Homicide in the House Page 19

  Mesmerized by the changing visual display, I heard a faint rustle from the direction of the open door. Just as I turned to make my grand escape, a loud “ruff” came from my purse. I fumbled to reach inside to locate my phone. Damn. I’d forgotten about the fake call I’d arranged to ring at 5:20. I’d set the ringer to mimic a dog’s bark so Trent would remember I’d taken a call and excused myself. After finally retrieving the device, I swiped it to answer the call and then quickly hung up. My fingers were nowhere near fast enough to avert disaster. The sound of footsteps grew louder from the hallway as I braced myself to meet my unfortunate fate.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The patron saint of sleuths must have been looking down from heaven with sympathy. To my surprise, Meg rounded the corner and grabbed my arm.

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “What am I doing?” she hissed. She pulled me closer before continuing her verbal assault. “What are you doing? You’ve been gone for fifteen minutes already. I can’t keep Trent occupied forever.”

  I reclaimed my appendage. “That’s never been a problem before. You couldn’t hold Trent’s interest for a little extra time?”

  Meg’s face contorted with frustration. “He’s not biting. I don’t know why. Maybe he really is in love with you.”

  My best friend’s glare bored into me like a phaser set to stun on the Starship Enterprise. “Never mind. Let’s get back to it. I can make up some story about Dan calling me. Actually, Dan did call me. That wasn’t a fake.”

  “I heard your phone all the way down the hall. That’s why I excused myself to come find you. If someone else had heard it, you would have been toast.”

  I motioned for Meg to lean in closer so I could whisper softly, “It was worth it. I found an extensive plan to overhaul House security on Pressler’s desk. Plus, he has a monitor in his office tracking the cameras in the office buildings. He would have known Jack’s location, even early in the morning.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. “Do you think he’s your guy?”

  We walked toward Trent’s office. “I think so. I might have to check a few things out tomorrow to confirm it.”

  “Are you keeping your date with Trent tonight?” Meg made air quotes around the word “date.”

  “I don’t think it will hurt. Maybe I can find out more valuable information about his boss.” I elbowed Meg. “Especially if I’m really charming.”

  Meg gave me a suspicious look. “I wouldn’t overplay your hand, Kit. Leave the art of seductive interrogation to the professionals. If you’re not interested in Trent romantically, just have a drink and go home.”

  I resented Meg’s remark. Yes, she was pretty and men adored her. But occasionally, a good-looking guy might be interested in yours truly. Doug wasn’t the beefy, bulging muscles type, but he was tall, fit, and attractive in a refined sort of way.

  “I’ll try to control myself.”

  We walked back inside Trent’s tiny office and returned to our seats. Trent seemed to buy my explanation about Dan’s phone call and my apology. After politely thanking him for his time, Meg excused herself. Outside the doorway, she mouthed “Call me tonight” and waved goodbye.

  I returned my attention to Trent. His grin was the type I’d have plastered on my face if I heard my boss had given everyone the afternoon off. Best to keep it casual. “Ready to go?” I suggested.

  “Absolutely. I know she’s your friend, but I thought she’d never leave.” He grabbed his coat and escorted me out of the office suite. As we left the Capitol Building, I realized we hadn’t discussed where we were going. We were headed in the direction of Pennsylvania Avenue, home to a number of bars and dining establishments.

  “Trent, where are we having drinks tonight?” I tried to keep my voice steady. I was shooting for friendly yet not overly encouraging.

  “I thought we’d go to my favorite place on the Hill.” He winked playfully.

  He wasn’t making this easy. “Which is?”

  “I don’t go out after work too often, but when I do, I go to this place called the Tune Inn. Do you know it?”

  My heart sank. “Sure,” I said. “Isn’t it on Pennsylvania and Fourth?”

  “Yep. It’s right on the corner. It’s not the fanciest establishment in the world, but I like the homey feel.”

  “Not the fanciest” was an understatement. Most thought of the Tune Inn as Capitol Hill’s neighborhood dive bar. I hid my disappointment, even though there was no need to take offense. After all, it wasn’t a real date, right? If Trent thought we were on a date, he must not have cared about spending a lot to impress me.

