do."

"Like what?"

"Try a little detective work on our own." He was so obviously pleased at the idea, Erin knew better than to laugh. She fixed a bright, interested look on her face, and Nick went on with mounting enthusiasm, "We'll start with the theory that these incidents refer to something in the past involving Rosemary and maybe her husband. It couldn't have happened recently or someone would have dug it up. Nor could it have occurred more than thirty years ago, because it would be irrelevant."

"Not necessarily. I've seen so-called exposes about college careers of candidates—something as seemingly trivial as cheating on an exam."

Nick's answer was a triumph of inverted logic. "Right. So most likely the Marshall name was never mentioned in connection with this unknown event—"

"Then how the hell do you expect to identify it?"

"Ouch." Nick rubbed his ear. "You don't have to yell."

"Sorry. But you really are . . . Let me try that again. You said yourself that the press and political opponents would love to get something on Rosemary. If skilled investigators haven't found this mysterious crime, how do you think you're going to succeed?"

"We have a clue they don't have," Nick said. "Fire. This has something to do with a fire, not just a little backyard bonfire but something serious. Arson, perhaps. It may have been serious enough to rate newspaper coverage, at least in the local rags. The Marshalls have lived in Virginia since prehistoric times; we won't have to check every newspaper in the country, just those in the state."

"Oh, great. That shouldn't take more than a month."

Nick glanced at his watch and then jumped up. "I've got to go. Is there any way you can get to a library in the next few days?"

To call Nick single-minded was to understate the case. None of her reasoned arguments had had the slightest effect, or dimmed his manic enthusiasm one whit. She shook her head. "I don't have a car, remember?"

"Maybe you could ask Kay. . . . No, I guess that won't work. Okay, I think I can get away Friday. Ask for the day off. In the meantime—watch Rosemary. I'm late. Gotta run."

He planted a quick, forceful kiss on her mouth, hugged her till her ribs creaked, and dashed off.

Erin stood watching him. She was reminded of an antique movie advertisement for a now-forgotten film—"Will She Kill Him or Kiss Him?" She didn't really want to kill him—not more than once or twice a day, at any rate. His volatile personality took a little getting used to, but really, his outbursts and subsequent apologies were easier to live with than days of sulking. As for kissing him . . . Nobody was perfect, especially Nick, but in that particular area he came very close.

The next few days passed quietly, insofar as mysterious fires were concerned. In every other way they were chaotic. With Election Day almost upon them, the pace began to pick up, though Erin would not have believed it to be possible. Sunday was a working day like any other; no mention was made of going to church. At least Kay was sleeping through the night. The bottle of sleeping pills Erin found on her bedside table when she tidied the room might have had something to do with that. Rosemary indulged her old friend and secretary in a lot of ways, but she could put her foot down when she had to.

Erin could almost have wished Kay's nights had been more disturbed; rested and refreshed, the older woman had plenty of energy during the day, and she kept the others hopping. Between her household duties and her office chores Erin barely had time to snatch food at irregular intervals, and Kay's temper was so short she drove the entire office staff to the verge of revolution. Yet no one wanted to complain to Rosemary, who had more than enough on her mind as it was. She was on the go from morning till night,
and claimed to be so full of coffee, tea, and other liquids that she sloshed when she walked.

"I just wish people wouldn't insist on feeding me," she groaned. "It can't be because I look undernourished. I can hardly fasten this skirt. ' She demonstrated, trying to insert a finger into the waistband.

"Food is a traditional symbol of hospitality and of approval," Will explained seriously. "The psychological implications of offering and accepting sustenance—"

"Don't use that word in my presence, Will," Rosemary said.

Will smiled gently. "Which one? Psychological or implications?"

"Both. Either. None of the above. I'm so sick of jargon."

Passing through the commons room on her way from the kitchen, Erin overheard the last part of the conversation. Rosemary gave her a severe look. "You aren't going to offer me that cup, are you? I don't care what's in it, I don't want it."

"It's for Kay," Erin explained. "She's working on that speech, and she wanted—"

"Working? It's almost midnight. Tell her . . . No, I'll tell her myself. Give me that cup and go to bed. "

When Rosemary used that tone, nobody argued with her— except possibly Joe. Erin handed over the coffee. "Oh, great," Rosemary muttered, inspecting the dark liquid. "I don't suppose it's decaffeinated? No, I thought not. That woman . . . She is sleeping, isn't she? No more alarms and excursions?"

She had not lowered her voice. Erin glanced at Will, who had turned his back and bent his head over his papers. "No," she said. "I mean—yes, she's sleeping through the night."

"Good. I told you not to worry about it. You aren't, are you?"

"No."

"Any problems? Anything you want to unload?"

"Nothing," Erin said firmly. "Everything is just fine."

"Liar." Rosemary rose on tiptoe and gave her a quick kiss on' the cheek. "Nice, kind, thoughtful liar. Good night, Erin."

The kiss burned like the conventional coals of fire. I can't spy on her, Erin thought, as she beat a hasty retreat. Not even for her own good. Damn Nick anyway. He had gotten her all stirred up
and worried, and then disappeared; she hadn't set eyes on him for days. Just like a man . . .

