30.
It was nearly noon when we left the animal clinic and headed home. Ella Kate buckled herself into the passenger seat of the Catfish, and stared resolutely out the window at the passing countryside.
"Going to be a beautiful day," I said, trying to make conversation. The narrow two-lane road wound through lush green countryside. Pale pink wildflowers bloomed in shallow ditches along the roadside, and when I rolled down the windows, the smell of wet dirt and new grass washed over me. We passed fields full of horses, and cattle, and once, a grassy pasture that was full of goats. The sun was warm on my face, and despite everything else that was going on in my life, I was suddenly glad to be experiencing a spring day in Georgia.
"Mighty hot for this early," Ella Kate said ominously. "It's that global warming they been talking about on the television. Probably looking at another year of drought too."
"But it's rained several times since I've been in Guthrie," I pointed out.
"That don't mean nothin'," Ella Kate said. She pointed a knobby finger at a field we were passing. Stunted-looking trees were planted in rows, their outspread branches spiked with pale green leaves. "Them peach trees there, you see how sorry they look? Greening up early now, but if we get hit with a frost, that'll be the end. Last year's drought hit 'em bad. Worst peach crop in years. Lots of folks done give up farming altogether after last year."
"That's a shame," I said. "I've never seen peaches growing on a tree before. I don't think I knew they grew peaches in this part of the state."
"Used to be," she said gloomily. "Round here was big for peaches. When I was a little girl, peaches was a big money crop in these parts. Your daddy's people, the Killebrews, I believe they were in the peach business. Not no more. No money in farming nowadays. Not in peaches, nor cotton, nor peanuts."
I heard my cell phone ring. I reached for it in my pocketbook, but it wasn't in the outside pocket where I usually keep it. It rang again, and a third time, before I realized it must have fallen out of my purse and onto the floor of the car. I groped around on the floor and grabbed the phone, answering on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Dempsey?" It was Carter Berryhill. "Where on earth are you? I've been trying to reach you all morning."
"Sorry," I said. "Shorty had a medical emergency. We had to take him down to the hospital in Macon. I didn't realize my phone had fallen out of my purse."
"Shorty? Do I know a Shorty? More to the point, how do you know somebody named Shorty? And why didn't you just take him over to the hospital right here in Guthrie?"
"Shorty is a dog, Carter," I said. "Ella Kate's cocker spaniel. He was really sick, and the vet's office in Guthrie didn't open until nine, so we had to take him down to the hospital in Macon."
"Ohhh, Shorty," Carter said. "Right. Is he okay? I know Ella Kate dotes on that critter."
"He swallowed, uh, something he shouldn't have," I said, blushing again at the thought of the vet holding the pair of panties she'd retrieved from Shorty's belly. "They did surgery, and he's fine now. He'll be coming home in a few days."
"Well, that's good," Carter said. "When do you expect to be back here?"
"Maybe forty-five minutes or so?" I said. "Is something wrong?"
"Our friends from Washington have been by to see me this morning," Carter said. "I imagine they've been by to see you too. They really are an annoyingly insistent presence. I think we should put our heads together and come up with a strategy, if you're up for it."
"Of course," I said, my pulse racing. "I'll come over as soon as I get back home."
"Well, no big rush," Carter drawled. "There is one thing you might could do that would be helpful in dealing with these people."
"What's that?"
"See if you can come up with some kind of timetable that reconstructs all of your dealings with Alex Hodder and the honorable Representative Licata. Anything at all will help us-notes, or files, or memos, anything like that."
"I'll try," I said, "but I don't have anything on paper. The feds took the hard drive from my computer, and they seized literally all my files at work."
"They took everything?"
"As far as I know," I said. "But I wasn't at the office when the FBI agents showed up, and the next thing I knew, our office manager called to say that I'd been let go. She told me not to bother coming in again. They boxed up all the personal effects from my desk, and had them messengered over to my apartment."
"Here's your hat, what's your hurry," Carter said.
"Exactly." The memory of it still stung, all these weeks later.
He sighed. "Well, in that case, we'll have to rely on your memory."
"I've got my laptop back at the house," I told him. "When I get home, I'll try and make some notes about all my dealings with Licata."
