Homicide in the House Read online

  Maeve clutched Drysdale’s wrist for several seconds until she let it go. Apparently her physical assault didn’t intimidate him. He ran ahead and stopped directly in front of her.

  Stretching his arms out wide to slow her down, Jack made his last stand. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that. Please come back in the office so we can sort this out. You’re a valuable part of this caucus and the Speaker wants to work with you on this deal.”

  Maeve shook her head. “You guys in House leadership are typical politicians. You can’t take no for an answer. I’m not ready to make a decision. Now get out of my way.”

  Unmoving, Drysdale locked eyes with Maeve. She didn’t look away and squared her shoulders. I could almost feel the tension around me as the reporters anxiously waited for the outcome. What was Maeve going to do? Knee him in the groin if he didn’t back down?

  After a moment that seemed like an eternity, Drysdale gave in and stepped aside. I breathed a deep sigh of relief and hurried into the hallway to catch up with her. As we exited the corridor, I glanced back to the doorway where I’d been standing. Every reporter was on his or her phone, ostensibly calling in the most salacious story of the shutdown thus far. A junior member of Congress and the Speaker’s top aide had nearly come to blows in the Capitol. A high school reporter could make that story fly.

  As soon as we turned the corner and left the Speaker’s passageway, the interrogation began. “What happened in the meeting? Were you really going to fight Jack Drysdale?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “But we’re going to have to talk about it. A bunch of reporters were waiting across the hallway for a briefing from the Speaker’s office on the shutdown. They saw everything that happened between you and Drysdale.”

  Maeve stopped abruptly and turned to face me. “You mean to tell me you knew there were reporters around and didn’t stop me?”

  I put my hands on my hips and looked directly into my boss’s eyes. She meant business, but the feeling was mutual. “I didn’t have the opportunity. Even if I had signaled, you never glanced in my direction. Besides, if I had intervened, it would have made matters worse.”

  Maeve didn’t reply immediately, hopefully reflecting on the situation. “I see your point. If you’d interrupted me, then the story becomes about both of us ganging up on Jack Drysdale, the Speaker’s media darling.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and gave Maeve a restrained smile. “Well, he is handsome.”

  Maeve seemed to consider my comment, and then she returned the grin. “Yes, he certainly is. But that’s not going to help me when this story breaks.”

  I didn’t want to tell Maeve that in all likelihood it had already broken. “Let’s get back to the office and strategize with Dan.” The words “strategize” and “Dan” didn’t belong in the same sentence, but at this point, he was the only ally I had.

  We picked up the pace and returned to the Cannon Building ten minutes later. Upon our arrival, my suspicions were confirmed. Every Capitol Hill media outlet was already reporting the altercation between Maeve and Jack Drysdale. Phones were ringing off the hook, and after Dan had answered one call without knowing how to respond, he’d ignored the remainder of the inquiries. With our press secretary on furlough, we needed to spring into action.

  Maeve and I quickly explained the situation to Dan. His pasty face, already devoid of color due to the winter doldrums, somehow paled visibly.

  We needed a plan, and we needed it fast. There was no time to call in reinforcements. Even if we could, furloughed employees weren’t allowed to perform government business during the shutdown under penalty of law. When the Capitol Hill Police investigated me as the lead suspect in my former boss’s murder last year, visions of orange jumpsuits had flooded my consciousness. I didn’t need a repeat for violating the Antideficiency Act, for sure.

  Dan and Maeve both sat in silence. They needed me to help them through this maelstrom. It was time to let my political instincts take over. In situations like this, thinking too much could potentially lead to an overwrought decision and an unnecessarily complicated strategy.

  I took a deep breath. “Dan, you and I are going to man the phones.” I turned toward my computer and visited several key websites to assess the damage. “This isn’t as bad as you think. It’s the usual suspects. Roll Call, Politico, the Hill, the Examiner, and the Daily Caller have the story. But the Washington Post and the New York Times aren’t reporting it. It’s a Beltway story, and that means it’ll last one day. Tops.”

