Read Online Murder on K Street by Margaret Truman - Free Book Online

desk clerk with the necessary information, Rotondi used the moment to take in the daughter of his friend, the senator from Illinois. He knew she was a dedicated vegetarian and exerciser; nothing other than “Certified Organic” passed her lips. Her figure reflected her healthy lifestyle. Her jeans were skintight, her blouse a little too small, which caused her breasts to strain against the silky blue fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. One day, she might have to struggle with weight gain, but for now she was female perfection. Rotondi had always found the game of deciding which parent a child looks like, especially infants, to be, well, infantile. But he silently played the game anyway. Polly Simmons didn’t look very much like either of her parents. She had her father’s height, and there was something about her eyes that testified to being his daughter. Her nose and cheekbones were like Jeannette’s, although not quite as refined. It was her hair that said she might have been adopted, which wasn’t true. While Jeannette’s brunette hair had had a hint of copper in it, Polly’s was the color of cinnamon, and curly.
Where did
that
come from
?
    They rode the elevator to her floor and entered the suite.
    “Wow!” she said, doing a pirouette. “What does this go for a night?”
    “Not your concern,” Rotondi said as he opened the drapes and turned down the thermostat to make the room cooler.
    “On Daddy’s tab,” she said absently. “Or some lobbyist’s.”
    “He’s trying to clean up some pressing business in the Senate, Polly, so he’ll be free to—”
    “Free to spend time with me in my moment of grief?”
    “Yes.”
    She sat heavily on the couch and stared at Rotondi, who leaned on his cane in the middle of the room. Her mouth opened and she started to say something, but instead of words there was a torrent of tears. Rotondi put his arm around her.
    “She’s dead?” Polly said over and over. “Some bastard killed her?”
    His answer was to pull her closer. He said nothing, allowing this outpouring of pain to run its course.
    “I’m sorry,” she said once the tears had subsided. Rotondi pulled a tissue from a small pack in his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
    “I guess now that I’m here in D.C.,” she said, “the reality has set in. Is there anything new? Have they found Mom’s killer? Do they have leads? Anything?”
    “It’s too early in the investigation, Polly. I’ve been in touch with the police and they’ve promised to keep me informed. When was the last time you spoke to your mother?”
    “Just yesterday.” She shuddered. “The day she was murdered. In the afternoon, about four.”
    “Did everything seem all right? Normal?”
    “Uh-huh. She…”
    Rotondi waited.
    “She sounded like she’d been drinking.” Polly turned to Rotondi. “She had that problem, you know, Phil. I mean, not always, just the last couple of years. Don’t misunderstand. Not falling-down drunk or anything like that. But I could always tell when I called.”
    Rotondi’s silent nod said that he wasn’t hearing anything he didn’t already know.
    “She’s been so unhappy,” Polly said.
    “Do you know why?” he asked, already knowing but wanting her input.
    “Everything. Getting older, I guess. She’s been so disappointed in him.”
    “Disappointed in whom?”
    “Dad, of course.” She said it with a fleeting smile. “And Neil, too, for that matter.”
    “Disappointed in what?”
    “What they’ve done with their lives.”
    “I’d say they’ve done quite well with their lives,” Rotondi said. He got up and approached the minibar. “Like something, Polly? Soft drink, something stronger? Bloody Mary?”
    “Bloody Mary mix, no booze.”
    “You’ve got it.”
    “I know what you mean,” she said as she unlaced her sneakers and kicked them off. “Dad’s a United States senator, a really big guy, huh? Neil’s a lobbyist. Tell me, Phil, what does either of them do to make this a