Fair Game Page 6

  “I’m going,” Ashley said, rising.

  “Why don’t you go with Ashley, Meg,” the Senator said. “I think she could use the company, and we’re almost done here.”

  “Are you sure?” Meg asked.

  “Absolutely,” Fair replied. “These things are never a lot of fun, and it will help my daughter to have you along. I promise we’ll leave your tape recorder running so you won’t miss a syllable of our scintillating conversation, all right?”

  “Okay,” Meg said, and rose from her chair. The two women moved toward the door.

  “Lieutenant Martin is waiting for us in the hall,” Meg said to Ashley. “I saw him on my way in here.”

  They slipped out into the hall as the others continued with the meeting.

  Martin was leaning against the far wall, smoking. He straightened when he saw them.

  “Hello, Lieutenant,” Ashley said. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute. I just want to pick up our coats inside.”

  “Miss Drummond is coming with us?”

  “Yes, is that all right?”

  “Fine,” Martin said.

  “I presume Sergeant Capo will be going with my father to the VFW hall at eleven?” Ashley asked.

  Martin nodded.

  Ashley went into her room and left Meg standing with the taciturn policeman.

  “So,” Meg said after a protracted, uncomfortable silence, “how about those Phillies?”

  Martin suppressed a grin, then chuckled.

  “Gotcha,” Meg said, pleased with herself.

  “I guess you did.”

  “I knew you couldn’t be such a hard guy.”

  “Don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Martin said soberly, playing along.

  “My lips are sealed,” Meg replied solemnly.

  Ashley emerged from her room wearing her raincoat and carrying Meg’s jacket over her arm. She glanced from one to the other.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing Meg her blazer.

  “Ladies, the car is waiting for us downstairs,” Martin informed them briskly.

  They descended to the limo, and Martin got into the front as he had before, while Meg and Ashley rode in the back. The school was only a short distance away, and the principal welcomed them at the door and led them into an auditorium, where the student body was assembled to hear Ashley’s address. Flashbulbs popped as she took over the podium after the principal’s welcoming introduction. She talked to the kids about the importance of education and their role as the hope of the future, giving the standard “school speech,” and then posed for more pictures afterward. She was photographed with the principal, the assistant superintendent, and the President of the student body, an energetic redhead who told her that he hoped her father would “knock ‘em dead.” Martin and Meg stood on the sidelines, observing the scene, and it wasn’t until they were all heading back to the car, surrounded by reporters, that Ashley said in an aside to Meg, “What was that about when I went to get our coats?”

  “What was what about?” Meg rejoined innocently.

  “You know what I mean. When I got back, you and Martin were both grinning about something.”

  “Oh, just a joke. Nothing major.”

  “A joke?”

  “Yeah. He’s not as dull as he’s trying to appear.”

  “Somehow I guessed that,” Ashley replied dryly.

  Martin came up behind them, and Ashley didn’t pursue it any further.

  When they got back to the hotel, Meg went to make some arrangements with the desk clerk, and Ashley was left with Martin.

  “Well, thank you, Lieutenant,” Ashley began, then staggered suddenly as she was walking, lurching forward erratically.

  Martin was at her side instantly, taking her elbow and steadying her against him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly.

  “I... think so. I just got a little dizzy for a moment.”

  “Sit down over here,” he said, leading her to a loveseat in the lobby. He sat next to her, leaning forward to watch her face.

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Better, thank you.”

  “Do you want a glass of water or something?”

  Ashley shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Martin examined her slight frame and had an inspiration. “Did you eat any breakfast this morning?”

  Ashley bit her lip and didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

  “How about last night?”

  Ashley looked at the floor.

  “Can you remember the last time you ate anything?” Martin finally asked, rephrasing the question.

  Ashley sighed and shrugged.

  “I think I know how to solve this problem,” Martin said firmly, standing and taking her arm. He marched her directly to the hotel restaurant and confronted the hostess.

  “We’d like to be seated, please,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, breakfast is over and we won’t be opening again until twelve-thirty for lunch,” the hostess said smoothly.

  “This is Senator Joseph Fair’s daughter,” Martin said briskly, “and I am Lieutenant Martin of the Philadelphia Metropolitan Police.” He flashed his badge. “Miss Fair is a guest of this hotel, and I am here on official business. Miss Fair would like to be served, and we don’t want to deal with room service’s limited selection and the delay involved. I think you could find a way to accommodate her, don’t you?”

  The hostess gazed into his cobalt eyes for three seconds before capitulating. She unhooked the silken cord that barred their way and said evenly, “Please be seated anywhere you like. I’ll bring your menus shortly.”

  Martin followed Ashley to a table near the window and held the chair for her while she sat. When he was seated across from her she said, “Do you pull that macho-cop act very often?”

  “Only when it’s necessary.”

  “And it’s necessary now?” she asked.

  “To keep you from fainting, yes.”

  “I wasn’t fainting.”

  “Then what were you doing?”

  She thought a moment. “Stumbling?” she suggested.

