What You Don't Know by Merry Jones

Author:Merry Jones [Jones, Merry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: domestic suspense
ISBN: 9781946802408
Publisher: Filles Vertes Publishing
Published: 2019-10-08T07:00:00+00:00

Tuesday, August 14, 2018, 12:15 p.m.

C

ampaign headquarters was a storefront in a South Philly strip mall, once a large video rental store. Paul’s face was plastered everywhere. The walls were papered with larger-than-life posters of it. Desks were buried under stacks of brochures, bumper stickers, doorknob hangers—all advertising it. There were lawn signs galore. Whiteboards covered with marked abbreviations and coded numbers. A huge flat screen television tuned to whatever Congress was doing. A monstrous coffee urn, and a folding table laden with donuts, cold cuts, protein bars, bagels, apples and bananas. The room was buzzing. Staff members, mostly young and glued to cell phones, scurried about organizing volunteers, assigning tasks, wearing buttons with Paul’s face and name.

The limo driver guided Nora through the maze into a corridor, through a back doorway into the candidate’s private office. As Paul rose from his desk to greet her, a preppy young woman dashed in, reminding him that he’d have to leave for the Junior League no later than two. He thanked her, saying that he was not to be disturbed until then, and locked the door when she left because, he explained, “Otherwise, they’ll all be in and out and not give us a moment.”

Paul gestured at a sleek leather sofa, offering Nora a seat. She sat and surveyed the room. A glass-topped coffee table displayed an arrangement of succulents, the morning’s Inquirer, and a large crystal dolphin sculpture. Silver pendant lights hung from the planked ceiling. The floor was faux aged wood, partially covered by an ornate oriental rug. The walls were dotted with fine art—a Wyeth that looked real, and was that an actual Chagall? Nora stopped herself from gawking, even from commenting on the decor. She didn’t want to appear impressed. She hadn’t come by choice, but at Paul’s insistence. And she was there, not as an admirer or supporter, but as a spy. Still, she was stunned that just a door and a short hallway separated this tranquil space from the clamor and hullaballoo of the outer office. She strained but couldn’t hear even a whisper of the hubbub. Vivaldi played softly.

“Wine?” Paul asked. “I’ve chilled some Pinot Grigio.” A full bar lined the far wall.

“Not for me.”

“Coffee then? Cappuccino?”

“Cappuccino. Thank you.”

Nora slid back on her seat. The leather was smooth, the cushions oversized. If she sat all the way back, her feet wouldn’t touch the floor. She scooted forward, keeping her feet grounded and her back straight, and watched Paul as the Keurig whipped up her coffee. His hand lingered over her cup as if dropping something in.

But that was ridiculous. What was he going to do, poison her? Drug her? Right here in his campaign headquarters? No, she’d imagined it. Ice clinked. Paul returned with her foamy coffee and his scotch on the rocks.

“What did we do before Keurig?” He sat beside her, close enough that their knees bumped. He grinned and his teeth glistened, eyes twinkling. He really was spectacularly handsome. “Thanks for coming, Nora. I know you were hesitant.

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