Obsession, Deceit and Really Dark Chocolate (11 page)

Why didn’t I believe that? “So Mr. O’Reilly was really poking his nose where it didn’t belong. I suppose things are easier for you now that he’s gone.”

Anne swallowed hard and she leaned back in her chair. “I’m not glad that he’s dead if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not a monster no matter what Fitzgerald would have people believe.”

“That’s obvious,” said Anatoly. “But I think what Sophie was getting at is that if the man on Fitzgerald’s team who was investigating you is no longer around, you will now have the luxury of focusing on the issues that you’re so passionate about rather than having to defend your personal life.”

“Of course I want to talk about the issues,” Anne said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m glad Mr. O’Reilly is dead. What happened to him was just…horrific.” Anne said the last word with feeling, and she paused for a moment as if to consider its truth. “It also perfectly demonstrates why gun control is so important,” she continued with considerably less emotion. “No one should have the means to randomly kill someone on the street. It also demonstrates why we need to reach out to the urban youth. If we spent more money on our schools and made it possible for parents to find safe low-income housing…”

I tuned out. Whether or not she was willing to admit it, Anne Brooke’s life was a lot easier without Eugene around. But would she really have someone killed just so she could cover up a few affairs?

Anatoly crossed his ankle over his knee and smiled at her benignly. “You have some wonderful ideas. I wish you were running for Congress in
my
district.”

This from the man who had voted for the Terminator.

“I’m also impressed with how you’re able to stay so well informed about the goings-on in your opponent’s camp.”

Anne shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that not only do you know that Eugene O’Reilly was the person Fitzgerald enlisted to research your past, but you also know a lot of personal details about O’Reilly himself.”

Anne laughed but it sounded forced. “You give me too much credit. I know very little about Mr. O’Reilly, just what I’ve heard through the grapevine, from William and from the newspapers.”

“You seem very confident that Eugene’s confession to William about his having an affair was false,” Anatoly pointed out. “And you know his position on gun control. You even seem to have some insight into what he was like as a person. You said that he was an awful man with no scruples. Surely you didn’t make that assessment based solely on the little bit of information William was able to share with you.”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “I must say, Anatoly, you are the most inquisitive photographer I have ever met.”

Ha! Anatoly had just blown his cover, big-time! I, on the other hand, was playing out my role perfectly.

“I’m actually a photojournalist. It’s a job that requires a certain amount of inquisitiveness.”

And he had recovered. Damn it all to hell.

“I see. Anatoly, the political world is a small one. I may not have had the chance to converse with Eugene personally, but I certainly am acquainted with a number of people who have. Everyone knows about Eugene’s selective adoption of biblical ethics.”

“‘Selective adoption of biblical ethics’?” I repeated. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“It means that he had a reputation for being very dedicated to his wife, or at least to his marriage vows. However, he doesn’t pay any heed to Jesus’ suggestion that we refrain from throwing stones at one another.”

“Maybe he didn’t think he lived in a glass house,” I suggested.

“We
all
live in glass houses, Sophie,” Anne said with a tone that hinted at a superiority complex. “If you can’t see inside it’s because the glass is tinted, but if you pound on it with enough force it
will
break.”

“That’s very true,” Anatoly agreed, “and eloquently stated. I wonder, do you think O’Reilly was the only one responsible for leaking the reports about your supposed infidelities? What about the reports of your previous drug use and the abortion?”

“That was a long time ago,” Anne snapped.

“I am well aware of that,” Anatoly said soothingly. “As far as I’m concerned your ability to kick an addictive habit is a tribute to your personal strength and courage.”

Wow, he was laying it on thick.

“But I was just trying to figure out if Mr. O’Reilly might have had help in his attempts to slander you.”

“I’m sure Fitzgerald encourages his team to share any information that could potentially hurt my campaign, but I have a hunch that Mr. O’Reilly was the only one who made a career out of it.”

“I see. And before he died…do you have any reason to believe that he was trying to expose anything other than all of your past affairs?”

“
All
of my past affairs? I’ve had
two.
That’s it! They were a long time ago and I’ve apologized for them!”