"Good," Carter said. "Don't worry about form or structure. Just get it down on paper, stream-of-consciousness style, if that works for you. Give me details. What Licata was like, how Alex Hodder interacted with him, all those kinds of things. Think carefully about that weekend in the Bahamas, if you would. And your dealings with those women."
"I'll try," I promised.
I closed my phone and glanced over at Ella Kate to see her reaction to my phone call. But I needn't have worried. Her eyes were closed and her head drooped forward. She snored softly.
I felt a sudden pang of pity for the old woman. Dr. Shoemaker had assured us that Shorty would heal quickly, but I knew Ella Kate had endured a night of terror, watching helplessly while her beloved pet suffered. He was all she had.
When we got back to Birdsong, she was still sleeping. I tapped her shoulder gently. "Ella Kate?"
Her eyes opened slowly. She blinked rapidly. "What time is it?"
"It's one," I told her. "We're home."
"Good."
I got out of the Catfish and went around to open the passenger door for her, but she hopped out on her own. She thrust a fistful of dollar bills into my hand.
"There," she said.
I looked down at the crumpled bills. "You don't have to do that."
"I'm obliged to you," she said stiffly. "Shorty coulda died."
"I was glad to be able to help," I told her.
She nodded curtly. "Good. You'll carry me back down yonder to fetch him when they say he's ready to come home?"
"Of course." I bit my lip. "Look, Ella Kate. About those panties Shorty ate. They were mine, of course. I really am so, so sorry. I don't know how he got hold of them."
Her eyes crinkled at the corners. For a second there, I thought I glimpsed something like a mischievous twinkle.
"You mean you wear them things as drawers?"
I blushed. "Well, yes."
"I ain't ever! That thing ain't no bigger 'n a rubber band. No wonder all you gals walk around like you got a hitch in your gitalong."
As I set up my laptop on the kitchen table at Birdsong, I realized that it had been nearly a month since I'd used it. The last time, in fact, had probably been the week after I'd been fired. After Alex refused to return my phone calls, I'd e-mailed him countless times, and obsessively checked my e-mail in-box, both on my BlackBerry, and on my laptop, over and over again, to check for any replies. There'd been none, of course, only a slew of messages that first week, from friends and colleagues on the hill, wondering how I was faring in the aftermath of Hoddergate.
I hadn't bothered to check my e-mail since arriving in Guthrie. Ruby had asked me to turn in my company-issued BlackBerry. And Birdsong, with its antiquated wiring, certainly didn't have Internet access, and besides, with the exception of my roommates, and the FBI, nobody else in Washington seemed to realize I was still alive.
Just out of curiosity, I clicked on the wireless button on the laptop, to see if there were any networks in range. There were two, one called BeeBop and the other SpaceCadet, but both were secured networks requiring a password I didn't have and couldn't guess.
Just as well. There was no time to wade through the month's worth of spam I surely would have amassed by now. I opened a blank document and paused. Carter wanted me to write down everything I could remember about all my dealings with Licata, especially my memories of that weekend down at Lyford Cay. Stream of consciousness, Carter had said. Fine. I started typing.
I'd been working at Hodder and Associates for four or five months, in a capacity Alex liked to call "utility girl." That meant I helped out other staffers when they needed somebody to help draft a policy statement, or work on a speech for one of our corporate clients. Then, last November, one night when I was working late, Alex came out of his office and walked over to my cubicle. "Well, Dempsey Killebrew," he said, perching on the edge of my desk. "You're burning the midnight oil. I hope we're paying you well for all your dedication."
The next week, Alex e-mailed to tell me how pleased the client was with my speech. That Friday morning, he called me into his office to tell me he was assigning me to work on the Peninsula Petroleum account. I was excited and flattered by the attention.
Most of my work was pretty cut and dried. I drafted position papers, did research on energy policy, and once or twice accompanied Alex to meetings with Peninsula executives when they came into town, or to subcommittee hearings on the hill.
Sometime last spring, our company arranged for Peninsula to be a "major patron" for a fund-raising dinner to benefit a children's hospital in the district. I was given tickets to the dinner, and during the cocktail hour, Alex introduced me to Representative Anthony Licata. Alex was on a first-name basis with "Tony," as he called him. At one point, before we were seated, Alex pulled me aside and told me I'd be seated at Tony's table, as would Peninsula's president, Mel Patterson, and his wife.
