Senate Cloakroom Cabal (17 page)

An airport security officer near it waved and said, “Hi, Johnny,” as we walked to it. Once we were on our way, Johnny said, “Governor and Mrs. McAllister are at the country club and would like you to join them for lunch.”

“Thank you.” I was entering into a new world. I'd never eaten at a country club.

“I'll see to your check-in at the hotel, if you'd like. I believe the governor would like you to spend the afternoon with him.”

“That would be fine, but just my carry-on . . . I'll keep my computer bag with me.”

“Yes ma'am.”

I saw a few high-rises off in the distance. We skirted that area, driving through a light commercial district that slowly transitioned into scruffy residential. A mile or two later, the homes became significantly upgraded, the yards manicured, and the streets lined with huge, old trees that formed a canopy across the two-lane road.

We pulled into a private roadway. The name
Swale Hollow Country
Club
was on the white brick pillars bracketing the drive. The tree-lined road took us up a slight incline, and I saw pieces of the golf course through gaps in the foliage. Johnny stopped in front of a four-story structure replete with large pillars. Johnny escorted me through the spacious lobby to a terrace that overlooked a swimming pool to the left and a large putting green to the right. As we neared a café-like area, a trim elderly man with white combed-back hair stood. He was dressed in white slacks and a blue blazer with an open-collared, lightly striped, white shirt.

“Ah, Johnny. Thank you. Be back in an hour and a half.”

“Yes sir. I'll get Ms. Wolfe checked in.”

“Excellent. Ms. Wolfe, it is a pleasure. I'm Rufus McAllister.” He turned to his wife, who was now standing.

“Call me Laura, please.”

“Sara Jane, this is Laura Wolfe.”

“Mrs. McAllister.” I accepted her extended hand.

“Laura, such a beautiful name. Welcome.”

I asked if my taking notes would bother them.

Mrs. McAllister smiled. “Certainly not, especially for such a good cause.”

Rufus was a good storyteller and regaled me with some background about his senator daughter. Mrs. McAllister barely made a comment.

After our meal, the governor announced, “I'm going to show Laura around.”

Mrs. M and I stood. She smiled graciously. “I have things to tend to. We'll meet later.”

It was his party. She had made her requisite appearance and now slipped away right on cue. Rufus, who insisted we be on a first-name basis, took out his cell. “We're ready to go, Johnny,” and clicked off. “I'd like to show you Ro's town, show you where she ‘hung out.'”

I seriously doubted Roanne McAllister had ever
hung out
, in a kid's sense of the word. However, Rufus was the ringmaster, and I, the little kid with the pink cotton candy. He talked about his daughter's growing up, the pageants, her education, and marriage to H.T. Dalton. I took notes. He would interrupt his narrative each time we approached some memorable landmark, in his mind, in the life of his little girl.

“Okay, Johnny, let's go home.” We'd been driving around for nearly two hours.

“Yes sir.”

This was Rufus McAllister country, and I had the feeling I was getting more of that than the life and times of Roanne Elizabeth McAllister Dalton.

But it was all background and part of what I had to do.

“Well,” Rufus said self-satisfied, “that ought to give you something to fill the pages of your newspaper.”

“Probably no more than a couple of paragraphs.” I couldn't resist that, but I hastened to add. “It's valuable background.”

He grunted. “Background.”

“Editors,” I replied. “The story is the senator. You've given me all the public stuff . . . how about Roanne, the daughter. What did she do? What did you do with her?”

“She was always so pretty. Startlingly beautiful,” he said wistfully.

I thought I was losing him, but then he came around.

“She played with dolls, the normal stuff, until she was about four. That's when the modeling and the pageants started. After that, it was all about clothes, hairdos, and makeup—not my kind of thing. She's had her own bank account since the age of five and an investment portfolio since she was eight, with a financial advisor to go along with it. Of course, her mother was in charge of all that.”

