The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [30]
“Did she have a job? Did she work?”
“I don’t recall that Blythe had a paying job, though I do think she was involved in some type of volunteer work. I think I would have heard if she worked for the government, but of course, being an heiress, perhaps she didn’t have to work at all. And poor Miles, he just wasn’t the same after that.” Adelaide sighed. “And truthfully, looking back, it seems that a lot of things weren’t the same after that accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I guess because Miles was in mourning— anyone who’d ever seen him with Blythe knew that he was so much in love with her—well, it just seemed that even the parties at the White House weren’t as lively for a time. Of course, I always thought that the President did his best to help his friend get through that terrible time.”
“In what way?”
“Oh, after Blythe it seems they spent a lot of time together, just the two of them, Miles and the President. In times of such sorrow, you do most appreciate your oldest, your closest friends, don’t you think? So I would imagine that the President must have been a great comfort to Miles. It must have been hard for him, to have lost the woman he loved.”
But which man had been in the greater need of comfort? And if it was true that both men had loved this same woman, which man had the greater need to grieve behind closed doors?
Simon sat staring out the window for a long time after thanking Adelaide Anderson for her time and promising to send her an autographed copy of his book.
Who, beside Miles Kendall, had known about the President’s affair with Blythe Pierce?
Assuming of course that it was true. After all, all he had really managed to confirm was that Blythe Pierce had been a frequent visitor to the White House as Kendall’s guest. What, really, could he prove beyond that?
How to prove something thirty years after the fact?
Simon tapped his pen impatiently on the tabletop, pondering the tragic demise of the object of the affections of both men. How peculiar that this same woman had been the victim of a random crime. A crime that had never been solved.
How, he wondered, could that be . . . ?
And how could he uncover the truth when two of the key players were dead and the third was senile?
Simon glanced toward the door just as a tall woman with casually coiffed salt-and-pepper hair entered the bar and slid off her large black-and-white zebra-print sunglasses. Her eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on Simon. The corners of her mouth eased into a smile. She walked toward him in a long-legged stride that could have been described as youthful if not for the fact that she favored her left leg and was clearly in her late fifties.
“Hello, Simon Keller,” she said as she approached his table.
“Hello, Madeline Shaw.” Simon stood and took both of her hands in his. “You’re looking good, as always.”
“As are you, pup.” Madeline Shaw, a longtime detective in the District, pulled out her own chair and seated herself solidly upon it. She nodded to the waiter who hovered nearby with a menu, and reached out her hand to take it.
“How’ve you been?” Simon studied the face of the woman he’d admired for almost a decade.
“I’ve been better. They’ve still got me working a desk.” She raised an eyebrow. “Need I tell you how annoying that is?”
“I can only begin to imagine.” Simon grinned. Once upon a time, Detective Shaw had been hell on wheels. It had taken a bullet to her left thigh to slow her down. “You feeling all right, though, other than the fact that you’re bored?”
“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I could get back out on the street, but I know that won’t happen. My inability to run like a deer—even a three-legged one— has hampered my forward motion more than a bit. I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll be on the desk for as long as I’m on the job.”
“How much longer will that be?”
Madeline shrugged. “I can retire in eight months.”
“Will you?”
“Who knows?”
The waiter returned and took their orders, then disappeared, tucking the menus under his arm.
“What are you up to these days?”
“As of the first of the month,