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About fifty people had returned for the private gathering. He noticed that Lucius Vance and the contingent from the House of Representatives were not there. Neither were the folks from the Senate. The governor, though, had come. He was an old friend, serving as Tennessee’s secretary of state when Danny had occupied the state’s chief executive mansion. They’d fought many a political battle together, some with Alex at their side.
He eased past the knots of mourners into the nearby dining room, not seeing Diane anywhere. He stopped, mingled, and spoke to a few acquaintances. Having an ex-president around had to be a novelty, but no one seemed overly impressed. A long oak table was laid out with covered dishes that he knew had been brought from people all around. More food than anyone could eat over the next week, much less this evening. He liked the fact that he no longer carried a cadre of aides in his wake. No men with guns watched his every move. No guy followed him around with a suitcase from which a nuclear war could be started. And no reporters were hanging on his every word. Just Danny Daniels, private citizen.
He shied away from the crowd’s center of gravity. The governor ambled over and whispered, “How does it feel not to have to worry about elections anymore?”
“Not as good as you might think.” And he meant that. He kept his voice low and close. “I need to talk to Diane. Do you know where her highness might be?”
“In her office, holding court.”
He caught the sarcasm, knowing that Diane Sherwood was not on this man’s Christmas card list, either.
Rain continued to thrum the roof.
“I’ll catch you later,” he said, and walked off.
* * *
He found her in a pine-paneled rectangle that reflected the tastes of a history enthusiast, which its owner fancied herself to be. Mountain art dotted the walls, and on the tables lay local memorabilia. Diane stood in front of the far windows, facing toward the wilderness, still wearing the black dress minus the veil from the funeral. The door was open, but he knocked lightly on the jamb anyway.
She turned and motioned for him to enter. Two other woman occupied the room. They excused themselves, leaving them alone. He was uncomfortable to say the least, since he could not recall their ever having a private conversation. Their chats had always occurred at gatherings, with spouses around, like insulation between them. Strange that he felt that way, considering how he and Alex were so close. But Pauline had never much cared for Diane, either.
“And to what do I owe this honor, Mr. President?” she said.
A miniature poodle rose from a corner bed and tried to get Diane’s attention, then quickly scuttled in a cloud of cluck-clucks to the hollow beneath a nearby chair.
“You invited me,” he said.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“My friend died.”
Her eyes bore into him. “Yes, he did.”
He got the message. Get to the point. “I’d like to ask you something. Are you satisfied with the official conclusions regarding Alex’s death?”
A curious look came to her bluish eyes. “You’re not?”
“That’s not an answer.”
She sauntered away from the rain-smeared windows. “I suppose it’s not. But that’s an odd thing to ask a widow on the day she buries her husband.”
“It’s a simple question, one you seem to be having trouble answering.”
She now tossed him a frosty glare. “Alex so admired you. To the point of it being sickening. You do know that I always thought you a fool.”
A pulse of anger swept through him, but he’d learned long ago not to chase smelly bait like that. “I’ve been called worse.”
She chuckled without any humor. “I’m sure you have. But twice I did not vote for you.”
His spine stiffened in a familiar feeling of confrontation. “I don’t really give a crap what you think of me. I just want to know if you have any doubts about Alex’s death?”
She shrugged. “He fell off a cliff into a river and drowned. There’s little to question. No one was there. Nothing points to anything suspicious. This has been all over the news for the past week. If someone knew or saw something he or she would have come forward by now.”
All valid points, so he shifted gears. “I heard that Alex might not have run again in two years, when his term ended. Was that true?”
She nodded. “We talked about doing some traveling. Enjoying ourselves. I think he was looking forward to retirement.”
That’s not what Taisley had said. “Then I assume everything was good between you two?”
Curiosity filled her face. “Why would it not be?”
He decided to drop the pretense. “I was just wondering if perhaps he might have finally tired of your bubbling personality.”
She stepped toward an oak desk that sat catty-corner before one of the room’s exterior corners, more blurry windows on either side. “Since it’s just you and me here, and you seem to be speaking frankly, may I join you?”
“Absolutely.”
“My husband loved me and I loved him. We’ve been married a long time and planned to stay that way. Contrary, I might add, to your own marriage, which Alex told me is over.”
“Why is my marriage of interest to you?”
“The more relevant question is why mine interests you. As I recall, you never cared much about what I might want.”
He knew what she was referring to. A sort of breaking point between them. It happened two years into his first term when a vacancy came to the Supreme Court. She’d wanted Alex to have the appointment and sent a personal note to the White House making the request, which he’d shown to his old friend.
“I know all about this. She’s dead set on it,” Alex said to him, handing back the note.
“And you?”
“You know how I feel about judges in their robes. Just a bunch of turkey buzzards. I don’t care to be one.”
He smiled at his friend’s judicial cynicism, which mimicked his own. “What about what your wife wants?”
“She’ll get over it.”
“You do know that Alex had no desire to be a Supreme Court justice.”
“Alex had little idea what he desired. He relied on me to make those choices for him.”
He heard the change in timbre of her voice, from grief to challenge, and wondered about the observation. Alex Sherwood might have been too nice, but he wasn’t weak. He did, though, have a soft spot for this woman, one they rarely discussed since the last thing you ever wanted to do was criticize another man’s wife.
“None of that matters anymore,” she said. “Alex is gone. I’m a widow. You’re an ex-president. Politics is over. It’s time for us both to fade away.”
Her personal insults
didn’t matter, but the jab about him being irrelevant did get to him. So he decided to do a little irritating of his own. “How good was it between you and Alex? I heard you’ve been scarce in DC for a long time.”
“I didn’t realize I was so high on your list of interests.”
“You weren’t, until your husband suddenly died.”
She caught the accusation, and he was trying hard not to be confrontational, but this woman had a way of bringing out the worst in him. He’d wondered many times why a good, decent Tennessee mountain man like Alex Sherwood would have married a shrew like this. For money? Hardly. Her family had next to nothing. Influence? None existed. Personality? Not unless you preferred the surly type. Possibly looks. She offered a neatly carved profile with a short, fine nose, high curved cheeks, and an angled chin. Her complexion carried the clear, flawless hue of someone who definitely lived in clean air. Tendrils of thick red-brown hair brushed ever so slightly at the base of a slender neck. She was definitely a looker. Alex had been insufferably handsome, too, the sort of appearance few women aged well against. Yet Diane had held her own. Maybe it had been her confidence? She’d always cast the assurance of a movie star, and she was no dummy. He knew she held a master’s degree in American history.
“I do have interests, apart from my husband’s,” she said. “I serve on several boards, the Smithsonian Libraries Advisory Board being one of those. Those took me away a lot. So it was hard to get to DC. Alex understood. He even encouraged me to do them.”
Considering the presence of Taisley, that was the first thing he’d heard that made sense.
“I haven’t been to Washington in several months,” she said. “Contrary to your conclusion that I’ve been scarce, I go at least twice a year for the Smithsonian board meetings. I’m going tomorrow to see about his apartment. It’s a task I’m not looking forward to.”
Her face seemed as tight and stiff as a mask. He’d been trying to gauge her replies, wondering the whole time why he was even doing this. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal anything of another woman. Nothing about that would be positive. Especially for Alex. So maybe he should just excuse himself and leave. He was about to do that when he noticed something on the floor, beneath the windows, behind the desk. Two cloth tote bags full of books. He caught the odd title of the top volume in the left bag.
