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"A House Divided" Archives

 Episode I  (below)
 Episode II  (click)
 Episode III  (click)
 Episode IV  (click)
 Episode V  (click)
 Episode VI  (click)

 

                  "A House Divided"                 
A Francie LeVillard Mystery
Episode I

This is the premiere episode of a new Monterey Mystery. It’s entitled "A House Divided." Read on....

* * * * * * *

Her name is Francie LeVillard. She is the great-granddaughter of a French police detective who worked with Sherlock Holmes. She must have some of his genes because she is a consulting detective, in the style of Holmes. She’s pushing forty, is five-six with decent features and dark hair. She takes good care of herself, training in aikido three times a week and walking by the ocean a lot; she lives just south of the Carmel Highlands. A writer friend of hers described her as "bright, attractive, and bad news to the bad guys." She laughed when she heard it, but the description works for her.

Her parents were liberal Democrats, but unlike Alex Keaton in Family Ties she followed their track. It wasn’t because they were her parents, but because she believed in the essential principles of goodness, integrity, and making sure that the concept of earning a living didn’t leave anyone out of the living part. After covering politics as a reporter in New York and Washington for over a decade, she got pretty jaded about all politicians, liberal Democrats included. While some of them walked the talk, they were very few in number and those were ineffective.

So she had her doubts that the greatest democracy in the world could actually continue to function as such. Especially since it seemed that everyone on Capitol Hill, regardless of party, was in the pockets of some industry or another. Was it nobler to take millions from organized labor than the from the corporations they battled? Initially maybe, but when they just sat there gridlocked for decades on end while the middle class evaporated and the corporate titans got rich beyond obscene, then no.

Francie still voted, of course, but it was all too often with Molly Ivins’ description in mind, that the choice in 2008 was "the evil of two lessers." She was not happy with Obama, but she thought McCain was kinda crazy, and Palin made him look good. The next election saw the donkeys look like asses as the neo-cons surged to the fore. Less than a year in, the 112^th Congress had a nine percent approval rating, and no one could figure out why it was that high.

Actually, sarcasm didn’t begin to describe the nation’s mood which was somewhere between fury and fear. Not a healthy spot for a democracy, but reflective of the fact that Washington – and Sacramento, for that matter – seemed to be on another planet. Francie had gone through her discouraged stage, and now was sitting back on her heels, her journalist’s hat hanging in the closet, watching as history wrote itself. There was nothing else to be done.

That’s the background, and the reason that one day recently she was in Carmel, getting a new cartridge for her fountain pen at Bittner, when a woman she sorta knew called out to her and hurried over to collar Francie before she could escape.

"Francie, my dear," effused Delilah Dyce, "Oh my goodness, how long has it been?"

The answer that was biting Francie’s lips to get out gracefully morphed into a smile. That didn’t stop her. In fairness, Delilah wasn’t a bad person, unless you didn’t share her socialite compunctions. She was busy morning, noon, and night as a volunteer for a half-dozen local do-gooder organizations, soliciting contributions, herding volunteers, setting up silent auctions, et cetera. Her problem was that she was under the impression that everyone shared her sentiments, and that it was her job to get as much time and money out them as she could until they dropped.

The other choice was to not answer her emails or phone calls, which was Francie’s strategy. It would have been flawless if she had remained in her house all the time, but alas...

"You simply must come to the event tomorrow night, you simply must."

"I’m busy tomorrow, Dee," Francie replied easily, but some little voice in the back of her head said it wasn’t going to be so easy.

"Oh, I mean tonight, it’s tonight," the woman said, laughing gayly. "Tomorrow it’s the animals, tonight it’s this absolutely marvelous man. Oh my goodness, if I could only afford to divorce Franklin, but, anyway, he’s married. Gorgeous wife."

"Ah," was all Francie could manage.

"Franklin Hayes is going to be at the Beach Club tonight." Delilah cocked her head back. "You’re single, I know you’re single..." She thought for a moment – that was her limit – and then repeated herself, "But anyway, he’s married. Gorgeous wife."

Thinking she was off the hook, Francie ventured. "Who is Franklin Hayes?" It was a mistake she would never make again. You can never encourage these people, or even leave an opening. Being polite didn’t count with such a protagonist.

"Who is Franklin Hayes?" she echoed. "Why my dear Francie, he’s only the most wonderful political hope of our time."

There was so much fervor pouring out of her Francie thought she was going to faint. At least that would give her time to get away, but the woman hung in there. "I thought we voted for hope in oh-eight," Francie said between her teeth.

"Oh, no, dear, he was a Democrat. Franklin Hayes is a Republican." She grimaced. "Well, sort of. The Republicans wouldn’t let him run on their ticket, so he’s running as an independent. Stupid Republicans. They haven’t had such an attractive candidate in thirty years. And I don’t mean just good-looking. Franklin Hayes is smart and funny, and he makes sense."

"Why didn’t the Republican party like him?" Francie asked hesitantly, her curiosity piqued.

"Oh, silly things. Social issues."

"Which social issues?"

Delilah lowered her voiced, "The man is pro-choice, he says gay people should be able to marry if they want, and he says the illegal alien immigrants should be given a way to become Americans...you know, in a while."

"I can see why the Republicans didn’t like him," Francie said without smiling.

"Not only that, he says we should bring all of our troops home. You know, get out of Afghanistan and those other places."

"Holy moly," Francie returned. "Next you’re going to tell me he thinks the rich should have to pay higher taxes."

That stopped her. "So you do know about him?"

"No, Dee, I was just fishing. Does he really?"

"Well, yes, but maybe he’ll get over it. I mean, he’s very wealthy. Surely he doesn’t want his money to go to the government who will just hand it out to the welfare queens."

"When it this thing, Dee?"

She almost did faint then. "You mean you might come?"

"Maybe," Francie allowed.

"Seven-thirty at the Beach Club," she said, clearly delighted. She knew maybe meant yes. Francie was a get, as they say in booking circles; a get that had made her day.

* * * * * * *

Is Franklin Hayes worth the hype? Find out at the Beach Club in Episode II of "A House Divided" on March 15^th.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                 "A House Divided"             
A Francie LeVillard Mystery
Episode II

This is the second episode of "A House Divided" – a Monterey Mystery featuring the eminent consulting detective Francie LeVillard. If you missed the first episode, please go to the archives. To get you caught up, Francie was caught on the street by a do-gooder who absolutely insisted that she go see Franklin Hayes, an intriguing candidate for the U.S. Senate.

