Murder on K Street: A Capital Crimes Novel by Margaret Truman

Author:Margaret Truman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780345498861
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2007-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Rotondi had been at Emma’s house for an hour before she arrived.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Fine. Those C-SPAN people are terrific. Brian Lamb personally complimented me and the food.”

“I’ve been complimenting you ever since we met.”

“But you’re not Brian Lamb. Besides, I expect compliments from you.”

“I never thought you’d take me for granted.”

“I take it for granted that you got through the evening without me.”

“Had dinner with a United States senator.”

“And? How is your buddy?”

“All right. I’m going with him to Chicago the day after tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“He asked me.”

“That’s a good enough reason, I suppose. What’s the occasion?”

He explained the purpose for the trip, adding, “The exploratory meetings are strictly between us.”

“I’ve forgotten it already.”

They changed for bed and sat in the den to watch news on TV. Homer had climbed up on the couch next to Emma, plopped his head on her lap, and closed his eyes.

Jeannette Simmons’s murder was no longer the lead story, having slipped to second place behind coverage of a House committee hearing that day into the corrupting influence of lobbyists on the legislative and judicial processes.

“The influence peddlers are taking big hits these days,” Emma said.

“They’ve brought it upon themselves,” said Rotondi.

“I expect to see Neil Simmons’s name on the news any day,” she said. “Have you spoken with him?”

“Not lately. He’s supposed to be putting together Jeannette’s memorial service at St. John’s Episcopal. I’m sure that’s keeping him busy. Emma, remember the conversation at Mac and Annabel Smith’s house last night?”

“Not much of it. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking about something the fellow who was there, Jonell, said about having been at Jeannette’s house the afternoon she was murdered.”

Emma screwed up her face. “Yes, I do remember that. Why?”

“I haven’t seen or heard anything in news reports that mentions his name. He works for Marshalk.”

“So?”

“So—so I’m wondering why.”

“The police probably questioned him and decided he wasn’t a suspect.”

“Or he didn’t tell the police he’d been there.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. I think I’ll call Mac Smith in the morning and see if he knows anything. Jonell—what was his last name?”

“Marbury.”

“Yeah, Jonell Marbury. Nice guy.”

“I’m catering a going-away party tomorrow night for one of Marshalk’s staff.”

“You mentioned that. Maybe he’ll be there. Where’s the party?”

“Marshalk’s satellite office. Eighteenth Street. A town house. You should see it. It’s decorated like a New Orleans brothel.”

Rotondi laughed. “Maybe it is.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Marshalk isn’t one of my favorite clients. He and some of his male buddies have wandering hands.”

“Take my cane. You can fend them off with it.”

Emma reached for Rotondi and traced an index finger around his lips, which woke Homer and sent him off the couch. “I wouldn’t fend you off,” she said.

“I think I’m being taken for granted again,” he said.

“And?”

“And—I love it. Come on, lady. I’m hungry. What’s on the menu tonight?”

“It’s not coconut shrimp,” she said.

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