“Stay strong. What you said makes sense. You’re not looking to take guns away from responsible owners. You’re looking to get them out of the hands of people who shouldn’t have them for whatever reason.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You might be in the best possible position to get something done on this issue, with no political fucks to give.”

  “That’s what Terry said, too. I’ve got a meeting with Gretchen Henderson in ten minutes.”

  “Why are you seeing her again?”

  “The party wants me to pick her for VP.”

  “I thought you’d decided on Senator Sanford, the Chanel No. 5 lady,” Sam said.

  Senator Jessica Sanford wore the same perfume his deadbeat mother had worn all her life, which had given Nick an intense aversion to it.

  “They want Sanford to take Ruskin’s place at State.”

  “Isn’t it up to you?”

  “Sanford wants the job at State. She told colleagues that was her dream.”

  “Ugh. I thought we didn’t like Henderson.”

  “I didn’t dislike her. I just liked Sanford more.”

  “I had a weird feeling about Henderson.”

  “I know,” he said with a sigh, “and that’s nagging at me. I’ve learned to trust that gut of yours, but you saw her for ten seconds.”

  “That’s all it took.”

  “We’ve been through every other possible female candidate and eliminated them all for one reason or another. It’s down to her, or I have to move on, and moving on would be to a man. I want a woman in this role. I want to be the first to have a female vice president.”

  “And I so admire you for that commitment. I’ll shut my mouth and wish you luck with your new vice president.”

  “I never want you to shut your mouth for long, babe.”

  “Hahaha, don’t be fresh with young Freddie listening.”

  Nick’s laughter made her skin tingle with love and desire and so many emotions that only he could stir in her. “Have you heard from Roni?” Sam had asked her newly widowed friend to be her communications director and spokesperson at the White House, and while Roni had accepted the position, she’d since decided to take some time away to cope with her painful loss before she started in January.

  “Not yet, and I’m starting to get a little worried. I’m going to have Darren get on it.” Roni worked with Darren Tabor, the one reporter Sam could tolerate, at the Washington Star.

  “He’ll expect an exclusive in exchange.”

  “He can wish, and he can hope.”

  “Aw, he adores you. You need to cut him a break.”

  “The minute I do that, he’ll become insubordinate like young Freddie has, and he’ll be ruined.”

  “I can hear you,” Freddie said.

  “How’s the case?” Nick asked.

  “Frustrating. A well-liked mother of three is murdered in gruesome fashion, and no one around her can think of a single person who had a beef with her, let alone would do something like what was done to her.”

  “I’m sure you guys will figure it out.”

  “I hope so. Gotta run. We’re interviewing one of her friends in a few.”

  “Good luck with it. See you when you get home.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, babe.”

  “How do you think he’s holding up?” Freddie asked after Sam ended the call.

  “Pretty well, all things considered. We’re looking forward to escaping to Camp David after Christmas. I think he’s feeling a little cooped up after a few weeks of not leaving there. At least when he was VP, he got to come home at night.”

  “Other presidents have referred to it as the gilded cage.”

  “That’s an apt description. It’s beautiful, and the staff is amazing, but being walled off from real life and surrounded by security makes for a confining existence even in the loveliest of buildings.”

  “I’d go mad,” Freddie said bluntly.

  “I would, too. I’m so thankful I can be out and about every day the way I always have been, even with Vernon and Jimmy trailing me. They’re good about not being overly intrusive.”

  “That’s working out better than I expected.”

  “Because they respect what I’m trying to do. I’m sure there’re agents who wouldn’t be so accommodating, or who’d be put out by the idea of the first lady pounding the pavement.”

  “Agents with that attitude wouldn’t last on your detail. I’m sure Vernon and Jimmy were chosen because the higher-ups thought they’d be a good fit for you.”

  “Vernon’s sarcasm is definitely a good fit for me.”

  “I never had a sarcastic bone in my body until I started spending all my time with you.”

  “And look at you now. I’m so proud of how you’re coming along.”

  He looked over at her. “Are you? Really?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am. You’re my masterpiece.”

  “Means a lot to me that you’re proud of me.”

  “Stop being schmoopy.”

  “I’m not being schmoopy.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not. It does mean a lot to me that you’re proud of me. That matters to me.”

  Sam parked a block away from the address they’d been given for Stella Gregorio and looked over at her young, handsome, earnest partner. “I’m very proud of the man and the detective you’ve grown up to be. I hope you know that.”

  “Thank you. And I’m proud of you and Nick and the way you’ve taken on these new roles with such class and dignity. It’s amazing to me that my best friends are the president and first lady.”

  “We’re honored to be your best friends and consider you one of ours, too. Now this officially ends the lovefest. Back to normal. Let’s go see what Stella has to say about Pam.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Freddie followed her up the walk to Stella’s front door, which didn’t have a doorbell.

