Hunter's Moon (19 page)

“I guess I can’t win when I’m being ganged up on,” he said.

“Teamwork,” Daniel said, giving Graham Jr. a thumbs-up. “Why don’t you step out for a few minutes, sport. I want to talk about a few things with your dad and then he’s all yours, okay?”

“Okay,” Graham Jr. said. The men watched him go, and Daniel closed the door after him.

Graham set the loose pages of his speech down on the desk and stretched. “Is everything set for tomorrow?”

“Everything should run like clockwork. We’ll have the speech on the steps of the capitol followed by a Q and A. I’ve got reporters from the
Times
, the
Buffalo News
, and the
Post-Standard
in front to give you a few local softballs right out of the gate, so make sure you hit them first.”

Graham nodded as he leaned back in the chair. “It’s all coming together, isn’t it? Did I tell you that CJ’s agreed to be there?”

“No, you didn’t mention that,” Daniel said.

Graham looked quite pleased with himself. Daniel almost hated to burst his bubble, but he’d been hired to assure Graham’s election, and he couldn’t let certain things remain unaddressed.

“Why would your brother be asking questions about the prisons?”

The question came close to lowering the temperature in the room. Daniel watched Graham’s face make the transition from ease to confusion and finally to an uncertain frown that told the lawyer his friend was tracking with him.

“You know how this works,” Daniel continued. “If so much as a hint of this gets out before the election, the money vanishes.”

Though Graham’s good humor had evaporated, he hadn’t moved and so it was with his hands clasped behind his head, a slight lean to the chair, that he offered a reminder to his friend.

“Not to mention I would lose the vote of just about everyone in the county.”

Daniel made a small huffing sound and waved Graham off. “You can win the election without those votes. But you can’t win it without the money.”

Smiling, Graham said, “You’re acting as if we’re paupers. If we lose Weidman’s support, we’ll manage.”

Daniel knew that Graham didn’t mean that. The future senator had as much to gain—and to lose—as did Daniel. The difference between the money in question and the rest of the support they’d received since the start of the campaign was extreme enough to justify the alarm bells.

“We might manage,” Daniel said. “But you’ll never make a second term.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the positive one?”

“For the cameras and for the staffers, yes. With you, I’m just an old college friend who doesn’t want to lose out on a payday that will set me up for life because you can’t keep your family from lifting rocks they shouldn’t even know about.”

Graham didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He let the chair legs retouch the floor and placed his elbows on the desk. Seconds ticked by while he pondered Daniel’s words. Then he said, “I don’t know what CJ was looking for. And I don’t know how he would have heard anything.”

Daniel knew that Graham was telling the truth, and that little could be gained by continuing that line of conversation— the one that had the details of the bill already mapped out, to be introduced well into Graham’s term. Instead he chose to confront the skeleton he’d walked into the room with.

“Tell me about Eddie Montgomery,” he said.

If there was nothing else that was nice about this business, it was at least gratifying to see that his tutelage had paid off. Graham’s face barely moved a muscle, which meant there was likely not a reporter out there who could faze him, no matter how difficult the question.

“That was a long time ago,” Graham said after a time.

“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been if a reporter digs it up tomorrow.”

Daniel sank into the chair that Graham’s son had just vacated, regarding his friend from across the room.

“This is the kind of stuff you’re supposed to tell me on the front end,” he said. “Not have me find out by spending time with the locals.”

Graham remained silent for a while. His eyes were on his speech. Daniel could almost see him reciting bits of it in his mind.

“It was a hunting accident,” Graham said, his eyes still on the scattered papers. “There was a thorough investigation. The whole thing is a non-issue.”

“Um-hmm, um-hmm,” Daniel said, nodding. “Then why do two out of three people I’ve talked to think you popped that boy?”

Graham held up his hands. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

After a long pause, Daniel leaned forward in his chair and looked his friend and associate in the eyes.

“Who knows about it?” he asked.

“Thanks,” Dennis said for maybe the twentieth time—enough so that CJ felt no need to respond.

And, in truth, CJ didn’t have much to say. As he’d suspected, Richard had gone to the police this morning and dropped the charges, but neither he nor CJ had said anything to the suddenly liberated pugilist. Dennis had just assumed that CJ was responsible for his freedom—which CJ had neither confirmed nor denied.

Ronny’s was seeing a fair amount of traffic tonight, and CJ had fielded a few requests for autographs, although those were coming with less frequency now that he’d spent more time here, and because most of Ronny’s clients were at least semi-regulars. There was a point at which a celebrity guest became just another guest, and CJ was happy to see that happening.

His mood was more sullen than normal. He’d committed to making the long drive to Albany tomorrow in order to stand on a podium with his family in support of a brother he didn’t much care for.

Artie had been fine with granting CJ the day off. He’d told CJ that he’d operated Kaddy’s with sporadic help for the better part of three decades, and so he could manage a Friday by himself. He’d also agreed to take care of Thor while CJ was in Albany, and as the dog had shown considerable affection toward CJ’s boss in the short time he’d been in town, CJ thought that would work out just fine.

