But as Kevin stepped closer, he didn’t look all that affectionate. He seemed more like a man stepping out into enemy, possibly dangerous, territory.
“I heard you were back in town.” Kevin’s voice was as tight as his facial muscles. “What’s going on with the whole mayor thing, Liza? You decide you couldn’t live with Massini in charge anymore? Ray’s been on the phone to me for days, going nuts.”
Oh, that’s right. With all the other nonsense going on, Liza had forgotten that she was one of the few who knew Ray Massini’s dirty little secret. Like too many attractive and charismatic political animals, Ray thought that every day was mating season. As a single guy home from the Gulf War, he’d cut quite a swath through Killamook County’s female population. Unfortunately, he’d kept it up after he married a pillar of local society. And shamefully, Kevin had facilitated, letting his old army buddy carry on trysts at the Killamook Inn.
Discovering Kevin’s role in the whole unsavory business had put a severe dent in, not to mention a stain on, his suit of shining armor. Until then, he’d definitely had the edge on Michael when it came to Liza’s affections. She sometimes wondered what might have happened if she’d never learned . . .
Right now, though, there were more practical matters to consider. A sex scandal would probably prove fatal to the mayor’s bid for a second term. No wonder Massini was going nuts.
“As you said, I was out of town,” Liza told Kevin. “I came back to find this nonsense going on—trust me, it’s as much a shock for me as it was for you.”
“So you’re not running?”
“You can tell your friend I’ll be pulling a Sherman—I think that’s what it’s called,” Liza said. “I think you’d have to be crazy to get involved in the kind of politics they play around here.”
She shook her head. “As far as I’m concerned, exposing Massini’s character flaw wouldn’t just kill his mayoral campaign. It would also kill the good he’s trying to do for Maiden’s Bay—the reforms he’s trying to make. Then J.J. Pauncecombe and his cronies win.”
A chilling thought struck her—and she saw it reflected on Kevin’s face.
“Do you think the other side knows about the mayor’s little adventures?” Liza asked.
Kevin’s features relaxed a little. “I’m glad to hear you think we’re on the same side. As for your question . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t think so, or we’d have heard it on KMUC by now.”
“Guess so.” Liza frowned. Michelle might not dabble in politics, but the Markson Agency kept professional tabs on how competitors did their jobs. “The boys in Killamook don’t seem to be too subtle. With other political operations, I might expect a whispering campaign to start off with. You haven’t heard anything?”
Kevin shook his head. “From a professional standpoint, would you say that’s good?”
Now it was Liza’s turn to shrug. “If they had a bomb like that to drop, they could take Massini out in a single news cycle. Why would they piddle around with this foolish fake campaign for me?”
As if on cue, Rusty suddenly headed into the bushes.
“Speaking of piddling,” Liza said with a wry smile.
Kevin’s smile showed more relief than humor. “So I can definitely tell Ray you’re out of the race.” He paused for a second. “And that the other thing seems okay.”
“It doesn’t seem to be public knowledge,” Liza corrected. “I don’t think it’s okay.”
Kevin’s face shut down—he obviously didn’t know how to answer that. “I don’t know what’s going on with that anymore.” He directed his gruff voice to the ground. “I never wanted to.”
“I think that’s just as well,” Liza said.
He raised his eyes. “So we’re good?”
She nodded.
“Good.” Kevin started down Liza’s driveway just as thick, heavy raindrops began to fall.
Liza gave Rusty’s leash a tug. “I hope you have no surprises for me.”
They came in through the kitchen door, so Rusty could shake himself dry on the linoleum floor. Not for the first time, Liza wished she could do the same.
It’s amazing how freaking wet you can get covering just fi fteen feet,
she thought, trying to pull her sodden T-shirt away from her skin.
The phone rang, and Liza spun to give it an uneasy glance. Sometimes Michael seemed to display an almost paranormal awareness of when she was with Kevin—he seemed to call just as his rival left or hung up.
Looking at the caller ID screen, Liza let her breath hiss out from between her teeth. “Not Michael—Michelle,” she muttered. “This could get even worse.”
She picked up the receiver, to hear her partner begin without preamble, “As you start your career in public service, I hope you’ll recall that this agency does not do political campaigns.”