“Forgive me, I misspoke. I’m just trying to get a handle on how low Fitzgerald is willing to go in the name of winning.”

Anne leaned forward and lowered her voice to a kind of growl. “Fitzgerald would do anything to win. He may like to pretend that he’s the perfect Christian, but I guarantee you he’s not a kindhearted man. If I was the one who had been shot instead of Mr. O’Reilly, Fitzgerald would have offered the gunman a job on his campaign.”

When the interview was over, Anatoly snapped a few pictures of Anne standing next to her campaign volunteers and talking on the telephone to a nonexistent person. Unlike some people, I didn’t feel the need to play both photographer and journalist, so I stood aside as they did their thing.

“What is this for?”

I looked up to see a pleasant-looking salt-and-pepper-haired man looking down at me inquisitively.

“It’s just a photo shoot for
Tikkun
magazine.”

“Tikkun?”
The man released a low whistle. “Impressive. I’m surprised they’re interested in a small district race.”

“It’s an article about how political campaigns are conducted. I’m Sophie Katz, the reporter. Who are you?”

“Sam Griffin, Anne’s husband.”

“You’re kidding!” I shook his hand enthusiastically. “What an unexpected surprise Mr.…I’m sorry, what did you say your last name was?”

“Griffin. Anne kept her maiden name. It’s more liberated.” There was a note of resentment in his voice. With everything I had read about Anne it seemed to me that her unwillingness to change her name was the least of his problems.

“Do you help Anne with her campaign?” I asked.

“She has my full support, but I’m nowhere near savvy enough to be a political consultant. I make a living as a doctor.”

“Oh? What do you specialize in?”

“I’m a nutritionist. Perhaps you’ve read my book,
Broccoli for Life?
”

That’s right, the gas guy Johnny was talking about. “It’s on my must-read list.”

Sam Griffin nodded and looked at his wife admiringly. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She was born to be in front of a camera.”

I followed his gaze. Anne wasn’t unattractive, but “beautiful” was a stretch. Then again maybe I would see her with different eyes if I didn’t suspect that she had killed a man.

“How long have you been married?” I asked.

“Two years.”

“Practically newlyweds,” I said with a smile. I had uncovered news reports revealing that Anne had divorced the father of her teenage son, but I had found very little written about her latest union.

“I think we’ll always be newlyweds,” he sighed. “She’s such a remarkable woman. I completely adore her.”

“Really?” I quickly realized how that sounded and tried to adjust my tone. “I mean she’s obviously worthy of adoration, but most men don’t fully appreciate the women in their lives.”
Like the one currently photographing your wife.

“There’s no way to be with Anne without appreciating her. She’s amazing.”

Sam was beginning to annoy me. I gave him a discreet once-over. He didn’t
look
like a freak. He was wearing a pair of dress slacks matched with a tasteful sport coat. He wasn’t buff but he wasn’t out of shape, either. He was the kind of guy who was attractive enough to show off to friends but not so gorgeous that you had to worry about him outshining you. The perfect husband for a woman who was running for office.

“Sam!” Anne waved at her husband as Anatoly put his camera back in its case. “You’re right on time for our lunch date.” She walked to his side and linked her arm through his. “It’s hard finding quality time to spend with your spouse when you’re in the middle of a campaign,” Anne explained, “but Sam and I always find a way to do it.” She batted her eyes at him.
Literally batted her eyes.
Who does that? But judging from the way Sam’s chest puffed up it was clear that he enjoyed it.

“I have all the photos I need.” Anatoly crossed to my side and smiled at the sickeningly happy couple. “Thank you so much for your time.”

“No, thank you.” Anne smiled. “I have an enormous amount of respect for your publication and I am honored to be featured in it.”

The quintessential politician. I managed not to gag and bid both Anne and her brainwashed husband goodbye. I didn’t say a word to Anatoly until we stepped outside. “How did you find out about the interview?”

“How many times do I have to remind you that I’m a private detective?”

“So what does that mean? Do you have my phone tapped or something? Because it’s not like I posted my meeting with Anne on the Internet.”