  Maeve and Dan sat in rapt attention. I was no Bob Woodward, or even Carl Bernstein, but I had worked in Congress for almost five years now. That tenure had afforded me a modicum of media savvy. After racking my brain, I continued, “We need to decide how to respond. Maeve, we could blame Drysdale and say he bullied you, but he’s a favorite amongst the Capitol Hill crowd. I don’t think they’d buy it.”

  Maeve nodded. “Agreed.”

  “So we avoid that angle and simply say you and the Speaker haven’t come to an agreement yet on a budget deal. We address the substance, not the petty fight. That way, you take advantage of the situation and make your position clear, and we don’t muck around in the dirty details.”

  As a GWOT (D.C. lingo for “global war on terrorism”) veteran, Maeve rarely beat around the bush. “I like it. Let’s do it.” With that pronouncement, she returned to her office.

  I turned to Dan. “Do you think you can handle talking to the press about this? If we split up the calls, it will go a lot faster.”

  “I can do it.” He didn’t sound confident, but he was the boss. If he said he could do it, then I wasn’t going to override his decision.

  We listened to the voicemail messages left by reporters on the main line, made a list of calls we needed to return, and got to work. By five o’clock, we had spoken to every reporter seeking a comment and successfully spun the story to focus on Maeve’s policy position on the shutdown.

  I hung up the phone for the last time and rubbed my eyes. Today’s fire drill had inspired a newfound respect for press secretaries. After finishing his final call, Dan pronounced, “That wasn’t too bad!”

  “Really? I have a splitting headache and my ear is sore from two straight hours of badgering from Capitol Hill reporters.”

  “Look on the bright side. It’s over, and after tomorrow, this story will be old news.”

  I exhaled with a mixture of exasperation and weariness. “This story will be old news,” I said, “but we just created a new story for enterprising reporters. Maeve is now front and center on the shutdown. Every journalist out there is going to follow her position like a hawk. We’d better start preparing a more detailed policy explanation for her tomorrow.”

  Dan’s expression was blank. Clearly he had never considered the consequences of our press strategy. It had been necessary to divert attention away from Maeve’s altercation with Jack, but by venturing down that path, we’d handed the media an entirely new line of inquiry for the coming days.

  I hoped that Dan’s silence meant he was digesting my revelation. He finally spoke. “No sense worrying today about something we can’t solve until tomorrow. That’s my motto! If you need me, I’ll be in my office for my evening chant.” Dan bounced toward his office and closed the door behind him.

  I shook my head in disbelief. My last boss in Senator Langsford’s office had been an inspiration. Matt coached us when we faced difficult choices, provided words of wisdom at opportune moments, and tried to impart lasting knowledge about Congress and the legislative process. Now my immediate supervisor depended on me for his survival. This gave new meaning to the term “managing up.”

  I glanced at the time—just after five o’clock. A quick scan of my inbox confirmed that nothing required my immediate attention. I’d meant what I said about the piercing headache. Luckily, I found two over-the-counter painkillers in my purse, which I swallowed with a gulp of water. Could I go home? Interrupting Dan’s nightti
me mantra recitation was out of the question, but Maeve’s door was open. I marched toward her office.

  “Congresswoman, do you mind if I call it a day? Nothing requires my immediate attention, and we finished the media calls a few minutes ago.”

  Maeve was ensconced in reading the local North Carolina news online. She glanced away from her computer and said, “Sure, I’d take advantage of the downtime now. When the bills providing specifics on the budget start to emerge, we’ll be staying late to pore over the details.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. Today’s press incident was going to look like child’s play before this fiasco was solved and we were back to normal.

  “Yes, ma’am. I will do that. Are you headed home soon?”

  Maeve shook her head. “No, I just received a request to serve as the presiding officer on the House floor tonight. I thought it would be a good opportunity to gain visibility with the district. Also, after the way I manhandled Jack Drysdale, some time in the chair might help repair my standing with the Speaker, right?” She grinned wryly.