* * * * * * *

If the Beach Club at Pebble Beach is on your bucket list – a place you want to visit before you shuffle off this mortal coil – try to go a half-hour before sunset, on a day when the fog remains out at sea. The BC has lots of windows facing south and west that offer marvelous vistas over Carmel Bay. This was one of those beautiful evenings around the Ides of March.

Francie was surprised at the range of people in attendance. There were probably a hundred people, a mix of men and women, and ages from late teens to seventies. What was startlingly common about most of those she saw was that they showed a light on. Their brains were working. They were there for political rather than social reasons.

She parked herself at the end of the bar furthest from the entrance so she could observe. That was the journalist in her; the observer rather than the participant. She recognized a number of faces as she scanned the room and watched the door. And she picked the mind of Billy the bartender, who had been observing in this room for most of three decades.

First they did their it’s-been-a-long-time dance. A largish fellow with a wide grey mustache, he looked genuinely pleased to see her. In truth, he was genuinely pleased to see most people. That’s the way he felt about life. "Hello, Miss Francie," he said.

"Hello, Billy. Forget how to pronounce my last name?"

"Miss Villard," he said evenly but pronouncing the l’s.

"Close. I think ‘Miss Francie’ is just fine. Or just Francie. I call you Billy, after all."

"I can call you Francie?"

"I’d be honored, Billy."

"Francie it is...Francie." He dropped two maraschino cherries in her vodka tonic and placed it on a cocktail napkin on the bar in from of her.

"You remembered," she said with great pleasure.

"I never forget a drink," he said and they both laughed.

"So what do you know about this crowd?" she asked, looking back at the growing numbers.

"Not sure. I’ve heard a little talk about this guy Hayes." He raised his eyebrows. "Most of it’s been favorable. The only negative is they say he can’t win."

"Hmm. Why can’t he win?"

"Because he’s too left for the Republicans, and there’s no way the Democrats are going to force Feinstein out. At least that’s what I heard."

"Someone told me today that he’s running as an independent."

"Yeah, good luck. When was the last time an independent won?"

Francie shrugged. "Does he have any money?"

"Yep, tons of it. He designed some kind of resistor or chip or something that everyone uses. Not as rich as Bill Gates or that Ellison guy, but it’s at least a couple of billion."

"Hmm," Francie said again. "Whitman spent what, $142 million of her own money, when she lost to Brown."

"Yeah, and she made more than that on her investments," Billy said. Francie had forgotten how well he kept himself up on the news.

"Is this guy like that? Like Whitman?"

"No, not from what I’ve heard. He’s apparently a good guy. He’s not put on. And he’s got a sense of humor. According to what I pick up here at the bar."

"A sense of humor is good."

At that point they were interrupted by the room breaking into applause. Not the raucous kind, but polite and respectful. This was Pebble Beach after all, even though many of the people in the room were from elsewhere. The applause, of course, marked the arrival of the candidate. He walked comfortably through the crowd and stepped up onto a single riser and turned to faced them.

Hayes was maybe a bit on the small side. He looked a healthy forty-ish, with neat brown hair, a light tan complexion on a round-ish face and slightly narrowed eyes. He wore nice slacks, a quiet shirt and tie, and a light grey corduroy sports jacket.

What was amazing, if you’ve ever been to such a function, was that there was no gratuitous introduction. The guy whom the people in the room had come to see and hear was there to speak to them. (Another thing about not being introduced is that you don’t have to go through a bunch of thank-you’s.) Franklin Hayes just launched into his remarks.

"I don’t want to go to Washington. I love it here." He pointed to the setting sun sparkling on the water. "Who wouldn’t?" The audience rippled with its agreement. "But I think I can catalyze a change there. I would have run for the House, taking the more traditional route, but being one of one hundred – the winner of a major upset election – would give me more voice than being one of 435.

"So I would like to lay out my ideas for you, and if you like what you hear – if you agree that what I’m talking about is the America you want – then I will leave it in your hands to rouse your friends and relatives to go to the polls and vote for a new way of doing things. I don’t pretend that my election will do the trick, but I think when other states see what you have done, the ball will get rolling quickly, in the right direction.

"I don’t know why any of you are here, other than you heard from someone else that this would be worth your while. They were right. Here’s why. People think we have a two-party system. We don’t. It’s one party. The Democrats and the Republicans have all been drinking from the same poisoned well of special-interest politics. They are about their re-election first, and then protecting their party. Our nation is down the list of importance to them.

"And no wonder. The lobbyists invest millions of dollars in their campaigns. They’ve been bought and paid for.

"Maybe you’ll think when you hear my platform that I should have run as a Republican. They wouldn’t have me. I’m not one of them.

"But I’m not because I’m a true conservative, and most Republicans today are not, despite what they say and what the media parrots about them.

"The major principles of true conservatives are conservation, a balanced budget, personal responsibility, and no foreign wars. That doesn’t sound like today’s Republicans. Does it? It sounds a lot like Teddy Roosevelt though.

"But when you hear the Republicans now, they scoff at climate change and support subsidies for oil, coal, and nuclear. That’s about as far from conservation as you can get.

"The Republicans today are obsessing about reducing the deficit, but they were the ones who pushed through the trillions of dollars of the Bush tax cuts for the wealthiest and now they’re insisting that those cuts be made permanent."

Francie and Billy both listened to the speaker. He wasn’t captivating, but he was engaging. He didn’t sound like a politician, for one thing. He wasn’t pulling punches, he was just laying out the facts as he saw them, and they were different from the mind-numbing talking points that Dems and Reps parroted.

Hayes spoke about the scourge of party politics that had grid-locked the government. He called for a massive shift of research funds from military projects to solar power, and to rebuilding our schools and infrastructure. Beyond the details, which clearly pleased the audience, he spoke directly, not like the snake-oil hucksters who flooded the cable airwaves with mean lies and false promises. Even when he called for bringing home all American troops, and instituting a single-payer health care system, the people listening and watching didn’t interrupt with cheers. They gave him their respectful attention.

"That’s what I’m about. That’s the kind of thinking I want to instigate in Washington. It may seem pie-in-the-sky, but if we don’t remember what’s important – and push for it – then the special interests will win. Even more than they have. They will bankrupt our country, financially and morally. Thank you. Now I invite your comments and questions."

Applause began and rose to a clamor. Francie turned to Billy. "What’d you think?"

"If he could do half of what he said, I’d have hope for our country again."

Francie nodded her head in agreement.

