Free The Last Victim by Kevin O'Brien Page A

beat-up metal desk, a brandnew computer, a framed photo of David and Eric, a philodendron plant, and room for little else. But she loved it.
    She looked up from her computer. “What’s going on?”
    “You know that apartment building fire this morning?” Shelley asked, folding her arms.
    Bridget nodded. “The El Teresa.”
    “The gym-cafeteria at Sacred Heart Grade School has been set up as a temporary shelter. They have clothes, cots, blankets, and food for about a hundred people, a lot of them families. A lot of them do not hable inglés —if I’m saying that right. They need volunteers to fix sandwiches and serve up dinner this afternoon. Your brother wants to volunteer you.”
    “Well, bless his heart,” Bridget said dryly.
    “Brad said he or Janice could pick up the boys from school. Meanwhile, he’s trying to round up a camera crew to go over to Sacred Heart . . .” Shelley trailed off as one of the volunteers, Wes Linderman, passed behind her.
    Wes was in his early twenties with straight, pale blond hair and the tall, broad-shouldered build of a basketball player. He was also a spy for Jim Foley. Bridget and Shelley had figured him out early in the campaign, but after consulting with Brad, they’d decided to keep him on. They didn’t want any more “volunteers” like Wes infiltrating campaign headquarters. They fed Wes just enough correct—harmless—information to keep Foley happy. And every once in a while, when they wanted to totally mislead Foley about a strategy, Shelley, Bridget, or someone else in-the-know would share with Wes some misinformation in the form of gossip. It worked like a charm. Bridget didn’t like having a Foley spy always wandering around just outside her little office, but at least they had control over the situation.
    “Hi, Wes!” Shelley called over her shoulder.
    “Oh, hi,” he said, lumbering toward his desk.
    “My, what big ears you have,” Shelley muttered under her breath. She stepped inside Bridget’s office and shut the door behind her. “Anyway, Jay Corby is trying to round up a camera crew to go over to Sacred Heart School with you.”
    Bridget rolled her eyes. “If Jay wants to send a crew over there to film me volunteering, I guess I can live with that. But I won’t arrive there with them, that’s just plain obnoxious. I know where Sacred Heart School is. Do me a favor and find out what time they want the volunteers to come by.”
    “Will do,” Shelley said. She glanced out Bridget’s office window—toward the main room full of volunteers. “Hmmm, our pal Wes is at his desk and on the phone already. I’ll bet he’s telling someone at Foley HQ where you’ll be this afternoon. It’s a good photo op. Foley would be a fool to pass it up. Huh. You might just get to serve up some supper with Jim Foley.”
    A short, copper-haired dynamo of a woman named Roseann was in charge of fixing dinner for the one hundred recently homeless people. The fifty-something woman made Bridget feel welcome, then immediately got her an apron and put her to work, fixing ham and cheese sandwiches in Sacred Heart School’s kitchen. When the camera crew arrived, Roseann didn’t make a fuss. Bridget insisted Roseann and the other volunteers pose with her in still shots. Later, Bridget also insisted the crew put their cameras in the coach’s office, and help set up tables in the gym.
    They broke out the cameras again while Bridget served up the chicken noodle soup. The line for food wound around the gym. It slowed down at her spot, because some people recognized her and wanted to talk. She was also one of the few volunteers who spoke Spanish, so people often stopped to ask her about the food—or about the bathroom and sleeping facilities. Bridget did her best to answer their questions and keep the line moving.
    She had served about forty people when Jim Foley showed up—with his own camera crew and a couple of guys in business suits. Foley was dressed in a denim shirt and