matter,” he said at once. “They’re not likely to come up with anything more than circumstantial evidence. We can beat it.”
Liz felt a shudder of revulsion. “You’re not listening to me, Powell—I…did…not…do…it. If you don’t believe that, then I don’t want you to represent me.”
His gaze shot up then and clashed with hers. Eventually, he nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s make sure that nobody thinks otherwise for a single second. There’s a lot of media out front. I’ll get them around here.”
“Before I’ve talked to the police?”
“Preemptive strike,” he said succinctly. “We get our message out before they do.”
That little chill of dismay ran through her again. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
“It’s a challenge, a battle of wits,” he conceded with a disturbing glint of anticipation in his eyes.
“Same thing. I don’t like it.”
“Sweetcakes, when you’re in this kind of a jam, you need somebody on your side who understands the rules. You don’t have to love me. You don’t even have to like me. You just have to let me do my job. I am very, very good at it.”
A part of Liz knew he was right. The law and politics had a lot in common. Much of the game was about perception. If she was forthcoming with the public, through the media, she could win the first round. She hated it, but it was a fact of life. And the last few years had taught her to be a pragmatist.
But, she vowed, once this was over, she would never again compromise her own beliefs for the sake of expediency. She was going to find the decent, caring woman she’d once been and fit back inside that skin.
Powell regarded her expectantly. “What’s it going to be?”
“Get the reporters,” she said quietly. “But before you ask, you can forget the fake tears for the benefit of the cameras.”
“You’ll have more credibility if you come across as a grieving widow.”
“I’ll have more credibility if I tell the truth,” she said adamantly.
“Fine. Do it your way. But leave out the stuff about the affairs. That needs to come from somebody else. It’ll make you look more sympathetic.”
Liz glanced toward the house and spotted Tucker watching her from inside. He was going to be furious about this impromptu news conference Powell was about to call. For a moment, the prospect of his disapproval was almost enough to make her call it off, but she was paying Powell for his expertise. And Tucker himself was the one who’d suggested she call him. Surely he knew what a barracuda Powell was. She had to follow the attorney’s advice, even if the next few minutes tore her apart inside.
“I know what to do,” she said tightly. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Powell nodded, punched in a number on his cell phone and spoke to someone in a low voice. Within minutes, an entire herd of reporters rounded the side of the house. Tucker had clearly spotted them, because he came charging out the door with a man who had to be Walker Ames right on his heels. Before they could get close enough, Powell had gestured for quiet and began making a statement.
“This is a very sad occasion for this county, the entire Northern Neck of Virginia and the state,” Powell intoned solemnly. “We have just learned that Delegate Lawrence Chandler has been found dead in his home, the apparent victim of foul play. As I’m sure you can imagine, his wife is in shock, but I have persuaded her to say a few words. There will be no questions at this time, though I am sure that the investigating officer from the sheriff’s office will speak to you when we’re through and fill you in on what they have so far.”
Liz risked a glance at Walker Ames, saw the barely restrained fury on his face. She could just imagine what he’d have to say when she was finished. She didn’t dare look at Tucker.
Liz stepped forward, determined that what she would say now would be only the truth, even if only half the truth. She would not be the one to tarnish her husband’s reputation. She summoned her memories of Larry’s best qualities.
“The people have lost an ardent champion today,” she began softly. “My husband was a dedicated public servant who believed fervently in his ideals. He was a great delegate. He would have made a wonderful governor. This is a senseless tragedy, and I assure all of you that I will not rest until the person responsible has been brought to justice.”
She allowed her gaze to meet Walker’s, to hold it without blinking. “I am confident that Deputy Ames, who is handling the case, will bring it to a rapid conclusion, for Larry’s sake and for the sake of all of us who loved him.”
She turned then and walked directly to the deputy. “I’ll answer your questions now.”
“You’d better believe it,” he said tersely. “Inside.”
“You don’t want to make a statement to the media first?” she asked, surprised that he would let the opportunity to counteract her statement pass by.
He gave her a wry look. “I think the reporters have plenty to chew on for the moment. That was a nice performance. I imagine your lawyer put you up to it.”
“I make my own decisions, Deputy.”
Something that might have been respect flickered in his eyes for just an instant. “I’m glad to see that you believe in being accountable for your actions.”
“Always.”
He gestured toward a chair at her kitchen table. It was the first time in years Liz had sat there. Larry had frowned on sitting down to eat in the kitchen. He’d said it was common. In so doing, he’d managed to deprive Liz of a habit begun in childhood, when she’d eaten with the housekeeper more evenings than not. She’d been happier in this room than anywhere else in the drafty old house. It had reminded her of the Spencers’ home, where the family tended to congregate in the kitchen, both while Mrs. Spencer was alive and after, when Daisy had been struggling to make everything seem exactly the same despite their terrible loss.
Liz had been accepted as a part of the family back then. Tucker had seen to that. Even Daisy had liked her, had treated her like a sister.
Remembering all that, Liz felt sadder, but stronger somehow. She sat at the scarred oak table, then met Deputy Ames’s gaze. “Whenever you’re ready,” she told him just as Powell came charging through the door. Before he could speak, she waved him to a seat in the background. “It’s okay. We’re just getting started.”
“Okay, Mrs. Chandler, let’s make it simple. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened here yesterday?”
For the third time, Liz described the events that had led up to the discovery of her husband’s body. She tried to read the deputy’s expression as she spoke, but he would have been an excellent poker player. His face gave nothing away.
“And after you found him, what did you do?”
“I panicked,” she said. “I knew what people would think, so I went looking for Tucker. I knew he’d know how to handle it.”
“Why