"Shhh," Franklin Hayes had his hands up, trying to quiet the crowd. "Please, I appreciate your applause, but let’s put that energy into rounding up the votes we need to get this going." Then he started taking questions. Most were about policy rather than politics, and the candidate gave short, clear answers that satisfied the askers. After fielding more than a dozen questions, Hayes thanked the audience again, stepped down onto the floor and started mingling, shaking hands, listening and talking.

As the would-be senator mixed with the crowd, Francie turned back to Billy and they talked quietly about what they’d heard. Both were impressed. Francie watched Hayes’ reflection in the mirror behind the bar and noticed that he moved invariably in their direction.

It was a few minutes later that Franklin Hayes arrived at the bar. He said hello to Billy and they shook hands. Then he turned and introduced himself to Francie.

"I think you’re Francie LeVillard," he said, pronouncing her name so perfectly she couldn’t help herself and turned to smile at Billy. Billy was an intuitive fellow, and he moved away. It wasn’t her smile; he just knew that Hayes had come to speak with her.

"That would be I," she agreed, holding her drink in her right hand and making no move to put it down to shake his. She could see that he was processing that piece of information.

"I was hoping to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you."

"Really?" she said. "I hadn’t heard about you until I ran into Delilah Dyce this morning, most propitiously it seems. I liked what you had to say. Have you been campaigning long?"

He shook his head. "Not in public. Just small groups, organized by friends. I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t deluding myself about what the country really wants."

"And you’re not?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "That’s why you’re here tonight?"

Hayes smiled back. "Yes, it’s my first group of this size. Mostly arranged by Delilah and a few mutual friends. On just a couple of days notice. It happened that the Beach Club had a party booked that was cancelled."

"It’s a good sign when things line up for you. Sort of an affirmation for what you’re doing."

"I hadn’t thought about it in those terms exactly, but I think you are right."

"Were you pleased with your delivery and your reception?"

He smiled. Francie had taken him up a level. "Both, actually. What did you think?"

She took a long sip of her drink, and then told him, "I thought you did well and the audience appreciated you."

"And?"

"And if they weren’t more enthusiastic, it’s because they’re more upscale than most audiences you will be addressing. Also, many of these people I suspect invested a lot of hope in Barack Obama and have been disappointed."

"And you?"

"Yes, I’ve been disappointed, not only by him, but also the total lack of leadership in the Congress. It is a black hole of progress."

"I meant, did you like what I had to say?"

She took another sip of her drink and then smiled at him. "I didn’t realize how large the chasm was between Republicans and true conservatives. That was a big deal for me. I like those values. But I’ve always thought I was a progressive. Well, since I got fed up with the liberals. I wonder how you characterize yourself, politically I mean."

He chuckled. "I think maybe I’m a progressive conservative."

She chuckled back. "That fits."

"Miss LeVillard," he began. They both knew he’d come over to speak to her for a reason. It wasn’t just a how-did-I-do encounter.

"Mr. Hayes," I replied.

"I wonder if we might get together for a cup of coffee at your convenience."

"Might I ask the purpose of such a meeting?"

"I’d rather discuss it privately. Entirely professional, of course. I’m in need of someone with your skills as a consulting detective."

Francie didn’t show it, but it pleased her that he had dug deeply enough, not only to know how to pronounce her name, but also to distinguish her as a consulting detective. She peered at him for what might have seemed like a long time. She wasn’t really looking at the man, but beyond him, out where ideas come from.

* * * * * * *

Why did the senate candidate need her consulting detective skills? Did he have what it would take to upset the incumbent? Be sure to follow this exciting tale of political hope and intrigue in Episode III of "A House Divided" right here on Monterey Mystery on April First.

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       "A House Divided"            
A Francie LeVillard Mystery
Episode III

This is Episode III of "A House Divided" – a Monterey Mystery with Francie LeVillard, the ace consulting detective. She has been asked by a rising political star to meet privately with him. Details of what’s transpired in the first two episodes may be found in the archives.

* * * * * * *

They met two mornings later at Pastries and Petals, the delightful little restaurant on the north side of Carmel. The coffee was good; the food was delicious. Francie had suggested ten o’clock because it would be between the breakfast and lunch crowds. In fact there was only a table of four older ladies who might have already put in a couple of hours together, but the other tables were empty. Arriving first, Francie snagged a table for two with her back against the far wall. She don’t like to have her back exposed if she can avoid it. She’d crossed too many miscreants, and they weren’t all in prison, or dead.

Franklin Hayes arrived only three minutes late, but he apologized, declaring, gracefully, his distaste for the perverted quaint notion that the City of Carmel-by-the-Sea had of not numbering buildings. Francie nodded sympathetically, having long thought it was ridiculous that street numbers were not a sign of civilization’s collapse, a notion which defenders of the status quo held to their bosom like the most evangelical crusaders.

She had waited to order, and then chosen coffee and a pastry, appropriately. Hayes had the same. The food and drink before them, she waited for him to explain why he had asked to meet with her. It was quite a wait. He sipped his coffee and ate his pastry before he thought to get down to business. He sat back in his chair and gave her a long look. It seemed like a control game to her and she didn’t like games.

"I bill at $500 an hour, or fraction thereof," she told him. While it was true, she said it more to make a point.

"Yes, and from what I hear, you are worth it. I’m glad to pay." He leaned forward and tilted his head slightly. "I want you on my team," he said with a firm smile, and repeated, "I want you on my team."

Francie looked to her left and to her right, as though wondering whom he was addressing. Then she chuckled and asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

He was slightly disquieted by her response. "I want you to be my security chief."

Francie tilted her head to show that she didn’t quite get what he was talking about.

"I want you to manage security for my campaign."

"Why would you think I should do that?"

She thought she detected a hint of irritation, and maybe that was what he was feeling. She couldn’t blame him if he thought that she was toying with him; she was.

He steadied himself. "I did my homework. I know that you’re the best on The Peninsula." He gave her the opportunity to acknowledge the remark but she passed. "You are not only bright – and particularly intuitive – but you have a systems approach. You can find things that are out of alignment where others can’t."

Francie wondered to whom he had been talking and where he had gotten that assessment, because while it was true, she wasn’t aware that any of her clients, past or present, would have described her in those terms.

"What kind of security do you think you need? This isn’t a bodyguard thing, I presume."

"No, no, no...it’s about the campaign operation. I sense that there might be a leak. I’m not sure. It’s more a feeling. I would like to have confidence in my staff, and not worry about things said in my office being given to the media or my opponents."

