Dead Politician Society

Chapter 9: Laura

Laura watched Susannah pick up a book from the chrome-legged shelf. Even her glance was forceful as she looked at the book, pursed her lips, and tossed it into the giveaway box. Laura wished she had the same strength in her own movements.

Susannah turned. “You want the books about Hayden? Or are those giveaways?”

Laura frowned at her old bedroom. The ultramodern light fixtures they’d bought at the home show. The low, flat Italian bed they’d paid way too much for. All of it was familiar and foreign at the same time.

“I guess I’ll keep them. I can always donate them to the library later.” She had no idea why it was so hard to part with Hayden’s things.

Susannah put two books in the keeper box. “Did you like living here? Because I can’t see it.”

The question surprised Laura. In the twenty-odd years she’d lived on Belmont Avenue, she’d never thought to ask it.

“This house is all sleek lines,” Susannah said. “Even the art on the walls is cold, almost scientific. You’re so much softer.”

Laura glanced toward the darkened doorway of the ensuite bathroom where at this time of night she would have been brushing her teeth, removing her makeup for bed. “I didn’t hate it. But you’re right that I wasn’t myself here.”

“Imagine if you’d stayed. You should send Hayden’s mistress a thank you card.”

Laura eyed her old desk in the alcove where she’d penned dozens of nice, polite thank you cards. Why had it taken her nearly fifty years to realize there was no lightning bolt coming down for her if she failed to say the right thing or send the right card?

She gave Susannah a grin and said, “Why would I spend another of Hayden’s hard-earned dollars on that gold-digging tramp?”

“Please.” Susannah snorted. “It’s taxpayers who worked hard for Hayden’s money.”

“That isn’t fair.” Laura opened the jewelry box on the dresser and wondered if it would be seriously tacky to sell some of the watches. “It’s not easy to live in the public spotlight.”

“Spare me the hard luck story.” Susannah picked up another book, frowned at it, and put it in the giveaway box. “I still don’t get why this housecleaning job falls on you.”

“I don’t mind. Who else would go through his things?”

“Hayden’s parents. Your children. His mistress.” Susannah ticked off options on her fingers. “Anyone he didn’t cheat on and publicly humiliate.”

“I was his wife, Susie. He died alone and unloved. Do I need to spite him past the grave?”

Susannah shrugged.

“Are you all right on your own out here?” Laura said. “I’d like to tackle the closet.”

“Sure. When I’m done with this shelf, I’ll move on to the books in the study.”

Laura took an empty box into the walk-in closet, one of the few features in this skinny house that had ever felt spacious.

She checked all the pockets before packing Hayden’s clothes. All told, she found forty dollars, several pieces of lint, and about three dozen business cards. She pictured her husband at work and at parties—he’d flash his compelling smile, shake someone’s hand and take their card with no intention of ever getting in touch.

She packed suits, shirts and accessories into boxes for the Brighter Day charity shops and stacked them in the hallway. It would be a field day for whoever opened the boxes. Hayden’s clothes had always been more expensive than Laura was comfortable with. Not that she didn’t love shopping at Holt Renfrew, but she had always felt that when you made your money from the public, you should dress like your average constituent could afford to. Especially if—as Hayden had—you called yourself a socialist.

She pocketed the forty dollars and flipped through the business cards.

There were a few cards for jewelers—maybe a ring in the future for the mistress? More likely a new pair of cufflinks for Hayden’s elegant wrists. Several cards were for lawyers—was he suing someone? Being sued? A couple of accountants’ cards, and then a bunch of one-offs which included a caterer, a dentist, and a birthday party clown. And one card that made no sense at all.

It was simple. Black and white. The letters SPU were slightly off-center in a small font. No name. No contact info. Laura doubted the card had been professionally made—it looked like a bad job with some card stock and an inkjet printer. She flipped the card to see the words—also typed, but in a cursive font—Your death will be your greatest public service.

She stared at the words. Read them again to make sure she hadn’t gotten it wrong.

When had Hayden received this?

Laura tried to recall which pocket she’d pulled the card from. It couldn’t have come from the tux he’d worn to the benefit; that would be with the police. Had someone mailed this card to his office—or his home? Public figures received threats all the time. Was this another empty statement, or did this actually relate to Hayden’s death?

She had to see that email Penny had received. Or at the very least ask Penny to read it over the phone, to find out if the wording matched this card in any way. SPU.What could that stand for?

“Hey Laura, check this out!” Susannah called from the bedroom.

Laura slipped the strange card into her pocket with the cash and left the closet to join Susannah.

“This fell out of one of the girlie mags.” Susannah waved a small sheet of paper in the air.

“Out of one of what?” Laura eyed the Penthouseissue with surprise.

“It’s a prescription for Viagra.”

“You’re joking,” Laura said. “Just when you think you know a person, you find out they like to have sex.”

She knew she was laughing too loudly. What she didn’t know was why she couldn’t tell Susannah about the card she’d just found. But the voice inside her was clear: this card was for police eyes only.