nothing much. Slater knows what he’s doing. He’s smart – smart enough to know that his candidate may be in trouble. My guess is that Ridgeway’s people are very concerned about those poll numbers.”
“What do you think they’ll do if we come out ahead?”
Milo shrugged. “Retaliate.” He slid off the stool and headed for the door. “The plane for Saskatoon leaves at 6:55 tomorrow morning. You can get the tickets online.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
He shook his head. “No need, if you’re going. There’s stuff I can do here.”
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I said.
“No problem,” Milo said. He reached into the pocket of his khakis, pulled out a Crispy Crunch, and tossed it to me. “For the flight,” he said.
Zack called just after Milo left. “How was lunch at the Scarth Club?” I said.
“Long, liquid, and pleasant,” Zack said. “I must have been there a hundred times, but that place still knocks me out. I love the portraits of those pompous old farts who were the club’s first presidents, and I love that motto they had carved about themselves over the salon mantlepiece: “They Builded Better Than They Knew.”
“There’s something to be said for tradition,” I agreed.
“Boy, is there ever,” Zack said. “Warren is the fourth generation of his family to belong to the club, and he says the recipe the bartender uses to make the Old Fashioneds we had today is the same recipe that was used to make the Old Fashioneds his great-grandfather favoured, fruit salad in an Old Fashioned glass filled with ice, bourbon, and a dash of bitters.”
“Sounds as if you had a couple,” I said.
“I’m high on life,” Zack said airily.
“Where’s your car?” I said.
“In my parking space at Falconer Shreve,” Zack said. “Warren’s driver took us wherever we needed to go.”
I laughed. “So where did you need to go?”
“Many places,” Zack said.
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Warren and I are still making the rounds,” Zack said. “The driver will deliver me to you.”
“Where’s Annie?”
“At the gym working on her abs.” Suddenly, Zack was all business. “Jo, this long, liquid lunch of mine has been highly instructive. You asked me ask to see what Warren knew about the people behind Ridgeway.”
“And …”
“And some of Ridgeway’s major contributors are starting to ask questions about why the mayor hasn’t appeared inpublic since he freaked at the Racette-Hunter opening, Warren’s buddies may be old, but they can still smell trouble, and they’re hanging on to their money.”
“Milo implied Ridgeway’s numbers are soft,” I said. “The possibility of losing an election always dries up some funding sources.”
“But Ridgeway’s still ahead,” Zack said. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “It’s seven weeks till the election. In politics, that’s an eternity. People like Warren’s friends and companies like Lancaster Development have been buying politicians for years. They’re too experienced to panic because their candidate’s vote is wobbly.”
“Well, for some reason they
are
panicking,” Zack said, “and this afternoon Warren did what he could to speed their exit. He took me around, introduced me to people who I’d assumed would be supporting Ridgeway, said the Ridgeway campaign might be headed for trouble and they should either support me or wait this one out.”
“And Warren didn’t elaborate on what the potential trouble was.”
“No, and I didn’t push it. Warren did tell me that in the past few days Graham Meighen has been hitting up Ridgeway’s supporters hard for cash donations.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. That campaign is well financed, and since he was disbarred, Slater’s been a model steward of other people’s money. Since Ridgeway was first elected, Slater has never spent a dime more than he had to on an election. There’s no reason for Graham Meighen to be going
“What do you think they’ll do if we come out ahead?”
Milo shrugged. “Retaliate.” He slid off the stool and headed for the door. “The plane for Saskatoon leaves at 6:55 tomorrow morning. You can get the tickets online.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
He shook his head. “No need, if you’re going. There’s stuff I can do here.”
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I said.
“No problem,” Milo said. He reached into the pocket of his khakis, pulled out a Crispy Crunch, and tossed it to me. “For the flight,” he said.
Zack called just after Milo left. “How was lunch at the Scarth Club?” I said.
“Long, liquid, and pleasant,” Zack said. “I must have been there a hundred times, but that place still knocks me out. I love the portraits of those pompous old farts who were the club’s first presidents, and I love that motto they had carved about themselves over the salon mantlepiece: “They Builded Better Than They Knew.”
“There’s something to be said for tradition,” I agreed.
“Boy, is there ever,” Zack said. “Warren is the fourth generation of his family to belong to the club, and he says the recipe the bartender uses to make the Old Fashioneds we had today is the same recipe that was used to make the Old Fashioneds his great-grandfather favoured, fruit salad in an Old Fashioned glass filled with ice, bourbon, and a dash of bitters.”
“Sounds as if you had a couple,” I said.
“I’m high on life,” Zack said airily.
“Where’s your car?” I said.
“In my parking space at Falconer Shreve,” Zack said. “Warren’s driver took us wherever we needed to go.”
I laughed. “So where did you need to go?”
“Many places,” Zack said.
“Do you want me to pick you up?”
“Warren and I are still making the rounds,” Zack said. “The driver will deliver me to you.”
“Where’s Annie?”
“At the gym working on her abs.” Suddenly, Zack was all business. “Jo, this long, liquid lunch of mine has been highly instructive. You asked me ask to see what Warren knew about the people behind Ridgeway.”
“And …”
“And some of Ridgeway’s major contributors are starting to ask questions about why the mayor hasn’t appeared inpublic since he freaked at the Racette-Hunter opening, Warren’s buddies may be old, but they can still smell trouble, and they’re hanging on to their money.”
“Milo implied Ridgeway’s numbers are soft,” I said. “The possibility of losing an election always dries up some funding sources.”
“But Ridgeway’s still ahead,” Zack said. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “It’s seven weeks till the election. In politics, that’s an eternity. People like Warren’s friends and companies like Lancaster Development have been buying politicians for years. They’re too experienced to panic because their candidate’s vote is wobbly.”
“Well, for some reason they
are
panicking,” Zack said, “and this afternoon Warren did what he could to speed their exit. He took me around, introduced me to people who I’d assumed would be supporting Ridgeway, said the Ridgeway campaign might be headed for trouble and they should either support me or wait this one out.”
“And Warren didn’t elaborate on what the potential trouble was.”
“No, and I didn’t push it. Warren did tell me that in the past few days Graham Meighen has been hitting up Ridgeway’s supporters hard for cash donations.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. That campaign is well financed, and since he was disbarred, Slater’s been a model steward of other people’s money. Since Ridgeway was first elected, Slater has never spent a dime more than he had to on an election. There’s no reason for Graham Meighen to be going
Similar Books
