T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

Before Jackie could form a response, the doorbell rang. Esther walked wearily to the door, glanced through the security peephole, and murmured worriedly, “Oh no. This is just too much.”

Jackie rose to her feet as the door opened. Which proved a good thing, because she definitely did not want to meet this newcomer sitting down. The black woman who entered was as tightly coiled as she was perfect in poise and dress. Navy suit. Pearls. Graying hair done in a carefully clenched helmet. Determined chin, fierce dark eyes. With a linebacker’s stride, she crossed the room and planted herself in front of Jackie. The woman demanded in a voice somewhere between alto and angry bass. “Is this her?”

“Kay, not tonight. Please, we’ve only-”

“I asked you a question, Esther.”

She waved a weary hand of introduction. “Jackie Havilland, Kay Trilling.”

“I can’t believe you did this, Esther. You know Graham would be against it. As I am. Totally opposed.”

“How did you find out?”

“Nabil called me. He, at least, thought I should know what was going on here.”

“If you’d just sit down and hear what I’ve-”

“I have no intention of being taken in like the rest of you. It was wrong to draw her in, and doubly wrong to bring her here.”

“Kay, this has been one of the worst afternoons Graham has had. The doctor was here for hours.”

“All the more reason.” She spun about. “I want a word with you in private.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow-”

“Now, Esther.”

Esther sought her own fierce resolve but found too little to argue. “Let’s move into the kitchen. Excuse us, please, Jackie.”

Jackie turned and went back to the other room. Carter watched her approach with a blank expression. She demanded, “What did I miss in all that?”

“Senator Kay Trilling,” Carter said. When that explanation was not enough, he added, “Lady doesn’t mince words.”

“I noticed.”

“She and Graham-” He was cut off by the doorbell ringing once more. They stopped and listened for Esther, but heard only an argument rising from the kitchen. And the weak sputter of a cough from the bed.

Carter moved quickly for such an ungainly man. He padded around to the bedside table, shook the cup to make sure there was still liquid inside, then fitted the straw into the man’s mouth. The doorbell rang a second time. Jackie asked, “Is it like this all the time?”

“A lot of people miss our Graham.” Words spoken in the matter-of-fact tone of someone who lived with that fact night and day. “See who that is, will you?”

Friday

When Valerie called and suggested they meet at the Longworth building entrance, Wynn protested, “I’m drowning in work here. I’m not going to be able-”

“Nonsense,” she replied, and cut the connection.

Fifteen minutes later she called once more to announce in dulcet English tones that she was downstairs waiting for him. Wynn sat there a moment longer, hearing nothing save the rise of his own dread.

His footsteps rang empty and forlorn as he padded downstairs and passed the building security. Outdoors he discovered that night had slipped in and captured the world without his notice. Across the street, the Capitol was lit up like a crown of gold-flecked stone. The traffic sounds were muted, the sidewalks empty. As he appeared at the top of the stairs, the rear door of a limousine opened to reveal a pair of emerald-stockinged legs.

As Wynn slipped in beside her, she said, “A word to the wise, Congressman. Diligence is indeed a noble concept.” Valerie’s outfit this night was an elegant muted gray. She leaned one shoulder against the black leather upholstery and allowed her hair to spill over her arm. “But Fridays do arrive, even in Washington.”

“I noticed. The place upstairs was a tomb.”

“Well, of course it was. Not to mention the fact that the Easter break begins next Wednesday. Come Tuesday afternoon, you’ll find tumbleweeds blowing down the empty streets of Capitol Hill.”

The driver pulled from the curb and called back, “The Watergate, Ms. Lawry?”

“That is correct, Gene. Thank you.”

As she pressed the button to roll up the glass divider, Wynn started in, “Valerie, listen-”

“Just a moment.” When smoked glass sealed them in, she slid closer and revealed a smile as fetching as her perfume. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Congressman.”

But he would not be put off. “I don’t want to go up with you.”

Her lips were dark and full as vintage port, begging to be tasted. She mocked him with her smile. “Not that old thing again. I thought we had this settled.”

“You don’t understand.”

“On the contrary, Wynn, dear. You are the newcomer here. I am the one experienced at Washington tactics.” She had the hands of a pianist, fingers long and perfectly straight, with nails painted the same tone as her lips. She dragged one across the back of his wrist. “We’ll be in and out of the Hutchings’ flat in a flash, then off to someplace you’ll love. You can drown your sorrows in a fine Merlot and regale me with tales from the Dismal Swamp.”

“The Dismal is in North Carolina.”

“The Everglades, then. Someplace full of wild beasties and woodsmoke and big dangerous men.” She waved a hand at the built-in bar. “Can I pour you a drink?”

“No.” There was nothing for it, save the truth. “You don’t understand. You can’t. Esther and I go back a very long way. She was my late wife’s best friend.”

Valerie did something with her legs, making a pretense of wrapping her skirt more tightly about her thighs, yet drawing herself closer still, almost curling up against him without touching more than the back of his hand. “You lost your wife two years ago, isn’t that correct?”

“How did you know?”

“I told you at the reception, Wynn dear. It is my job to know.” She used her free hand to sweep the hair from her forehead. “So Esther will be delighted to see you.”

“Not a chance.” Except for fleeing the car, he saw no way to avoid disclosing, “Esther was the one who told me Dianne was ill.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We had separated about six weeks earlier. Dianne hadn’t told more than a handful of friends about her illness. I was locked into a court battle and an acquisition and running an understaffed company.”

Not the image returned then, but the feeling. Of tension stretching him out on the corporate rack until every sinew and brain cell shrieked from intolerable strain. Of sleeping in breathless gasps, jerking awake to jumbled images of having forgotten something vital, or missing an unseen attack. Of never being rested or drawing a comfortable breath. Not ever again. “I returned home. We stayed together until the end. It seemed right. I haven’t seen Esther since Dianne’s funeral.”

He lifted his eyes to find Valerie watching him, so full of sympathy he could have buried his head in the perfumed veil of her hair and wept for all the bad moves and worse motives.

She leaned forward and kissed him gently. No passion, no pressure. Soft as evening’s wind. There and gone.

The car pulled up and stopped. Without waiting for the driver to come around, Valerie slid out, then leaned back in and held out her hand.

Wynn had no choice but to rise and follow her inside.

The upstairs corridor was lined with antiques and had little brass-and-crystal chandeliers attached to the high ceiling. The carpet was thick enough to absorb all sound save that of Wynn’s own faltering heart. It was not merely that he dreaded seeing Esther again. This contact dredged up memories of a terrible time and hinged them to whatever hopeful might appear in the here and now.