  In ten minutes, we’d reached the entrance. Trent politely opened the door, and I walked inside. Dark and dingy, the décor wasn’t conducive to romance. Stuffed deer, bears, boar, and swordfish adorned the wood-paneled walls. Obviously, the Tune Inn singlehandedly kept several taxidermists in business. In the spaces without mounted animals, a variety of guns and swords enhanced the atmosphere.

  This wasn’t a place with a hostess so we sailed past the bar underneath the antler chandelier and wood rafters lined with Christmas lights to find an empty booth. Trent was almost giddy with delight. “Isn’t this place great?”

  “It’s certainly unique. It’s the only place in D.C. where I can eat dinner across from a stuffed deer’s butt.” I pointed at the specimen on the opposite wall.

  Trent nodded approvingly. “Don’t forget the big bear with a beer in his hand at the entrance.”

  He handed me a menu. I took it politely. “I’ll probably just have a drink. I’m not terribly hungry.”

  He frowned. “That’s not possible. The food here is legendary. Guy Fieri even said so!” Trent offered the last comment as legitimate proof.

  I stifled a sarcastic retort. If I sounded too snide with Trent, he’d wonder why I agreed to go out with him in the first place. It was in my best interest to keep him motivated … and talking.

  Instead I asked in all seriousness, “What was his recommendation?”

  Trent grinned. “He loved the beer-battered burger.”

  How many calories would that have, I wondered. A thousand? I’d have to work out from now until Doomsday. “Is that what it sounds like?”

  “Yep. A beef burger dipped in batter and then fried to perfection.”

  “Did the Food Network have any other suggestions?” It was a shot in the dark. Guy rarely sampled veggie burgers or salads.

  “He also liked Joe’s West Virginia roast beef sandwich with the special sauce.”

  That didn’t give me too much to work with. “What are you having?”

  “I always want to try something new, but I usually get the fried burger.”

  Despite my earlier pronouncement, my stomach rumbled with hunger. If I was going to drink, I could use a little something. I scanned the menu, searching for a snack that wouldn’t bust my calorie count for the next week. Trent looked at me expectantly. Sometimes it was just easier to play along. “I’ll go with Joe’s West Virginia special.”

  Trent’s face lit up. “Excellent choice, Kit! Is Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap okay for you?”

  “Sure.” At least the PBR would cut the richness of the beef, cheese, and special sauce.

  We made small talk while we waited for the waitress to take our order. It seemed like an eternity, but Trent appeared to be at ease. When I remarked that the service seemed a little slow, he called it “part of the ambiance” and kept chattering.

  Finally we placed our orders. It was time to get down to business. If I was going to binge on fried food, my sacrifice had better pay off.

  “So,” I said, “tell me more about your job. What’s it like working in the Sergeant at Arms office?” The pitcher of beer arrived, and Trent poured us frothy glasses.

  “It’s a great job. The best part is keeping everyone safe who visits the House of Representatives. It’s rewarding, and I take it very seriously.”

  “So does your boss. His name is Ga
reth, right?”

  “Yep. We’re in lockstep on our priorities.”

  I took a long sip of the PBR. Its hipster cool status aside, it was remarkably refreshing. Maybe Trent had a point about the Tune Inn.

  I needed Trent to divulge details about Pressler that might help finger him for Jack’s murder. Commiseration often pushed the right buttons. “These days, my chief of staff is acting paranoid.” I paused for a moment to increase the dramatic effect. “Now that I think of it, he’s a pretty weird guy. What’s it like working for Gareth?”

  Trent took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth. “He’s intense. Definitely wants to make his mark at the Sergeant’s office. Former military. You know the type.” He gave me a knowing glance.

  “What branch of the service?” I asked casually.

  “Special Forces. Army Green Beret.”

  Something stuck in my head from one of the meetings I’d conducted with military officers from Fort Bragg. “Aren’t Green Berets proficient at direct combat?”

