Smoke and Mirrors (28 page)

"No!" Nick added less vehemently, "It was my decision to quit
my job, she didn't ask me to. I'll make out all right. Rosemary has done enough for me already—and believe me, she doesn't have any money to spare. Do you know how much it costs to run a political campaign these days?"

"Yes, I know. If I've heard that once, I've heard it a hundred
times."

"I'm sorry I yelled," Nick said. "Don't say anything. ... I mean,
please
don't say anything to Rosemary about my cash flow. Or about following her."

"Oh, all right."

"I don't know how to figure this," Nick muttered, scowling at the streaked windshield. "Is it a side issue, or is it connected with the other business? It has to be! Supposing Miz Marylou found out Buzz is paying somebody to harass Rosemary. ..."

"Would she betray her own husband?"

"Hard to say. She's known for her good works and general saintliness; Buzz's constituents adore her, she's been one of his biggest assets. She's stuck to him through thick and thin and forty years of adultery. I mean, hell, everybody knew what he was up to, the Shady Lane Motel deal only made it public. It couldn't have come as a shock to her unless she's as stupid as she is noble."

"It might have been the last straw. "

"Yeah, I suppose. You never know what will tip someone over the edge."

They were approaching the stoplight at the intersection of 234 and 15. Erin braced herself and involuntarily closed her eyes. They made it through on the green, with only a little skid.

"Something else could have been the last straw for Miz Marylou," Nick said. "If she's the saint everyone believes her to be, she wouldn't stand by with folded hands if Buzz were planning something that goes beyond the normal dirty tricks of politics—something criminal or life-threatening. She'd warn the intended victim, wouldn't she?"

The conversation went downhill from there. Erin argued that even if Nick's surmise was true, Rosemary had now been fully informed about the danger. "Forewarned is forearmed," she insisted.

"Don't throw that tired old cliche at me," Nick snarled,
hunching over the wheel. "Women always seem to think they've solved a problem by quoting a proverb.'

"And men are always making wild generalizations," Erin snarled back.

"Like that one?"

Neither spoke again until they reached the house. Patches of blue sky were visible to the west through rents in the clouds, and the sun burst through, sending sparks winking from wet branches and waking the autumn colors to dazzling brilliance.

"What did you get for Jeff?" Nick asked.

Erin was still sulking and his sudden cheerfulness annoyed her. "Why should I get something for Jeff?"

"There's a birthday party today, isn't there?"

"Oh, damn, I forgot. What time is the party?"

"Around six, I think." Nick glanced at his watch. "I'd offer to drive you to town, but I'm already late. Tell you what, you can go halves with me. I spent more than I could afford."

"How much?"

"It'll cost you fifteen bucks."

"No wonder you're broke. What is it?"

"You have to see it to appreciate it fully." Nick grinned. "Take my word, it's sensational. What do you say?"

"Oh, all right. I suppose you want me to pay you now."

"That's okay. I trust you." He opened the screen door. A cat walked out, stopped directly in their path, studied the weather, and decided it would pass. It stood there, tail erect and twitching, and Erin preceded Nick inside. He headed for the commons room with a casual "See you later."

Nick had an admirable if irritating ability to forget all about an argument once it was over. It was a habit almost essential to anyone involved in politics. Erin wished she could do it. Not that it was easy to stay angry with Nick. He was such a cheerful character. His penniless state didn't seem to bother him, and he was generous to a fault. Imagine spending thirty dollars on a present for someone who was not a close friend, when he couldn't afford a new battery for his car.

Christie was at her desk when Erin entered the office. She stopped working long enough to skewer Erin with a cool stare but
didn't speak, so Erin decided she was in bad odor for taking a long lunch hour, but that the theft of the coat had not been discovered. She settled down at her own desk, but found it hard to concentrate. It was difficult to think of a reason why Rosemary and her archenemy's wife would put their heads together in private. There were a lot of holes in Nick's theory; if Erin hadn't been so annoyed with him, she would have pointed them out. She was quite willing to believe that a politician might consider winning an election a sufficient motive for murder—but only if he believed he had no chance of winning otherwise. Bennett was still ahead. Possessing even more than the average politician's share of ego, he surely must be convinced he would win. If he knew something that would damage Rosemary's chances, he would publicize the fact, not kill the opponent.