She was awakened at what felt like the crack of dawn by Kay's knock and call: "It's after seven, Erin. Rise and shine."

Rise and shine indeed. It was a phrase Erin particularly loathed, having heard it only too often from her aunt. Nothing else was shining. Fog pressed at the window like a huge gray face, an accidental arrangement of branches without forming slitted eyes and a sullen slash of mouth.

Erin pulled the blanket up over her head. But it was no use; Kay's tone had been of the variety that might be characterized as pleasant but firm.

Sarah's placid, cheerful face and one of Sarah's excellent breakfasts improved her spirits a little, but from then on things went from better to worse. Rosemary was in a bad mood; Joe, never one to take criticism amiably, snapped back at her when she took exception to something he had said; and even Jeff was glum and silent.

The general malaise came to a head later that morning, during a strategy meeting in Rosemary's office. The raised voices and sound of fists pounding furniture were audible in the outer office. Finally the door burst open and Rosemary came out. Her face was crimson with fury. She was followed not by Joe but by his voice, which would have carried clear to Middleburg: "Get your butt back in here! We haven't decided—"

"Oh yes, we have!" Whirling around, Rosemary delivered the defiance at top pitch. "I'm not going to do it, and that's final! Who the hell do you think you are?"

A crash from within the office was probably Joe's chair going over. He appeared in the doorway waving his cigar. "I'm the stupid ass who's trying to run this campaign, that's who! I must have been crazy to take on the job. If I can't get the slightest degree of cooperation from you—"

Jeff's anxious face appeared at Joe's shoulder. "Hey, Joe, calm down. Rosemary, why don't you come in and sit down and we'll have a nice quiet discussion—"

This conciliatory speech was drowned out by Joe and Rosemary yelling at once. Rosemary ended the discussion by groping blindly for the nearest loose object on the nearest desk and pitching it straight at Joe.

The results were horrendous. The coffee mug had been half-full, but the amount of brown liquid that spattered wall and floor looked like a gallon. Rosemary's aim wasn't too good—or perhaps it was excellent. The cup hit the wall next to the door and shattered, sending fragments flying.

Joe's head came back into view. "Now that you've got that out of your system, come back in here," he said mildly.

"No." Rosemary's voice was just as calm. "I said I won't, and I won't. I'm going upstairs for a while. Leave me alone."

"You're supposed to be on the Hill at two—" Joe began.

Jeff cleared his throat. "We've got a meeting at noon, Joe. In D.C. Maybe we ought to postpone this. The weather is bad and if we don't get started pretty soon. ..."

"Oh, all right," Joe said ungraciously. "Maybe Rosemary will be through sulking by the time we get back. Honest to God, talk about childish, irrational behavior—"

Jeff reached around him and pulled the door shut.

Rosemary swept the room with a long, sober survey. "Joe is right. That was a childish, rude performance, and I apologize to all of you. " Then a broad smile spread across her face. "But, by gosh, it sure felt good!"

She knew how to play an audience. Erin felt her lips stretching into an answering grin, the same look that transformed all the other faces. "Christie, I've made a mess of your office and disgraced myself, ' Rosemary went on. "I'm afraid you aren't going to respect me in the morning."

She could have spattered the office with Joe's blood and Christie wouldn't have said a word. She murmured a bemused disclaimer. Rosemary gave her an affectionate pat on the back and announced, "I am going into seclusion to meditate on my sins— and maybe get a little work done. See you all later."

She had scarcely left the room when the door of the inner office opened and Nick slithered out. He came straight to Erin. "I need you to help me with something. "

"What?"

His back to the others, Nick made a hideous face. What he was trying to convey Erin did not know, but the effect was so grotesque she decided she had better not ask any more questions. He hadn't even answered the first one.

She followed him into the hall. "This is it," Nick hissed theatrically. "Hurry up!"

The hall was quiet and gloomy. There was no one in sight. "This is what?" Erin demanded. "Hurry up where?"

"Jesus H. Christ, do I have to spell everything out?" Nick waved his arms wildly but kept his voice low. "This is a setup. She picked that fight deliberately, to get some time to herself. We have to be ready to follow her."

"It's raining," Erin protested, as he towed her toward the door. "Why can't we wait inside?"

"Because there are five different ways out of this house, and also because when you are trailing someone the idea is to keep them from noticing that that's what you're doing. Here—take this."

He snatched a garment at random from the coats hanging on the hall tree and flung it at her.

Nick's car was parked by the front door, along with several others. Erin struggled into the coat; from its length and its brilliant crimson color, she deduced it must belong to Christie, and she hoped devoutly that that wronged woman would not decide to leave the house before they returned.

Nick fought his usual battle with the recalcitrant car door, finally got it closed, and slid behind the wheel.

"Hunker down," he ordered.

"She couldn't see me if I were outlined in neon," Erin said crossly. "The windows are all fogged up. How long do we have to sit here before you admit you're wrong? Rosemary isn't going anywhere."

"This is the first chance she's had to get away since the last fire," Nick replied, squinting through the rain-streaked windshield. "And that argument was a fake. I know Rosemary; she and Joe are always yelling at each other, but she never walks out on a fight."