"You already have a staff? I mean, of course you should, I just didn’t realize that you were that far along."

"I have a core group of four. I assembled the group as of two weeks ago, when the response I got was what I was looking for, and I determined that I should move forward. They all have campaign experience. They all are unhappy with the political scene today. They are excited about my ideas and purpose. Two are Republicans, two are Democrats."

"And you think one of them might not be fully on your side?"

"I don’t know that. It seems unlikely. Drat, I sound like a fool. But I have this feeling that...well, it’s like you feel a breeze but you don’t see a window open."

"Drat?" Francie laughed. "I like that. I have a friend who does security of the kind that you probably need. She can check out your computers and your phones, and put traps in the email system. She’s very good. She’s worked with some of the top federal operations as a consultant."

Hayes looked at her with an expression of disappointment. "That’s not what I’m looking for. I’m asking you to tell me if I’m wrong about feeling that there is a soft spot in my operation. This isn’t electronic. It’s intuitive."

"Ah."

"Miss LeVillard, I suppose I sound impatient, but I know what I want and you’re it. I knew when I saw you at the Beach Club. It confirmed what I had heard about you. I’m not being petulant because I must have what I want. It’s just that I know you would be right for me and I think you do, too, so I don’t understand why you are resisting me."

"My resistance, Mr. Hayes, is that I don’t like politics. I am impressed by what you said the other night. I think our country would be in a lot better shape if there were a couple of hundred like you on Capitol Hill." She stopped there.

"But?"

Francie wondered how to answer his question. Sarah came over and topped their coffee cups, giving her a little more time to think.

"Okay," she said simply.

That surprised him. "Okay? What does that mean? You’ll do it?" He realized that was what she meant.

She nodded.

"Great," he said, his voice a mixture of relief and enthusiasm.

She held up a palm toward him. "But it has to be done my way."

"Sure," he said quickly, and then frowned slightly and asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means that you pay me directly. It doesn’t come through the campaign."

"Okay," he agreed.

"And there is no publicity about my working for you."

That was a surprise to him. "Why not? It would be great PR for the campaign, and it would set you well in the community."

"I’m not interested in publicity. In fact, I shy away from it. It’s not good for the work that I do. I think you must have inferred that from the lack of citations you found when you googled me."

He nodded. "Very little current."

"That’s by my choice. I don’t need business. I particularly don’t need clients who want to accessorize with a high-profile consultant. It’s especially a plague among politicians who try to wrap up the best campaign consultants, simply to keep them out of the enemy’s camp. That’s not the same with me since I stay away from politics, but if you want me to work with you – with you, not for you – then you must accept that I can be most effective doing so my way, quietly."

"All right," he said, more with digestion than reluctance. He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. When he reached for a pen, he came up empty. He saw her pen by her notebook on the table. "May I borrow your pen, please?"

"No," she said easily. Then she called Sarah over from behind the counter. "May he borrow a pen, please, Sarah?" The woman pulled one from her apron and handed it to Hayes.

He made some scribblings on the piece of paper, folded it, returned it to his pocket, and put the pen on the table. He smiled at me. "Is that pen special?"

"Yes. No one writes with it but me."

"Why is that, if I may ask?"

"Sure. A friend of mine, Tony, is a writer, and he got a pen like this. When I asked to try it, he looked at me askance. He said something like, ‘Certainly not’ as though he was shocked that I might even ask. Then he realized that he had to explain. He said he’d been looking for the right pen for the nearly five decades that he’d been paid for his writing. It wasn’t that he did his work long hand, but rather, it was an icon for him. He’d tried various pens over the years. He’d tried expensive pens and not, ballpoints, flow tips, fountain and cartridge pens. There was a time when he mixed his own inks.

"But he never was happy with the results. Five years ago maybe, he decided he would never find the right instrument. He thought it ironic, and ridiculous, as well he might. And then a couple of months ago, he was chatting up Detlef Bittner – he has the pen store over on Ocean – and Detlef showed him the Pilot Vanishing Point Retractable Fountain Pen, and he fell in love with it. Tony told me to try it out – not his but one at Bittner’s place – and I fell in love with it. I never enjoyed writing as much that I can remember."

Francie laughed. "More than you wanted to know, of course, but maybe that gives you a sense of whom you’re dealing with. You can still back out."

Hayes chuckled. "Not on your life. Please send me an invoice for your retainer, and let me know how you want to proceed." Then he stood up and seemed ready to go. But first he looked down at Francie. "Good," he said, and then turned and left.

Francie remained seated. She scanned her mind for a fresh check of this new client. She usually could raise some questions in her mind but in this case, she realized, he seemed whole to her. There could be problems – there were always curve balls – but she was pleased with the results of her first meeting with Franklin Hayes.

* * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                   "A House Divided"                 
A Francie LeVillard Mystery
Episode IV

This is episode IV of "A House Divided" – a Monterey Mystery with world-renown consulting detective, Francie LeVillard, involving herself in a U.S. Senate campaign. To catch up with the first three episodes, please go to the archives.

* * * * * * *

Francie wasn’t to get involved right away. As it happened she had a couple of matters to deal with out of state. But that was fine since the campaign was still in its formative stages. Franklin Hayes was a bright fellow, she knew that already, and he was also very organized in his mind. She liked that. "Call it the Virgo in me," she said to herself, "but I like things to work, and not everyone is designed to both envision and implement."

Hayes was planning to open his first campaign headquarters at the upscale Crossroads Carmel shopping center. It was a matter of convenience, and metaphor, as it happened. Hayes held a lease on a space where the previous tenants had opened a bookstore but hadn’t really known what they were doing. It was not atypical in this area, where there were a lot of people who had money, and spouses who needed something to do.

Francie had arranged for Ariane Chevasse, whom she fondly referred to as "my spook friend" because she was into security and intelligence issues, to oversee the technical side of the security at the new headquarters. Ariane was not only a pro, but also a close friend. They had met on the aikido mat, where they both now trained three times a week. Ariane was born in America to French parents, and from their influence and a number of lengthy visits to the country she had become such a Francophile that she spoke her native language with a French accent.

Ariane was remarkably well-connected, and she and Francie had been involved in several significant cases that it are too sensitive still to recount. Considering what she had been involved with at the top levels of government and private industry, this job at the Hayes campaign headquarters was basically a favor for her friend.. Plus, she had time because she was between larger gigs, and she enjoyed playing with the latest toys on someone else’s tab.

