Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“Well, we haven’t sprung our idea on the rest of the family yet,” Cillie told her. “But if you could get things ready on your side, I think we can push this through on ours.”

Family politics, Sunny thought. And this is a political family.

The bride-to-be sipped her coffee. “I thought we should postpone the marriage,” she said abruptly. “Even though the wedding is a couple of months away, it still seems too soon, you know? I didn’t feel right talking about wedding plans while people were discussing when to release Eliza’s body.” She had trouble saying the last word. “I called her family to ask about memorial services, and they asked us—no, told us—not to come. They want to keep things private, and they figure we’ll draw reporters like you-know-what draws flies. We’d turn it into a circus, and they d-don’t want that.” Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked furiously to get them under control.

“How can I go ahead as though nothing happened?” Priscilla took a deep breath. “But it’s like politics. I got outvoted. Carson’s dad, Mr. de Kruk, was insistent about staying the course.” Her voice sounded a little empty now. “Something to do with his schedule. He’d cleared the week around the wedding date and didn’t want to rearrange things.”

Sunny didn’t think that sounded like a good beginning for a marriage, but she didn’t reply. What, really, could she say?

Cillie changed the subject slightly, showing a little more spirit. “We’ve had enough trouble with the Emperor Augustus. At first he wanted the wedding to be some sort of reality TV spectacular, broadcast from the top of one of his construction projects with a congregation of thousands, the New York Philharmonic playing the wedding march, and Cirque de Soleil doing aerial acts while we came down the aisle.”

Sunny had to laugh. “Who would he get to officiate? The Pope?”

Priscilla laughed, too. “Probably someone more fundamentalist, with his own TV church and lots of audience appeal.” Then she got serious again. “But Carson put his foot down, thank goodness. He said it was bad enough being an extra when his dad did the TV thing. And he ought to know—he’d done it since he was a kid.” She sighed. “It was a struggle, but Carson got Augustus to go along with a small wedding, with our local pastor, just the family, and a few close friends.”

She went silent, but Sunny could finish it up. And now one of those friends is dead.

Priscilla tried to change the tone again, this time going cynical. “So we don’t think Old Augustus will mind you covering things, except he’ll probably crab that you’re too local. But he’s already gotten enough mileage—and footage—out of the preliminaries. The engagement bash he threw was quite a show. Plenty of friends and acquaintances got lots of free champagne, and of course all the celebrity reporters were there.”

Sunny looked over at Will, trying to get a cue from him. “I’ll be honest,” he said. “We’ve been talking over the . . . circumstances of Ms. Stoughton’s death. I’ve got certain reasons to be interested in how the case is handled.”

“Because of the primary campaign against Sheriff Nesbit,” Priscilla said promptly. When Will looked surprised, she reminded him, “I was at your last campaign stop with the 99 Ladies.”

Will nodded, then turned to Sunny. “What do you think of this proposition?”

“I’ll have to clear things at work,” she said. But there was nothing crucial going on in the next week. Besides, Ollie wanted Will to win the primary—and he wouldn’t be averse to hearing a little insider gossip, either. “And get Ken Howell on board.” Though that shouldn’t be too difficult either.

“Then we’ve got a plan,” Cillie Kingsbury said briskly. “Here’s a number where you can get in touch with me. It’s a no-name cell phone.”

A burner phone, Sunny thought as she jotted the number down. I suppose you need one—or maybe a dozen—if you’re in the public eye.

Cillie’s manners were as good as Mike’s. She thanked him for the coffee, then said, “I’ve got to go. There are a couple of other errands I need to take care of while I’m out of jail.”

They saw her to the door. That’s when Sunny noticed the car and driver pulled up in the driveway behind Will’s pickup. It wasn’t a local cab. Cillie must have some friends in the vicinity willing to help out. Patient friends, to sit and wait while she had coffee. Sunny squinted and made out a head of blond hair . . . and a set of fingers restlessly tapping at the wheel. It was Fiona Ormond, Priscilla’s wedding planner.

Guess she’s got to be professionally patient, Sunny thought.

“Let me know if you can make things work on your end.” Cillie shook hands all around. “And thank you again.”

“Well, that was interesting,” Mike said after they closed the door.

“Kind of like having a whirlwind invade your life,” Will said. “I mean, she was pleasant and polite, but she seemed awfully damn confident that we’d just line up and go along with her plan.”

“The rich really are different,” Sunny said. “And despite the nicknames, not silly at all.”

She headed to the kitchen and called Ken, who nearly jumped through the phone in his eagerness to agree. “We can do a special section in our weekly edition, and you’ll write a daily blog on our website.” Ken’s laugh came out suspiciously close to the “MMMwahahaha!” of mad scientists in the movies. “Let the other outlets scavenge off us for a change.”

Having gotten Ken’s okay, Sunny dialed the number for Ollie’s room at the rehab center. It was getting late, and she knew they turned the phones off there in the evenings.

Ollie picked up on the second ring, sounding reasonably mellow. “What’s up, Sunny?” he asked after she said hello.

Sunny reported Priscilla’s visit, explaining the embedding idea and why they thought it was necessary to go along. “It’s beginning to look as though Will won’t win unless he can do something about this case,” she told him. “And that means we have to get someone into that compound. This seems the best way to accomplish both things.”

Ollie was silent for a moment. “If you think Nancy can handle things at the office, I’ll say okay. Just remember, you’ll have to wrap this up pretty quickly. You won’t have Nancy forever. Labor Day is coming, and she’ll be heading back to school.”

“I know.” Sunny sighed. “And thanks, Ollie.”

She hung up. “Well, that’s all set. He’s giving me the time.”

“The least he can do,” Mike harrumphed. “How long have you been working there without a vacation?”

“Some vacation this is,” Sunny scoffed. “Snooping among the rich and famous.” Then she got more serious. “I suppose I’ll have to do some homework on who’s who in the compound. The only ones I’ve met are Trehearne and Caleb.”

“And Cillie,” Will pointed out.

“But there are a whole lot of other people out there. The other Kingsburys, the de Kruks, not to mention the wedding party.” Sunny had seen them all on her tour, but not up close and personal.

“I know someone who might be able to help.” Will grinned as he reached for the phone. Half an hour later, they were drinking more coffee with Ben Semple and his girlfriend Robin Lory—the secret resource Will had thought of, a walking who’s who of local celebrities.

“Oh, wow,” Robin said when they told her that Sunny might actually be going out to Neal’s Neck. She happily offered up her full store of gossip to help Sunny prepare.

“So, there’s the Senator and his wife. They’re getting kinda old, but he’s definitely the head of the family, the whatchamacallit.”