The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [29]
“His regulars?”
“His cabinet. High-ranking military. The usual Washington A-list.”
“I suppose over the years you got to know them all well.”
“Everyone who was anyone.”
“Did you know Miles Kendall?”
“Of course I knew Miles. Had a terrible crush on him when he first came to town. I don’t mind admitting it now.” Addie giggled and for a moment sounded more like a young girl of sixteen than a woman in her eighties. The moment passed quickly. “I hear he isn’t doing well these days.”
“He looks well enough, for a man of advanced years, but he is having some problems with his memory.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Yes. I was hoping to be able to cull some of his best memories for my book, but . . .” Simon left the thought dangling meaningfully.
“Terrible, terrible shame. Miles was quite the guy, back then.” Addie’s voice dropped just slightly. “Handsome, witty, oh, and a great dancer. Plus he was very close to the power. He and Hayward were best of friends, I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Sounds as if he was on that A-list you were talking about.”
“Oh, at the very top. Miles was the town’s most eligible bachelor. He was on everyone’s list.”
“Was he a ladies’ man, back then?”
“Miles?” Adelaide paused to consider before answering. “Not really, though he did have lots of ladies more than willing to give him a tumble. Myself included, I daresay.”
“Did he have a steady girl?”
“Oh, no, not really. Though for a time there was one girl . . . what was her name?”
Simon could almost see the old woman’s brows knitting in a frown.
“Oh, you know who I mean.” She tsk-tsked at her failing memory. “Lovely girl. Stunning, really. Young, but quite sophisticated—that old Philadelphia Main Line breeding, you know. Miles was quite taken with her there for a time. Oh, what was her name?”
“Somewhere I saw the name Blythe . . .” Simon offered.
“Ah, of course. Blythe. There was a time when you almost never saw him without her on his arm.”
“I can’t seem to locate her last name in my notes—”
“It was Pierce. As in Pierce Tires.”
“Oh, right. Pierce.” Simon grabbed a piece of paper and printed the name in inch-high letters across the top sheet of his notebook. “BLYTHE PIERCE.”
“Such a tragic loss that was, though.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, she died so terribly. Hit-and-run, right there on Connecticut Avenue. Bastard who ran her down never bothered to stop, just left her lying there in the street.”
“And they never found the driver of the car?”
“Never so much as a clue. The police thought it may have been someone from out of town, just passing through the city.”
“Wasn’t there an investigation?”
“Oh, of course there was. Especially with her father being who he was—”
“Who was her father?”
“Foster Pierce. He was Ambassador to Belgium at the time. I believe that Blythe’s first trip to the White House was on the arm of her father. That’s how she met Miles, through her father.”
“Really?”
“Really. Word was that after the police investigation came up with nothing, Foster Pierce brought in his own private investigator, but as far as I know, he might as well not have bothered. They never did find the car or the driver. I heard the case just went cold after that.”
“Where did the accident happen?”
“Out in front of Blythe’s apartment building. It was late; it was dark; she must have just come home from something or other.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“None that I’d heard of. Of course, it was so late— two or so in the morning, as I recall. We were all hoping someone would have seen something, you know, but I never heard if anyone stepped forward.”
Simon paused, knowing he needed to get as much information about Blythe in as short a time as possible, before Addie Anderson changed the subject and went on to something else. “Ms. Anderson, what did Blythe Pierce do, do you remember?”
“What do you mean, what did she do?