One Last Kiss by Mary Wilbon

Author:Mary Wilbon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2009-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

23

Slick and Laura entered the private party room of the Owen Charles Foundation building. It was the height of elegance, with multileveled seating and an outdoor patio. The hand-carved cherrywood bar and antique mirrors all conveyed the elegance of a bygone era.

Champagne was flowing, and black tuxedos and shimmering gowns were everywhere. There was lots of party chatter, and the harpist playing Mozart provided the perfect sound-track.

Servers wearing white gloves moved through the crowds with trays of canapés, jumbo shrimp, and assorted finger foods. Ice sculptures graced tables covered with fine imported linens.

“Nice crowd,” Slick said.

“I’m guessing about two hundred people,” Laura observed.

“Including Secret Service men and bodyguards,” Slick added. She turned to Laura. “May I buy the head of the foundation a drink?”

“Why, of course.”

They walked over to the bar, stopping along the way to chat with a few local politicians, NBA players, and television personalities.

When they got to the bar, Slick asked for two glasses of champagne.

They clinked glasses and turned toward the crowd.

“You have to admit, Devlyn knows how to throw a party,” Laura said, looking around.

“I’ll give the devil her due,” Slick agreed.

As if on cue, Devlyn made her entrance, spotted Laura, and started toward her like a heat-seeking missile.

“Laura, darling, you look wonderful.” She gave Laura the perfunctory air-kiss.

“Slick,” Devlyn said, unsmiling.

“Devlyn. So you really do wear Prada.”

“Why, Slick, I’m surprised you know anything about designers,” Devlyn said, looking her up and down.

“I know women with designs when I see them.”

Devlyn quickly turned away. “Laura, you must make the rounds with me. We have to say hello and mingle. You don’t mind, do you, Slick?”

“Not at all.”

“Come with us, Slick,” Laura said.

“No, I’ll stay here. You go. You have to. It’s your family’s foundation.”

“I’m sure Slick will be fine.” Devlyn was beaming at the idea of having Laura to herself.

Slick finished her champagne and watched as Devlyn guided Laura through the crowd and directly toward the star of the evening, senatorial candidate Clinton Kendall.

Slick watched from across the room and did a quick appraisal of Kendall.

He was the perfect candidate. Six feet tall. Good-looking. In great shape. About one hundred and seventy pounds, probably not much more than his college weight.

Kendall was old money. He wore his family pedigree comfortably. Right schools, right marriage to the former Elizabeth Kenilworth. A self-assured smile that attracted people. Even though the fund-raiser was for Hyacinth House, Kendall was clearly the center of attention.

Slick watched as Devlyn introduced Laura to Kendall, his wife, and his son. Then Devlyn and Laura moved on to chat with others. Slick thought she recognized some newscasters from the New Jersey News Channel.

“Are you Cassandra Slick?”

Slick looked around and saw a man standing next to her. He was medium height with glasses and was wearing a tuxedo that he looked terribly uncomfortable in.

“Yes, I am. And you are Howard Whitley, Kendall’s campaign manager.”

He seemed flattered. “I didn’t think anyone paid much attention to me.”

“I follow politics,” Slick said. “I’ve seen you on some of the Sunday morning talk shows promoting Kendall.

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