police chief hyperventilating a little here? I mean, the guy just announced yesterday for governor and you’re already picking out new drapes for the Oval Office.”
“Hitch. Answer me this. Who did Nixon tap to behis veep? A no-name governor from, gee, was it Maryland?”
“You’re referring to the guy who failed to pay his taxes and was drummed out of office in disgrace?”
“Alan pays his taxes. I checked.” Hutch slapped me on the shoulder. “Look, I have to go and kiss some fanny. The bar’s over there. Top-shelf only. Enjoy yourself. I’ll catch up with you later. I’m glad you could make it.”
He pumped my hand again and then waded off into the crowd. I spotted Jeff Simons, standing next to a bust of Mozart, a semicircle of admirers fanned out in front of him. It’s true, he wasn’t looking his usual TV-glow self. His trademark cowlick was performing superbly and he was sporting his perpetual tan, but his eyes carried a sort of watery look, certainly not the crystal-clear sparkle of trust and mirth that had kept him at Baltimore’s bosom for nearly two decades. I had met the man a number of times. His mother and my aunt are old friends and ruthless cribbage players. The two meet once a week to race each other around the table. Billie and I play, too. That’s usually how we decide who takes on the next funeral.
I finally spotted Kate, coming back my way. I met her halfway. She handed me a glass.
“Do you like bourbon?”
“That’s damned good detective work. How’d you guess?”
“I didn’t, really. It’s what I like. I’m drinking vicariously.”
Kate was holding a flute, popping with amber bubbles.
“Champagne?” I asked.
“Ginger ale.”
She caught me not asking the question that was floating before us. She clinked her glass to mine. “It’s one of my rules. No drinking in public places.”
“That would make you the exact opposite of a social drinker,” I observed.
She took a sip of her ginger ale, keeping her eyes on me. “That would be absolutely correct.” The message was clearer than her ginger ale. Subject closed.
We mingled. Kate didn’t really seem to know too many of the guests either, except for a few of her colleagues. She caught a couple of “Welcome backs” from her brethren. “I’ve been on a leave of absence,” she explained. She didn’t elaborate. I looked up at one point and spotted Detective Kruk, standing near one of the stacks. He was gazing down at the gathering, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. From where I stood it looked as if he had maybe ironed his wrinkles. But apparently there was nothing to be done about that hair. He might have been looking down at Kate and me. I couldn’t tell.
Kate was speaking.
“Did Joel explain to you why I was so friendly to him just now?”
“What? Oh. Um… no. Well. He told me you wouldn’t cooperate with the Stuart for Governor campaign.”
We had wandered over by the quartet. I had no idea in hell what they were playing. I just knew that I couldn’t tap my toe to it.
“He told you
that?”
“Yes. Why? Isn’t it true?”
“Sure, it’s true. But that’s not why we don’t getalong.” She took a sip of her ginger ale. “Joel Hutchinson is jealous, pure and simple. Alan … Alan took me under his wing, I guess you could say. The phrase you hear is, ‘I came up fast.’ It’s a long story. Bottom line is your college buddy is a control freak. He wants Alan all to himself and for some reason I threaten him.”
She took another sip. “Plus he made a pass at me and I told him to buzz off.”
“Hutch made a pass at you?”
“Several. Men don’t always bounce back so well after they’ve gotten rejected. Have you noticed?”
“Who says I’ve ever been rejected?”
“Who says I was saying you had? I only asked if you had noticed.”
She gave me one of those looks. Challenging. At least that’s what the bourbon in me was saying. But maybe it wasn’t a challenging look at all. Maybe, I
“Hitch. Answer me this. Who did Nixon tap to behis veep? A no-name governor from, gee, was it Maryland?”
“You’re referring to the guy who failed to pay his taxes and was drummed out of office in disgrace?”
“Alan pays his taxes. I checked.” Hutch slapped me on the shoulder. “Look, I have to go and kiss some fanny. The bar’s over there. Top-shelf only. Enjoy yourself. I’ll catch up with you later. I’m glad you could make it.”
He pumped my hand again and then waded off into the crowd. I spotted Jeff Simons, standing next to a bust of Mozart, a semicircle of admirers fanned out in front of him. It’s true, he wasn’t looking his usual TV-glow self. His trademark cowlick was performing superbly and he was sporting his perpetual tan, but his eyes carried a sort of watery look, certainly not the crystal-clear sparkle of trust and mirth that had kept him at Baltimore’s bosom for nearly two decades. I had met the man a number of times. His mother and my aunt are old friends and ruthless cribbage players. The two meet once a week to race each other around the table. Billie and I play, too. That’s usually how we decide who takes on the next funeral.
I finally spotted Kate, coming back my way. I met her halfway. She handed me a glass.
“Do you like bourbon?”
“That’s damned good detective work. How’d you guess?”
“I didn’t, really. It’s what I like. I’m drinking vicariously.”
Kate was holding a flute, popping with amber bubbles.
“Champagne?” I asked.
“Ginger ale.”
She caught me not asking the question that was floating before us. She clinked her glass to mine. “It’s one of my rules. No drinking in public places.”
“That would make you the exact opposite of a social drinker,” I observed.
She took a sip of her ginger ale, keeping her eyes on me. “That would be absolutely correct.” The message was clearer than her ginger ale. Subject closed.
We mingled. Kate didn’t really seem to know too many of the guests either, except for a few of her colleagues. She caught a couple of “Welcome backs” from her brethren. “I’ve been on a leave of absence,” she explained. She didn’t elaborate. I looked up at one point and spotted Detective Kruk, standing near one of the stacks. He was gazing down at the gathering, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. From where I stood it looked as if he had maybe ironed his wrinkles. But apparently there was nothing to be done about that hair. He might have been looking down at Kate and me. I couldn’t tell.
Kate was speaking.
“Did Joel explain to you why I was so friendly to him just now?”
“What? Oh. Um… no. Well. He told me you wouldn’t cooperate with the Stuart for Governor campaign.”
We had wandered over by the quartet. I had no idea in hell what they were playing. I just knew that I couldn’t tap my toe to it.
“He told you
that?”
“Yes. Why? Isn’t it true?”
“Sure, it’s true. But that’s not why we don’t getalong.” She took a sip of her ginger ale. “Joel Hutchinson is jealous, pure and simple. Alan … Alan took me under his wing, I guess you could say. The phrase you hear is, ‘I came up fast.’ It’s a long story. Bottom line is your college buddy is a control freak. He wants Alan all to himself and for some reason I threaten him.”
She took another sip. “Plus he made a pass at me and I told him to buzz off.”
“Hutch made a pass at you?”
“Several. Men don’t always bounce back so well after they’ve gotten rejected. Have you noticed?”
“Who says I’ve ever been rejected?”
“Who says I was saying you had? I only asked if you had noticed.”
She gave me one of those looks. Challenging. At least that’s what the bourbon in me was saying. But maybe it wasn’t a challenging look at all. Maybe, I
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