Deadly Election (9781101619223) Read Online Free PDF Page A

actually a party.”
    “Ah, a party,” Clint said. “I see. Well, why don’t we eat these steaks before they get cold.”
    They each attacked their dinners.
    *   *   *
    When they were finished, Mrs. Bigelow came in and collected the plates.
    “That was excellent, Mrs. Bigelow,” Clint said. “I can’t remember when I had a better steak.”
    She hesitated, then the grim set of her face cracked slightly.
    “Thank you, sir. Will you be wanting dessert? I prepared a peach pie.”
    “Peach?”
    “Yes sir,” she said. “I was told it was your favorite.”
    “Yes, it is. I’d love peach pie.”
    “And coffee?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    “Black, and strong?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Coming up.”
    She left the dining room and Clint looked at Gryder.
    “You have me well scouted, Mr. Gryder.”
    “Will, please.”
    “All right, Will.”
    “Yes, sir,” Gryder said. “You see, that’s my job. To make sure everything is right.”
    “I thought that was Carla’s job.”
    “Um, yes, well,” Gryder said, “it’s her job, too.”
    “Tell me who I’ll be meeting at this party tomorrow night.”
    “Local dignitaries,” he said, “and possible contributors to your campaign.”
    “Ah, the contributors.”
    “They’re necessary,” Gryder said, “if we’re to run a strong campaign.”
    “I suppose so.”
    Mrs. Bigelow came out and put a slice of pie before each of them. Clint noticed that his was twice the size of anyone else’s. She then walked around and poured coffee for them all.
    “Anything else, sir?” she asked.
    “Wait,” Clint said.
    She stood there while he took a chunk out of the pie and tasted it.
    “Oh, my God,” he said, “this is the best peach pie I’ve ever had.”
    This time she almost smiled.
    “Perhaps,” she said, “tomorrow night I’ll be able to cook you a proper meal.”
    “We won’t be here for dinner tomorrow night, Mrs. Bigelow,” Gryder said.
    “We have a party to attend,” Carla said.
    Mrs. Bigelow sighed.
    “What about breakfast?” Clint asked.
    “Sir?”
    “In the morning,” he said, “I’d like a nice big breakfast.”
    “That would be fine, sir,” she said. “Yes, that would be no problem.”
    “That’s great.”
    She looked pointedly at his guests, whom she obviously had no use for, and asked, “Will there be any others for breakfast?”
    “Yes,” Gryder said, “Carla and I will both be here early.”
    “Very well,” she said. “Three for breakfast. I’ll see to it.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Bigelow.”
    “I’ll be in to clean up when you’ve finished your dessert.”
    She went back to the kitchen.
    “She likes you,” Gryder said.
    “Does she?”
    “And she absolutely hates us,” Carla said.
    “That’s okay,” Gryder said. “Clint’s the one she’ll be working for.”
    “About that—”
    “If not,” Gryder said, “if you should decide you prefer a hotel, well…Julius and Mrs. Bigelow will be let go.”
    “Let go?” Clint asked. “You mean…fired?”
    “Well, yes,” Gryder said, “I mean, if that’s what you really want.”
    Clint thought about the steak that had almost melted in his mouth, and about the hunk of delicious peach pie before him. He picked up the cup of coffee and sipped it. It tasted wonderful.
    That decided the matter.
    “No, no,” he said, cutting another hunk of pie and lifting it with his fork, “this house will be fine, just fine.”

ELEVEN
    Clint spent the night in a bed more comfortable than any he’d ever slept in before. In the morning, as the sun was streaming through the window, he didn’t want to get up.
    A man could get used to a bed like this—too used to it. He made himself rise.
    He could smell the scent of breakfast coming from the kitchen, and decided to go down and surprise Mrs. Bigelow.
    He walked through the dining room to the kitchen door. He knew he was taking a chance. Cooks in these kinds of houses were usually very territorial about their kitchens. He took a deep