Ending the call, I stared at the screen for a long moment before setting the phone down on the table. The silence settled around us like morning fog.
“All we can do now is wait,” Arthur said finally, pushing to his feet. He went to the cabinet, pulled a bottle of wine, and set out two glasses.
“And drink,” he added, casting a glance at the empty corner. “And none for you.”
“She probably won’t see the message until Monday.”
“Naturally.” Arthur snorted, uncorking the bottle. “Lawyers don’t work past four, unless someone’s suing or dying.”
Crossing to the front window of Arthur’s apartment, I looked out toward Clare’s house across the street. Hopefully, Ocean was still buried in those photo albums. The door had been locked on the way out, but that didn’t stop the worry from creeping in.
When I turned back to the kitchen, Arthur had a plate of cheese and crackers waiting, along with two glasses of wine.
“Have you read what’s in that envelope? The letters?” I asked him.
“Only what Clare mentioned. General stuff about Madeline Hart. What she was about, what she’d done, and how she could speak out of both sides of her mouth without pulling a muscle.”
“In this day and age, why does that even matter? People with rap sheets longer than the Constitution still get elected to office.”
Arthur gave a wry laugh. “True. But those politicians don’t usually court votes from certain demographics while pretending to be saints.” He gave the wine in his glass a slow swirl. “It’s all polls and politics. Smoke, mirrors, and just enough moral outrage to keep the donations flowing.”
My cell rang. The number on the screen made me blink. It was the same one I’d left a message for only minutes ago.
“Well,” I said. “It looks like Catherine Lowe’s working overtime.”
Arthur rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together. Translation, there’s money in it for her.
I answered and switched to speaker, letting Arthur listen in.
After a quick introduction, the lawyer went straight on the defensive.
“My interest in purchasing a certain file folder from Ms. Randall, your mother, was on behalf of a client. It has nothing to do with Congresswoman Hart. My client?—”
“Let’s stop right there,” I cut in. “Your card was attached to the file you’re after. I found it among my mother’s belongings. Inside are letters from the congresswoman herself. And for the record, that folder is currently locked up safe at Rainbow Reef Books, with a friend of my mother’s.”
“Regardless of who owns it or has it in their possession, I’ve been retained for the purpose of purchasing the folder from you.”
“Well, I won’t work with an intermediary. What I want is a face-to-face meeting with the congresswoman, since she’s obviously the one making the request.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Lowe said.
“Well, then there’s nothing else to discuss,” I replied evenly. “Have a good night, Ms. Lowe.”
“Wait! Wait.” Her tone sharpened. “You do understand that the congresswoman is an important woman. She has responsibilities. She represents the people of Connecticut in Washington. Her time is taken up with drafting legislation, serving on committees, meeting with constituents?—”
“I’m not interested in her CV,” I interrupted her. “She wants something. I have it. Saturday morning, at the bookstore. Those are my terms. If she doesn’t show up, the folder…well, I’ll leave it to you to imagine in whose hands it could end up.”
“Ms. Randall, that’s quite unreasonable. And it borders on blackmail, I might add.”
“I’ve said nothing about wanting anything from her in return for documents that you say have nothing to do with her.”
The lawyer was silent.
“You heard my terms,” I continued. “We’re done here.”
I ended the call and looked at Arthur.
He raised his glass with a grin. “Sweetheart, you’ve got your mother’s spine...and her talent for putting people in their place. Love it.”
