Deadly Election (9781101619223) Read Online Free PDF Page B

other local dignitaries until Mrs. Bigelow came out carrying various plates. By the time she was done, the table was covered with eggs, bacon, potatoes, flapjacks, biscuits, and muffins, with their choice of honey or butter, and then maple syrup.
    “It all looks great, Mrs. Bigelow.”
    “I hope you and your guests enjoy it, Clint.”
    As she went back to the kitchen, Gryder looked at him and said, “Clint?”
    “Like I said,” Clint replied, “we have an understanding.”
    “I guess so,” Gryder said. “I don’t know anyone else Mrs. Bigelow has ever had an understanding with.”
    “What can I say?” Clint asked. “I have a way with women.”
    “Some women,” Carla said into her cup.
    “I think we better eat while it’s hot,” Clint said, ignoring her. “Keep talking, Will.”
    They all reached for food while Gryder went on…

TWELVE
    After breakfast Clint, Gryder, and Carla went into the living room so Gryder could finish his rundown on who Clint would be meeting that night.
    “You’ll have to be cordial and charming to everyone,” Gryder ended. “After all, we need their money.”
    “Charm the women,” Carla said.
    Both men looked at her.
    “Sorry?” Clint asked.
    “Charm the women,” she said again. “They’ll get their husbands to give you money.”
    “She has a point,” Gryder said. “The way to the men is through their women.”
    “What if they get jealous?”
    “We said charm them,” Gryder said, “not take them to bed.”
    “Will!” Carla said, but there was no blush. She was not as outraged as she wanted them to think.
    “Well, all right,” Clint said. “I guess I better get dressed for my little shopping trip with Carla.”
    “I’ll be going,” Gryder said. “Carla will pick you up tonight and bring you to the party.”
    “Where is it?”
    “In the home of one of our biggest supporters.”
    “
Our
supporters?”
    “Supporters of the party,” Gryder said. “But after tonight I’m sure she will be yours as well.”
    As Gryder left, Clint looked at Carla and said, “She?”
    “Many of the biggest contributors are women,” she said. “Why don’t you get dressed while I see if Mrs. Bigelow will give me some more coffee.”
    “I’ll be down quick,” Clint promised.
    He went upstairs and put on a clean pair of jeans and a chambray shirt. He pulled his boots on, knowing that one thing Carla was probably going to insist on was new ones. He’d had these for months and they were just starting to fit well.
    Last he grabbed his New Line, tucked it into the back of his shirt, then covered that with a lightweight jacket. When he came back down, Carla was standing in the front hall, drinking coffee and waiting.
    “Is that shirt chambray?” she asked.
    “It is,” he said. “I picked it up in Labyrinth before we left.”
    She approached him, put her hand against his chest to feel the material.
    “Maybe I don’t have as much work to do as I thought.” Then she looked down at his boots. “Or maybe I do.”
    “Shall we go?” Clint asked.

THIRTEEN
    Clint was used to picking up his clothes from a general store or mercantile. Sometimes, when he was in San Francisco or New York, he’d buy something from one of the large men’s clothing stores. The stores in Austin that Carla took him to were on par with those. Dedicated specifically to men’s clothing, with tailors right there on staff to get the proper measurements.
    Carla bought him shirts at first, then had him measured for some special suits.
    “And we need one for tonight,” she told the tailor.
    “Tonight?”
    “Yes,” she said, “it’s very important.”
    “It’s very unusual,” he said. “Not easy to make a suit in a matter of hours.”
    “Might you have something you already started for someone?” she asked. “Maybe they didn’t pick it up?”
    The tailor, a small man in his sixties, peered at her over the wire frame of his glasses.
    “Yes, yes,” he said, “I do have some unfinished