Free Deadly Politics by Maggie Sefton

the bridge before Peter finds someone else to introduce me to.”
    _____
    â€œI told you not to worry. I’ve got it covered.” He took a drag on his cigarette, easing that irritating scratch in his throat.
    â€œI know you did, Raymond. I trust you. We all trust you,” the man’s deep voice came over the phone. “We simply want to make sure there’ll be no problems. No slipups of any kind. There may be some last-minute adjustments.”
    â€œI’ve told you before. This guy is a pro. He doesn’t slip up. Nothing throws him.”
    â€œGood, good. This one came up suddenly, so …”
    â€œNo time to take it up with committee, right?” Raymond joked before taking another drag.
    The man on the other end of the phone snorted. “Hardly. So tell him to be extra careful.”
    â€œHe’s always careful. That’s why he’s still alive and still in business. Stop worrying.”
    â€œWorry is how I stay in business.”
    Raymond gave a raspy chuckle. “Hey, are you going to Karpinsky’s funeral?”
    â€œI wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    â€œNow that he’s eliminated, you should have a clear path with the Banking committee. Who’s the new chairman?”
    â€œSenator Dunston.”
    â€œForesee any problems?”
    â€œNot at all. He’s already on board. He’ll start shifting the committee’s focus as soon as he takes the chair.”
    â€œWasn’t he the one you took to the Keys last year? Marlin fishing, as I recall.”
    â€œAnd Matzatlan and the Bahamas.”
    Raymond chuckled deep in his chest, stirring up an old rattle. “He likes those trips, doesn’t he?”
    â€œAnd the speaking fees. And the investment advice.”
    â€œNext, you’ll find his wife a job.”
    â€œHis son already started in the Stuttgart bank.”
    Raymond laughed out loud this time.

Four
    I spotted Karen as soon as I entered the high-rise harbor-front café. She was seated at a table beside a huge wall of windows, reading a newspaper. I hurried over to the table. “Is that the Washington Post? I need to check the obits page for the location of Karpinsky’s memorial service. I forgot to write it down.”
    â€œSorry, Molly, I left the Post at home. This is just a local gossip rag,” she said with a sheepish grin as she folded the paper and dropped it on the table.
    I picked up the tabloid-sized newssheet with bold type. “‘ D.C. Dirt . You read it here first.’ Looks sleazy.”
    â€œYeah, kind of. Don’t pay any attention. Those people aren’t real reporters, just wannabes.”
    I stared at Karen for a second, then at the paper, then back at Karen. There was something about this paper Karen didn’t like, and that made me curious.
    She reached across the table. “Don’t bother with it, Molly. I’ll throw it away.”
    That did it. The only reason I would care what was in this gossip rag was if I was in it. My heart sank to my stomach. “Karen, am I in this paper?” I waved it accusingly.
    Karen winced but didn’t answer.
    â€œThat bad, huh?”
    So much for flying beneath the radar. Brewster was right. I was busted. And it wasn’t even by Eleanor MacKenzie’s classy social network. It was some sleazy newsrag instead. Wonderful .
    â€œActually, the picture’s not bad,” Karen said, clearly trying to console me.
    Instead, my heart dropped all the way to my feet. “ Picture ?” I cried, then remembered the photographer wandering Russell’s reception. “I don’t believe this.” I scowled at the flimsy paper as I sat at the table. Paging through the D.C. Dirt , I prayed for a small, insignificant …
    It didn’t take long to find it. I couldn’t have missed the photo if I’d tried. It filled a quarter page. There I was, looking surprised as hell, immortalized in the