Ariane designed the phone and computer networks for the office plus their external interface, and she established protocols for email and cellphone use. They had discussed with the controls, and Francie had asked her to set it up that as security consultant, Francie would have access to everything. Only Hayes would also have the tier-one control.

It was while Francie was out of town that Ariane called her to say that Hayes’ wife had confronted her and demanded a top-level password.

Francie had never met Beth Moriarty, but according to a several profile articles she had read about Hayes, his wife had been a corporate lawyer for a Texas oil and gas corporation when she had met her future husband. After they had married, she had quit her job and had three children, who were now seven, nine and eleven. There was no indication in the articles what kind of power she wielded in the relationship, nor whether this attempt to insert herself into the campaign was a whim or a warning.

Ariane knew what Francie’s answer was but was calling more to inform than confirm. "Ma chere, be careful of this one. I think that she is, how do you say, tightly wrapped."

"Aaarrrggghhh," Francie responded.

"That is a word I don’t know, I think," Ariane said, laughing, "but I know what you mean. Oui, c’est domage. What can he do, who can he be, if that is his wife?"

"I should have said ‘dang’," Francie told her. "You know that word. And you are right. It is not good for the campaign if she is behaving this way. Do you want me to call Hayes?"

"Probably I think you should since it is your arrangement. I told her that I was just your sous-contractor. I used my heavy accent to put her off. It is very useful, tu sais."

"Yes. It’s like people who think they should speak louder to someone who is deaf." They both laughed. When Francie got off the phone with Ariane, she called the client. He had given her a private cell number, but that didn’t mean he would always answer it right away. In fact this time, it went into voicemail. Francie didn’t deliver important news to clients in a recording; not unless she was through with them. She didn’t want to be through with Franklin Hayes.

"Mr. Hayes, this is Francie LeVillard. I am at O’Hare waiting for a connection that leaves in another hour. It’s one your time now. Please give me a call when you have a chance. Thank you."

Her phone rang ten minutes later. "Miss LeVillard, Franklin Hayes. My wife says your Miz Chevasse won’t give her the password to our security system. What’s that about?"

Francie smiled to herself – she liked his efficiency – but her tone was cool. "That’s why I was calling, of course. You asked me to be your security consultant. Are you questioning me or canceling the contract?"

That caught him up short. "Questioning...questioning. Not firing."

"Okay," she said, warming slightly. "I didn’t want to prolong this if you had changed your mind." She was pretty sure she detected some distress in his mind, not just in his voice, and she didn’t think it was about her.

"No, that’s right," he replied quickly.

"You need to run a tight ship. You need complete control over your information flow if your campaign is to have any chance of succeeding. Your opponents are going to try to infiltrate your operation. If you want to prevent that, you have to take precautions that may seem excessive now, but they won’t later."

"I understand," he agreed somewhat wearily. He’d made his decision. Now he had to deal with his wife.

"If you want your wife to have the security code, you can give it to her, but I can’t provide the kind of control you want if anyone other than you has it."

"Does that mean you don’t trust me?" he asked, in a surprisingly light tone.

"No, Mr. Hayes, I think I know you. I don’t know your wife, however, and even if I did, you are my client, and I only have one where it comes to a security program. I think you can understand that."

He was quiet for a moment and then he asked, "When do you start calling me Franklin?"

"Probably not until I get back."

She heard him chuckle. "Thanks, uh, Miss LeVillard. Have a good trip."

"Thank you," she told him and clicked off. She was pleased. When a client chose her over a spouse, they knew that their problem was at home, not at the office. Francie would have to keep an eye on him, but she knew how important this senate race was to him, and that’s why he was still her client.

* * * * * * *

When she returned to Monterey, there were two messages on her business line from Franklin Hayes, saying how much he was looking forward to her return. She hadn’t told him exactly when that would be so she didn’t feel any urgency about her returning his call. She checked her email; nothing pressing. She opened a bottle of Hahn 2009 GSM Cabernet, a delicious blend from their vineyards on the Central Coast, and gave it a few minutes to breath. Then she unpacked her bag, took off her travel clothes and wrapped a bath towel around herself. She poured a large glass of wine and took it with her out to the hot tub.

The hot tub sat on the back deck, looking out over maybe fifty yards of nothing to the top of a bluff that dropped thirty feet to rocks that met the Pacific. Francie loved sitting in the 99-degree warmth, regardless of the weather, and let her thoughts drain out into the ethers. Often, new ones came in to take their place. It was a very creative spot for her. A glass of wine enhanced the process. Between the sound of the waves and the gentle throbbing of the bubbler, it was a perfect venue for relaxation and reflection.

While she would have chosen simply to keep her mind clear and just go with her senses, the mind, at least her mind, didn’t usually operate on command. The tub helped her to purge the strain of the flight and to get back into the Pacific time zone. She might have watched the sun go down, but the fog was in, and the night fell without celebration.

The next morning, she was at her desk at six; she got up when the sun began to shine. She looked through the headlines on a half-dozen news sites online – she didn’t bother with blogs, even those she might agree with – and she answered emails. Instead of waiting until a decent hour to call him back, she sent Franklin Hayes an email, suggesting that they meet and figure out what the campaign truly needed in terms of security.

An answer to her email arrived not minutes later. "Breakfast?"

"Sure," she wrote back, and then suggested "Bistro 211 at eight?" since it was close to his new campaign headquarters. She hadn’t seen the place yet, and was interested to see what Ariane had had to deal with in terms of the technology and the layout.

"Sure," he wrote back. She liked that he wasn’t the typical politician who took twenty words when one would do. She wondered if the public would appreciate how important that was, or simply think of him as different.

Francie left her house at 7:45, and when she arrived at the restaurant ten minutes later discovered that he was earlier. He was sitting in a chair at a table, leaving the banquette side for her to have her back against the wall. More points for him, she thought. He stood when she arrived, and when she had sat down, he excitedly showed her his new Pilot pen.

"You’re right, it’s great. Thank you for pointing it out."

"Sure," she said, repeating herself.

"I told the clerk that you had recommended the pen but wouldn’t let me try yours. He gave me two to try. I chose the fine point."

"Life’s little pleasures."

"Indeed." He was smiling broadly. Francie didn’t know if it was because of her or the pen. They ordered quickly and then got down to business.

"Franklin," Francie opened with a smile.

"Yes, Francie," he responded similarly.

"I spent some time tracking down a line in one of the Nero Wolfe stories that I thought might be applicable to our situation. It was this: ‘When a man hired an expert the only authority he kept was the right to fire.’ Wolfe was rarely fired."