None of it made sense, not even political sense, which was only distantly related to the real world. Erin was relieved when Kay called her into her office and gave her a pile of papers to be copied and mailed out.

She saw nothing of Rosemary until late afternoon. The sight of her, smiling and composed and elegantly garbed in a softly tailored wool suit, was so at variance with the brassy-haired conspirator and the mug-throwing virago, Erin could only stare.

Rosemary greeted the group with a cheerful "Another day, another vote for the right—sorry, make that left." She stopped at Erin's desk; the latter braced herself. There was no reason why she should feel guilty, but she had an irrational feeling that her knowledge was printed on her face.

"How are you at blowing up balloons?" Rosemary asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's one of my prized skills."

"Go help Nick with the decorations, then. I'll keep Jeff occupied."

She looked as if she had nothing on her mind but surprising her aide. Humming under her breath, she went on her way.

Erin found Nick hard at work, aided and abetted by Will. Sarah stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and a broad smile on her face, watching Will drape crepe-paper streamers from the chandelier. "That's enough," she called. "Save some for the table."

"This goes on the table." Nick ripped the plastic envelope from a gaudy paper tablecloth covered with cavorting bears dressed in party clothes and a glaring
happy bearthday
in bright red.

"Rosemary sent me to blow up balloons,' Erin said.

"The balloons are my province," Will said, removing a package of them from a brown paper bag. His expression was as solemn as ever. "I happen to have an extremely capable set of lungs. I don't waste my breath shouting idle threats and insults at other people, the way the rest of these neurotics do, so I have more to give to balloons."

"How are you going to hang them
up?"
Nick
asked.

Will looked blank. "I don't know. Scotch tape?"

"You can't put tape on a balloon. How about if we tie a piece of string around each one? Sarah, got any string?"

"There's a ball of it in the drawer beside the sink. You put that back when you're through with it, and my scissors too!"

Leaving the balloons to the two self-appointed experts, Erin spread the cloth on the table, laid out napkins and paper plates, and went to help Sarah in the kitchen. The cake was a masterpiece that deserved the hearty praise she heaped on it: a huge angel food piled with whipped cream and filled with strawberries. She sneaked a sandwich from under the damp cloth that covered the plate and took a bite. "Mmmmm, that's wonderful. Tuna—but what else?"

"A smidge of that Dijon mustard and sour cream, along with the mayonnaise. "

"You went to a lot of trouble, Sarah."

"Rosemary said to, but I would've anyhow. I get the feeling that boy don't have much family life, or if he does, it's the wrong kind. He never talks about his folks."

"Maybe he's an orphan. Or just a very private person. I haven't heard anybody talk about family, it's all politics around here. "

"They talk to me," Sarah said.

Erin paused with another sandwich halfway to her mouth and considered Sarah's placid face and round, comfortable figure. "Yes," she said. "I can see why they would."

"It's the kitchen, honey, " Sarah said. "Not me. People come
in for a cup of coffee or a snack, and sit down, and put their elbows on the table; and there I am, stirring something on the stove or mixing batter—it's like being back home with your mama, you know what I mean?"

"You're an archetypal figure," Erin said.

Sarah gave a rich laugh. "If you say so, honey."

"You know what it means. Don't kid me."

"Sure, I know. I just don't hold with fancy words. Hear too many of 'era around here all the time." She took another plate from the refrigerator and filled in the empty spaces Erin had left. "Have some more, Erin, there's plenty. Then tell me how many candles. '

"Gosh, I don't know. I'll ask Nick."

Nick knew. According to Rosemary, Jeff was thirty-one. Erin retreated to the kitchen to report, adding, "You should see what those two characters are doing to that room. They've got crepe paper hanging from every hook; it looks like a jungle."

"Good to see 'em enjoying themselves," Sarah said. "Everybody needs a little break. Things have been pretty tense around here lately."

"You noticed it too?"

"It's natural, I guess." Sarah brooded over the cake, her face unusually serious. "Means a lot—this election. High time we had somebody like Rosemary up there in the Senate. She stands for— well, for a lot of things. Here, Erin, open that jar of nuts and put em in a bowl."

