Vengeance. Mystery Writers of America Presents B00A25NLU4

space.”
    Henry said, “Give me a few moments.”
    He slipped out.
    Beth heard voices raised, phones ringing, more voices. Less than ten minutes later, two young, burly hospital attendants came in, and the girl with the broken foot yelped about why she was being moved, what the hell was going on, where was her boyfriend as her personal items were placed in a white plastic bag, and then she and her bed were wheeled out. An empty bed was wheeled in; a grim-faced nurse made it up; and the curtain was pulled back, making the room bigger and wider.
    And Henry had returned and watched it all while typing on his electronic device. When the room was settled, he said, “Is that satisfactory, Mrs. Mooney?”
    “How . . . how in hell did you do that?”
    Henry said, “Problems. I’m paid quite well to solve them.”

    L ATER IN THE evening, in a private conference room down the hall from Janice’s hospital room, Beth signed a bunch of papers that she had a hard time puzzling through, but Henry said signing them was just a formality. When she was done, he nodded and smiled for the first time that evening.
    “Very good, Mrs. Mooney. You won’t regret it. I promise. Here —”
    He slid over a business card, which she picked up. On the back was a handwritten phone number. “My private, direct line. You have any questions, any problems, anything at all, give me a call. All right?”
    “Thank you, thank you very much,” she said.
    “And here,” he said, putting a white envelope on the conference table. “An initial . . . stipend for your worries.”
    Beth looked inside the envelope and saw a number of bills, all with Ben Franklin’s face on them. She quickly closed the envelope and shoved it into her purse. She said, “I’d like to ask you a question, if that’s all right.”
    “Mrs. Mooney, the senator and I are in your debt. Go ahead.”
    “Why do you do this? I mean, I’m sure you get paid a lot. But what’s in it for you?”
    The question seemed to catch him by surprise. “I guess you deserve an answer . . . for the troubles you’ve been through. I’ll tell you something, though I’ll deny ever having said this. What I want, and what I’ve worked for my entire life, is to put a man in the White House, to know that I did it, and, in return for my work, to be chief of staff for him. But that’s always up in the air until the final ballot. That’s something I’ve learned the hard way over the years.”
    “Chief of staff . . . is that an important job?”
    He abruptly stopped talking, as if afraid he had said too much. He put on his coat. “Mrs. Mooney, if you don’t mind, I need to catch a flight to Atlanta tonight . . . is there anything else I can do for you?”
    Beth was suddenly exhausted, like she had spent twelve hours on her feet at the hair salon. “No, I’m going to be with my girl. Thanks for making it so I can spend the night next to her.”
    The second smile of the evening. “My pleasure.”

    T HE NEXT FEW days went by in a daze of working at the salon, being at the hospital, and then being at the rehabilitation facility when Janice was transferred. There, Beth was pleased to see her little girl — all right, young woman! — recovering well. The bruises faded some, and she could walk up and down the hallway without leaning on someone or having to stop to catch her breath.
    Beth should have been encouraged, but so many things were bothering her. Janice was always one to talk her mother’s ears off about the latest political scandal, the latest celebrity wedding, and the latest news on whatever online or off-line technology she was involved with at that moment, but now, she just stayed in her bed and watched television or read paperback books. Beth had once offered to bring Janice’s laptop in, but with some curt words, Janice said she was no longer interested.
    Beth was confused and scared, but still, it was good to see her daughter get better, week after week. And as promised, a weekly check made out to her arrived, and she caught up on all her bills and even managed to start a savings account, a first. But truth be told, she always felt a bit self-conscious depositing the checks, like she was doing something bad. Yet Janice was slowly improving, and Janice didn’t say anything more about the senator’s son, so Beth let everything be and kept hoping for the future.
    And so it would have remained, if it weren’t for the night of the Iowa caucuses.

    I T HAD BEEN a long day,