  Members of the majority party in the House of Representatives took turns serving as the presiding officer of floor debate. Freshmen spent more time “in the chair” than senior legislators. It gave them prime coverage on C-SPAN and also provided them with an opportunity to learn how bills were considered and debated. It was largely a ceremonial function, but an important role since the presiding officer controlled the flow of debate on the House floor, announced the result of roll call votes, and maintained decorum at all times. The latter was achieved by banging the Speaker’s gavel until the members present in the chamber hushed up or at least reduced their chatter to a dull roar.

  “Absolutely, I agree. Are you sure you don’t need me to stay until you’re finished presiding on the floor?” A sense of duty as a staffer obligated me to ask.

  She waved her hand in dismissal. “Of course not. You know the parliamentarian tells me exactly what to say as presiding officer. You earned an early departure this evening. Thanks for coming up with a strategy to minimize the press damage. I know Dan appreciates it.” She gave me a knowing wink.

  Two winks in one day. This was a new record for my Capitol Hill career. No reason to push my luck. I hastily said good night and headed out of the office.

  The subway was busier than this morning. However, my fellow riders weren’t wearing work attire. Most were in jeans or other casual clothes. Undoubtedly, they were federal employees on furlough who had decided to enjoy a night out on the town. With another day out of the office virtually guaranteed for tomorrow, why not? Luckily, the pain relievers had taken care of my earlier headache, but the pulsating sting was replaced with pangs of jealousy as plans for late-night movies and barhopping unfolded around me.

  I closed my eyes until the subway arrived at my stop in the Virginia suburb of Arlington. At least Doug couldn’t complain about my lateness tonight. A cold wind encouraged me to hustle the several blocks to our condo building. After exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, I braced myself before putting my key in the lock. Clarence the Wonder Mutt sensed when an opportunity for escape might present itself. He positioned himself perfectly in the entryway, waiting for the precise moment when the door opened. When it did, he pounced, showing impressive agility for a chunky canine. In three seconds flat, he could race to the end of the hallway, violating numerous condo rules in the process.

  I slowly turned the knob and pulled the door toward me. Sure enough, Clarence’s floppy ears and adorable snout poked out. Many evenings, Clarence caught me off guard, but tonight, I was prepared for his shenanigans. As he made a break for it, I stretched my lower leg and foot to block him. He looked up with an expression reminiscent of the famous “guilty dog” YouTube video. I nudged him back inside the condo and shut the door behind us.

  Doug didn’t appear immediately, which wasn’t unusual. After his classes at Georgetown finished for the day, he frequently spent the remaining hours working in his office at our condo. He was currently working on yet another book about early American history. His previous two tomes had focused on the Virginia dynasty of presidents and the inaugural Supreme Court. Closer to my ken, this one aspired to be the most comprehensive historical account of the first Congress of the United States.

  I wandered toward the back of our abode and Doug’s scholarly lair. He was sitting in front of his iMac with at least a dozen books surrounding him. Several were open with earmarked pages. Piles of photocopied pages, which appeared to be excerpts from the Congressional Record, were squeezed into the spaces not occupied by books. Most scholars took advantage of note-taking software that organized sources, both documents and electronic. Despite his relative youth—particularly in comparison to other accomplished historians—Doug had never adopted modern methods of conducting research. He worked exclusively with books and paper, employing his own systematic approach to collecting information. Most of the time, I thought his professorial proclivities were endearing. However, there were times when he frustrated the hell out of me. He was so lost in this newest venture that he seemed to forget I existed.

  Almost a minute passed before Doug acknowledged my presence. But when I cleared my throat, he turned around immediately. “I didn’t know you were home from work. Weren’t you expecting to be late tonight?”

  So much for an enthusiastic greeting. “That’s what I expected, but Maeve was asked to serve as the presiding officer on the House floor tonight, so I got a reprieve. Besides, I had a difficult day.” I told Doug about the encounter with Jack Drysdale.