Forget about Michael’s ESP, Michelle’s information-gathering antennas rivaled the NSA’s—especially when it came to using celebrity. Liza’s quota of fame might just barely get her mentioned on a small-market radio station but Michelle had obviously heard about it.
“I wish I could say it was a hoax,” Liza said. She could just imagine her partner on the other end of the connection, probably perched on the front of her desk, her delicate, almost elfin, features set somewhere between a frown and a pout.
People sometimes described Michelle Markson as the fairy princess of Bad Attitude. They just never said that to her face, because Michelle didn’t need a magic wand to wreak havoc on people’s lives and careers. She used the power of the pen and a caustic tongue to shear huge chunks of ego and self-esteem off some of Hollywood’s biggest shots, carving out an impressive turf for herself as a leading warlord of publicity.
Michelle didn’t pull her punches, even with friends. “So you’re taking another leave of absence from the agency—and your senses? It’s bad enough you apparently go underground for weeks, but then I start getting these outré reports—”
“I took some time off to recharge my batteries,” Liza said. “I don’t think I have to defend that to someone who famously goes absolutely incommunicado from the office.”
“I might do that for a relaxing weekend,” Michelle replied, “and besides, I have a staff to deal with any messes that might crop up.”
Intimating that whatever Liza might be doing, she was creating a mess. “You still haven’t explained this sudden plunge into politics.”
“I haven’t plunged.” Liza tried to keep the edge out of her voice. “Somebody dunked me.”
As she explained the progress of her invented candidacy, Michelle became ominously silent. “As I said, the agency doesn’t do political campaigns. But this travesty affects your image—our image—
my
image. I wouldn’t be averse to taking a little constructive action against whoever is responsible.”
Knowing Michelle, the operative word would be more “destructive” than “constructive.”
“Better, I think, for me just to extricate myself and let this whole situation die a natural death,” Liza said.
“In that case, you shouldn’t be talking to me, you should be talking to the media,” Michelle told her. “Maybe your newspaper friend can be of some help.”
Her dismissive tone was directed partly at Liza, and partly at mere print media. “Better get started right away. It only becomes harder to get rid of rumors when they’ve been lying around for a while.”
Liza had to bite her lip at that. Considering that she knew about the whole situation only a few hours longer than Michelle, being accused of dawdling felt grossly unfair.
“Thanks for the advice,” she finally said. “I’ll get on to Ava directly.”
“Excellent.” Brusque as ever, Michelle cut the connection.
As she hung up, Liza’s finger went to the speed-dial button coded with Ava’s office number. Then she shook her head. Before spiking the story on this con-job candidacy, there was someone else she had to speak with. Heading around to the front door, she rooted out an umbrella and went next door to break the news to Mrs. Halvorsen.
Actually, the visit with her neighbor had some benefit when Liza finally spoke with Ava sometime later. It allowed her to organize her thoughts beyond a bald withdrawal of her name from consideration.
“About this whole running for mayor thing,” she told Ava when she got her on the phone, “I’m issuing a definite Sherman. If nominated, I won’t run—”
“I think that’s ‘shall not,’ ” her editor corrected.
“Fine, you can look up the classic line and use that,” Liza replied. “I won’t run and I won’t serve.” She paused for a second. “For the people who were out with the petitions—and Mrs. H. assures me that a lot of them were genuine volunteers—I need to say thanks very much. I found it very flattering that they thought I could do some good for the town.”
“Good for the town,” Ava muttered, obviously scribbling down Liza’s comments. “You don’t want to make any endorsements?”
“I’ll leave that to you on the editorial page,” Liza told her. “Just say that I’m sure they can find someone more qualified.”
“And that’s it?” Ava’s voice sounded a little clipped.
“From the way Murph was talking, I thought you’d be relieved.”
“Maybe Murph thought he’d lose his shot at an exclusive if he mentioned how aggravated I was,” Ava told her. “You disappear without a word, this whole ‘Liza for Mayor’ thing starts up—if it weren’t for the fact that you’d added so many columns to your cushion, I might have thought you’d been kidnapped.”
“Thanks—I think,” Liza replied. “I just knew that extra work would pay off.”