  “Looked like it. You need food.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” Ashley replied meekly.

  The hostess returned with menus, and Martin asked her, “What would be fastest?”

  “A sandwich, or omelet, I suppose,” she said.

  He looked at Ashley.

  “An omelet,” she said.

  “With toast,” he added. “And some fruit.”

  “Anything for you?” the woman asked.

  “Just coffee.”

  “I’ll give your order to your server. She’ll bring your setups in a moment.” The hostess left, and Martin said, “You know, you should take better care of yourself. You won’t be of any help to your father if you land in the hospital.”

  “Missing a few meals isn’t going to land me in the hospital,” Ashley said dismissively.

  “How do you know? If you actually do pass out, where do you think they will take you? Disneyland?”

  A waitress arrived and deposited placemats with silverware and napkins on the table. When she left, Ashley said, “You’re an unlikely looking nurse, Lieutenant Martin.”

  “Just using common sense,” he said gruffly.

  “Do you provide this service for all the people you protect?”

  “I’ve never protected anybody before, but most people would have the good judgment to eat once in a while and not try to live on coffee.”

  “I do eat. Once in a while.”

  “No appetite?” he asked.

  “Not much.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Busy, nervous. Something.”

  The waitress came back with the food, and Martin watched, sipping coffee, as Ashley dutifully plowed through the omelet, a slice of toast, and half an apple.

  Finally, she held up her hand in surrender and said, “That’s it. I’m full. I can’t eat another bite. R
eally.”

  “You did all right,” Martin said.

  “Thank you, sir. And thank you, too, for bringing me here. I do feel better.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  “More coffee?” the waitress said at his elbow.

  “No, thanks. Just give me the check, please.”

  The waitress scribbled a total on her pad and ripped off the top sheet, handing it to him.

  “You can put that on my father’s tab,” Ashley told him.

  Martin put it on the table with several bills. “It’s on me,” he said.

  Ashley glanced at her watch. “Oh, dear, I’d better get going. My father will be back any minute.”

  She stood, and Martin followed her out of the restaurant. They rode back up in the elevator, and as she entered the Senator’s suite she turned and said, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I do appreciate your concern, and I promise to take better care in the future.”

  Martin nodded, then watched as she disappeared through the door.

  * * * *

  By late afternoon, everyone had reassembled in the hotel. They went out in the evening again, to a reception that ran late, and by the time they got back Martin was developing an appreciation for why Presidential candidates always looked so tired.

  * * * *

  The next day was a break. The Senator was closeted with his press aide all day, sending down for room service, and Ashley worked in her room. Martin and Capo sat in Ashley’s anteroom, playing cards and watching television, hanging around like mafia soldiers while the don was occupied. Meg Drummond came and went, nodding as she passed the two policemen, finally prompting Capo to say conspiratorially, “I don’t think this crew could get dressed in the morning unless that lady told them exactly what to wear.”

  Martin grinned. “Intimidated, Anthony?” He glanced at the clock. It was eight-thirty p.m.

  Capo was outraged. “Who, me? I’m a liberated man. But I’m telling you, she’s amazing. There’s this computer in the Senator’s suite, and she’s got everything in there, his schedule and appointments and all the information he needs. And she runs that thing like a whiz, pressing buttons, popping discs in and out like they were pieces of toast. She handles the groupies like a Prussian general, too. Nobody gets past her unless she wants them to. It’s amazing to watch her in action. She’s a roadblock or a gate, depending on what’s happening and who wants to pass through.”

  “Pretty impressive, huh?”

  “She impresses the hell out of me,” Capo replied, examining his hand. He picked out two cards and placed them on the table.

  Martin looked them over and selected one from the deck. As he did, the bedroom door opened and Ashley emerged, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She was wearing slacks and carrying a notebook and pencil.

  “Gentlemen,” she said.

  Both cops looked up at her.

  “I was just about to call room service for coffee. Would you like some?”

  “Thanks, Miss Fair,” Capo said.

  She walked behind Capo and picked up a book lying on a table by the outer door. On her way back, she peered over Capo’s shoulder, pointed with her pencil, and said, “Gin.”

  She disappeared into her bedroom again.

  Capo looked down at his hand, rearranged a few cards, and shrugged.

  “Gin,” he said, fanning his cards out on the table.

  Martin sat back in his chair, laughing helplessly. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “Why not?” Capo replied. “It was there all along, I just didn’t happen to see it.”

  “You’re hopeless, Capo. I give up.”

  “Don’t give up yet. You owe me ten bucks.”

  “You actually think you’re going to collect on that?”

  “All right, all right,” Capo said with a wounded air. “But I warn you, I’m keeping track of all this.” He took a slip of paper out of his pocket and made a note on it.

  “Keep track, Capo. You’ll have the college tuition for the kids before you know it.”

  Capo jammed the note back into his shirt and said, “Mmm, you smell that perfume she leaves behind her? How much you think that stuff costs?”

  “You can bet it’s beyond your budget, Sergeant,” Martin replied dryly. “It would take generations of trust funds to afford that lady.”