"I take your point," Hayes said humbly. "Politics is new to me, as is hiring a detective."

"Consulting detective," she corrected, maintaining a straight face.

"Consulting detective, of course," he corrected. "I’m fully prepared to allow you free rein. If I get something wrong, please let me know."

"I don’t think it will come up," she told him, persuaded that he understood her.

"What’s the next step?" he asked.

"After breakfast, I would like to take a look at your campaign office. Ariane is excellent at what she does. I like to see her work."

"She was very professional. She had everyone clear out for a long lunch so that she could do the work without questions or anyone being underfoot."

Francie nodded. "Then I want to write a memo to everyone concerned. You have four principal staffers and the memo will explain my duties, and invite them to contact me directly if they have any questions or issues about campaign security."

"Okay."

"It will also tell them that I am working quietly, not undercover, but not announced."

"That’s right. Fine."

"When is the next time you’ll have them all together? I could introduce myself and give them the memo."

"Saturday morning at ten at the campaign office."

"Would it work for me to be there then? I wouldn’t have to stay for the whole meeting, if you don’t want, but it would give me a chance to get a sense of your top people."

"Sure," he said again. "You are welcome to stay for the whole meeting. I’m hoping to keep it under two hours."

"Good. That should give me a feeling for who these people are."

* * * * * * *

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

                   "A House Divided"                 
A Francie LeVillard Mystery
Episode V

Welcome to Episode V of "A House Divided," a Monterey Mystery featuring Francie LeVillard, a consulting detective in the style of Sherlock Holmes. Francie has taken on the task of providing security for Franklin Hayes’ independent run for the Senate. For previous episodes, please go to the archives.

* * * * * * *

There were seven chairs in a circle in the middle of the campaign office when Francie arrived a few minutes before ten on Saturday morning. Promptly at the top of the hour, Franklin Hayes summoned everyone to the conference. At his direction she took the chair on his right. First came introductions, starting with her, since the others all knew each other. On her right was Sandy Horn, the communications director. About Francie’s age, though blond and about thirty pounds overweight, she was also a refugee from television news in a couple of Midwest markets. To her right was Roger Toney, a good-looking thirty-something advance pro who had been working on mostly-Democratic campaigns since he was in his teens. Across the circle from Hayes was Beth Moriarty, Hayes’s wife. An attractive woman, his age, formerly foxy. Francie had felt her looking at her but never caught her at it. To her right was Desmond Pritzer, a man in his sixties who looked tired, probably perennially; he was the treasurer. Next to the candidate was Brenda Poole, a young blonde woman, nondescript, early twenties, with a notebook in her lap. She was the candidate’s personal assistant.

Hayes ran the meeting very smoothly, wasting no time, but making sure that everyone said what they needed to. Most of it was reporting on progress to date, anticipating a statewide launch in two months. It would be a challenging campaign, but with all that was going wrong in the country and the world, with the 78-year-old Feinstein polling below 50%, with the Republicans still to put up their own candidate, to call the situation fluid was at least fair.

Francie was impressed by the quality of the people Hayes had chosen. Many political newbies with money would simply go out and buy the highest-priced talent they could find. Hayes had found people who were probably more interested in his campaign than the money, though the salaries persuaded them that it wouldn’t be a Quixotic affair. These people were serious, independent minds – except maybe the treasurer; but the position didn’t require independence -- and the candidate had brought them together.

Their reporting was concise. No one was there to promote themselves, or for that matter, to earn strokes. Sandy Horn, the communications director, had considerable experience in polling and she spoke of plans to go into the field in another month to assess particular aspects of the Feinstein image and record. Roger Toney put a map of the state up on the wall to show where he would mount operations to pull in the liberal Republicans, the disappointed Democrats, and the independents who would be the key to the victory.

Pritzer, the treasurer, added a note of levity when he gave the bank balance and said, "We haven’t spent a lot, which is good, because we haven’t taken in anything. Except of course, from our honorable candidate. Thank you, Franklin."

The personal assistant was something of a surprise. She apparently was also the administrative person. She spoke of the need for weekly reporting, adding to the central contact lists, and staying current on their expense accounts with Desmond.

A lot was covered in the first hour, and then Hayes invited Francie to speak. First she told them of her background, both the broadcasting and the few political campaigns on which she had consulted. Then she handed out her introduction memo to the four assistants and to the candidate, telling his wife that she didn’t know she was going to be attending, but that she was sure Hayes would share his with her. The memo was simple. It said that Francie would be consulting on security, to protect the campaign from any illegal intrusion, especially industrial spying. She also made it clear that she wanted to keep her participation in the campaign quiet; that’s why there was no press release. If people knew about her working with the campaign, it would reduce her efficiency; so please, keep it under your hats.

There were a couple of questions, but nothing complicated, and then Hayes closed with a few remarks about how exciting this all was; that they were going to make history. With that, they all stood up, and there was some milling about and Francie did some hand-shaking. Sandy, the other former broadcaster, had a number of industry war stories she was ready to share, and promised it would be another time, perhaps over a glass of something. Desmond gave Francie a 1099 to fill out. She told him she would bill as a corporation. Roger asked where she had lived in California and she told him, San Francisco briefly and now the Monterey Peninsula. And Brenda got all of her contact information.

Hayes had been huddling with his wife, but keeping an eye on everything. When he saw that Francie was free, he brought her over for a formal introduction. She was thoroughly gracious on the surface, but something about the candidate’s wife caused Francie to be wary of the woman. She didn’t know what it was, she didn’t let it show, but it registered where Francie kept her alert messages.

Beth Moriarty was polite, but cool. Francie supposes that she was still smarting from her refusal to give her Hayes’s security code number. She had to guess that he had found some way to explain to her why Francie was right, and while she accepted it, for the time being, she didn’t buy it. Francie might have told her to just accept it, but that wouldn’t have gone over too well, and Francie still wanted Hayes to win. More so, after seeing the people he had hired and the way he ran the meeting. She told herself, we need that kind of perspicacity and leadership in Washington so badly.

The others dispersed. It was Saturday and the campaign hadn’t yet gotten seriously underway. These people had lives, she presumed; at least for a couple of months. Hayes and his wife were back in their huddle. Francie did a survey of the offices, including sight lines through windows that might be vulnerable to snooping, and the wiring, both electric and phones. She knew that Ariane would have all of those areas covered, but she wanted to be able to converse with her knowing what she was dealing with.

