To Catch the Moon (37 page)

“Ms. Maldonado?” Mr. Houser’s voice was a
strong, vital sound, despite his nearly eighty years. Alicia had
gathered from their earlier conversation that he was an impressive
man. He’d founded Headwaters Resources in the fifties and put his
lifeblood into it, intending to pass it on as a family business.
But his only child was killed in a skiing accident, leaving Houser
no heir to take over. Hence the desire, as he neared the end of his
life, to sell.

“I appreciate your taking my call, Mr.
Houser.”

“My pleasure. I enjoy speaking about my
business successes from the deep, dark past.”

Alicia began with routine questions about how
Daniel Gaines had approached him. There was some discussion of the
bankers from Whipple Canaday, who were heavily involved in the
transaction. Houser took her back to the summer day when Daniel
Gaines and Web Hudson had flown up to Boise to finalize the
deal.

“What was your reaction to Daniel Gaines when
you first met him?” Alicia asked.

“Oh, he was nice enough. Tall, good-looking
man, had a kind of movie-star charisma. But it was because the
governor was involved that I was interested.”

“Governor Hudson? Why is that?”

“Now, he was one of a kind. Quite a record he
had, as governor of California, then U.S. senator. Smart, too,
smart as a whip about business, even though he’d spent his whole
life in politics. Him I wanted to do business with.”

“So you were much more taken with Mr. Hudson
than with Mr. Gaines?”

“No question. Don’t get me wrong, Daniel
Gaines seemed pleasant enough. But not really sharp, not in the way
Web Hudson was. In fact, I don’t think I would have done the deal
if the governor hadn’t been involved.”

Interesting. She arched her brow, scribbling
on her legal notepad. This jibed with her own low opinion of Daniel
Gaines, whom she’d always suspected of riding his father-in-law’s
coattails. Maybe this explained why Web Hudson had been involved in
the Headwaters purchase in the first place. It had perplexed her
why the former governor would be brought in if he had no business
experience and Daniel Gaines was such a high-flying Manhattan
financier. But clearly Franklin Houser, and perhaps other people in
business, didn’t think Daniel Gaines was such hot shit on his
own.

Houser continued speaking. “I have to say I
was disappointed to find out that the governor would play only a
figurehead role in the company. Once the transaction was completed,
that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the governor would be chairman of the
board. And Gaines CEO.”

She was confused. “But was the governor’s
role bigger while they were actually buying the company?”

At that Houser started laughing. “Ms.
Maldonado, Daniel Gaines would never have been able to buy my
company without his father-in-law.”

She frowned. “Why is that?”

“Because the governor put up the money!”
Houser laughed again. “Look, I sold them Headwaters for a hundred
million dollars. This was a leveraged buyout, so they financed a
great deal of the necessary capital. Two thirds. But they needed to
come up with one third in cash, roughly thirty-four million. Do you
know how much Daniel Gaines put up?”

“No.”

“Four million!” Surprise was evident in
Houser’s voice, even after all this time. “And I found out later
that even
that
he had to finance.”

She was scribbling furiously. “Are you saying
that Web Hudson put up thirty million dollars of his own money and
Daniel Gaines put up four million he had to borrow?”

“That’s correct. And the governor gave Gaines
quite a sweet deal even on top of that.”

“How so?”

“It was in how they divvied up ownership of
the company. Heads up, Gaines’ four million translated to an equity
stake of a little less than twelve percent. But he ended up with
twenty-five percent, thanks to the governor. Granted, it was Gaines
who paved the way for the transaction, but nevertheless I was very
surprised by the governor’s generosity.”

Houser fell silent. Alicia’s pen flew across
her legal pad. So Daniel Gaines put up almost none of his own money
and ended up owning twenty-five percent of Headwaters Resources?
She wished she had a father-in-law like that. “Mr. Houser,” she
said a few seconds later, “how do you account for it?”

The old man emitted a drawn-out sigh. Through
the phone line Alicia imagined him deep in thought, choosing words,
trying to explain. Finally he spoke. “Ms. Maldonado, I believe it
comes down to simple human emotion. The governor didn’t have a son.
I believe Daniel Gaines took the place of the boy he never had.” He
paused. “I lost my own son. I can understand the feeling. But
frankly, what saddens me is that I’m not convinced Gaines
appreciated what the governor did for him. He didn’t exhibit the
gratitude that personally I would have liked to see.”