  Capo looked at him for a long moment, then said, “Just what is irritating you, buddy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Could it be that you don’t have the trust fund, so you can’t afford her?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Martin snapped.

  “Figure it out. A smart guy like you shouldn’t have much trouble with it.”

  Martin stacked the cards, not replying.

  “So her family has bucks,” Capo said, as if Martin had answered. “Is that her fault? You keep acting like she’s playing the princess role around here, but I don’t see it. I do see her working like a dog and doing everything she can to cooperate with us. I’m sure you’ve observed the same thing. So I ask myself, what’s your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem,” Martin said stiffly.

  “Okay, fine,” Capo said, obviously content to drop the subject. He leaned across the table and added in a low tone, “What the hell is she doing in there? She’s been at it for hours.”

  “Legal work.”

  “Whose? I thought she was on a leave from that job.”

  Martin shrugged. “Don’t ask me. But people from the Justice Department keep calling her.”

  “What about loverboy?”

  “He’s back in Washington.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “I don’t think so. Apparently he goes back and forth a lot.”

  “Too bad. That guy makes me want to muss up his hair, which I think is dyed. Did I mention that?”

  “You mentioned it,” Martin answered, grinning. “You’re probably just jealous.”

  “Not me, Timmy, but I think one of us is,” Capo replied seriously.

  Martin fixed him with a baleful stare.

  “Hey, I’m allowed to offer an opinion on the subject,” Capo said defensively. “I’m a...”

  “... happily married man,” Martin finished for him. “I know, you’ve told me.”

  There was a knock at the outer door. “Room service.”

  Martin got up to answer it, and as he did Meg Drummond stuck her head in the door.

  “The Senator is about to retire, Sergeant Capo,” she said.

  “So early?” Capo said.

  “Long day tomorrow,” Meg replied.

  Capo picked up his jacket. “See you in the morning,” he said to Martin, and followed Meg into the hall.

  The waiter carried the tray in and set it on the cocktail table. Martin signed the slip and gave the boy a tip, then tapped on the connecting door.

  “Miss Fair, your coffee’s here,” he said.

  Ashley emerged after a few seconds of silence, lifting her hair off her neck and sighing.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “I could use a break.” She poured for both of them and inquired, “Cream?”

  “Black.”

  She handed Martin his cup and then added cream to hers.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “No dizzy spells?”

  “None at all, thank you. The omelet cure must have worked.”

  She sipped her coffee as she watched him take a deep swallow of his and then put his cup down to light a cigarette. He noticed her scrutiny and said self-consciously, “I hope you don’t mind my smoking. I guess I should have asked already.”

  “I don’t mind, Lieutenant. But I’d be careful around Jim. He has a thing about it. Thinks he can get lung cancer from secondhand smoke.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe he’s right,” Martin said neutrally, unwilling to get into the subject of Dillon. “Too late for me, anyway. I’d rather smoke than eat.”

  Ashley chuckled. �
�That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Why?”

  Martin shrugged. “It’s soothing, I suppose. Easy, and steady, and quiet. It’s always the same, always rewarding. Few other things in life are that consistent.”

  “I see.”

  “It helps me think.”

  “Do you do a lot of thinking, Lieutenant?” Ashley asked.

  He looked at her sharply, to see if she were baiting him, but her gaze was level and serene.

  “More of that than anything else,” he replied. “Police work is mostly trying to out-think the criminals, regardless of how many car chases you see on TV.”

  “Then you must be very good at it. I understand you’re the youngest lieutenant on the force.”

  There was no reply to that, and he made none.

  “This must be a very boring duty for you,” she added.

  “It’s different,” he answered.

  Her smile became impish. “It will get more so. Tomorrow evening we’re going to the opera.”

  He looked so distressed that she laughed.

  “It didn’t say that on the itinerary I was given,” he objected. “I would have remembered.”

  “Our plans have changed. We’re squeezing this into the schedule. Never been to the opera, Lieutenant?”

  He shook his head.

  “No worse than a trip to the dentist,” she said. “This one’s a benefit performance for the ACLU, a big booster of my father’s campaign. La Traviata.”

  He lifted his shoulders.

  “The story of Camille,” she explained.

  “Camille?” It sounded vaguely familiar.

  ‘“La Dame aux Camellias.’ Violetta. She dies prettily of consumption in the last act.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember now. She coughs herself to death, right?” He lifted his cigarette. “Think she was a smoker?”

  Ashley giggled. “In the original play, Dumas leads us to believe it was tuberculosis.” She sobered. “I’m afraid the occasion requires formal clothes.”

  “For me?” he asked, aghast.

  “For everyone attending. That includes you, Lieutenant. By the way, what is your first name? You weren’t baptized ‘Lieutenant,’ were you?”

  “Timothy,” he replied. “Tim.”

  “Well, Tim, we’ll have to order something for you. There’s a shop not far from here that my father has used. They can send something over tomorrow if you give me your sizes.” She went into her room and came back with her yellow legal pad. “Shirt?” she said, pencil poised.