SANTA FE
TUESDAY NIGHT
THE GOVERNOR'S MANSION HAD BEEN DESIGNED TO INVITE VISITORS TO BE comfortable and learn about New Mexico's distinctive art and artists. The national TV personality pacing the parlor and waiting to talk to the governor wasn't gracious, comfortable, or artistic. She was, however, distinctive. Jeanette Dykstra had a huge national following for her television show Behind the Scenes, a combination of gossip, speculation, ambush interviews, and "news" of the sort that gave journalism a bad name.
Anne Quintrell set her teeth delicately, pasted on a smile, and walked toward the small-screen bitch queen. Dykstra looked older offscreen, harder, almost skeletal. It was the tyranny of TV's added twenty pounds, which resulted in a constant diet for people who made their living in front of a camera.
Anne understood the skinny edict. What she didn't understand was why women with brown eyes and olive skin thought they looked good as a bleached-crispy blonde.
"Ms. Dykstra, I hope I haven't kept you waiting," Anne said. "My secretary didn't mention an evening appointment."
"Call me Jeanette." The reporter smiled, showing perfect teeth and no warmth. "Obviously there's been a mistake. My appointment was with the governor."
Anne's smile didn't falter. "I'm so sorry. Someone must have forgot-ten to notify you. The governor cleared his calendar after his father's sudden death."
"Sudden?" Dykstra's dark eyebrows pinched together.
"Death is always sudden, even when it's expected."
Dykstra looked at the immaculately dressed governor's wife; no ambush photo op would ever find a hair out of place on her. And there wasn't any hint of gossip about a bad marriage or girls on the side. Or boys. Nothing but Ken and Barbie Quintrell smiling out at the world. Dykstra looked around the parlor, noting the colorful, carefully stenciled designs on the dark beams, the beige overstuffed furniture that somehow managed not to be casual, and the expected southwestern art. Nothing juicy here, either.
The silence grew.
"I'm sure the governor will be glad to reschedule," Anne lied. "He has great admiration for your work."
"That so?" Dykstra made a sound that was close to a snort. "Then the rumors must be true."
"What rumors?"
"That Josh Quintrell is running for president."
"My husband is governor of New Mexico, and is honored to be trusted by the people with such an important responsibility."
"That's what they all say. Then they throw their hat into the presidential ring and never look back." Dykstra's brown eyes narrowed. "Your husband has some real handicaps in a presidential race."
"Since he's not-"
The other woman kept talking. "His son is a boozy screwup who goes through women faster than a ten-million-dollar athlete. The governor keeps his poor ill mother shut away from the world. His dear, recently departed father was a womanizer the likes of which we haven't seen since the heyday of the Kennedys. If anybody looks, I'll bet there are bastards galore out there with the Senator's blood in them. Your husband's family is the stuff of soap operas."
Anne kept her pleasant expression in place. She'd had a lot of practice smiling through her teeth at the gossips, groupies, and guttersnipes who pursued high-profile politicians. "My husband is a compassionate, intelligent, public-minded man who has done a great deal for the citizens of New Mexico."
"And zip for his family. Half the voters in America are women. They have a right to know what kind of man is asking for their vote. I'm sure the governor would like to have an on-camera half-hour interview at the ranch with Behind the Scenes, exploring the tragedy of his personal life contrasted with the success of his professional life."
"That's very generous of you," Anne said neutrally. "I'll tell the governor of your offer."
"You do that." Dykstra readjusted the strap of her leather briefcase. "And while you're at it, tell him that without his cooperation, Behind the Scenes will air a segment on his family life just in time for the major primaries. Some of the topics I'll cover will include his mother's doctors, people who remember his tragically murdered drug addict/slut sister, rumored illegal sources of campaign contributions, and any of the Senator's bastards we find between now and then. If the governor prefers to cooperate with us, we'd concentrate on him rather than his sister, father, bastards, and tainted money." She smiled thinly. "When he thinks about it, I'm sure the governor will want to put his own words before the people."
The man who was a cross between a butler and a bodyguard appeared in the doorway as though summoned. Or perhaps he'd merely been eavesdropping and decided to step in. Dykstra didn't know and didn't care. She'd gotten her message across.
"Please give Ms. Dykstra a card for the governor's appointment secretary," Anne said to the man. She turned to the TV journalist and held out her hand. "A pleasure meeting you. If I can help you in any way, don't hesitate to call."
Anne kept her game face on until the bodyguard showed Dykstra out. Then she turned and walked quickly toward the governor's home office. She knocked lightly and pushed the door open without waiting for an invitation.
"Josh, we've got a problem."