Alicia ended the call soon after. Left in her
mind was a highly unflattering picture of Daniel Gaines.

*

Milo sat in a stiff-backed Federal chair, a
reporter’s notebook in his hand, his knees inches away from the
shapely legs of one Molly Bracewell. Mac was posed just behind
Milo’s right shoulder, his broadcast camera mounted on a tripod and
pointed directly at Ms. Bracewell’s perfectly made-up face and
stylishly short blond hair. Tran buzzed around setting up lighting.
Their own gear was much more likely to create a positive effect
than her office’s overhead fluorescents.

“I appreciate your taking the time to allow
me to interview you this morning,” he told her. How true that
was.

“My pleasure.” She smiled.

He guessed she spoke the truth, too. For Ms.
Bracewell was giving him a look Milo recognized only too well. In
this case, he was grateful that he’d morphed into the new, monkish
Milo. For if he were still the old, rakish Milo, he might have been
tempted to get to know her a little better, if only to ascertain
exactly where she hadn’t had plastic surgery.

For Molly Bracewell was a “done” woman. All
America had witnessed the transformation. It wasn’t quite as
dramatic as the metamorphosis Linda Tripp, Monica Lewinsky’s
fair-weather friend, had undergone, but it was impressive. Shortly
after she masterminded the winning campaign of Nevada’s current
governor, she went under one of Beverly Hills’ most skilled knives
and emerged a new woman. True, the rejuvenated Molly Bracewell
wasn’t a natural beauty, but surgery had transformed her from
moderately attractive to damned good-looking. She had an easy
femininity about her as well, and was exceedingly well-groomed.

“What is your official position with Governor
Steele’s campaign?” Milo asked.

“I function as the strategist.” She rose to
allow Tran to string a lavalier microphone up her sleek,
teal-colored jacket. “Brandon and I worked together before, you
know, when he ran for mayor of San Diego.”

“Of course.” And of course Steele had
won.

Molly Bracewell had let no moss grow beneath
her stilettos. Milo’s sources told him that Gaines couldn’t have
been dead more than forty-eight hours before she lined up her next
gig. And that was with the incumbent governor, Gaines’ most serious
competition. She’d kept mum on her new job until a seemly two weeks
passed, but then made sure Steele held a splashy news conference to
announce that he’d brought her on board. Different parties, rival
candidates, opposing platforms meant nothing to her. All she cared
about was riding a horse that would win. Milo both admired her
ambition and found its nakedness off-putting.

She resumed her seat, her mike wired. “So
Newsline
had been planning to profile Daniel?”

“It was under discussion before he was
killed, yes.”

She arched her brow. “But you still want to
do the story?”

“It’s no longer a profile of Daniel Gaines
but a broader look at the governor’s races in the western
states.”

Tran interrupted. “I need to check volume
levels. Ms. Bracewell, would you please count to ten?”

Tran fussed with the knobs on his audio box
until he was satisfied with the result, then put Milo through the
same exercise. There was some strain between correspondent and crew
since the showdown at WBS headquarters, but Milo trusted that with
time and exemplary behavior on his part, that would pass.

Molly Bracewell pulled out a compact to do
one last pre-taping check of her already flawless face, then looked
past the metallic sphere to meet Milo’s eyes. “I hope you’ll come
back to Sacramento to interview Brandon.” She smiled.

“I would love the opportunity.” Milo smiled
back. He was walking a thin line here—exercising professional charm
without raising other, more personal expectations—but knew he’d be
much more likely to get what he wanted out of Molly Bracewell if
she were predisposed toward him. That would be true both when the
camera was running and when it had stopped. Now was not the time to
rob her of any illusions.

Mac spoke up, the soft whir of his camera
audible in the silent office. “We’ve got speed.”

Milo nodded. “Let’s get started.”

