Demon Night

relocated to D.C.
    Jane hadn’t been hurt, so Charlie didn’t have to hate him.
    Mark stood as she approached the table. “Charlotte!” He took her hand in a two-fisted shake, his smile exposing his square, even teeth.
    Well, he’d perfected the politician bit. His kiss to each of her cheeks was overkill, but maybe it was a D.C. thing. Hopefully he wouldn’t realize her grin was more amusement than greeting. “Mark. It’s been a long time.”
    He pulled back, and his gaze dropped to her cheek before darting back up. “Not so long that you’ve forgotten me,” he said, smiling again. “How are you? You look well.”
    That was sweet of him, but it said a lot that even with the bruise, she very likely did look better than when he’d last seen her. “I’m doing okay.” She shrugged and glanced at his companion. Mid-fifties, as good-looking as Mark with his regular features and healthy frame. His pale blue eyes were scrutinizing, assessing.
    Almost like a cop. Charlie shoved her unease away.
    “Charlotte—my father, Bill Brandt.” Mark slid back into his seat. After a quick look from the older man, he added, “ Senator Bill Brandt.”
    Charlie said something she thought was appropriate, but dipped her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t have to shake his. On the table, their drinks sat untouched. She rocked back on her heels. “So—how is D.C.? Are you visiting long?”
    “A few weeks.” Mark drummed his fingertips against the back of his opposite hand. “I’ll return to prepare for summer session. I’m legal counsel to Senator Gerath.”
    There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, but Charlie had no idea who that was. She shifted her weight, tried not to appear as ignorant as she felt. What could she say to that?
    She grasped for something, anything, and was relieved when she remembered it was an election year. “You must be busy preparing for his campaign then.”
    “Gerath was Ohio’s incumbent in 2006. He’ll serve another six-year term before running again,” the senator put in with austere tones. “It was a highly publicized race.”
    She darted a look at the elder Brandt and said lamely, “That’s right.”
    Mark’s hands clenched. “But there are other campaigns to support, Dad.” He turned back to Charlie. “We’ll be swamped until November.”
    Politics, she didn’t know; overworked customers, she did. “Is this a vacation before the long haul?”
    “A working vacation. Dad’s reconnecting with the constituents before heading back to D.C.”
    “At Cole’s?”
    Mark’s bland smile appeared again, similar to those she’d seen on hundreds of political ads. “The Heritage Theater. An out-of-town interest has been making noises about buying it, so we’re raising the possibility of it being listed as a historical marker, hoping to keep it local.”
    Considering that the current owners had giant sticks up their asses and looked down their noses at anyone who worked for Old Matthew, Charlie wouldn’t be sorry to see it change hands.
    But she only threw out another rote bartender’s response designed to keep the conversation going. “You must have seen the first movie while you were over there, then— Destry Rides Again ?”
    Mark looked to his father, and Brandt said, “We left early. My son doesn’t appreciate the classics. Too much black-and-white.”
    A slight flush colored Mark’s cheeks, and Charlie said, “I don’t like the end of it. Frenchy dies.” At Mark’s blank look, she added, “The Marlene Dietrich character—the singer in the saloon.”
    Mark nodded vaguely. “Ah, yes.”
    Brandt leveled his pale gaze at Charlie’s throat as he said, “Mark tells me that you used to sing.”
    Her back stiffened, but she didn’t let her expression change. “Yes.”
    “One of those grunge groups?”
    Mark apparently hadn’t told him much, or the details had gotten smashed. “Not exactly,” she said with a tight smile.
    “Dad—”
    Brandt held up his hand. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that kind of music, son. It brought Seattle a lot of attention and more money. And Miss Newcomb isn’t offended.”
    “No.” Not insulted, but even if she wasn’t being paranoid and he had deliberately provoked it, he likely couldn’t read the frustration in her voice. Not many people heard emotion over the rasp.
    “And how is Jane?” Mark finally took a drink of his wine—more of a gulp.
    Had he fortified himself before asking that