Deadline (Sandra Brown)

was gone and that a new regime had taken over. Like we needed reminding. The bitch.”
    Dawson shared her sentiment, but the less said about Harriet the better for his frame of mind. He redirected the conversation back to Nolan. “What about the congressman’s personal life?”
    “Squeaky clean. Widowed in the midnineties. They’d been married since The Flood, and he never remarried. No scandals. Not one nekkid girl caught sneaking out of his office, no little boys in his shower. Social drinker, nonsmoker. On paper, he was a saint.”
    “Find anything on the daughter?”
    “Amelia. Middle name Ware. These southern names just kill me,” she mumbled as an aside. “Born May 1981, which makes her—”
    “Thirty-two.”
    “I can subtract,” she snapped. “Attended Vanderbilt. Active in various campus organizations. Took it upon herself to launch a food-and-clothing drive to help hurricane victims in Alabama and went herself to see that the goods got where they were supposed to go. Made national news. Yada yada.
    “Graduated summa cum laude with a degree in history. Earned a master’s while working at a museum in Boston. Then she spent two years working at another in Baltimore. But when her father retired from public office—”
    “Do you know why he retired?”
    “No specific reason given. He made an announcement that he wasn’t going to seek reelection. Nothing noteworthy or suspicious. Just tired of it, I guess. He was nearing seventy.”
    “Okay.”
    “Anyhow…Where was I?”
    “When her father retired…”
    “Right. She moved back to Savannah and became his assistant. She served as his hostess, social secretary, Girl Friday. Together they sponsored fund-raisers for numerous charities.”
    “Was she married to Jeremy Wesson during this same time?”
    “Let’s see…yeah, there was an overlap of a few years. The congressman died in early 2010. Mrs. Wesson now works—”
    “She goes by Nolan.”
    “—as a curator at the—”
    “Collier War Museum. Specializes in—”
    “Look, if you’re so freakin’ smart, why’d you have me look up all this crap? Which , if we’re splitting hairs, you could’ve looked up yourself.”
    “But I’m clumsy at it and you’re adroit.”
    “Adroit, my ass. You just don’t want to take the time.”
    “I just don’t want to take the time,” he admitted.
    “Your time’s more valuable than mine?”
    “No, you’re priceless, and I couldn’t do without you. You know that.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “I’ve got photos of Ms. Nolan. She’s at least an eight.”
    “Closer to a nine. And a half.”
    “I swear to God, Dawson, you had better not have me doing all this work just ’cause you’ve got the hots for the lady. I’m not running a dating service here.”
    “I swear, it’s vital background information for a story.”
    “One you don’t want Harriet to know about.”
    “Not yet.” He glanced around and realized that the corridor had virtually cleared. He needed to hurry, but he had a few more questions for Glenda and was afraid that if he didn’t ask them while she was being moderately agreeable, he’d be left wanting. “Do you have a current address for her?”
    “Last one that surfaced was Jones Street in Savannah.”
    Considering what had happened, he doubted she was still living there. “Where did the congressman live?”
    Glenda told him. “One website had photos. Oak trees with Spanish moss. White columns. Deep veranda. Your basic Tara.”
    “Is anyone living there now?”
    “Don’t know.”
    “See if you can find out. And work on getting a current address for her.”
    “We’re looking at a holiday weekend, you know.”
    “But you love me. You know you do.”
    “In your dreams.”
    Grinning, he started toward the elevator bank. “Anything else you can dig up will be greatly appreciated. Text, call, or e-mail me. Any hour.”
    “I’ve got a life, too, you know. Never mind that it sucks.”
    “One more thing. How did Congressman Nolan die?”
    “Well, finally! I’ve been itching for you to ask.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Because I saved the best for last.”

 
    Diary of Flora Stimel—January 23, 1978
     
     
Today was awful, the reason being that Carl got furious at me.
I should have known better than to cross him. He’s been out of sorts lately, and I know it’s because of the guns that we were supposed to get, but didn’t. Some Cuban drug dealers waved their money around (I guess they have a