Read Online Poisoned Politics by Maggie Sefton - Free Book Online Page B

this is one hungry group,” Ryan said with a smile. His smile made him look even younger, much younger than his thirty-three years.
    â€œLet’s keep them happy. Feed them and water them well is my motto,” I joked as we walked down the side hallway toward the kitchen. Curiosity suddenly pushed forward and I couldn’t help asking. “I imagine there’s a lot of talk about Congressman Wilson’s death going around.”
    â€œOh, yeah, I’ve heard it mentioned several times. That’s such a shame too. He seemed to be a really sharp guy. I heard him interviewed on a news show a few months ago.” Ryan paused outside the doorway to the kitchen. I could see the catering staff scurrying around in their seemingly frantic, but-always-in-control routines. “Today’s news reports said he died from an accidental overdose of sleeping pills. That is so sad. And such a waste too.”
    â€œI agree, Ryan. We’ve lost a lot of good and talented people this year. We really can’t afford to lose any more.” My niece Karen’s face flashed through my mind. Too young to die so young or so violently. Chasing away gruesome memories, I ventured into the caterers’ domain. “Do we have any coffee set up yet?” I asked Ryan. “I’m about to switch poisons.”
    â€œSure, Molly. Want me to get you a cup?”
    â€œThat’s okay, just point me in the right direction.” I scanned the command center where caterers were giving orders. I deliberately stayed out of their way. Artists at Work.
    â€œCoffee’s over there,” Caterer Rosemary called out, pointing to a side counter. “You can come in, Molly. We won’t bite.”
    â€œIt’s not you I’m worried about,” I said, heading for the tall urns. The coffee lobe of my brain was still lulled by the rich wine. Time to wake it up. “I don’t want to step in someone’s way as they’re dashing about. A soufflé might fall, or worse, a whole tray of yummy things.” I noticed a tray with crab delicacies on another counter as I filled a coffee cup. “Actually I don’t trust myself to be around all your great food. I’ll lose control and start eating.”
    â€œThat’s music to our ears, Molly,” Caterer Marian said with a wide smile. She was the older of the successful twosome.
    â€œGo ahead, have one,” Ryan tempted me, his tray already filled with the spinach-and-cheese-filled phyllo pastries.
    I can only resist so much, so I snatched one and popped it into my mouth, letting those delicious and fattening flavors delight. “Too delicious. I’m out of here before I lose control,” I sped for the doorway, following Ryan, as the catering staff’s laughter drifted behind me.
    A deep drink of coffee chased away the rich flavors and the wine’s mellowing effects. Now I’d be sure to stay sharp. I didn’t want to miss any comments about Quentin Wilson’s death. Aggie was heading my way, a lone glass of red wine on her tray.
    â€œI saved a Pinot Noir for you, Molly, but I see you’ve already switched to coffee,” she said with her familiar smile.
    â€œThanks anyway, Aggie. You can give it to one of those sunbathers outside.”
    â€œActually they’ve been ordering iced drinks, no surprise,” Aggie started toward the bar.
    â€œI’ll bet the gossip hounds are in full bay with the Quentin Wilson news,” I walked with her.
    â€œOh, yes.” Aggie’s smile disappeared. “I’ve overheard a lot of people remarking about it. It’s a real shame.”
    â€œHave you heard anyone speculating about where Wilson died?” I probed. “The paper mentioned a Northern Virginia residence.”
    Aggie stopped and looked at me, her gaze direct. “Why are you asking?”
    I noticed she didn’t answer my question, but I wasn’t surprised. I was convinced