  Sam knocked on the door and peered into the side windows to see if anyone was home. “Here comes someone.” She put her hand on her weapon, immediately on guard after having been recently shot at through a closed door.

  The door opened to a man with a scowl on his face until he recognized Sam, and his expression became what she thought of as the “holy shit, it’s the first lady” expression as he opened the storm door.

  She showed him her gold shield. “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz. We’d like to speak to Stella Gregorio.”

  “She’s not doing well. Pam was one of her closest friends.”

  “I understand this is a very difficult time, but we’re trying to figure out who murdered Pam. We need all the help we can get from the people who were closest to her.”

  “Come in. I’ll get her.” He stepped aside to let them in and gestured to a small sitting room off the foyer. “Have a seat.”

  While he went to retrieve his wife, Sam and Freddie sat together on a love seat.

  Sam took a look at the framed photos of young adults that hung on the wall. “Another day, another love seat.”

  “Don’t cross the middle line,” Freddie said, pointing to it.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not buying what you’re selling.”

  “My goods aren’t available to you.”

  Before she could express her lack of interest in his goods, they heard footsteps coming toward them.

  The man who’d greeted them had his arm around a woman who was nearly a foot shorter than him. “This is my wife, Stella.” He helped her into a chair and hovered close by, as if waiting for her to fall out of the chair or something.

  Stella had short, spiky gray hair and funky purple glasses. Her face was red and puffy from crying, her hands trembling in her lap.

  “We’re so sorry to disturb you at such a difficult time,” Sam said.

  “I can’t imagine who could’ve done this to Pammy. She was…” Stella broke down into sobs. “She was the best friend I ever had.”

  “How did you meet her?”

  “Her Molly was in kindergarten with my Jimmy. The two of them are the best of friends to this day, and so are we.”

  Damned that present tense that people used to refer to recently murdered loved ones. It made Sam sad for them every time.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone. How can she be gone?”

  “We’re trying to determine what might’ve happened to her. Did she tell you about problems she was having with anyone in her life?”

  Stella was shaking her head before Sam finished asking the question. “Things had been so good for her lately. Molly made a smooth transition to college, the boys are doing wonderfully in high school—both are great students and star athletes. She and Bob were always that couple you loved to hate—still so in love after more than twenty years together.”

  Sam hoped people would say the same thing about her and Nick when they’d been together twenty years.

  “Her business was thriving after years of hard work building it from nothing,” Stella added. “Her clients said the nicest things about her. The testimonials are on her website.”

  “How about her other friends? Was she having any issues with them?”

  “Not at all. I’ve been awake all night trying to come up with something that might explain this, but there’s nothing.”

  “Is it possible that something was happening that you didn’t know about?”

  “Highly unlikely. We told each other everything, even the difficult things.”

  “What were some of the difficult things she told you about her life?”

  “Bob had a health scare three years ago with prostate cancer. He was treated and is doing well now, but there were a lot of challenges associated with that treatment, including impotency. We talked about that. They also went through a rough patch with Lucas when he was a sophomore and fell in with a group of kids that Bob and Pam didn’t care for. They got through every challenge that came their way by pulling together.”

  “Tell me about these kids they didn’t care for.” It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had coming in.

  “I don’t know much about the specifics. They were kids Lucas met through a job at one of the local restaurants, and they didn’t care for the influence they had on him. He started to blow off school and miss practices. He’s got the potential for a full ride to a Division 1 school through football. They weren’t about to let him mess that up.”

  “How did they address the issue?”

  “By making sure he was so busy with work, school and sports that he didn’t have time to hang out with friends who were leading him astray. I thought they managed it in a very clever way—they got rid of the friends without making a huge scene.”

  Sam made mental note of that for the case, and for her own information should she ever need such a strategy with her own kids. She hoped she never would.

  As fast as the possibility of troubled kids in Lucas’s life had materialized, the lead had fizzled. If there was no big scene or fight, Lucas and his friends probably wouldn’t have noticed what his parents were doing to separate them.

  This case was pissing her off.

  Sam gave Stella her business card. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might be relevant.” As she always did, she added, “The smallest thing can blow a case like this wide open.”

  Stella took the card from her. “Pam would love that you’re investigating her case. She admired you and your husband very much.”

  “That’s nice to hear. We’re sorry again about your friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  The husband saw them out.

  When they were back in the frigid air, Sam glanced at Freddie. “That got us nowhere.”

  “I thought she was handing us something with the kid’s friends.”

  “Me, too, but of course it can never be that easy. Let’s try the next friend on the list.”