The jukebox moved from a Grateful Dead tune to something by the Tragically Hip, which was a band CJ had grown up on but that he’d lost when he moved to the South. It was something he could really get into, and he found himself getting lost in it. And that was fine with him, because it kept him from thinking about the things he shouldn’t be thinking about—or maybe the things he
should
be thinking about; it depended on your point of view. And that was Julie, who happened to be another man’s wife.

He wasn’t sure what was going on in his head. He didn’t know if his feelings for Julie were a result of the dissolution of his own marriage, or if they spoke to something he’d left undone when they were both much younger, but he couldn’t deny that the feelings were there. And he’d learned enough at his church— even considering his sporadic attendance—to know that coveting another man’s wife was not something to be taken lightly. It was all very confusing, and he was the first to admit that he was in no position to sort things out. So he settled in and let the music wash over him, knowing that the proper time for moral introspection would show itself in its own time.

Julie pulled the chicken from the microwave, testing it with a finger to make sure that it was—as the microwave avowed— defrosted. Satisfied, she dropped the boneless breasts into the pan holding the melted butter, garlic, and onion, then set about pulling the other ingredients from their various spots. Ben had called to say that he would be late, but with Jack coming home later and later from football practice it didn’t make much difference in her dinner preparation. The only wild card was Sophie, and she was good with whatever snack Julie gave her to bridge the gap between school lunch and dinner. She flipped the chicken and then started the rice.

While the chicken browned on the other side she picked her copy of
The Buffalo Hunter
off of the counter, flipping through until she found the spot at which she’d left off, deliberately avoiding looking at his picture on the back cover. She liked this book—a lot more than any of his others. She wasn’t a literary critic, but she couldn’t see any validity in the criticisms people were levying against it. In her opinion, it was vintage CJ Baxter, with a tighter story and homage to theme.

The chapter she was reading had the main character—a man who had lost his daughter early on in the novel—coming face-to-face with the person responsible for her death. It was an energetic scene, and Julie had been forced to stop reading earlier in the day as the narrative had pulled tears from her eyes.

She’d read all of CJ’s books and, like everyone else in Adelia, she’d looked for those things which were principally Adelia. And, if truth were served, she’d been looking for anything that might have been her. She’d found hints, maybe—but those could have been her wishing something that just wasn’t there. The women in his stories could have been anyone, really.

It wasn’t until CJ had come back to town that she’d allowed those thoughts to do anything but simmer below the surface. It was the height of arrogance to think that she would find a place in his books. Even so, she liked to think that she was there during the formative years, during the time when he would have been shaped as a writer, and his childhood experiences ingrained on him in a way that would need to be spilled upon the page.

She knew it was silly. It had been seventeen years, and he’d moved on. And so had she. Ben was a good man—everything she could have hoped for. She couldn’t have asked for anything more. Too, she was surprised at how quickly she’d fallen into whatever it was she’d fallen into. How, after attending church faithfully, after working through the tricky dynamics between obedience and grace, could she give herself over to whatever it was that had come into her house with CJ’s return?

“Mom, the chicken’s burning,” Sophie said.

Julie snapped to the present, rushing to the stove and removing the skillet from the burner.

Chapter 14

The curious thing to CJ was that he and Graham had roughly the same experience with this sort of thing—Graham through virtue of being a politician, and CJ through the countless readings and press appearances through which he’d suffered. In this case, at least, he wasn’t the guest of honor, which meant that he didn’t have to be as uptight as normal, nor did he have to worry about being put into a position where he might be tempted to toss a book at someone.

It was far too sunny for his liking. The steps of the capitol building took the full brunt of the noonday sun, so he had to squint to see past the podium and the people who gathered to hear his brother speak. He’d heard there was a hall inside, where his bother could have given his speech and delivered his impassioned plea for support, but he’d heard Daniel Wolfowitz say that natural light would do his brother good. It was symbolic of a new day in New York politics.

There were a lot of people present, although CJ had no idea how many were here for their own reasons, and how many had been encouraged to attend through Daniel’s influence.

CJ sat next to his father, who was dressed in a new suit, courtesy of Daniel. CJ had been offered one as well, but had opted for khakis and a buttoned-down shirt because, while he was willing to support Graham as a price for securing Dennis’s freedom, he refused to be uncomfortable in the process.

The remainder of the group onstage consisted of a few other members of the immediate family: Ben, because he was a successful businessman, along with Julie; Edward, who represented veterans; Maryann, who was expected solely because she was the candidate’s sister; and a gathering of political insiders, all of whom added capital to Graham’s candidacy.

CJ had to admit there was a buzz through the crowd, regardless of the fact that Graham’s campaign manager had likely handpicked most of them. There were also a lot of cameras, and the constant flashing was beginning to annoy him. Early on he’d tried to enforce a no-camera rule at his events, but both his editor and his agent had convinced him that doing so would alienate too many fans, and since fans bought books, he’d understood how that would be bad.

One interesting part of the day’s activities was when CJ learned that his brother had a press agent. Her name was Daphne Carlson. She was wearing a smart business suit, looked to be in her midtwenties, and it seemed to be her job to coordinate everything, although CJ knew that Daniel was the event’s real mastermind. Even so, Daphne handled with calm efficiency the media, the crowd, and the technicians who set up the podium and the sound system. CJ noticed the relatively large security presence evident throughout, but guessed that was to be expected in hosting an event on the steps of the capitol, and in the days of Homeland Security.