Luke shrugged and slipped away. It couldn’t do any harm, and if it drew the public’s attention to adulterated food, so much the better. He saw no need to linger and indulge the public’s curiosity. He was due to meet Dickie this morning to make headway on getting those five men knocked out of Congress.
He walked faster, but it made his knees and ankles hurt. All his joints hurt these days, but he wouldn’t let it slow him down. Clyde Magruder was cementing his power in Washington by the day, and Luke couldn’t afford the luxury of waiting until the illness passed before beginning his campaign to undermine Clyde’s reelection.
His office building was old, but it had excellent gas heating, and the warmth felt good on his achy joints as he stepped inside and climbed the three flights to his top-floor office.
Something was wrong. The door was ajar, and he was certain he had locked it last night. He approached cautiously. Could the janitor have forgotten to close the door?
He pushed the door open and gasped.
The bookshelves had been tipped over and the binders strewn across the floor. His desk had been overturned and every drawer from the file cabinet pulled out and its contents dumped. Scattered papers littered the floor, and it looked like someone had taken a hammer to the typewriter. The cover plate had been pried off and the keys bashed to pieces.
He laid his hand over the mangled keyboard and closed his eyes against the pain blooming in his chest. This hurt more than anything else. Over the years he had typed a lot of good work on this trusty old typewriter. Seeing it abused like this hurt. It was silly to get sentimental over a piece of metal, but this typewriter was almost like a partner. It had been with him from the beginning of his career and whenever he poured out his heart onto a piece of paper.
The Don Quixote manuscript!
Dread filled him as he darted to his overturned desk and tugged on the bottom drawer. He almost fainted with relief when the steel lock held, meaning they hadn’t gotten to his manuscript. It looked like they tried to smash the lock but failed, so his only copy of the translation was safe.
He glanced up at the bulletin board, still anchored to the wall. His list of five men was missing. Little surprise. Clyde Magruder was surely behind this.
Luke’s shoulders ached as he peeled off his overcoat and hung it on the hook beside the door. It didn’t take long to get the bookshelves upright and stack the manuals in order, but he wouldn’t be able to get the desk up without help. He began putting his files back together, but it was going to take hours to restore this place to order.
“It looks like a tornado came through here.” Dickie Shuster stood in the open doorway, staring at the mess in appalled wonder. “Who did it?”
“Who do you think?”
“I think there’s still no love lost between the Delacroixs and the Magruders.”
Luke stacked another batch of files together. He didn’t want Dickie’s roving eye looking at the various projects he had in progress, but he wanted to get down to business immediately.
“What have you learned about the five congressmen?” he asked.
Dickie tossed a small packet of pages onto the table. “That’s all I’ve got and all you’re going to get. My editor has pulled the plug on any future stories about the Poison Squad.”
Luke looked up in surprise. “Why? It’s generating a huge amount of publicity. People were lined up outside the boardinghouse for more autographs only this morning.”
“It also generated threat of a lawsuit from the Food and Spice Association. They claim there’s no proof the chemicals are unsafe, and by branding the experiment as the Poison Squad, you are slandering the entire packaged food industry. They want a moratorium on any future articles until the results of the study are in.”
“That will take years.”
Dickie shrugged. “Then it takes years. I’m not going to risk my job over this, and the Post won’t publish anything more for fear of a lawsuit.”
“I don’t like private organizations dictating what journalists are allowed to print.” Nevertheless, he began skimming the pages Dickie had brought him. One was a newspaper article suggesting financial irregularities regarding Congressman Roper. Another was news of a promising young challenger in Congressman Westheimer’s district.
It was the last item that was the most confusing. It was an old handbill from a traveling opera company. Luke looked at Dickie in confusion, but it must mean something, for Dickie had the scheming, delighted look of a man sitting on a big secret.
“That opera featured Miss Roxanne Armond. She was briefly Clyde Magruder’s mistress.”
Luke quirked a brow, but the date on the handbill was more than twenty years old, and although it could be damaging, it wasn’t likely to knock him out of Congress. “Yesterday’s news,” he said dismissively.
“Not really,” Dickie said smugly. “Miss Armond bore Mr. Magruder a child twenty-six years ago. And that illegitimate child still lives with him to this day, having been successfully passed off as Vera Magruder’s only daughter.”
Luke’s mind reeled. This sort of gossip would be a broadside that could tarnish Clyde forever. “Does she know?”
“Who?”
“The illegitimate child.” He didn’t like referring to Marianne like that, but he couldn’t let Dickie know of his friendship with her. It was too dangerous. Dickie was the sort who could use it as ammunition against him someday.
“I have no idea. All I know is that I have more than delivered on the deal we struck.” He stood and took another glance around his catastrophe of an office. “Such a shame about the mess. Clyde certainly has a flair for drama.”
Luke sighed as Dickie left, and then got back to work repairing the space. He could speak with the landlord about putting an additional lock on the door, but there wasn’t much to stop Clyde from launching more attacks against him.
His day got worse with the delivery of the afternoon mail. There was only a single large envelope with no return address. He opened it with curiosity, and his heart began to pound as he pulled out a photograph of himself holding that dog only moments after getting out of the ice.
There was a note from Marianne.
Luke,
You won’t be hearing from me again, as things have gotten difficult at home. I will forever treasure the time we had together and wish you only the best.
Marianne
The note was more than just a blow, it flat-out clobbered him. He studied the photograph. His hair was sopping wet and his skin was still damp, but his face was alive with exuberance. His happiness at that moment wasn’t from saving a dog, it was because he’d been gazing at Marianne, a woman he was already half in love with when she snapped this picture of him.
Worry penetrated his fog of disappointment. Clyde had obviously discovered their clandestine meetings, and this explained the ransacking of his office. It probably hadn’t been any easier on Marianne.
“Oh, Marianne,” he whispered into the quiet of the office. She had made her choice, and Clyde Magruder had won. Luke would honor her request to keep his distance, but this hurt.
His head sagged. He’d lived through worse. He could probably put this behind him someday.
Probably.
He prayed Marianne could repair whatever damage she was facing with her father, or else she was destined to follow in her Aunt Stella’s footsteps, and that would wound her forever.