by their daughter. By then not only had he been very loving toward her, he promised that before the next election they would return to Venice. She loved him and wanted to believe him. And she knew that unless she assumed that most of his staff, not to mention his family, were conspiring in his adultery, there was absolutely no way of discovering the truth.
“At eleven-forty-nine this morning Miss Monroe’s resident house keeper, a Miss Consuelo James, went to her bungalow to rouse Miss Monroe,” continued the attorney general.
“She was due at Paramount for an important lunch meeting with senior executives and her agent, Folksie Campbell.
“On that agent’s advice, Miss James was told to wake Miss Monroe up.
“She knocked at the door and when no one answered she looked through the window. Although she could see a body in the bed, she could not see who it was.
“She shouted but this garnered no response.
“On the further orders of Mr. Campbell she was asked to get the gardener to break the door down. Whereupon she found Miss Monroe dead.”
He looked up. Slowly he added, “There were pills on the bed. They think they were barbiturates but they are checking all this now. Foul play is not suspected.”
Since no one said anything he felt it right to fill the silence.
“Famous. Beautiful. Only thirty-six years old. Why would she want to kill herself? Today of all days.”
“Damn shame,” he said to no one in particular.
They all looked at Jackie.
“Yes, very damned,” was all she could think of saying.
In his quiet drawl, the president interjected. “The story will hit the news wires very soon.”
She knew they, too, had all been remembering the pictures and the gossip. They were not close friends but she had known them all for years.
“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad tidings,” added the attorney general.
He gave her a small bow as he left the room.
“Is there more?” she asked her husband’s successor in a very quiet voice.
He raised his eyebrows as if to balance his thoughts.
“Apparently there was a letter. Miss James has it. Don’t worry, we are doing everything in our power to get hold of it. And as soon as we do I’ll make sure it’s checked—and destroyed if there is anything in it, anything at all, that any of us wouldn’t like.”
He put his hands on her shoulders.
His wife sat watching warily in the corner.
“This may be nothing to worry about,” he continued.
She refused to let him see that she was in the slightest way bothered.
“Of course not.” She smiled and stood.
“Don’t you think we should join them all downstairs?” And with that she picked up the tiny black jacket, fastened the six pearl buttons, and followed President and Mrs. Johnson, suddenly feeling like an interloper in her old home, a stranger in her own country.
CHAPTER Five
N ot one of the four hundred guests assembled in the East Room, not even the one who had given birth to her, could tell that the former First Lady was more upset than the already somber occasion called for. For the first time as a widow, she descended the red-carpeted stairs flanked by the military color guard.
The sympathy factor toward the late president’s widow was so intense that few dared even approach her. Guests assumed that just returning to this house, this place that had meant so much to her, would be enough to drive a sane person to the edge.
Sensing this, she took advantage, knowing that she had less than an hour before the news of M.M.’s suicide emerged. With a do-not-disturb expression firmly fixed on her face she began her silent safari, searching for her prey among the best and the brightest of America.
The new president had obviously decided to use the occasion not just to commemorate the anniversary but to luxuriate in the halo effect of surrounding himself with as many of his successful countrymen and -women as possible. Business scions and political leaders, sports stars and
“At eleven-forty-nine this morning Miss Monroe’s resident house keeper, a Miss Consuelo James, went to her bungalow to rouse Miss Monroe,” continued the attorney general.
“She was due at Paramount for an important lunch meeting with senior executives and her agent, Folksie Campbell.
“On that agent’s advice, Miss James was told to wake Miss Monroe up.
“She knocked at the door and when no one answered she looked through the window. Although she could see a body in the bed, she could not see who it was.
“She shouted but this garnered no response.
“On the further orders of Mr. Campbell she was asked to get the gardener to break the door down. Whereupon she found Miss Monroe dead.”
He looked up. Slowly he added, “There were pills on the bed. They think they were barbiturates but they are checking all this now. Foul play is not suspected.”
Since no one said anything he felt it right to fill the silence.
“Famous. Beautiful. Only thirty-six years old. Why would she want to kill herself? Today of all days.”
“Damn shame,” he said to no one in particular.
They all looked at Jackie.
“Yes, very damned,” was all she could think of saying.
In his quiet drawl, the president interjected. “The story will hit the news wires very soon.”
She knew they, too, had all been remembering the pictures and the gossip. They were not close friends but she had known them all for years.
“I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad tidings,” added the attorney general.
He gave her a small bow as he left the room.
“Is there more?” she asked her husband’s successor in a very quiet voice.
He raised his eyebrows as if to balance his thoughts.
“Apparently there was a letter. Miss James has it. Don’t worry, we are doing everything in our power to get hold of it. And as soon as we do I’ll make sure it’s checked—and destroyed if there is anything in it, anything at all, that any of us wouldn’t like.”
He put his hands on her shoulders.
His wife sat watching warily in the corner.
“This may be nothing to worry about,” he continued.
She refused to let him see that she was in the slightest way bothered.
“Of course not.” She smiled and stood.
“Don’t you think we should join them all downstairs?” And with that she picked up the tiny black jacket, fastened the six pearl buttons, and followed President and Mrs. Johnson, suddenly feeling like an interloper in her old home, a stranger in her own country.
CHAPTER Five
N ot one of the four hundred guests assembled in the East Room, not even the one who had given birth to her, could tell that the former First Lady was more upset than the already somber occasion called for. For the first time as a widow, she descended the red-carpeted stairs flanked by the military color guard.
The sympathy factor toward the late president’s widow was so intense that few dared even approach her. Guests assumed that just returning to this house, this place that had meant so much to her, would be enough to drive a sane person to the edge.
Sensing this, she took advantage, knowing that she had less than an hour before the news of M.M.’s suicide emerged. With a do-not-disturb expression firmly fixed on her face she began her silent safari, searching for her prey among the best and the brightest of America.
The new president had obviously decided to use the occasion not just to commemorate the anniversary but to luxuriate in the halo effect of surrounding himself with as many of his successful countrymen and -women as possible. Business scions and political leaders, sports stars and
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