  Trent appeared surprised at my grasp of military knowledge. “That’s right. They’re organized into elite commando units and often engage in ambushes or other stealthy operations.” He took a sip of PBR. “Or so Gareth tells me.”

  If the details Trent told me were true, Gareth would have had no trouble overpowering Jack Drysdale and killing him with the gavel. Time to try another line of attack, figuratively speaking.

  “Given your jobs, do you have to arrive at work early in the morning?”

  Trent shrugged. “We’re largely concerned with the time of day when House members, staff, and the public are inside the buildings. But we have all-access identification badges, so that means we can be at work at any time, if necessary.”

  Gareth had the physical ability to commit the crime and access to the building during the early hours. That made him a promising suspect, but what about motive? Just as I was about to ask, our food arrived. The waitress plunked down my specialty sandwich. The roast beef and cheese oozed out the sides of the buttered rye bread. Alongside this delectable delight sat a formidable mound of crispy french fries. I popped one in my mouth. Absolute heaven.

  “Why are these fries so good?” I hoovered in a few more before Trent had a chance to answer.

  “I forgot to tell you. The fries are battered, too. So they’re particularly scrumptious.” He grinned mischievously.

  I grabbed Joe’s West Virginia special and took a bite. Fattening food tasted fantastic. No wonder Meg was so darn happy all the time.

  Trent refilled my glass as I polished off the first half of my sandwich. After a long swig of brew, I resumed my interrogation. “When we met, you told me your boss wanted to tighten security, but Jack Drysdale from the Speaker’s office didn’t agree. Now that he’s dead, do you think Gareth’s plans will move forward?” The huge binder in Pressler’s office proved that he meant business. That plan hadn’t been put together overnight.

  Trent raised an eyebrow. “You seem really interested in this topic. Do you feel unsafe at work?”

  His question seemed innocent enough. “No, I have faith in your office and the Capitol Hill Police. I wondered if Jack’s murder changed the situation.” I gave Trent my most angelic smile. Then, I added, “I’m just trying to ask polite questions about your job. It’s really impressive.”

  Stroking egos wasn’t my forte. But this time, I seemed to be doing an okay job. “It’s too early to tell, but I think there will be increased security in the House. As the Speaker’s top aide, Jack threw up roadblocks to maintain open access for everyone and his brother to traipse through Congress.”

  Trent’s altered tone caught me off guard. I couldn’t resist a quick comeback. “Isn’t it the people’s House?”

  Trent snorted. “The people have their say when they go to the voting booth. That’s my opinion.”

  To keep our meal congenial, I bit my tongue. Trent had a lot to learn about Congress. Politicians cared about what their constituents thought, and they wanted to meet with them on a regular basis—both in Washington D.C. and in the home district. To prevent myself from spouting off, I took a big bite of the second half of my sandwich.

  Trent eyeballed me. “What about you? How did you get a job with Maeve Dixon?”

  I’d wanted to keep the conversation as much about him as possible, but I had to play along a bit or he might get suspicious. “I accepted a position with Dixon after the senator I worked for passed away.”

  “Was that the guy who was murdered last summer in his office?”

  With my mouth full of roast beef and french fries, I could only nod. Trent kept talking. “I knew you looked familiar. Weren’t you involved in solving that case?”

  I sipped my beer. “You could say that,” I answered vaguely.

  “Is that why you’re so interested in Jack Drysdale’s murder? Trying to reprise your role as Sherlock Holmes?” Trent laughed.

  “I’m no Sherlock, for sure. I don’t look for crimes to solve in my spare time. I’m concerned because Representative Dixon is a prime suspect. But she didn’t do it.” Time to change the subject. I glanced at his plate, which was nearly clean. “Did you like your burger?”

  Trent didn’t seem focused on his food anymore. He was an intensely attractive guy so it was doubly uncomfortable to feel his crystal-blue eyes fixed on me. He ignored my question. “Why do you think she’s innocent?”

  “She claims that she didn’t do it, and I know my boss fairly well. I’d prefer to give her the benefit of the doubt unless evidence proves otherwise.”

