Poisoned Politics Read Online Free PDF Page A

paper and typed message: ‘You’ll be sorry.’”
    An exhale of breath on the other end of the phone. “Good, good. We’ve put a lot of pieces into motion, Raymond. Everything has to work like clockwork.”
    â€œDon’t worry, it will. We’ve already started pushing the dominoes. Everything will fall into place, Spencer. Trust me.”
    â€œOh, we do, Raymond. We do. Call me once it starts.”
    â€œOf course.”

three
    Sunday
    I grabbed my car keys, purse, and coffee mug, ready to head out my kitchen door to run some errands. Early Sunday morning meant the shopping malls would be relatively calm for a couple of hours. After that, the crowds would arrive in force.
    I planned to head right across Key Bridge into Virginia then up the George Washington Memorial Parkway to Chain Bridge Road to the McLean, Virginia, exit. If I was lucky, I’d beat the shopping hordes to Tysons Corner. Since I was joining my cousins Nan and Deb and their husbands in Vienna, Virginia, later that afternoon, I figured Tysons Corner made sense. However, Tysons was one of the busiest shopping centers in Northern Virginia, so you had to be really slippery to not get stuck in traffic jams. Of course, knowing all the surrounding streets and alternate routes helped.
    Bruce meowed at me as I walked toward the driveway beside my townhouse. I gave him my regular admonition to leave the birds alone. Bruce simply looked at me, then licked his big paw. As I settled into my car that I’d finally been able to bring from Colorado, I heard the driving beat of “Brown Sugar” coming from my purse. I started the car, ready to begin the tricky process of backing out of the narrow Georgetown rowhouse driveway. By the time I retrieved my phone, Mick Jagger was already in full throat, and Samantha’s name flashed on the screen.
    â€œHey, I’m glad to hear from you,” I said when Mick disappeared. “I tried calling last night, but you were obviously still in the midst of counsel. What’s the word from the Wise Sage?”
    â€œMolly … can you come over to my house right now, please? I need to talk to you,” Samantha said in a voice so soft I could barely hear her.
    â€œSamantha, are you all right? What’s the matter?” I’d never heard her sound like that before.
    â€œI came home early this morning and … and found Quentin dead on my couch. He was just slumped over on the cushions.”
    An icy chill ran through me and caught in my throat. “Oh, no …” was all I managed to gasp out.
    â€œI thought he was asleep but when I couldn’t wake him, I checked his pulse.” Samantha’s voice caught. “God, Molly, it was awful! There were pills scattered all over the coffee table. The police just left a few minutes ago. The ambulance took him away. Please , Molly, can you come over? I need someone I can talk to. Someone I can trust.”
    â€œI’m leaving now,” I said, backing up quickly. To hell with the grass. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Have you called anyone else?”
    â€œJust my lawyer. Dear God, Molly.”
    â€œI’m on my way.”
    _____
    I handed Samantha a ceramic mug of English Breakfast tea then sat on a chair across from hers in her paneled library. The idea of sitting in the living room was out of the question.
    â€œHave you had anything to eat?” I asked before sipping my coffee. “I can make you something.”
    â€œI had a croissant and jam before I left Ber … my friend’s house this morning. I don’t think I could eat anything now.” She chewed her lip, as she clutched the mug in her lap.
    Her nervous behavior was so unlike Samantha that it was striking. I could only remember seeing her this rattled as an adult once before. When I went to see her before she flew off to Mississippi and went into seclusion after her young husband’s death. Eddie Tyler