Brazen Virtue

prevent her from shutting the door in their faces, Ed simply put a shoulder into the opening. “I’m afraid we’ll have to insist. We can talk to him here, or down at headquarters.” Ed caught the look in her eyes and was certain, despite his size, that she intended to muscle him aside.
    “Margaret, what in hell’s going on?” The question was followed by a series of sneezes before Congressman Morgan appeared at the door. He was a small-statured, dark-haired man approaching fifty. Just now he was pale, red-eyed, and wrapped in a bathrobe.
    “These men insist on seeing you, sir, and I told them—”
    “All right, Margaret.” In spite of his red eyes, Morgan managed a wide, political smile. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, as you can see I’m a bit under the weather.”
    “Our apologies, Congressman.” Ben held up his shield again. “But it’s important.”
    “I see. Well, come in then. But I’ll warn you to keep your distance. I’m probably still contagious.”
    He led them down the hall and into a sitting room done in blues and grays and accented with framed sketches of the city. “Margaret, stop scowling at the police officers and go deal with those files.”
    “Relapse,” she predicted, but dutifully disappeared.
    “Secretaries are worse than wives. Have a seat, gentlemen. You’ll excuse me if I stretch out here.” He settled himself on the couch with an angora throw over his knees. “Flu,” he explained as he reached for a tissue. “Healthy as a horse all winter, then as soon as the flowers start blooming, I get hit with this.”

    Cautious, Ed took a chair a good three feet away. “People take better care of themselves in the winter.” He noted the teapot and the pitcher of juice. At least he was taking fluids. “We’ll try not to take up much of your time.”
    “Always make it my business to cooperate with the police. We’re on the same side, after all.” Morgan sneezed heartily into a tissue.
    “Bless you,” Ed offered.
    “Thanks. So what can I do for you?”
    “Are you acquainted with a business called Fantasy, Incorporated?” Ben asked the question casually as he crossed his legs, but his eyes never left Morgan’s face.
    “Fantasy? No,” he decided after a moment’s thought. “It doesn’t ring a bell.” He made the pun with seeming innocence as he adjusted his pillow. “Should it?”
    “Telephone sex.” Ed thought briefly of the germs skittering around in the air. Being a cop had its hazards.
    “Ah.” Morgan grimaced a bit, then settled back. “Certainly a subject for debate. Still, that’s more a matter for the FCC and the courts than a congressman. At least at the moment.”
    “Did you know a Kathleen Breezewood, Congressman Morgan?”
    “Breezewood, Breezewood.” Morgan’s lip poked out as he studied Ben. “The name’s not familiar.”
    “Desiree?”
    “No.” He smiled again. “That’s not a name a man forgets.”
    Ed took out his pad and opened it as if he were checking some fact. “If you didn’t know Mrs. Breezewood, why did you send flowers to her funeral?”
    “Did I?” Morgan looked mildly baffled. “Well, she certainly wasn’t someone of close acquaintance, but flowers are sent for any number of reasons. Political mostly. My secretary handles that sort of thing. Margaret!” He bellowed the name, then fell into a quick fit of coughing.

    “Overdoing,” she muttered as she scurried into the room. “Drink your tea and stop shouting.”
    He did just that, meekly, Ed thought. “Margaret, do I know a Kathleen Breezewood?”
    “Do you mean the woman who was murdered a few days ago?”
    The flush that the coughing had brought on faded from Morgan’s face. He turned to Ed. “Do I?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Did we send flowers, Margaret?”
    “Why should we?” She fussed with his lap robe. “You didn’t know her.”
    “Flowers were sent to her funeral that were ordered from Bloom Town Florists with your credit card number. MasterCard.” Ed glanced down at his book again and rattled off the number.
    “Is that mine?” Morgan asked his secretary.
    “Yes, but I didn’t order any flowers. We have an account with Lorimar Florists in any case. Don’t use Bloom Town. Haven’t ordered flowers in two weeks. Last ones went to Parson’s wife when she had her baby.” She gave Ben a stubborn look. “It’s in the log.”
    “Get the log, please, Margaret.” Morgan waited for her to leave. “Gentlemen, I can see this business is more