Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

Deborah Kingsbury, Lem Junior’s wife, winced while watching the attempt to trap Shadow with the net. “I’d seen that thing hanging around for years in our room. And when I suggested it might actually be useful—” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Your people just about tore the closet apart and made an enormous mess,” she complained to Lee Trehearne, who sat through the whole thing looking like a volcano on the verge of erupting.

The scene ended with Shadow scampering off. Sunny thought he looked pretty good on TV. Unfortunately, Lee Trehearne looked even bigger and more red-faced than in real life when he next appeared on screen, explaining that he and his people had been trying to retrieve a guest’s pet.

It fell to the Senator to ask everyone to go along with the harmless deception.

“Fine,” Beau Bellingham said. “But whose cat is it supposed to be?”

“I’ll volunteer,” Sunny spoke up quickly. “I’m local, so it’s not impossible that the cat could have come along with me. And since I’m media, I’ll be able to handle any questions.”

Lee Trehearne looked as if he’d accidentally swallowed a razor blade, but he didn’t say anything. Priscilla and Carson thanked her warmly, the Senator less so. Even the Emperor Augustus unbent enough to express his appreciation when he rejoined them.

“Thanks,” Sunny told him. “Maybe you could do something in return and let me quote a few nice words from you about the area here. I know it’s not like the sort of resort that you’re used to visiting, but maybe you could say something about the fresh air and talk about how much you enjoyed the unspoiled scenery while flying in, and so forth.”

The Emperor Augustus wasn’t thrilled, but he suggested that she work something up and he’d look it over. That was enough of a win for Sunny. It would tickle Ken Howell and offer Ollie Barnstable a nice plug for the area that they could also co-opt for use on the MAX website.

Sunny was working on a draft of the statement to show de Kruk when her cell phone rang. When she answered, she heard Ken Howell’s voice. “Well, the boys in Levett have made their move, and it’s a doozy. I just came out of the press conference.”

“About what?” Sunny asked.

“About who’s going to go on the ballot in place of Frank Nesbit,” Ken replied. “Don’t you know what’s going on?”

“To be honest, I’m a bit isolated up here,” Sunny told him. “So who’s the September surprise? What did they do? Name a party stalwart?”

“Even worse,” Ken said gloomily. “They named Lenore Nesbit—the old ‘vote for the widow’ trick. And it seems to be working. Nobody had the gall to ask her any hard questions, not even me. I think Will is up against it.”

Considering that Ken was one of the founding members of the breakaway Kittery Harbor faction with Mike, this sounded pessimistic indeed. “How does my dad feel?” Sunny asked.

“I’m trying to figure out how to break it to him,” Ken responded. “I mean what with his heart and all.”

“Oh, he can stand a little bad news,” Sunny told him. At least Shadow isn’t around for him to try to kick, she thought. “I just hope the furniture can take it.”

The rest of the day Sunny spent watching and listening. She decided to have lunch with the older crowd and see how they were dealing with the situation. It was another buffet setup, but outdoors on a fieldstoned terrace behind the house. Tom and Lem Kingsbury appeared with damp hair and shiny faces, apparently having taken quick showers after a morning’s workout on the tennis court.

Sunny paid special attention to Lem Junior, who’d risen on her personal suspects list. He’d certainly known about his father’s tackle box, a handy source for a sharp knife. He had easy access, since he was staying in the room where the thing was stored. And for a governor with presidential aspirations, a bit of blackmail was easy to imagine turning into something to kill over.

On the other hand, Lem didn’t seem to be under any strain. He ate a hearty lunch and chatted amiably with the members of his family. He even joked a bit with Augustus de Kruk, who told him that if he put as much effort into politics as he did into tennis, he’d have been president already.

Lem took it good-naturedly. “I guess that’s the problem with this family. Politics is our sideline. Tennis is the business. If you’re up for a game, maybe Cale can be persuaded. He’s not as bloodthirsty as Tom or I.”

“It’s been a while since I even held a tennis racquet,” Cale told Augustus. “I’m not sure what kind of a game I’d give you.”

Maybe he should challenge the Emperor to beer pong, Sunny’s irreverent side suggested.

“We’ll see,” Augustus said. “Maybe later in the afternoon.”

Deborah Kingsbury put a fond hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Anything to interrupt the unending marathon between you and Tom.”

She looked as cool and unruffled as ever–if she’d been helping her husband hide two murders, she certainly wasn’t showing any strain. Although she was the one who drew attention to Lem Senior’s fishing tackle, Sunny thought. Did she do that innocently because she didn’t know about the knife? Or was it a more devious maneuver, ensuring a lot of fresh fingerprints would appear on the tackle so that her husband’s wouldn’t be so obvious?

Sunny took a sip of chilled white wine. Deborah even complained about what a mess the security people made. So if Lem’s prints appeared somewhere they shouldn’t, he’d have a perfect explanation—they’re the result of him trying to tidy things up in a room where they’ve always slept.

“Some more wine?” Cale gestured with the bottle, scattering Sunny’s thoughts.

“No, thanks,” she replied. The problem was, all these politicians and their families had plenty of experience in not letting their true feelings show. Even with her reporter’s instincts, Sunny was having a hard time getting a read on them.

So either I need a little more white wine, or they need a lot of it, she thought with a wry smile.

Since neither possibility was likely to happen, Sunny decided to return to Priscilla and her friends after lunch. She did, however, make Cale promise to send word if he actually was going to meet Augustus de Kruk on the tennis court. Cillie Kingsbury laughed when she heard about it. “That would be worth seeing,” she teased Carson. “Your dad, working up a sweat?”

“Oh, he doesn’t mind getting worked up,” the younger de Kruk told them. “Usually for money, but Dad would be okay going for a little glory, too.”

Genevieve Kingsbury, Tom’s wife, appeared sometime later with the news that battle would indeed be joined. The brunette looked a little envious of the young people lounging around the pool. They weren’t all that much younger than she was, and with her lively eyes, Genevieve didn’t seem the type to spend all day being a spectator.

Priscilla and Carson headed off to go and watch the game, and of course so did Sunny. Tommy Neal also decided to join the viewing party, while Peter, Beau, and Yardley stayed put.

As they walked over to the tennis court with Genevieve, Sunny said, “I’m still looking for some background to set the stage in my blog. The big house is so beautiful. Are there any interesting stories about it I could share? I heard about your great-grandfather trying to shoot the wasp, but that may be a bit too colorful.”

Cillie laughed. “I guess the problem is that all the good stories are Neal stories, not Kingsbury ones. Like the widow’s walk.” She pointed in the direction of the big house. “You can’t really see it unless you’re flying overhead, but Great-Grandfather Neal added a platform on top of the house. It’s got a great view out to sea, the highest point on Neal’s Neck. He’d have somebody up there with a lantern, signaling the rumrunners when it was safe to deliver. It was a big deal to get up there,” she added. “You had to work a catch on a secret door. Tom showed me when I was ten years old.”