"Tony loves pretty young things," Alex told me, giving me a big wink. "Now, I'm not asking you to flirt, or do anything improper, I'm just telling you he likes to be seen with pretty girls. Makes him feel like a big stud. At dinner, make sure you get him seated right next to Mel. Ask him how his golf game is coming along. Mel's a member over at Burning Tree, and I happen to know Tony's dying to play that course."
I did as Alex had asked. Representative Licata hit it off right away with Mel Patterson, and I overheard Mr. Patterson invite him to be his guest the next weekend at Burning Tree.
My impression of Representative Licata? He is, as Alex said, a man who likes to think he is a ladies' man. He never really made a pass at me, but I did catch him staring at my cleavage on more than one occasion at that first dinner, and then later, when we were in the Bahamas. He likes expensive Scotch; we always had to make sure we had a couple bottles of Laphroaig for meetings with him. I know he cheats at golf too, because Alex told me Mel Patterson complained about all the "gimmes" he took during their games at Burning Tree.
The Monday after the charity dinner, Alex wanted to know how the evening had gone. He told me it was important for "Tony" to understand how important his vote would be on upcoming energy legislation.
At Alex's request, I wrote several papers outlining our client's position on off-shore drilling and other energy-related policy matters. The FBI seized my Day Runner, so I don't have exact dates or times, but I know we had at least half a dozen more lunch and dinner meetings with Licata in the months before the energy bill was scheduled for hearings.
The first week of December Alex called me into his office and asked me if I had any plans for the upcoming weekend.
At first, I thought maybe he was asking me to go away with him. He never really hit on me, but all those lunches and dinners and late nights working at the office, I thought there was something between us. But he was married, and I tried to tell myself I was not interested in a married man.
I paused in my typing here. Just how honest should I be with Carter Berryhill? He was courtly and honorable and for some inexplicable reason, he seemed to think that I was somebody worthy of his respect. Did he really need to know about my pathetic crush on my boss? Should I admit that if Alex had asked me to go away, I probably would have gone?-God help me. If it came up, I decided, I would tell Carter about my feelings. I prayed it would not.
Alex told me that Peninsula Petroleum was sponsoring a "fact-finding" retreat down in the Bahamas for the upcoming weekend. I was to prepare a paper about alternate energy solutions being used in the Bahamas. He stressed that I should not tell any of my coworkers about the trip, because he didn't want to be bothered with petty office jealousies. I should, Alex said, tell my friends that I was visiting my father down in Miami. When I protested that I didn't like to lie, Alex told me it wouldn't really be a lie, since we'd have a layover in Miami, and there would be plenty of time for me to "visit" with my father over the phone.
Alex assured me the position paper was no big deal. "Just hit the high points. You know, maybe three pages, bullet points, like that." He said he didn't want Ruby, our office manager, gossiping about our going away together, so he asked me to make all the travel arrangements, including a suite of rooms at the Lyford Cay Resort for him, Tony Licata, me, and one of Peninsula Petroleum's junior executives, first-class plane tickets, dinner reservations for Friday and Saturday nights, and a tennis lesson for Alex, on Saturday morning. He also told me that if I needed to buy myself some "resort wear" for the Bahamas, I should do that, and charge it on my company credit card since it was a business expense. "Get yourself something foxy," he told me. "Something that'll show off those legs of yours." The way he said it made me uncomfortable then, and it makes me uncomfortable now.
About the American Express card. In October, I think, Alex gave me a platinum American Express card. It was a company card, to be used when I was paying for dinners, or corporate travel, he said. But the other associates didn't have one, Alex explained, so I should keep it quiet, because we didn't want to stir up any interoffice drama. Everything would be direct-billed to Hodder and Associates. To be honest, I was ecstatic about being given such a perk. I did buy new clothes for the trip, but I ended up putting all of it on my own Visa card.
