Wendy Hornsby - Telling Lies

Except for the poster, the furnishings were very subdued, if a bit posh for a government office. There was a Christmas tree in one corner, a menorah in another; all bases covered. A caterer was setting out trays of pastries and fruit on fold-up tables covered with neutral-colored cloths. I could smell coffee brewing in the big silver urns. The four or five staffers helping with last-minute preparations for the open house were young, well-trimmed and neatly turned out. Rod, at their age, would never have fit in among them.

A bright-looking young man in shirtsleeves and a modified Kennedy haircut walked over to greet me.

“Hi,” he said. “We aren’t quite ready, but welcome.”

“I’m not here for the party,” I said. “I want to speak with the Assemblyman for a moment.”

“Rod’s expecting you?”

“My name is Maggie MacGowen.”

The blank expression behind his smile was filled in by a rush of recognition. “Emily Duchamps?”

“Yes. My sister.”

As I said, he was bright-looking. He took my hand and held it perhaps longer than was necessary, maybe mulling through some possibilities.

“May I see the Assemblyman?” I asked again.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll check.”

The young man went through the heavy mahogany doors that led to the inner office.

Rod Peebles came right out, flushed, showing a lot of capped teeth.

“Maggie,” he crooned, smothering me in an embrace. “Gosh, what a nice surprise.”

“Can we talk somewhere?” I asked.

“Come on inside.”

He ushered me through to an impressive office with a magnificent view of the city. I was hoping for someplace private, but I seemed to have interrupted a meeting. There were half a dozen men and women in intense discussion around the massive granite conference table. They didn’t look like a party crowd. No one even looked up as we walked in. I counted six chairs pulled up to the table, all of them occupied. Rod and I went to a leather sofa against the near wall and found space to sit among a clutter of crossword puzzles and sunflower seed shells.

“What can I do for you, Maggie?” he asked.

“Where is Aleda?”

He threw up his hands. “Damned if I know. I walked on water to get her out-in my custody-but she took off for parts unknown.”

“Am I supposed to believe you?”

“What choice do you have?” he laughed. “What choice do any of us have? Aleda has always done exactly what she wanted, and the rest of us be damned. My neck is really on the chopping block on this, Maggot. She’s called in a couple of times, but she won’t say where she is.”

“Maybe that’s smart, after what happened to Emily,” I said. “But I really want to talk to her.”

“Next time she calls, I’ll tell her.”

The discussion at the conference table grew very loud, seemed to crescendo; then there was a thoughtful silence. Rod seemed oblivious to it. One of the conferees, a tall, thirtyish woman with a well-cut, East Coast suit picked up a thick appointment book and walked over to us.

“Yes, ma’am?” Rod said, looking up at her.

“You up for one more assembly run before we try state senate?”

“You tell me. Am I?”

She grimaced. “That’s the consensus. We’ll make the announcement in April, when you get back from Washington.”

“When do I go to Washington?”

“Rod, did you look over the calendar I gave you?” She could have been speaking to an idiot child. She held her hand out to me.

“Lena Hilgard,” she said. I did my master’s thesis at Columbia on Emily Duchamps and the political ramifications of the Peace Movement.”

“Did you really?” I said. “Why does that make me feel old?”

She finally smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss MacGowen. I admire your films.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve thought for a long time that it would be interesting to do something about political staffers, what their function is within the system.”

“Good idea,” Rod said brightly. “Lena, see if you can work something out with Maggie to coincide with the campaign.”

Lena gave Rod a dubious glance. “Trust me, Miss MacGowen. There are some aspects of politics the public would rather not know about.”

I glanced at Rod and thought she might be right.

“Nice to meet you, Miss MacGowen,” she said, offering her hand again. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Rod passed me a bowl of sunflower seeds. I have a good team,” he said. “Top credentials, everyone.”

I refrained from asking him why they hadn’t saved a seat at the table for him.

“I’ve taken enough of your time,” I said. “If Aleda should call, tell her how much I want to talk to her. I’ll probably be out the rest of the day, but tell her I expect to be at Emily’s all evening.”

“If she calls, I’ll tell her.” He stood up with me and walked me to the door. He stretched. “It’s about lunch time. Want to go out with me for a bite?”

“What about your party?”

I forgot,” he chuckled. “They won’t miss me.”

“Maybe another time,” I said. “I left Max’s Beemer up at the Police Academy last night and I need to go fetch it.”

“Police Academy?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t a clue. Then suddenly he flashed me his poster smile and squeezed my hand. “Always good to see you. Drop in again.”

“Thanks for your time.” Thinking again that Rod wasn’t a loner by choice, I turned and walked out, leaving him to his sunflower seeds and crossword puzzles.

I was in the hall, waiting for the elevator down, when Lena Hilgard slid out of Rod’s office. The edgy way she kept looking over her shoulder toward the office, I knew she had something to tell me. When the elevator came, I held the door for her, ignoring the collective glares of the people inside who were thus forced to wait.

“Looking for me?” I asked.

She nodded, checked the hall a last time, and ducked into the elevator in front of me. There were maybe eight or nine people going down with us. She kept her eyes forward, and her mouth shut, until we came out in the basement shopping mall.

When the other passengers had moved along, she finally spoke: “Don’t worry about Aleda. She’s with friends. When it’s safe, she’ll call you.”

I was dumbstruck for a moment. “Did Rod send you?”

“Good Lord, no.”

Lena was maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. Too young to have known Aleda before she went underground, and too mainstream to have known her after.

I took her by the arm and quick-stepped her into a vacant public telephone alcove. “You talked to Aleda?”

“Not directly. Only to an old friend of hers.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say.”

“I think you’d better.”

“I can’t take that responsibility.” She looked around nervously. I know it seems melodramatic, but honestly, it’s too dangerous to say anything. My only motive was to reassure you.”

“Okay.” I leaned against the cold wall and took a few deep breaths. When I felt calmer, I tried again.

“How do you know this friend?” I asked.

“We became acquainted during the course of my research on Emily Duchamps and the Peace Movement. We’ve stayed in touch. This friend helped me get my job with Rod. And I returned the favor by using Rod’s office to arrange for Aleda’s release.”

“You did?” I asked, leery. “Not Rod?”

She chuckled sardonically. “Rod couldn’t release a fly from a glass of lemonade unless he had a committee to vote on it.”

“You keep saying Aleda’s friend. If this is someone from the old movement, someone with enough pull to get you a job, he or she should be Rod’s friend, too?”

“Think about this,” Lena said. “If Rod Peebles was such a close associate of Emily Duchamps, why is it that when I requested his federal dossier under the Freedom of Information Act, there wasn’t a single document relating to him on file? No surveillance logs, no booking slips, no indictments, not one scrap of political writing?”