Free A Candidate for Murder by Joan Lowery Nixon Page A

good job of running the campaign office, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like her.
    I flopped against the padded seats in Justin’s car, so tired that I ached. “Thanks for coming,” I told him. “I didn’t know I’d be asking so much of you.”
    “You should be a guy,” he said. “Women take one look at you and expect you to carry all the heavy stuff. Edwin Sibley was the only other male who hung around, and he wasn’t much help.” Justin rotated his shoulders and rubbed his arms.
    I reached over and massaged the back of his neck. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and said, “Mmmmmm, yeah, that feels good.”
    In a few moments he opened his eyes and looked at me warily. “Are we supposed to go to that reception tonight?”
    “No,” I said. “Mom thought I’d better skip it. I’ve got too much homework.”
    Justin sat upright and looked hopeful. “Homework. That’s right. I’ve got a big paper coming up. How about if we only work at the office every other day?”
    “If you don’t want to work there at all, it’s fine with me,” I said. “I thought they’d need a lot of help, but they had a ton of people already helping, and frankly,when I asked you to go with me I could picture us side by side, working together. It was sort of romantic.”
    Justin laughed and turned the key in the ignition. “I can think of better ways of being romantic.”
    So could I.
    It wasn’t until after Justin had dropped me off at home and I had dumped my books on the entry-hall table, as usual, that I realized my shoulder bag was missing. “Oh, no!”
    “What’s the matter?” Mom asked as she came down the stairs.
    “My shoulder bag,” I said. “I left it on the floor next to my chair at Dad’s office.”
    “Do you need it before tomorrow morning?”
    “Yes, I do. My wallet’s in it and my list of homework assignments and all the rest of my stuff. I have to go back and get it.”
    Mom looked at her watch. “Velma has your dinner almost ready.”
    “It won’t matter if I’m late for dinner. I’ll feel better about it if I go for the bag now. People who might look through those big windows into the office could probably see it, and I don’t want someone breaking in to get it.”
    “Do you want me to drive you?” Mom asked.
    “No,” I said. “You and Dad have that reception to get ready for. If you lend me your car I can take care of this myself. I won’t be long.”
    Mom gave me the car keys and an extra key to Dad’s office. It didn’t take long to drive downtown, since I was traveling against the rush-hour traffic, but I was halfwaythere when it dawned on me that I was driving without my license. I drove very cautiously, scared to death I’d make some mistake and get picked up. The last thing I wanted to get was a traffic ticket.
    I gave a huge sigh of relief as I parked in the lot next to the office. I’d made it! My mind was on my driver’s license, which was in my shoulder bag, as I ran to the front door of the office and opened the door. It wasn’t until I was inside, with the door shut behind me, that I stopped hurrying long enough to notice that in one of the back rooms a light was on. I heard a sliding sound, like a desk drawer shutting, and the light was snapped off.
    “Delia?” I asked.
    I waited for someone to appear in the open doorway, but there was only silence.

Cha p ter 8
    A figure slid from the door into the short hallway as I snapped on the light switch.
    “For goodness’ sakes!” Francine cried. She leaned against the wall and put a hand over her heart, loudly gasping for breath. “You scared me to death!” she complained.
    My first reaction was to apologize, but those gasps were too fake to be believed, and I realized that Francine was trying to put me on the defensive. “What were you doing back there in the offices?” I demanded.
    “For that matter, what are
you
doing here?” She walked toward me as she spoke and stopped about ten feet away.
    “It’s not the