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back into the envelope and tried to ignore the ache of envy that swept through her. She’d never looked at anyone the way Cara was looking at Tom in that photo. It was a subtle reminder that for all she’d accomplished in her business, she still went to bed alone every night.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Within three weeks of having met with Philip Norton, Simon had found a furnished town house to sublet in Arlington, packed up his belongings, and bid adieu to the run-down neighborhood he’d called home for the past several months. He’d also viewed eighteen hours of videotapes and read mountains of newspaper and magazine articles relating to the late President Graham T. Hayward. Simon had made a tentative list of people he’d like to speak with, then, using the Internet, set about the business of figuring out who on that list was still among the living.
    He’d positively eliminated seven of the names and was in the process of checking into yet another when the phone rang. Simon stepped over a pile of magazines and sorted through a stack of newspapers to locate the phone.
    “Keller.”
    “Philip Norton here, Simon. How’s it going?”
    “Good. Fine.” He managed to grab a magazine that was sliding toward the edge of the table and stop its forward motion.
    “I wanted you to know that I’ve read the pages of
Lethal Deceptions
you sent me.” Norton drew on his pipe. “I’m pleased with what I’ve seen. Your book has a lot of promise, Simon. It needs work, needs polish, but it has great potential.”
    “Really.” Simon sat on the edge of the sofa, drinking in the news as eagerly as a dusty field drinks in the summer rain. “You really think so.”
    “Yes. I really do.” Another puff on the pipe. “I have a few suggestions that we’ll talk about when the time comes, but all in all, I think it is quite good.”
    “Thank you, Philip.” Simon felt the slow release of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
    “Now, how are you doing with the project at hand? Have you had time to look over any of the materials I sent to you?”
    “You mean the fourteen boxes of documentary videos, newspaper and magazine articles, and interview transcripts?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ve been plowing through them since they arrived.”
    “And?”
    “And I’m starting to develop a feel for the subject. Hayward appears to have been a man who had many more friends than enemies. I started making a list of people I’d like to speak with and was just trying to track them down through the Internet.”
    Norton cleared his throat. “Who’s on your list, if I may ask?”
    “Well, I suppose the dead ones don’t much matter,” Simon muttered while he shuffled a few more papers in search of his list. “Of the ones who I know are still alive, I’m having the most difficulty hunting down Aaron Follows, Mike Huntley, and Miles Kendall.”
    “The last I heard, Follows was living in San Diego, but I can check that for you. Huntley I’d steer away from. And as for Miles Ken—”
    “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why steer away from Huntley?”
    “Because he’s a mean-spirited SOB who spent most of his time on the Hill starting feuds between other people. He won’t have anything good to say about anyone, but of course, it’s your call.” Norton added, “It is your book, Simon.”
    Simon got that feeling again—that Norton was keeping something from him. He found it annoying. Of course, he would track down and interview Mike Huntley, whether Norton wanted him to or not.
    “What about Miles Kendall? I can’t seem to bring up an address for him, though Social Security indicates he’s still alive. As Hayward’s Chief of Staff, I thought he’d have some interesting anecdotes to share.”
    “Well, he probably does, but he won’t remember any of them. Kendall’s an Alzheimer’s patient. From what I understand, he recalls nothing of his days in the White House.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. Having been so close to the President