EDITING: Politics and Poison

Chapter Eight: Deirdre In Trouble

Joe Hardy: Nancy and Dad had decided to stay at the hospital, so I left them in the waiting room, assured them that I would catch a cab.

I stood at the curb for some time, scuffing my army boots against the pavement, wondering where I'd go.  I didn't particularly want to see Frank, who pissed me off, these days. I hadn't seen him at Collig's talk, and I half expected him to flee again, go back to New York. Nor had I any desire to go back to the Drew's house, and feel small amongst the many empty rooms.

When a cab finally pulled up beside me, I told the driver to take me to the convention. It had ground to a stop, like a show ride, with signs on the gate promising to be open again the next day.

Bess Marvin was tidying up, counting money in the tent by the entrance. When she saw me, she hurried over, looking a picture in her purple poncho and knee high black boots. Her eyes were distressed, and she fumbled a bit as she tried to get the key into the lock. Her thickly padded black gloves obviously felt alien and awkward, when trying to perform such small hand movements.

Besides, she looked anxious and upset.No sooner was the gate open, she fell against me, shook my arm. "Is Mr. Drew okay?" she inquired, shivering, eyes wide on mine.I assured her that his stomach had been pumped and that he was resting.

"Carson didn't drink enough for it to be fatal," I told her, kissed her nose playfully. "So you can stop worrying your pretty little mind. Besides, he has nothing in his stomach now, and Hannah is glad, because it means he'll be hungry and she'll get to strengthen him up by making him soups and jellies."

"Don't talk about food!" Bess groaned, punched my arm. "I'm ravenous."

I tucked my arm through hers. "Come on. We'll go out for a bite to eat, once I am done talking to Ms. Deirdre Shannon. My treat."

Bess looked grave. "I heard that Deirdre served Mr. Drew his tea."

"Yeah, she did. I saw it."

Bess blanched. "You don't think she poisoned him do you, Joe?" She didn't give me time to reply, said, "She's a piece of work, Deirdre is. She's nasty, and she thinks she's prettier than she is. And she's selfish and rude, and she steals people's boyfriends, but I can't see her trying to hurt people like that. Why would she? What would her motive be?"

"She was being awfully racist," I said seriously. "She is obviously not a fan of Senator Greer; and Carson shot her down, told her to shut up. Doesn't it seem a bit suspicious that, minutes later, she gives him a cup of tea, laced with the same poison that killed Greer?"

Bess chewed on her lip. She looked down-cast. "I don't know."

Most of the kitchen staff had left. Only Mr. Gruen, and a couple of bus-boys were still packing up, covering desserts and putting them in a huge fridge. When I asked one of the waiters if he'd seen Deirdre, he pointed us in the direction of the main tent, where two volunteers were helping to stack chairs. Deirdre stood in the corner of the tent, talking quietly to a reporter. Her voice carried to us, and I heard her say, "I think Senator Greer was asking for it, to be honest. Some of the things he was saying even made me angry! I can imagine why someone would want to kill him, even if it were just to shut him up!"

"Deirdre!" Bess exploded. "Stop it! We weren't going to talk to the press! Remember? McGuinness told us to wait for the coroner's press release! And he said he would do it, no one else! You are a stupid cow!"

I intervened before Deirdre Shannon could slap Bess. "You, reporter, get out. You heard her. No. Comment. Come on. Get out. Shoo."

I waited until the balding man, with his big nose and patched leather bomber jacket, had fled. His ugliness just made it easier to hate him. When someone looks like an aging pedophile, it is much more satisfying, to wreck their day and leave them hanging on the edge of a career making headline.