Exclusive

For reasons that remained a mystery to him, Howie just didn’t seem to make friends easily.

* * *

Spencer Martin had driven two blocks before he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in his rearview mirror. Laughing, he reached up to remove the baseball cap that had long, curly hair sewn into the back of it. He also peeled off the fake mustache. It would take a little more effort to get rid of the stench of tobacco smoke and stale beer from the neighborhood dive he’d followed Howie Fripp into.

What an insect, Spence thought as he headed back to the White House.

But he’d learned from Fripp what he and David needed to know—Barrie Travis was still on the trail of a story she considered hot. Did that story relate to the President or Mrs. Merritt or the death of Robert Rushton Merritt?

He was convinced that Fripp didn’t know; otherwise he would have bragged about it. At this point Spence didn’t know, either. But finding out was his top priority.

* * *

“Well I’m glad you’re glad, Mrs. Gaston.… No, I’m certain Mrs. Merritt will be pleased with my choice.… Good. Now, as to the arrangements for tomorrow, a car will come for you at six-thirty. I know it’s early, but… Okay. Very good. I’ll look forward to seeing you then. Good night.”

Dr. George Allan’s hand was still on the telephone receiver, and he was staring at it thoughtfully, when his wife came in carrying two steaming cups of coffee. She set one in front of him on the desk and took the other with her to the leather chair facing the desk. “Who was that?”

His home office was on the second floor of their stylish yet comfortable residence just off the section of Massachusetts Avenue known as Embassy Row. George Allan sampled his coffee. “Boys in bed?”

“In bed, but I gave them an extra ten minutes before lights out. Who was that?” Amanda asked again, indicating the telephone.

“A private nurse I hired for Vanessa. To say that Mrs. Gaston is excited over her new patient would be a gross understatement. She can’t believe she’s going to look after the First Lady.”

“Vanessa needs continuous care?”

The Allans had known the Merritts as struggling newlyweds. “Only as a precaution,” George replied. “David thinks she should have a medically trained person with her at all times.”

“I thought she was just resting.”

“She is.”

“If she requires constant medical care, shouldn’t she be in the hospital?”

“Stop interrogating me, Amanda.” George came out of his desk chair so fast, it rolled backward on its casters and bumped into the wall. He went to the liquor cabinet for a decanter of brandy and poured some into his coffee.

“I wasn’t interrogating you,” she said softly.

“Like hell you weren’t. Every conversation we have these days evolves into a cross-examination.”

“That’s because you’re so defensive,” Amanda shot back. “Even the most innocent question strikes a nerve.”

“Your questions are never innocent, Amanda. They’re probing and suspicious.”

“And you’re paranoid,” she shouted. “What is David holding over you that makes you afraid of everything, even me?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that since you accepted this job, you’ve become a different person.”

“You’re wrong, Amanda!”

“Dad?”

George whipped around to see his two young sons standing in the doorway. They looked extremely sweet and vulnerable in their pajamas, their faces scrubbed shiny. At the sight of them, his anger evaporated. “Hey, guys. Come in.”

They hesitated on the threshold until the older one took the first bold step into the hostile arena. His younger brother tagged behind him. George returned to his chair, pulled each of them onto a knee, and hugged them close.

They smelled of soap and toothpaste and shampoo. They smelled like cleanliness. He’d almost forgotten how good clean smelled. He hadn’t smelled it on himself in a long time.