I couldn't bring myself to tell Carter about the cocktail dress I bought for the trip to Lyford Cay. The memory was just too painful. I'd spent hours looking for just the right dress, something so fabulous Alex couldn't help but see me as more than just an office flunkie. It was a coral-colored silk chiffon slip dress, with a deep V-neck and a flirty little ruffle at the hem, which was, as Alex requested, several inches north of my knees. I had high-heeled metallic gold sandals to wear with the dress. The saleswoman at Saks told me the dress must have been made for me. "With your coloring, you should never wear anything except coral," she'd said.
I had everything all planned out. I'd wear the coral dress for dinner Friday night. Licata would be there, and the Peninsula guy too, of course, but once Alex saw me in that dress, he would forget all about business. What an idiotic fantasy! And thank God nothing had gone as I'd planned.
31.
I was hungry. I hadn't had any breakfast, or more important, any coffee. I ground some of my precious French roast beans, and while the coffee was brewing, I fixed myself some cheese and crackers. I sat back down at the table with a sigh and reread what I'd written. I dreaded writing about the trip to the Bahamas. I would have liked to have forgotten the trip ever happened. But it had, and Carter Berryhill was right. I needed to remember it-and every little detail of what had gone on down there. I nibbled on a saltine and started typing again.
Alex was emphatic that I should tell nobody about the trip to the Bahamas. I met Alex at Reagan National that Friday morning, and Representative Licata showed up at the gate just as we were getting ready to board. I asked Alex about the Peninsula exec whose trip I'd also booked, but he just said the exec had to cancel at the last minute.
When I greeted Representative Licata, he eyed me up and down and told me how much he liked my outfit-and he insisted I was to call him Tony for the rest of the trip, which I had no intention of doing.
Our flight left D.C. at nine thirty A.M, and as soon as we were seated, Licata ordered Bloody Marys for all three of us. I barely tasted mine, but by the time we got to Miami, I could tell Licata was already buzzed.
When we got to the hotel, Alex announced that he and Licata were going to head over to the golf course to see if they could get a "walk on" tee time. I'd thought we were going to have lunch together so I could present Licata with the paper I'd prepared. I guess Alex could tell how disappointed I was, because he had me give him the paper, and he promised he and Licata would discuss it while they played.
Instead, I changed into my bathing suit and sat by the pool all afternoon, reading. Sometime after four, Alex walked up and sat on the lounge chair next to mine. Alex said he and Tony had only played nine holes, and he seemed annoyed by that. He ordered a mojito from one of the waitresses at the pool bar, and we chatted for a few minutes, until his cell phone rang. Alex answered, and I could tell he was talking to Licata. When he hung up, he rolled his eyes and said Tony was bored, and wanted to try something different.
Alex got up, walked over to the bar, and chatted with the bartender there. When he came back, he handed me a slip of paper with a phone number on it. "Call this gal and set up a wakeboard session for Tony," he told me. "Tell her the client's name is Terry. Licata doesn't want anybody down here to know his real name. He'll be ready in fifteen minutes. Just have her charge it to your AmEx card." I agreed, and Alex said he had to go up to his room and return some e-mails and make some phone calls. He said he'd see me at dinner.
I didn't have my cell phone in my beach bag, so I used one of the resort's house phones and called the number Alex had given me. A woman answered. She didn't tell me her name, and I didn't ask. I just set up the session, as Alex had directed me to. She asked me how long a session "Terry" wanted. I knew nothing about wakeboarding, but I was pretty sure that after all the drinking and golfing Licata had been doing, he wouldn't be up for anything too strenuous. I told her an hour would probably be enough time, and she laughed and said she bet he couldn't go even fifteen minutes. After I hung up, I threw the slip of paper in the trash.
God, how dumb could I have been? It never, ever occurred to me that I was talking to a madam. It didn't occur to me to wonder why Alex didn't set up a wakeboard session for himself, or to wonder why Alex didn't put it on his own credit card, or why it was okay to make hotel, restaurant, and golf arrangements under Licata's real name, but not "wakeboard" lessons. In hindsight, all I can say is, Alex was my boss, and I was used to doing as he asked. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
Our dinner reservation was for seven pm, so I'd spent a leisurely hour getting ready for my big night. I'd pulled my hair up in a French twist, and even broke open the bottle of Hermes perfume I'd treated myself to in the duty-free shop at the airport. The coral dress, I thought, made me look totally hot. I allowed myself to fantasize about what Alex would say when he saw me in it, and how we would plot to slip away from Licata-maybe for a moonlight stroll on the beach?