* * * * * * *

The following Wednesday Francie got a surprise, sort of, when she opened up the Herald. It used to be the Monterey Peninsula Herald but the then-owner a while back decided to spread out to Salinas and the further environs, obviously in an effort to drive up circulation, and consequently advertising revenues. But Salinas already had The Californian so oops, the Herald wound up jacking up their distribution and staffing costs, but not its revenues. When it had to cut back on expenses – surprise, surprise – it was the newsroom that got the cuts. Alas...

Anyway, the surprise was that there was an article about how Francie had been brought in as a consultant on the fledgling Hayes for Senate campaign. Okay, it wasn’t a surprise. Franklin Hayes had brought her in explicitly because he was worried about security, and the article was proof that his fears were not unfounded. In truth, she couldn’t say for sure that she knew who had leaked the information, not until the next day, when, as it happened, she was doing some food shopping.

Francie had long believed that if you’re on the right track, the universe helps you along by putting people in your path. As in the I-was-just-thinking-about-you-syndrome. Oh, what a coincidence! Maybe. Anyway, she was in Trader Joe’s when she ran into Milt Cassel, the reporter for the Herald who’d run the piece on her joining the Hayes campaign. He had written the piece without calling her, which she thought was less than appropriate. After all, they had met a few times at local events, and he knew that she had been a reporter herself. Maybe he had been on deadline, she thought, but didn’t really.

He might have noticed her first but pretended not to and turned and headed the other way. Francie circled around and when he made his turn at the end of the aisle, there she was.

"Hello, Milt," she said dryly.

"Oh, uh, hey, howzit goin’?"

"I need your help, Milt."

"Oh, me?"

"Yeah, you."

"What can I do to help you?"

"About that story about me working for Hayes," she began and watched him try to swallow.

"I can’t talk about that. It was a source story," he said defensively.

"I’m not asking who the source was, Milt. I want your opinion on the motivation. Was it to hurt the campaign, or help? Surely you must have gotten a sense about what was behind this?"

"Yeah, oh, well, um, that’s kind of privileged."

"Privileged? I’m not asking for a fact but your opinion. What do you think? What was your impression? Surely you can share that with a fellow journalist."

He thought a minute. "Well, I think sh...I think maybe it was to hurt you, if you want the truth."

"Huh," Franice replied as if his false start didn’t meaning anything to her. She kept her poker face on, but she knew that he had been going to say "she" after think. So to throw him off the track she said, "Hey, don’t worry. I know who it was. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t know she did it. That wouldn’t have been professional."

He looked relieved, and Francie maintained the blasé look.

"Another question," she said, and the relief drained from his face. "Tell me, do you make a list when you shop?"

His face was such a blank you would have thought that he didn’t have a thought in his head at that moment. "What?"

"When you shop, do you make a list?" Francie held up her list. "You know, write down what you don’t want to forget?"

The wheels were turning and finally stopped when he couldn’t imagine how she might be tricking him. "Um, sometimes. You know, if there are a lot of things."

"Right," she told him, as if it had been a test, and the relief returned. "Thanks, Milt," she said, and walked around him to continue her shopping, making sure to keep her expression flat until she got around the corner. Then she smiled and said to herself, "Bang-zoom."

* * * * * * *

What no one knew about the memos that Francie had passed around to Franklin Hayes and his four top aides was that they were all different; subtly but significantly. Each had a variation in spelling of one of the key words that she knew would be used in an article when the memo was leaked. There were differences in the year she left broadcasting, for example, and in the call letters of the stations where she had worked. Plus a couple more which she would use in later cases. So when she saw the article, she knew whose memo had been used.

She was not really surprised, but it complicated matters and she needed to figure things out before she acted. She had some time to think because the candidate was out of town on other business and wouldn’t be back until the following Monday. There was no real urgency since the release of her affiliation with the campaign wasn’t a big deal; she’d merely made it seem that way at the meeting. She would come up with a plan before he got back.

The quandary was how to do right by her client. Her sense was that he was going to have to quit the race. Yes, it was that big. There was a chance the situation could be salvaged, but she didn’t see how. Then she got a call on Sunday from a fellow who was a manager at Trader Joe’s. He knew her because a couple of years ago, she’d spotted someone breaking into their store one night and called the police in time to nab him.

So it was because he had seen the article in the Herald and learned that she was working on the campaign that he had called her instead of the police. That was the first thing he told her when she answered the phone, and it certainly got her attention. He didn’t want to talk about it on the phone, since there were too many people around, so she drove up to Monterey to meet with him.

When Francie arrived not fifteen minutes later, he walked outside with her. And then he dropped the bombshell. Beth Moriarty had left the store without paying for her groceries, worth over $200. A security guard had caught up with her in the parking lot, where first she denied it, and then she said she must have simply forgotten. Then she couldn’t find her purse. She promised to come back with the money in an hour. It had been three hours. The manager was giving Francie the chance to keep the matter private.

She paid the bill immediately, and told him how grateful she was that he had called her. He said now they were even, which made it abundantly clear how unhappy he was with the situation. While he was not out any money, he’d gone out on a big limb by calling her first, and there could still be repercussions from the head office if he was found out. Francie promised him that nothing would be forthcoming from her end.

Of course it was Beth Moriarty, too, who had called the Herald. (You figured that out.) The coded memo was the one Francie had given to Franklin. She knew he wouldn’t undermine his own campaign, and she wouldn’t have thought in a million years that his wife would have, but she would have been wrong.

It was one thing that she had revealed Francie’s connection to campaign. It was another that she was almost arrested for shoplifting. The fact that she had plenty of money made it obvious that she was suffering from significant mental issues. Whatever her reasons, she wanted to pull down the campaign, and there was no way that Franklin Hayes could stay in the race under those circumstances. If you don’t have your wife’s support, you won’t have the voters’; at least not all you should expect, and probably need to win.

Francie called Hayes and asked him how he was getting home from the airport tomorrow. He told her he would probably take a cab.

"Why don’t I give you a ride home?" she suggested.

There was a pause and he asked, "Did something come up?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you don’t want to tell me about it now?"

"Not over the phone."

"That serious?"

"That serious."

She wasn’t trying to be melodramatic. She was just answering his questions, honestly and in an even tone.

"Okay," he said, and confirmed the flight arrangements that he’d given to her previously.

"One more thing, Franklin. Don’t tell your wife that I’ll be picking you up. Say you’re getting a lift from a colleague, or taking a cab."

Oh, lord," he said in a way that she inferred meant that he was aware that she had problems.