He said that as if he was reading someone else's bio. Detached. He paused and looked out the car's side window. He became pensive, not the outgoing warrior of the political wars. We drove in silence. I waited.

“Seems she never had much of a childhood, what with me in politics and running a business. Her brother Rusty was born a little before Ro's fourth birthday. That's about when Ro's beauty pageants began. Regina, Reggie, came along two-and-a-half years later. Sadie—that's my wife Sara Jane— had her hands full with Ro's goings and comings, so we hired a full-time nanny for the younger two.”

I heard sorrow in his voice.

“I'm afraid the two younger ones developed a resentment toward Ro, but that didn't come out until they were both in their teens, when Ro went off to college. They sort of teamed up on their mama. I thought Sadie was going to have a nervous breakdown. To ease things up, I sent Rusty off to military school. Over time, that proved to make things worse.”

“It was always Ro, no matter what you did?”

“Yeah. Sadie was all wrapped up in Ro's winning the state and then going for the national crown. She lost there because she hadn't developed a real good talent. She was more beautiful than any of the rest . . .” His voice faded.

“I've seen the pictures. You're right. Yet, she came in third.”

“It was the only time—ever—she wasn't first. I thought it would destroy her. However, I didn't know the stuff Ro was made of. She took one on the chin and walked away smiling. Not one complaint. She said it was time to get her degree.”

“I see a lot of quiet strength in her.”

“Oh, she has that. I didn't want her to run for the Senate—just to fill out H.T.'s time, then come back home and teach at the university, like she always wanted. I figured the title of senator would just give her a little more prestige. I held out hope she might marry again and maybe, well . . . but that may not happen.”

“You have grandchildren, don't you?”

“Yeah, but none of them . . . my kids won't let their kids go into politics. I'm glad I get to see them when I do. Rusty and Reggie are tighter now than they ever were putting up a strong front against Ro, who loves them both. The shame is it's not Ro's fault. It's ours. Mine and Sadie's.”

I wondered if he was sharing this to explain away the rift. I liked that he trusted me enough to tell me. Of course, the old codger could be playing me. He suddenly shifted his body to an upright position, coming out of his reflectiveness, as one who suddenly awakens. He looked at me and rested his hand on my leg. Not the thing to do, but I held my reaction.

“Now,” he said in a hushed confidential way, “none of that is for publication.” He removed his hand.

I relaxed. “Never thought it was.”

He snorted a laugh. “You sure you're a newspaper reporter?”

“I know boundaries. Besides, this is a fluff piece about the senator, not an investigation. Oh, and I was warned off her siblings by her AA, Michael Horne.”

He reflected and then said very quietly, “I'd give anything for it not to be like that.”

I needed to change the subject and the mood. “What's your feeling about the issues surrounding the cancer drug?”

He looked at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You're okay, you know that?”

I smiled and waited. A reply wasn't necessary. The senator had suggested I not bring up that subject, but I sensed the timing was right; the old trooper was about to get back in the saddle.

“I got contacts in DC. People tell me what's going on. Ro handled herself real well, changing her position like she did.”

“You didn't have anything to do with that?”

“Not one damn thing,” he said emphatically, almost daring me to challenge him.

I waited.

“When she's here, we talk. She'll ask, but she's in charge of what she does.”

Even though we were sitting only inches apart, he shifted himself, turning more toward me, and leaned in to confide . . . without putting his hand on my leg this time.

“I don't know you, but I am curious why a Pulitzer Prize–winning reporter is a long way from her beat talking to a senator's father about dolls and pageants.”

He was a man of surprises, and I was caught off guard momentarily. To allow for some recovery time, I shifted my body toward him and smiled.

His eyes were bright and challenging, blazing into me.

“It's a cover,” I whispered. “The fluff piece will be written, and your daughter will have a major story, but that's not my real assignment.” I waited for a reaction. He was wily, but his eyes questioned me.