  Trent seemed to accept my explanation. “Makes sense, I guess. Otherwise, you’ll have to find a new job.”

  I smiled wryly. “Yes, exactly. I’d rather not have to go through that again.”

  Our food and drink almost entirely consumed, it was time to wrap up this pseudo-date. I fished around in my purse for my wallet. Trent saw what I was doing. “This is my treat, Kit. Remember, I asked you out.”

  Despite his comment, I kept rummaging until I found cash. I threw down a twenty. “I insist. I’m glad you introduced me to the Tune Inn.”

  Trent grabbed the money and tossed it back to me. “You’re my guest for dinner.” Reluctantly, I put the money back inside my purse. Splitting the bill would have kept it platonic, but since I wanted to keep this so-called date under the radar, avoiding a scene made sense.

  After putting on my coat, I stood to leave. Trent asked, “Can I walk you to the Metro?”

  I’d been trying to avoid it. I wanted to call Meg and give her a report on the evening. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it.” I gave him a little wave. Trent sat back down in his seat with an odd expression on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt, disappointed, annoyed, angry—or all of the above. None of the possibilities were positive, so sticking around to find out wasn’t a good idea. I turned on my heels and weaved through the mob scene at the bar. Once outside, I took a deep breath of the cold evening air. Thank goodness it was over.

  Walking toward the Metro, I pulled out my phone and called Meg. She didn’t even bother to say hello. “How was it? Where did you go? Are you going out with him again?”

  She would have kept going if I didn’t interrupt. “If you’d shut up for a second, I could tell you what happened.”

  With a pouty voice, she said, “Fine. Go ahead.”

  I gave her a quick recap of the evening’s events. Meg listened without interrupting until I finished. I could sense her disappointment through the phone. “I guess there’s no love connection, then.” She sighed.

  “That wasn’t the point of the evening, Meg. I’m trying to solve Jack’s murder, remember?”

  “You don’t need to remind me. I just thought Trent might be your perfect match.”

  I was halfway to the Metro. Debating the current status of my love life with my best friend would have to wait. “I’m still glad I agreed to go out with him. He gave me a lot of good tidbits that might hel
p solve the murder.”

  “Like what?” Meg asked.

  “Gareth Pressler had access to all House buildings early in the morning. Those security monitors in his office would have made it easy to track Jack’s whereabouts. Furthermore, he’s former Special Forces, so killing Jack wouldn’t have been difficult for him.” I paused to take a breath before continuing, “And if that’s not enough, he had a motive to want Jack dead.”

  “It sounds plausible, but your boss had access to the murder weapon only hours before she found Jack’s body.”

  I was at the top of the escalator leading to the Capitol South subway station. “That’s the last missing piece of the puzzle.”

  “It’s not inconsequential. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I'm not sure. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want to put more pressure on you, but I heard through the grapevine today at work that the police might arrest Dixon soon. Your window of opportunity for finding the killer is closing quickly.”

  At this time of the evening, the long, descending moving staircase appeared to have no end, disappearing into a dark abyss, not unlike the trajectory of Maeve Dixon’s political future and my Capitol Hill career unless someone exposed the real killer soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  That night, I tossed and turned as fleeting, bizarre images of a bloody gavel, the menacing Hill Rat logo, Gareth’s face, the stuffed deer’s butt at the Tune Inn, and Clarence wolfing down an entire pizza invaded my dreams. The craziness and stress of the past several days had caught up with me. At six, I gave up and threw back the bedcovers. The fried food and beer hadn’t helped, not to mention my guilt: I’d gone on a pretend date with a hot guy and neglected to tell my live-in boyfriend.

  But there was no time for wallowing. Clarence’s internal alarm was more precise than an atomic clock, and six o’clock was too early for him to give up his cozy position in bed for a romp outside. That meant I had uninterrupted time to think about the murder. After pouring myself a frothy latte, I settled into an overstuffed chair to ruminate. The caffeine slowly energized my gray cells, and they led me to one answer: Gareth Pressler.