"Could that be why Rosemary decided to throw Jeff a party? To give people a chance to relax and be silly?"

She expected Sarah would deny this and claim Rosemary's reason was purely altruistic; but Sarah's answer had more than a touch of ambiguity. "She usually has a couple of reasons for doing what she does."

The other guests straggled in over the course of the next half hour. By six o'clock they were all present, stealing sandwiches, laughing and talking, and making rude remarks about the decor. Nick defended his work heatedly; Will simply blinked and remarked that the detractors obviously lacked the barest rudiments of artistic taste.

Nick was enjoying himself. His face beamed, and his eyes shone as he rushed around the room, rearranging his balloons, listening at the door to see if Jeff was coming, distributing party hats and noisemakers. His suggestion that they all hide behind sofas and draperies and jump out shouting "Surprise" was unanimously hooted down, but when Jeff came in, following Rosemary and followed by Joe, the chorus of "Happy Birthday" was heartfelt, if somewhat ragged.

Jeff registered the proper emotions—surprise, pleasure, embarrassment, appreciation—but Erin suspected he had not been completely unwitting. There had been a dozen people in on the secret; perhaps one of them had let something slip. At any rate, Jeff's pleasure seemed to be genuine. He let Nick put a cardboard party hat on his head, and when Sarah carried in the cake ablaze with candles, he directed the chorus of "Happy Birthday," beating time with his tin noisemaker.

The sight of the stack of brightly wrapped gifts obviously disconcerted him. "Whose idea was this?" he demanded. "I didn't expect . . . You shouldn't have done this, Rosemary. '

"What makes you think it was her idea?" Joe asked in an injured tone. "I am known all over Washington for my benevolence, my constant care for others, my—"

A chorus of jeers and laughter drowned him out. Christie handed Jeff a glass of wine. "You'd better wait till you see the gifts before you start thanking people."

"I guess that's right." Jeff smiled. "I shudder to think what Nick's idea of an appropriate gift might be."

"You wound me to the heart," Nick exclaimed, clapping his hand to his chest. "Since you're so suspicious, you can open mine first. It's from me and Erin, actually; we expect a groveling apology when you see what it is."

Erin still had no idea what was in the box; she braced herself, hoping Nick had not selected anything too vulgar. The gift was certainly vulgar, though not in the sense she had feared. It was a cheap copy of a British barrister's wig, curls, queue, and all. Jeff's
amusement and delight were unfeigned; he clapped it onto his head and wore it while he opened the remainder of the gifts.

Most of them were funny or friendly or both: a box of homemade cookies from one of the girls in the office, a five-foot-long scarf from another ("considering you get paid about the same as Bob Cratchit"), a hideous plaster kitten with oversized eyes, and so on. Joe's offering was different: a leather wallet and matching key case, of rich and obviously expensive morocco. "I noticed you'd lost your key chain," Joe grunted, when Jeff turned to him in speechless surprise. "Anybody else want something to drink besides me?'

He wandered off before Jeff could say anything, and Rosemary shook her head. "Don't thank him, he doesn't know how to accept graciously."

She had saved her own gift for last. The others crowded around, laughing and conjecturing, while Jeff undid the pretty wrappings and opened the plain white box. His face went absolutely rigid, a carving in mahogany.

"It's an antique," he said in an odd, strained voice. "A family heirloom. You can't. ..."

"It's no heirloom," Rosemary said casually. "My dad loved it, though; it was the only thing he never hocked."

"Your father's?" Jeff's clenched fingers relaxed; carefully he placed the box on the table. "I can't take this."

"Sure you can. There's a chain too." Rosemary lifted the watch and draped the chain across Jeff's flat stomach. "Now I ask you— is that class or what? It goes with your three-piece suits and your image of aristocratic intellectuality."

Joe had joined the group, a glass of bourbon in his hand. "You may as well take it," he advised. "If you don't, the damn thing will keep turning up. In your soup, or your underwear drawer, or the glove compartment of your car."

Rosemary had replaced the watch and chain in the box. Jeff eyed it as if it were a snake coiled to strike. "Don't tell me your father would have wanted me to have it, Rosemary. I can't imagine. ..."