All Night Long

fund-raiser I’m going to nail his hide to the wall. The story will break in the
Glaston Cove Beacon
the next morning and Webb’s career will be in smoking ruins within hours.”

Forty-Four

    The following evening Irene stood with Luke, Adeline Grady and Duncan Penn, the
Glaston Cove Beacon
‘s one and only photographer, in the shadow of a potted palm.
    Together they surveyed the crowded hotel ballroom.
    “Very slick,” Luke said. He was dressed in a suit and tie, and he carried a laptop under one arm.
    “No one even blinked when we walked through the door.”
    “That’s because all they saw were our press credentials,” Irene said. “How did you get them, anyway Addy?”
    Adeline, short, round and magnificent in a stoplight-red pantsuit, rocked on her heels and looked smug. “Some of the easiest things to get in the entire universe are press credentials for a political fund-raiser. The campaign officials want the media to attend.” She waved in the direction of the buffet table. “Why do you think they put out all the good grazing food?”
    “Not a bad spread, either,” Duncan said. Young, thin and slight of build, he looked as if the weight o he cameras draped around his neck might cause him to topple over. He examined the canapes, sliced cheeses and small sandwiches heaped on the small plate in his hand. “I’d give the Webb campaign even out often for the buffet. Maybe an eight.”
    Irene looked at Adeline. “I wouldn’t have thought that the
Glaston Cove Beacon
was particularly popular with the Webb campaign people, given that we broke the story of Pamela’s death.”
    Adeline downed some champagne and lowered the glass. “There may have been a sligh isunderstanding regarding the exact name of the paper when I phoned to request the credentials.”
    Luke studied the plastic-encased card slung around his neck. “That would probably explain why our paperwork says that we’re with the
Beacon Hill Banner
.”
    “A temporary miscommunication, which I am only too happy to correct.” Adeline reached into her tote bag, withdrew four press cards and handed them around. “Here are your replacement credentials.”
    “Misunderstandings happen,” Luke said, removing the
Beacon Hill Banner
card from the plastic holder.
    “They do, indeed,” Adeline agreed. She looked at Duncan. “I’ll hold that plate for you while yo xchange the cards.”
    “Thanks.” Duncan gave her his heavily laden plate and busied himself with the process of removing and replacing the press cards.
    Adeline ate one of the sandwiches and immediately helped herself to another.
    Irene exchanged her credentials and went back to surveying the room. “No one here seems to be mourning the death of Hoyt Egan.”
    Adeline shrugged and selected another tidbit from Duncan’s plate. “Webb’s new campaign manager released a statement earlier today. Called Egan’s death a terrible tragedy and said it clearly demonstrates that it is time to get tough on crime and that Ryland Webb has a plan to do just that.”
    “Heard that before,” Duncan said. He finished fiddling with his credentials and reached to take back his plate. An alarmed scowl widened his eyes. “Hey, that’s my food, boss.”
    “Oh, is it?” Unperturbed, Adeline seized one last cocktail sausage and then handed over the plate.
    Luke looked at Irene. “How does it feel to be a big-time investigative journalist?”
    “Adrenaline city,” she confessed. “Don’t usually get this jazzed when I cover the Glaston Cove city council meetings or choose the recipe of the week.”
    Addy rubbed her hands together. “You aren’t the only one who is in high gear tonight, kiddo. Got t dmit this story of yours feels big, very, very big.”
    Irene reached into her handbag, took out the little recorder and clipped it to the shoulder strap. She switched it on to make certain that it was working. “These gadgets have a bad habit of failing just when you’re about to start an interview.
    Cameras ready, Duncan?”
    “Ready and waiting.” Duncan gazed longingly at the buffet table. “Do I have time to refill my plate?”
    Irene saw commotion in a doorway at the back of the room.
    Webb appeared. Alexa Douglass was at his side. A short, anxious-looking man hovered in the background. Hoyt Egan’s replacement, no doubt.

    “Forget the food, Duncan,” she said. “Webb just arrived.”
    A keen expression lit Adeline’s face. “Here we go, boys and girls.”
    Irene stepped