An hour later Milo regarded Molly Bracewell
across the booth they’d secured at Il Fornaio restaurant, a few
blocks from Steele’s campaign headquarters near the state capitol
building. The restaurant was housed in a grand, high-ceilinged
space, and attractively outfitted with tufted chocolate-brown
banquettes and big Italian ceramic pots holding gargantuan sprays
of exotic flowers. Yet his companion was no less impressive than
the decor.

Molly Bracewell had proven herself a fabulous
interview. She was better than most of her candidates at generating
perfect sound bites. Ask her a hard question and she concocted a
response that managed to sound both believable and sincere, all
while keeping her cool as the lens zoomed in on her features.

They were past the first course and into
their entrees. Pasta with Maine lobster and brandy sauce for her;
garlic sauteed prawns and roasted potatoes for him. Pellegrino for
both, this being lunch and a workday.

Milo judged that by now, Molly Bracewell was
sufficiently comfortable with him to delve into the tawdrier
gossip. “So,” he said, “tell me what it was really like to work
with Daniel Gaines.”

She arched her tweezed brow. “Off the
record?”

“Of course.”

“Even off the record,” she said, a teasing
glint in her eye, which clearly had been enhanced with an
aqua-tinted contact lens, “I’m reluctant to tell you what I really
think. It’s terrible form to malign the dead.”

“Was he that bad?”

“Oh”—she made a dismissive wave of her
hand—“he was hopeless. If he weren’t Web Hudson’s son-in-law, he
wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of getting elected
dog-catcher.”

Milo sipped his Pellegrino. “What was his
problem?”

She began ticking off on her manicured
fingers. “A, he wasn’t that smart. B, he thought he was. C, he was
bad at taking direction. And D, he had absolutely no
discipline.”

“Why did you work for him then?”

“Because he was going to win.” She leaned
across the white linen, her manner conspiratorial. “He had
movie-star looks, connections to die for, no pun intended, and an
enormous amount of money backing him up.” She fell back against the
banquette. “I never have that much to work with.”

Molly Bracewell was silent for a moment,
dabbing the white linen napkin at the edges of her very pink lips,
then spoke again. “Of course, those connections were a double-edged
sword.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well.” She leaned forward again. “His wife
was a disaster. She was a total wild card. We were constantly
worried she’d derail Daniel somehow.” Then her features contorted
and she slammed backward into the banquette, hiding her face under
her right hand. “Oh, my God, Milo, I am so sorry. I forgot you two
were involved once.”

Apparently Ms. Bracewell was a tabloid
reader. Well, she did need to keep her finger on the pulse of the
nation. “That was a long time ago,” he said mildly.

She peeked at him coyly from under her hand.
“No hard feelings?”

He spread his hands as if in innocence, then
laughed. “I’d love to hear more.”

“Hm.” She lowered her hand and shrugged.
Molly Bracewell clearly enjoyed the gossip game, which at that
moment was good news for Milo. “Well, I would say that Joan Gaines
had a loose grip on reality. I remember Daniel telling me that
she’d asked him if he married her only because she was Web Hudson’s
daughter.” She shook her head. “He laughed and laughed, then said
to me, ‘What other reason could I have had?’ I felt sorry for her
that day, which believe me was a rare sensation.”

Milo, too, felt a pang for Joan, but it was
fleeting. At this point he was more inclined to wonder whether that
painful exchange had given Joan a motive for murder. He eyed Molly
Bracewell, who clearly was primed to share confidences. “Were you
and Daniel close?” he asked.

She laughed. “Do you mean were we having an
affair?”

Blunt little vixen, wasn’t she? “Not to put
too fine a point on it.”

“No, we weren’t, though he was certainly more
than willing.”

“And you?”

She leaned forward. “Milo, if I slept with
every”—she paused—“
politician
who asked me, I’d never get
out of bed.”

Again she smiled. Milo smiled back, though he
found it an odd and uncomfortable sensation. The old Milo
invariably fulfilled this sort of promise; the new one would back
off.

He topped off her Pellegrino from their
shared bottle. “What about his father-in-law? What did you think of
him?”

“Oh, he was marvelous. Brilliant. Totally out
of Daniel’s league. But I have to tell you”—and her voice took on a
note of genuine surprise—“he had a blind spot where Daniel was
concerned.”