  Paula Baxter lived on Quincy Place, about five blocks north of Pam’s home on M Street. Paula was sprinkling sand on her front stairs when Sam and Freddie approached her gate. When she realized who’d come to visit, she nearly fell down the steps. From outside the gate, Sam showed her gold badge while Freddie did the same.

  “Lieutenant Holland, Detective Cruz with the MPD. Could we trouble you for a minute of your time?”

  “Y-yes, of course. Please come in.”

  She went ahead of them into a warm, cozy home in which bright color was the focal point. Rooms were painted in primary colors, including yellow, red and blue. The place gave Sam an immediate headache.

  “This is about Pam, right?” Paula asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Paula led them into an orange kitchen with a profusion of colorful fruit ceramics. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “If it’s no trouble,” Sam said, earning a surprised look from her partner. She liked to think she could still surprise him once in a while.

  “No trouble at all. I just made a fresh pot.” She poured coffees for each of them and placed cream and sugar on the table.

  “How did you hear about Pam?” Sam asked as she stirred cream into her coffee while Freddie dumped sugar into his.

  “Our mutual friend Bev called me. Our boys play football together. They have since they were little. It’s such a shock. Pam was the nicest person. Always willing to help out with rides for parents who couldn’t get out of work. She’d say she was self-employed, and if she couldn’t be there for her kids when they needed her, what was the point?”

  “I want to ask you something that will sound judgmental when I don’t mean it to be,” Sam said.

  “Okay…”

  “When Pam worked conferences, she went off the grid with her family for days at a time.”

  Paula was nodding before Sam finished speaking. “I know, and she always made sure the rest of us were available for whatever the kids might need while she was away. She helped us the rest of the time, so we stepped up for her when she was working a show.”

  “I’ll have to admit I feel better knowing it was part of a plan.”

  “The shows were super intense. Often, she was the one running the whole thing, along with staff from the various organizations she worked for, of course, but she was in charge. It was often as much as sixteen hours a day for up to five or six days in a row. Bob and the kids left her alone when she was on-site at a show. They knew they could contact her if there was an emergency, but they tried not to bother her if they didn’t need to.”

  “This helps me to understand their routine a little better.”

  “She worked so hard for the companies she supported. She’d built that business from a very small company providing registration support to a full-service conference operation. We’re all so proud of what she accomplished and heartbroken that she’s been taken from her family and friends in such a senseless way.”

  “Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted her dead?”

  “Not at all. Everyone who knew her loved her.”

  Not everyone, Sam wanted to say but didn’t. “Has she had any disagreements with clients, friends, other parents, coaches?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. As far as I knew, she got along with everyone. People liked her. I never heard her say a bad word about anyone.”

  Sam wanted to scream with frustration. Pam’s murder had been extremely personal. The person who killed her made sure she suffered before she died. Talking to the friends who’d loved her wasn’t getting them anywhere. “We appreciate your help.”

  “I wish there was more I could do to find the person who did this to her.”

  Sam placed her business card on the table. “If you think of anything that might be relevant, please call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Is there anyone you think we should talk to who’s not on this list?” She showed Paula the list of friends that the family had given her.

  “Maybe Mark Ouellette, the boys’ football coach. She was the president of the boosters and worked closely with him on a number of projects.”

  “Where can we find him?”

  Paula reached for her phone, found his contact info and wrote it down on the pad that Sam provided. “He owns an insurance company.”

  “Add that info, too, if you would.”

  When Paula was finished, Sam retrieved the notebook. “Thank you very much for your time.”

  “I wish there was more I could do.”

  “This helped.”

  Paula walked them to the door. “I hope you find the person who did this.”

  “I hope so, too,” Sam said. When they were outside, Sam zipped up her coat and pulled on gloves. “Thoughts?”

  “This one reminds me of the Woodmansee case.”

  “How so?”

  “Perfectly ordinary people turning up dead for no good reason.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. How can she have had a beef with someone bad enough for that person to bind her, gag her and leave her to die a slow, torturous death in the cold, and no one in her life is aware of it?”

  After they got into Sam’s car, she started it to get the heat going.

  “What’s our next move?”

  “Before we talk to Ouellette, I want to talk to Archie about what’s on her phone and computer.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  “I’ve been through everything on her computer and phone for the last month, and I didn’t see anything that would indicate a problem with anyone,” Archie said thirty minutes later when Sam found him in his office at HQ.

  “There has to be something,” Sam said.

  “If there is, it’s not on her phone or computer.”

  Sam’s frustration threatened to boil over, but that wouldn’t help her find a murderer.

  “Do you want me to go back further than a month?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. There has to be something.”

  “Will do,” Archie said, using his chin to point. “Did you see what’s happening across the hall?”

  “No, what?”

  “Ramsey’s packing up his stuff. Farnsworth fired him.”

  “What?”