“I know you, Sophie, and I know that you wouldn’t invite me to lunch at a restaurant that doesn’t have a full liquor license unless you weren’t planning on showing up.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not joking. You told me that you pretended to be a journalist when talking to Fitzgerald, so I put two and two together and I called Brooke’s campaign headquarters claiming that I was your photographer and needed to double-check the time of the interview. Just like that they confirmed my suspicions.”

“Just because you figured it out doesn’t prove you’re a good detective,” I grumbled.

“That’s exactly what it proves,” Anatoly said with a smirk. “Now that we’ve finished the interview, there is nothing left for you to contribute to this investigation. I’ll take it over from here.”

“I told you once and I’ll say it again—I’m not leaving this whole thing to you.”

Anatoly scowled. “Why do you care so much? Why is it so important to you that you personally investigate this?”

I swallowed and looked away. “I’m using the experience to enhance my writing. I’m going to use this tragedy as a basis for a fictional novel that will touch people’s lives.”

Anatoly burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re going to touch people’s lives? Sophie, don’t you read your own books? Adam Sandler movies have more depth.”

“That is so not fair! My books are often very touching!”

“Hardly…although I will say that some of your sex scenes may prompt readers to touch
themselves.
”

“Cute. You know, you’re in no position to question my motives. At least I’m not bilking Melanie for thousands of dollars up front. And don’t tell me you’re not. I see the evidence.” I gestured to his Harley that was parked not far away. Obviously it had been fixed.

“Melanie is the one who set the price for my services,” Anatoly said. “I told her she was offering me way too much, but she insisted.
Somebody
told her that ten thousand dollars is what I normally charge, and considering who I have to deal with I don’t think I’m being overpaid.”

“Listen, Anatoly, there is no way in hell that Melanie will let you work on this case alone.”

Anatoly’s eyebrows furrowed. “Funny you should say that. When Melanie first contacted me, she and I agreed that you shouldn’t be involved in this. Suddenly she’s changed her mind. Why is that, Sophie?”

“Simple, she realized that I’ve already dug up a lot of valuable information and she wants me to continue to build on my leads.”

“I got the feeling it was more complicated than that. Tell me, why is it that during our conversations Melanie now refers to God as a ‘higher power’?”

I bit my lip and tried to think up a response.

“Did you tell her I was an addict of some kind?” Anatoly pressed.

Just then I heard my cell phone ringing in my handbag. Literally saved by the bell. I grabbed it and pressed it to my ear, not even bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Sophie, is that you? It’s Johnny, as in Fitzgerald’s Johnny. Wait, that sounds wrong. I didn’t mean anything by that—I’m not Fitzgerald’s Johnny, I’m your Johnny. Wait, that sounds bad, too…”

I squeezed my eyes closed. This was almost as bad as talking to Anatoly. Almost, but not quite. “Johnny, are you calling because you set something up with Maggie Gallagher?”

Anatoly raised his eyebrows at the name and I gave myself a mental slap for clueing him in on a lead.

“Um, yeah, I mean no. Maggie’s being really squirrelly about being interviewed. I asked Fitzgerald if he would talk her into it and he said he’d try. I don’t really get that. Fitzgerald’s the boss, he shouldn’t have to try. He should just tell her to do it and then she would. She works for him. It doesn’t make sense to me. Does it make sense to you?”

“Not really,” I admitted. Just then a large truck went by. I turned my back to the street to avoid getting dust in my eyes.

“Was that a car?” Johnny asked. “Is this your cell phone? You didn’t tell me this was a cell phone number. That’s great! That means I can reach you even when you’re out! Do you even have a home phone? Because a lot of people just use cells these days.”

“I have a home phone number, too,” I admitted, secretly glad that I had only been stupid enough to give him one of my numbers. “If you haven’t been able to get me an appointment with Maggie, then why are you calling?”

“I wanted to invite you to a party. Do you like parties? Who doesn’t, right? I’m having a dinner party on Thursday night. It’s a housewarming party to celebrate my recent move to El Cerrito.”

“Who else did you invite?” I did
not
want to go to this party, but if Eugene’s coworkers were going to be there, I probably should.