St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

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 naïve didn’t matter. It was the naïve who had the vote, the naïve who had to be courted, and the naïve 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