“By the way, we only have a few pieces left in the can,” Ava said in impeccable managing editor mode. “I hope you spent part of your vacation writing.”
“Ah.” Liza sighed. Back to the old rat race.
“And you might have told me you were going.” Now Liza’s childhood friend was peeking out from under the editor’s mantle.
“Maybe I should have,” Liza admitted, “but my last few announced trips didn’t turn out that well. People ended up dead. I just wanted to get away . . . on my own. I didn’t even go as Liza Kelly, I went as Mrs. Michael Langley.”
“Wow—really undercover,” Ava said facetiously. “And then you got one hell of a welcome home.”
“Let’s just say I may not be responsible if I meet a guy named Clark Hagen. Mrs. H. told me he’s the one who did the dirty work, recruiting her and the other volunteers.”
“Well, he’s not one of the big gears in the Pauncecombe machine,” Ava said.
“What about Chad Redbourne?”
“He’s come onto our radar, and not just for alumni reunions.”
“I saw him today,” Liza said, “for the first time since the summer after senior year.”
“He cleaned up pretty well, all things considered. Still unmarried after all these years. I thought of going out with him for a while after my divorce.” Ava sounded a little embarrassed to admit that.
Liza laughed. “I think you were right to take a pass on that. He still had that whole fumbly nervous thing going when I talked with him.” She paused for a second. “In fact, everybody at the county center seemed a bit on edge—as if they were afraid the ax was going to come out. Is the fiscal crisis that bad?”
“I’ve noticed that myself, talking to people in the government,” Ava said. “I guess people are taking their cue from the top. Old Man Pauncecombe—well, he
is
an old man these days, and his temper has gotten kind of . . . erratic. If he hears something he doesn’t want to hear, he flies off the handle.”
“How far?” Liza asked.
“The last big blowup I heard about happened after the paper shone a little light on John Junior trying to finagle the school’s milk contract. I mean, that was really low.”
“And you’ve got a kid going there,” Liza added.
“Anyway, there was such a stink, J.J. had to let his little deal die. And when he had to report that there wouldn’t be any kickbacks, John Jacob chased him out of the house with a twelve-iron.”
Huh,
Liza thought.
With a husband like that, I don’t think Brandy D’Alessandro landed herself in a bed of roses.
Aloud, she said, “Getting into that whole ‘shoot the messenger’ thing isn’t the smartest idea. You don’t get much in the way of honest information.”
“I hope that’s not a comment on my management style,” Ava told her.
“No, but it just may be the Achilles’ heel of the Killamook machine,” Liza said. “Everybody at the county offices was tiptoeing around, but Ted Everard said Chad was especially bad during their meeting.”
“So you bumped into Ted Everard, did you?” Ava’s voice became determinedly nonchalant. “He’s been in town several times on this task force thing. Stopped by our office asking if I knew where you might be.”
“I met him at Chad’s office, and we got together afterward. The thing is, Ted asked what I’d said to Chad to get him so shook up. Oh, I tried to rake Chad over the coals for this petition thing, but I really had nothing.”
“So?” Ava asked.
“I don’t think it was anything Chad heard,” Liza said slowly. “I think it was what he saw—that Ted and I are pretty tight. Whoever hatched this whole ‘Kelly for Mayor’ scheme didn’t do their homework. But Chad saw that the guy who’s looking into voter record problems is personally connected with someone being harassed through their electoral shenanigans.”
“Namely, you.” Ava sounded doubtful. “From what I know of Ted Everard, his feelings won’t affect his investigation.”
“But from Chad’s point of view, Ted has all the more incentive to root out any ghost voters. If that happens, he’s afraid that the higher-ups in the machine will just leave him out to dry—or worse, if John Jacob gets angry enough. He’s afraid that he’ll be blamed for a disaster that someone else created.”
“You sound as if you’re going someplace with this,” Ava said, “but I’m not sure where.”
“I’m going to Chad Redbourne’s place,” Liza told her. “Can you give me the address?”
“I’ve got it in the Rolodex,” Ava replied. “But what do you expect to do there?”
“I may not be able to fight for truth, justice, and the American way,” Liza said. “But with luck, I might shake the name behind this one dirty trick out of him.”