  “How long do you think this shutdown business is going to drag on?”

  “I had lunch with Meg and she wasn’t optimistic.”

  Doug frowned and adjusted his glasses, which had fallen lower on his nose. “Did you know the First Congress established the State Department, the Department of War, and the Department of the Treasury in five weeks?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I find it fascinating that these novice legislators, who knew almost nothing about representative democracy in practice, were able to accomplish so much of consequence in such a short period of time.”

  This was Doug’s way of taking a shot at the current Congress. “Did you ever think that the reason they were so successful was that they didn’t know any better?”

  “That reasoning doesn’t make much sense, Kit.”

  “Try working for Congress and you’ll get my drift. Dealing with two hundred twenty-five years of precedent, law, and custom isn’t exactly easy, either.”

  Doug must have failed to muster a clever retort. He turned back toward his computer and resumed typing.

  I headed to the kitchen and poured myself a tall glass of diet tonic. Then I carefully measured a serving of Bombay Sapphire using my favorite sterling silver shot glass and tossed it into the drink along with a few slices of lime. Selecting one of my favorite ceramic swizzle sticks, I slowly stirred the concoction. A strong G&T was typically summer fare, but the events of the day warranted an exception. If I had known what tomorrow had in store for me, I wouldn’t have stopped at just one.

  Chapter Five

  The iPhone alarm buzzed at six. I was in a deep sleep but somehow located the device to silence it. After forcing myself to get out of bed, I performed my morning ritual of walking Clarence and then taking a hasty shower. My reward for getting up on time was a few precious extra minutes to make a frothy cappuccino from our espresso machine. The coffee beans with their hint of chocolate gave off an aroma reminiscent of freshly baked brownies. I was sipping my mocha masterpiece when Doug walked into our small kitchen.

  “Something smells great in here.”

  “If it’s the morning, I’m making waffles!” I smiled. Doug usually could identify my movie quotes.

  “Since there’s no waffles being made, I have to assume you’re quoting Donkey from Shrek.”

  “You got it. However, I could make you a cappuccino with these tasty espresso beans.”

  “Sure
, sounds good.” He gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead and then retreated to the living room with his iPad to check the morning news.

  Over the grind of the beans, I asked, “Can you look at the Capitol Canine site to see how Clarence is doing in the contest?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Remember, we entered Clarence in that online contest for the top dog on Capitol Hill?”

  “How could I forget?” Doug muttered under his breath.

  A few moments later, Doug returned to the kitchen. “Clarence is doing quite well. He’s got over a thousand votes and he’s in first place.”

  I almost dropped the cappuccino I had made for Doug. “That doesn’t make sense. With everything that happened yesterday, I didn’t have any time to email friends to remind them to vote for Clarence. I meant to put it on social media but I forgot. How did he get all these votes?”

  Doug shrugged and passed me the iPad. I looked at Clarence’s profile. Sure, he was cute. His face was a mixture of tan, black, and white fur and he had big brown eyes with adorable floppy ears. He looked like a cross between a beagle and a rottweiler, with a Jack Russell thrown in for good measure. However, good looks only get you so far in Washington—even if you’re a dog. Something else was up.

  “I wonder if Jack Drysdale persuaded his contacts to vote for Clarence. Maybe to try to win me over so Maeve wouldn’t hold a grudge after the altercation yesterday?”

  “If that’s the case, it’s one of the craziest things I’ve heard since moving to D.C. Would he really think you could be bribed with votes on Capitol Canine?”

  Doug was right. It was a little nutty, but if the former Virginia governor could be bought for a Rolex watch and a joyride in a Ferrari, maybe Drysdale thought a few votes for Capitol Canine would do the trick.

  “I’ll try to figure it out. Can you persuade your colleagues at Georgetown to vote for Clarence?”

  Doug appeared skeptical. “I don’t think academics would understand why it’s important for our dog to win a Capitol Hill popularity contest.”