Alex and Licata were sitting in the lobby bar when I went downstairs to dinner. I could tell Licata was nearly wasted. He practically drooled down the front of my dress, and I had to sidestep to keep him from kissing me. We went in to dinner, and Tony proceeded to order another round of drinks. I asked him how his wakeboard session had gone, and he gave Alex a huge wink-"Just what the doctor ordered," I think he said. Alex brought up the subject of the upcoming energy legislation, but Tony just told him he didn't want to mix business with pleasure at dinner. There was some talk about golf-Licata was disgusted with his short game, and Alex suggested he take a lesson the next morning with the resort's golf pro-adding that it would be Peninsula Petroleum's treat. Tony thought a lesson was a great idea. At some point, a combo started playing. Tony insisted that I dance with him. At first, I tried to get out of it, but Alex gave me a quiet nod, signaling that if Tony wanted to dance, I should dance. It was a slow song, and I was dreading it-Tony had been drinking steadily through dinner, but he turned out to be amazingly light on his feet. After that, I danced once with Alex.
It pained me to write about the dance with Alex Hodder. The band was playing "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. Alex was a perfect gentleman. He complimented me on my dress and told me I was the most beautiful woman in the room. He said he'd read the policy paper, and I'd done an outstanding job with it. I don't think it was my imagination that he held me a little tighter as we danced, or that his hand lingered on my bare arm, and once, lightly touched my breast. When the song ended, he kissed me on the cheek and told me I was unforgettable. The prick.
Tony had ordered a bottle of champagne-Veuve Cliquot, the most expensive bottle the hotel offered-and after drinking half a glass, I started getting headachy. When I excused myself, Tony and Alex announced they were going to go out to the pool bar and smoke cigars and have a brandy.
I did have a little bit of a headache from the champagne, it was true, but I was also secretly hoping that Alex would take the hint and get rid of Tony so that we could have some time alone together after dinner. I went back to my room and waited up-for the call that never came. I wound up falling asleep in my hot little cocktail dress. When I woke up in the morning, the dress was a wrinkled disaster, and I had a nasty little hangover.
At breakfast the next morning, Licata was none the worse for wear. The men left for their golf match, and I spent the rest of the day at the pool, reading and sunning. I'd gone up to my room to shower and get ready for dinner when I heard a knock at the door. It was Alex. He told me that Tony hadn't been able to play the full eighteen holes. "He's whining about pulling some muscle in his back during the wakeboard lesson," Alex said. "Tony thinks a massage might help." He handed me a piece of paper; he'd written "massage" on the back of it, and another phone number. "Give them a call and have them send somebody up to his room," Alex told me. "Use the same name, Terry, and charge it to your AmEx." Alex left, and I called the number, and a woman answered. I think she just said Relaxation Therapy, or something like that. I know she didn't tell me a name, and I didn't ask. I gave her Tony's room number at the hotel. She did ask me if there was anything special he liked. I thought she meant massage technique. So I told her he'd hurt his back. I gave her the AmEx number, the same as I'd done with the wakeboard instructor, and I hung up. Alex eventually told me that he and Tony had decided to order room service and discuss the upcoming bill. He apologized and told me to enjoy my dinner. I ordered room service, and didn't see either of them again until the next morning, at checkout.
My cheeks were flaming as I recounted the last night of the trip to Lyford Cay. Alex Hodder had set me up. He'd used me as a pimp for Tony Licata. I'd been so hurt that night, it hadn't occurred to me to wonder why Alex couldn't come down for dinner. With what I knew now, I was sure he and Tony Licata had enjoyed some kind of kinky three way with a hooker named Tiki Finesse, which I had booked and paid for with my company-issued AmEx card. Tiki hadn't been the only girl getting screwed on that trip, but she was the only one who got paid.
My cell phone rang. It was Carter. "Dempsey?"
"Oh, Carter, hey," I said. "I was just finishing up my notes about the weekend down in the Bahamas. You were right. I did remember a lot more than I had before. I'll just save everything I wrote, and I'll be right over."
32.