Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [93]
Mitzi fought to continue feigning interest in what the Brazilian ambassador was saying. He was a charming man personally, but he enjoyed pontificating about his country’s more enlightened economic policies. Others at the table seemed interested in his prognostications, but all Mitzi could think about was leaving for the White House. She considered doing what Jeanine had suggested, pretend to fall ill and excuse herself. But that would have cast a pall over the party, something she was loath to do.
As they left the dinner table, her husband, John, asked if she was feeling well.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Just tired.”
“Maybe you ought to cut back on the parties,” he whispered, “take a breather. We can get away and—”
“Have you ever been to Brazil?” the ambassador interrupted.
“No, I’ve never had the pleasure,” Mitzi responded.
“I have business connections there,” her husband said, “and have spent many pleasurable weeks in Brasília.” He and the ambassador crossed the room to join others who were being served after-dinner drinks in the library.
Mitzi excused herself, went to a quiet room, and called Jeanine’s private number.
Lance Millius answered.
“It’s Mitzi Cardell.”
“She’s not available at the moment, Ms. Cardell. Can I leave a message?”
“No, no, I’ll call again later.”
It was another hour before the gathering broke up and guests scattered to wherever it was they were going. John Muszinski kissed his wife’s cheek and announced that he was going to bed. “Coming?” he asked.
“No, I’m wide awake. I told Jeanine that I might get together with her once the party broke up.”
“At this hour? Whatever for?”
“She, ah—she wanted to run a few ideas by me. She’s heading to Savannah for the school’s fund-raiser and wanted my input.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Oh, God, no, John. My schedule is overflowing tomorrow. You run along and get a good night’s sleep. I won’t be long.”
His face reflected his confusion but he knew not to press once she’d made up her mind. “As you wish,” he said and planted another kiss. “Don’t be too late.”
Mitzi spent a few minutes checking on the cleanup. Satisfied that it was going smoothly, she went to her study and called Jeanine. Again, it was Millius who picked up the phone. Mitzi announced herself. “Just a minute, Ms. Cardell.”
“Successful party?” Jeanine asked.
“I suppose so. I’m heading there now.”
“I’ve arranged with security.”
“Good.”
A half hour later, Mitzi sat with the first lady in her office.
“Does he have to be there?” Mitzi asked, referring to Millius, who worked at a computer in the anteroom.
“Forget him, Mitzi. Okay, so this Brixton character is in Washington and tried to reach you. That doesn’t mean he knows anything.”
“It’s worse, Jeanine. I got a call from a reporter for the Savannah paper, some guy named Sayers.”
“I’ve heard the name.”
“He told my secretary that he wanted to talk to me about a twenty-year-old crime that happened in Savannah. The stabbing! Jesus, the press is involved now.”
Jeanine sat back and rubbed her eyes. “That is cause for concern. How did he get onto it?”
“I don’t know. Probably this Brixton. This is all about to come tumbling down on you, Jeanine.”
Jeanine lowered her hands and leaned forward. “‘Tumbling down on me’?”
“Well, yes, of course. It was you who stabbed him and—”
“And it was your father who paid the Watkins girl to go to prison.”
They stared at each other, their eyes transmitting their conflicting thoughts.
“Look,” Jeanine finally said, “there’s nothing to be gained by deciding who’s more to blame. The important thing is to come up with a plan to head it off. Do you have any suggestions?”
“No.” Mitzi twisted her fingers; she was on the verge of tears.
After a thoughtful pause, Jeanine said, “There’s a lot more at stake here than having paid off Watkins. Do you realize what this will do to Fletch and his presidency?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that,