“The campaign consultant? Told you-?”
“Oh yes, in no uncertain terms. Rory told me the polls showed I’m ‘unpopular.’ ‘Too reserved.’” Moira closed her eyes briefly. “He said their internal poll numbers showed I interfered with Owen’s female demos. As Rory so delicately put it, I was ‘in the way’ when it came to women voters. So he told me he’d handle it all, but it would be best if I ‘had the flu.’ Or was ‘tired.’ This is off the record, remember, as we agreed. But that’s ridiculous. He’s lying to me. He’s covering something up.”
“And that’s why you’ve been off the campaign trail? You were told to stay home?”
“Owen and Rory are inseparable,” Moira replied. She stood, picked up her water, edged past the coffee table, and stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed. Almost a silhouette in the already-darkening afternoon, the fire glowing behind her. “He’s new to the campaign. A hired gun, here for the duration only. And Owen relies on everything he says. I think Rory knows about her. He’s helping Owen hide her. Until after they win, of course. Then they’ll go to Washington. What if I wind up as another one of those poor wives, pushing their redemption books on TV talk shows?”
Over my head. I’m in over my head. Even if Jane ran out of the room with her hands over her ears-la la la, I can’t hear you-Moira Lassiter already started the dominoes falling. It’s what Jane suspected all along. What the holy hell was she supposed to do now?
Jane had to ask.
“Who?” she said. “Who is this other woman? Would you know her if you saw her?”
Moira shook her head. “No. But when you called, asking why I wasn’t making campaign appearances, I knew the sh- Well, it was about to hit the fan. As they say.”
“But…”
“Sheila King, the press secretary? Knows Rory is insisting I lie low,” Moira went on. “But I found a phone number in Owen’s jacket pocket. The phone was disconnected. Another time, I found a matchbook from some hotel. I’m putting two and two together. As you would. You weren’t going to let go of your ‘Where’s Moira?’ story, correct? And that’s the problem I had to solve.”
“But I never said-,” Jane tried again.
Moira kept talking. “Erase me from the campaign? No. Rory’s not going to get away with it. Cover-ups don’t work. We have to get in front of this.” Moira jabbed her palm with a finger. “Face it. Handle it. That’s why I need you to find out what’s true. Find her. Stop this.”
Crazy. Nut city. Over the edge. There is no reason-
But there was. A reason that took Moira’s whole unbelievably twisted story and twisted it back the other way.
Jane had to ask.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Lassiter,” Jane said. “But if your husband is having an affair, and it becomes public knowledge, Eleanor Gable’s campaign would instantly cash in on that. It’s likely your husband would lose the election. So I need to ask you. Are you hoping Gable wins? Do you want your husband to lose?”
20
“You were so patient with her, Governor Lassiter. Don’t you think so, Rory? No wonder you’re doing so well in the polls.” Kenna Wilkes turned to the candidate, smiling as she closed his office door behind that Hannah person. Gone at last. Now it was just the three of them. Hannah’d asked some pretty ridiculous questions in what she called her “interview” for her pitiful neighborhood paper. But all good, actually, since Rory had suggested Hannah interview her as a typical volunteer. Brilliant. He’d taken her picture with the governor, too.
“Always happy to spread the word, Kenna,” Owen said. “And happy you could join us for the interview.” The governor was concentrating on a stack of papers Rory placed in front of him. Not on her. Still, there was time.
Lassiter signed something, closed the folder. “So, Maitland. Weren’t we going to Springfield later this afternoon? It’s what I told that young woman.”
“Still on, Governor, but postponed a bit. Snafus with the hotel, but it’s all fine now.” Rory shot Kenna a look. “In fact, Mrs. Wilkes volunteered to help with the event. To get a feel for the campaign. Right?”
“Happy to,” Kenna said. Understatement of the century. “Jimmy’s at his grandparents this weekend for Halloween. I’d adore to come.”
Rory was still talking. Didn’t wait for Owen to respond.
“She’ll pass out name tags, flyers, that sort of thing? She can ride with us. We’ll leave as soon as you’re done. It’s gonna be a late one, Governor. Maybe too late to get back to Boston tonight. We should stay over.”
Rory lifted his briefcase onto the governor’s desk, pushing a hefty leather-bound book out of the way. Snapping the locks, he took out a sheaf of papers. “Our internals show we can hit it out of the ballpark in Western Mass. See? Here, and right here. What I’m hearing, the Gable people are ignoring it.”
But Lassiter seemed to remember she was in the room. Now, instead of focusing on Rory and his poll numbers, Lassiter focused on her. Kenna felt him raking her with those eyes. What was he seeing? What did he want? He stared at her, hard, as if he were about to say something.
What would it be? As she waited, her mind sampled the possibilities, one delicious idea at a time.
Maybe he would finally send Rory away. And she’d get what she wanted. It wouldn’t take long; then everything would be different. She crossed her arms in front of her, holding in her hopes, trying not to smile.
A buzzer sounded on Lassiter’s phone console. Startled, he pretended he wasn’t staring at her.
“Sir?” The receptionist’s staticky voice came through the speaker. “You need to leave for Springfield soon.”
Kenna glanced at Rory. He rolled his eyes at the phone console. “Under control, Deenie,” he said, raising his voice at the speaker. “Mrs. Wilkes will be joining us.”
“I should call Moira,” Lassiter said. He patted the breast pocket of his pin-striped suit jacket and pulled out a flat silver cell phone. “She’s expecting me for dinner. No hope of that now, right?”
Did he chance another look at her? Kenna touched her hair, allowed herself the trace of a smile. Oh, yeah. Call Moira. Just do it.
“Good idea, Rory. Let’s stay overnight in Springfield,” Lassiter continued. His cell made a soft trill, turning on. “I’ll let Moira know I won’t be home.”
“Jane!” She couldn’t hear him, not from this distance, but he’d recognize that walk anywhere. Bundled in her black coat, that gray scarf she loved flying out behind her, her head down in the darkening Saturday afternoon. She must be here for Sellica’s funeral.
Jake threw a BPD placard in the windshield, banged open the door of his unmarked cruiser, and took off after her. She was already across Cumberton Ave. Headed for All Saints Church, had to be. Question was, why.
“Jane!” Getting closer now, headed up Harrison Street, almost to the crosswalk, Jake called her name again, raising his voice. A chunky city bus wheezed between them, erasing Jane briefly from view. A siren whirled in the distance. Damn. He would never catch her before she got to the church. He took off, in a flat run, then stopped. In the middle of the crosswalk. Wait a minute.
He stared at her vanishing form. Maybe he could learn more if she didn’t know he was here. He hated to spy on her, but that was why she’d put the brakes on their relationship, right? Insisted their jobs would get in the way. Maybe she was right. Like now.
Jake hung back, letting her get ahead. He felt like an idiot, tailing Jane. But Sellica Darden had been murdered. Maybe Jane knew something she wasn’t telling.