Art.”
“A friend?” Karen asked when he returned to the car.
“A friend.”
“You seem to make close friends, Senator.”
He studied her eyes for portents of an ulterior motive but saw none. “I do, I guess. In the end, what else is there but those we love and the memories we make with them?”
She nodded, glancing toward Art Wallace as he walked back around a copse of trees toward his house. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Senator. Do you ever disagree with any of your friends?”
“What are you suggesting?”
Those clear gray eyes of hers returned to him. “I just wondered if you ever had any disagreements with your neighbors. People are human, after all. This neighborhood can’t be Eden before the fall.”
“No, it’s not. Of course we don’t all see eye-to-eye on everything. Fortunately, we’re all too civilized to get nasty about it.”
She nodded. “What kinds of things do you disagree about?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “Politics, mainly. Given my position, I’m a lightning rod for such discussions. But they’re my constituents, too, so I listen. Matt Witherspoon, across the street, cordially dislikes my position on gun control. I have no doubt he votes against me.”
She nodded. “And the guy you just talked to?”
Now a look of faint amusement brightened his gaze, momentarily erasing his grief. “Art? Art and I have been close friends for about ten years now. It doesn’t bother me in the least that he volunteers for Randall Youngblood.”
“Youngblood?”
“The head of the cane growers’ association. He’s lobbying against my environmental bill.”
“And your neighbor volunteers for him?”
“Why not? It’s his constitutional right to oppose legislation.” He cocked his head. “You know, Detective, it’s entirely possible for gentlemen to disagree and still be friends. In fact, I don’t believe Congress has settled legislation at gunpoint once in its entire history.”
Her face revealed nothing. “It’s my job to ask these questions.”
He felt a twinge of embarrassment. “Of course it is. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never had a disagreement with any of my neighbors that’s even reached the level of raised voices.”
She nodded, still expressionless.
“Thank you for your help, Detective.”
“It’s my job, Senator. I’ll keep you posted.”
He drove away, headed back to grief, but for the moment feeling only shame at his overreaction to Detective Sweeney’s questions. He usually displayed more self-control than that.
But there had been enough ugliness in the last twenty-four hours, and he was damned if he was going to start suspecting everyone he knew.
At least not until he had evidence.
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