Always Time To Die

Chapter 54

CHIMAYO

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

WEARING A PAIR OF LEVl'S THAT HADN'T BEEN TAILORED OR IRONED, ANNE Quintrell met her husband at the door. There was no fanfare surrounding him, no town car and driver, no bodyguards. The vehicle in the driveway was one of the thousands of anonymous white rentals that infested airports. At Josh's request they were staying at a supporter's consciously rustic vacation house in Chimayo, rather than in the gubernatorial mansion. It was the only way he could dodge Dykstra.

Sometimes freedom of the press was a real pain in the ass.

As far as the public knew, the governor was still on the East Coast at a nonsectarian religious retreat to discuss the spiritual aspect of political office. Privately, Josh had thought it was a waste of time, but so was much of the public part of being a politician. When Pete had called, Josh had leaped at the reason for leaving, and everyone had agreed to keep it quiet so that he had time to grieve without the media ghouls hanging off every stoplight.

"I'm sorry," Anne said to her husband. She barely recognized him beneath the slouch hat and clothes that were better suited to a fishing trip than a public outing. White stubble covered his face from cheekbones to throat. He looked like he'd hitchhiked rather than flown in from his last fund-raiser. "I know there wasn't much love lost between you and your aunt, but it's still not easy."

Josh came inside so that Anne could close and lock the door behind him. He tossed his slouch hat aside, revealing his trademark thatch of silver hair. "I'm getting sick of bouncing back and forth for family funerals. In fact, I may be getting sick, period." He thought of the flat-out sprint for the presidency that awaited him. Eleven months of hell.

On the other hand, with a little luck, this time next year he'd be president of the United States of America. Not bad for a kid nobody had ever given a damn about.

"Did the Sorenson Foundation's lawyer reach you?" Anne asked, stepping inside so that he could follow.

"No. I had to change flights three times because of the weather. Unless somebody has my private cell number, I'm off the scope. I'd like it to stay that way. What did the lawyer want?"

She closed and locked the front door. "A discounted price on the ranch for public service."

"I'd like one of those myself, but I still have to pay for political ads the old-fashioned way-out of my own pocket."

"The old-fashioned way is out of some other guy's pocket," Anne said, smiling slightly. "Father always did it that way. Did you eat on the plane?"

"In coach?"

"I don't think I've ever flown coach."

"If you're lucky, they throw peanuts at you. Ten to a package, one package per customer."

Anne winced. "Do we have to do anything today or can you get some rest?"

Frowning, he set down his fat computer case and shrugged out of his coat. "I should see the lawyer about final arrangements for Winifred."

"Melissa is taking care of that."

"At least there won't be another nauseating toast to gag down." Josh rubbed his eyes and stretched his long frame. "I'm too old to be sleeping in a center seat in coach."

Anne shook her head. "Not too old. Too smart. But don't worry. When you're president, you'll have your own plane."

He grinned suddenly, looking more like forty than over sixty.

"That's the spirit. Did you have a chance to get some food for this place or will I have to keep on these ratty hiking clothes, pull my hat low, and slink into the local market?"

"No need. I did my Holly Homemaker act earlier. You'd have fallen on the floor laughing at my baggy jeans and sweatshirt."

He snickered. "Thanks. I know you hate to go slumming, but it's a great way to stay under the media radar."

"I'm just terrified of meeting someone who recognizes me."

"That's the whole point. No one looks at ordinary people. Turn on the TV, will you? I want to catch the three o'clock local cable news. I told everyone to keep Winifred out of the news until I could get back, but you never know."

Anne picked up the controller, turned on the small TV in the kitchen, and hit the channel for the local cable news feed. "You want a beer and a sandwich?" she asked.

"I'll make it."

"A sandwich I can manage. If you want something hot, you'll have to do it yourself."

"I didn't marry you for your domestic skills," Josh said, looking at his watch and then at the TV

"You knew I could afford a chef."

He smiled slightly. "And you knew I was on my way to the White House." Some things were more binding than love. Ambition was one of them. He and Anne understood the deal they'd made when they traded wedding rings.

On TV, some local siding salesman was giving his pitch.

Josh hit the mute button and lowered himself onto one of the two stools that made an informal dining area of the counter. He watched Anne work and thought that here was a family values photo op if ever there was one. About the only time Anne went willingly into a kitchen was to discuss the menu for an upcoming party.

The usual closely edited, high-energy shots of the cable news team flashed across the TV, a lead-in to their three o'clock promo of upcoming news events. Josh had often thought it was like a striptease-Have you heard the sky is falling? News on the hour. Have you seen a crack in your sky? News on the hour. Did the sky fall near you? News on the hour. By the time the story appeared, far more time had been spent hyping it than was devoted to actually covering it. It was the kind of ten-second-sensation mentality that had reduced political coverage to an exchange of slogans at six o'clock, with an occasional weekend recap of "news" for the people who lived under rocks on the far side of the moon.

But each one of those rock dwellers has a vote, Josh reminded himself.

His job was to get as many of those votes as he could and enjoy the benefits of power. The fact that political power was exercised in a way that would horrify the naive didn't matter. It was the naive who had the vote, the naive who had to be courted, and the naive who allowed national politicians to leave office richer than when they went in and "journalists" like Jeanette Dykstra to flourish. And speak of the devil…

Josh hit the mute button again, restoring sound.

A serious Dykstra looked straight into the camera and leaned forward to give out the physical cues that translated as: Listen up out there, this is hot! The fact that she did the same thing for a story about two celebrities wearing the same outfit to a party was all part of selling the news.

"Exclusively from Behind the Scenes, Governor Josh Quintrell's aunt Winifred Simmons y Castillo demands that her nephew have a blood test to prove that he is descended from Sylvia Castillo Quintrell. More as the story develops."

The camera cut away to another talking head selling another ten-second news promo.

Josh didn't listen.

"Did I hear your name?" Anne asked as she set a turkey sandwich in front of Josh.

Josh nodded. "Before Winifred died, she went crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"She wants me to prove I'm a Quintrell."

Anne stopped in the act of reaching inside the refrigerator for a beer. "Excuse me?"

"Like I said. She went nuts."

"Well, she's dead now, so it doesn't matter."

Josh thought of Dykstra's eager ferret eyes and wondered if it would be that easy.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the New York accountant's caller ID. He punched in and said, "Make it fast. I'm in a meeting and can't talk."

Anne looked at her husband. He gave her the kind of smile he always did when he was distracted.

"Okay," Josh said. "Thanks. Send me the bill."

"Who was that?"

"Nobody important." He yawned. "Forget the beer and make it a coffee. I have to go to the ranch."

"Right now? I thought Melissa had already arranged for Winifred's ashes to be scattered with Sylvia's."

"She did." Josh yawned again. "Still, I don't want that bitch Dykstra to think I didn't love my dear old auntie. At the same time, I'll give everyone their severance pay in person. And I should press some flesh in the hispano community."

"I won't wait up for you, then."

"Good idea." He rubbed his eyes. "If it gets too late, I'll stay in Taos. More snow is expected up there."

"Why not stay at the ranch?"

"Pete and Melissa usually go to town for dinner and a show on Saturdays and stay overnight for church on Sunday morning. There won't be anyone at the ranch to cook or see that a bed is ready for me."

"You shouldn't have told them the ranch was as good as sold. They don't care anymore."

"I couldn't just toss them out without warning. They've worked there for years."

Anne shrugged. "The Senator spoiled them. It's a job, not a sinecure. But he would never listen when I told him."

"Don't feel bad. The Senator never listened to anyone, including God."