"You’ll be all right," she told him before signing off.

The next day Francie was at the Monterey terminal when his flight arrived. He had told her he didn’t have luggage, so they were out pretty quickly and into her car. Franklin Hayes was calm. He either had a sense of the problem and/or he had resigned himself to the magnitude of it. That would have meant he trusted her perspective, and she thought that was mighty perspicacious considering how long they had known each other. It said a lot about him, she knew.

As she turned off Highway 68 and drove them toward the Highway One gate to Pebble Beach, she outlined the two situations that had arisen. He took it all quietly, not interrupting, not arguing. More points in her column. She felt him look over at her while she laid out the facts for him. He liked facts, even the ones he didn’t like. When she had finished, he nodded and summed up the situation.

"You’re right. I can’t continue with this. For the campaign, or for my family."

"I’m sorry."

"I appreciate the way that you have handled this. I couldn’t have asked for more or better."

"Yes, well..."

They rode in silence for several moments, both of them looking ahead. Then Francie said to him, "Franklin, why did you decide to run yourself? I mean, I like your ideas, as I told you, but you are different from all of the candidates I’ve met over the years."

He chuckled. "I never thought of myself as the candidate type. I’m not particularly patient with ignorance, and not very social. But I knew my ideas were right, so I looked around to find someone to run with them but I came up empty. I decided that considering how limited most of the candidates I had seen were, I could – I would have to – take the role myself. It wasn’t my first choice."

"What about your wife? Was she supportive of your plan?"

He was quiet for a moment. "Beth has some problems. She was taking medication for them, but I think the stress of the campaign – just the thought of it – pushed her over the edge." He looked at Francie, and then added, "I think she also found you a threat."

She looked back at him quickly; she didn’t like to take her eyes off the road. "What kind of threat? Personal?"

"Yes," he said, "but not necessarily sexual. She could read me, my energy, that I found you very attractive. It was more that I was excited about who you were, and that you would be part of the campaign. I would never be unfaithful to her, which was something I know she knew earlier, but her thinking hasn’t been so clear lately."

"I am so sorry, Franklin. I guess I didn’t get the job done for you the way you wanted. I may have precipitated this."

"No, no, Francie. This wasn’t you. If anyone, it was my fault for not seeing the situation with Beth for what it was. Her demons took over. I don’t know that there was anything anyone could have done about it."

Francie pulled into the circular driveway in front of his modest – for Pebble Beach – mansion. She felt him stiffen suddenly and looked over to see his wife coming out of the front door.

"Stop here," he ordered sharply but not loudly and she did. "Stay in the car," he told her without looking at her. He jumped out of the car, and walked toward her. His window had been open and while she could hear him talking to her, she couldn’t hear what he was saying. As he approached her, he opened his arms wide and she moved into them. One arm around him, the other by her side.

That’s when Francie saw the gun in her hand. But it was pointed to the ground. She watched as they held each other, and then saw his hand slide down her side until he had covered hers. Then he had the gun. He turned her and they walked back into the house together, leaving the door open.

Francie took his bag from the back seat and carried it carefully to the front door. She put it down quietly on the front stoop, turned and seconds later was driving back toward the Highway One gate.

* * * * * * *

Franklin Hayes phoned Francie the next morning. He thanked her for the way she handled everything. She returned the compliment.

"I told Beth that I had decided I wasn’t a politician and that I shouldn’t be a candidate. She agreed. I told her that she had nothing to worry about. Then she fell asleep in my arms."

"I think you will probably always be happy with the decision. The people in politics these days, even or especially in Congress, have an unfortunate talent of being able to lie to your face, and those are your allies. Monterey is much nicer."

There was wistfulness in his voice. "I really thought that I could make a difference. Not me the person, the candidate, but I thought my platform would resonate with enough people that I could win, and actually shift the thinking in Congress. Was that silly of me?"

"Maybe," she allowed, "but most of the people on Capitol Hill have been, as you noted yourself, compromised by the campaign contributions from the special interests. I think you would have found it terribly frustrating."

That didn’t mollify him much. He already knew that. "But we have to do something, Francie. We know what’s wrong, we know how to fix it. We can’t just wallow in our cynicism."

"I don’t think it’s cynicism. I think it’s reality. Sometimes you have to let nature take its course. Martyrdom isn’t an attractive road. Think in terms of surfing. You have to wait for the wave."

"I can’t argue with your logic, but I would like to be sure that I don’t sit out any longer than I should. I don’t want to waste what I know.

Francie was quiet for a moment and then offered him a new route. "What if you could wage a campaign without being the candidate? What if you could create the kind of sea change in politics that you are about? And you could do it from here. You wouldn’t have to leave your family."

"What? You’re the tooth fairy?"

She laughed. "I know it sounds pie-in-the-sky, but a friend of mine has sketched out what he calls the 28^th amendment. It is a constitutional amendment that would clean up our elections, by taking the money out of the process, shortening the election season, keeping political ads off television, and radio, and generally cleaning up the system."

"That sounds wonderful," he said. There was a new lilt in his voice."But how would you get something like that through Congress. You’d need two-thirds vote, and I can’t imagine that a fraction of them would vote to cut off the advantage of their incumbency."

"Of course you’re right about that, but there is the alternative of going through the states. It would mean getting 38 state legislatures to approve the amendment."

"Oh my goodness," said the erstwhile candidate excitedly, "That would be possible, wouldn’t it, in today’s political climate? So many people are upset. This would give them the opportunity to focus their anger on Congress."

"With their approval rating below ten percent, exactly."

"Very interesting," he said, and Francie could hear his brain working. "What’s the status of the amendment? Where is it? Who’s your friend?"

"He’s a retired journalist who’s turned to writing novels because he decided he was just batting his head against the wall with the facts. He emailed me the other day that two years ago the financial industry spent $1.3 billion dollars through more than 2,500 lobbyists to fight reform. That came to more than $2 million for every member of Congress."

"Banging his head against the wall. That sounds familiar."

"He lives in Monterey, and what he’s done is define the changes that need to be made. It’s not in legal terms, but we know a fellow down south who is one of the country’s foremost constitutional scholars. He would know how to put the wording right."

"Francie, this is fascinating. Plus I’ve already got a campaign team, and a headquarters. This really could be the way to make change, the kind of change and the degree that we need to get our country back on track. Take the power away from the corporate campaign investors, and we could get some serious people in Congress and the White House. When can I meet your friend?"

"I’ll arrange it," she told him. And she did.

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