“My managing editor came up with the idea to explain my presence in Senator Dalton's offices and my times with the senator in the Capitol. My real assignment is to learn about Tutoxtamen, the reason why she contacted me. I'm not alone. I'm backed by my paper, unlike my travails trying to put together last year's serial killing case.”

He leaned back but kept his eyes on me. “Seems we are both sharing secrets,” he said in his folksy manner. “You are definitely on Ro's side.”

“Absolutely. She has a strong issue but can't go it alone. With Michael's help, we're beginning to put a scenario together. It's the pharmaceutical lobby and a few senators we're interested in. We're looking to turn up the heat and see who yells ouch.”

“How can you be going after the pharmas? Rogers is a pharmaceutical company, and they're getting their ears pinned back.”

“It's been known to have one member sacrificed for the betterment of all, right?”

“But why?”

“There's a lot of locker room speculation, but no clear-cut answer. I'll say this, neither Harley nor Sherman Rogers acts like they've been given the death sentence.”

“So you don't know,” Rufus said flatly, then snorted another laugh. “I'm liking you more by the minute,” he said, slapping my thigh, as men do to each other.

It was okay. I guessed now I was one of the guys.

40

T
he McAllister home sat behind manicured grounds atop a small rise, well back from the road. A half-dozen pillars fronted the mansion and reached to the third floor; a second floor balcony sat over the imposing front portico. The façade was white brick. I viewed some smaller buildings to the rear of the side-loading garage. One looked like a cottage, and then a large barn-like structure with double garage doors, and two one-story rambler-type buildings.

Senator Dalton had mentioned that her father took the saying “
A man's
home is his castle
” literally.

“We keep horses,” Rufus said. “Everybody in the family rides. It's the main way I get to see Rusty, Reggie, and the grandkids. My sister and her husband are visiting. Sadie's mother and father, both in their early nineties, are coming next week and staying a month. The old guy still plays golf. We'll go out a few times.”

The governor had gained wealth, prominence, property, and the envy of many. Yet, he said all that without feeling—it just came out like a rambling of facts. With everything he had, he did not have the family he wished for.

Mrs. M met us as we entered through the kitchen and fussed over me. Rufus excused himself, while she showed me around the house. It was all very impressive. She wished I could stay with them, but I told her that the paper preferred my staying on my own, that it was better this way. She told me she understood, and I believed she did.

She showed me her daughter's room. “It's so wonderful when Ro stays with us. She was just here last weekend. Time goes by so fast, I can barely keep track.”

I found her delivery to be an airy affectation, as if everything was a chore or to be tolerated. She walked me to an adjacent bedroom.

“You may use this room to relax and freshen up. We will have cocktails at 6:00.” She left, closing the door, like a parent would do after saying goodnight to a child.

I wanted to take advantage of the fifty minutes I had, taking off my shoes and plopping down on the quilt-covered, queen-sized bed. The oversized pillows forced me into too much of an upright position, so I removed them. I missed being at home and called Anna.

She was staying an extra two hours while I was away. I caught her in the process of giving Tyler a bath. He had finished his dinner, which meant to me that he'd smeared a lot over his face and in his hair. Anna assured me “things go good.” I thanked her and called Jerry.

“How's it going?” He had caller ID on his private office phone line.

“I'm sprawled out in the lap of luxury, my dear, in the McAllister's mansion.”

“Don't get too used to it.”

“The reality is that you and I are much better off.”

He laughed. “What's happening?”

“Well,” I said, retrieving one of the pillows to prop up on, “I was treated to a lovely lunch by Mr. and Mrs. McAllister at their country club, and then the former governor took me on a chauffeur-driven tour of where Roanne McAllister Dalton grew up. I'll tell you about that when I see you.”

“You're staying there? I thought—”

“I'm checked into a hotel. I'll go there after supper. The chauffeur checked me in during lunch. We have a photo shoot here tomorrow, so Rufus is going to walk me around the grounds later, see what appeals to me.”

“Rufus?”

“The governor insists on that. He's a down-home aristocrat.”

“Quite a combination.”