Page 36 of Dead Fall

BARHARBOR, MAINE

Kyle Paulsen stepped into the kitchen and reached around his wife for the coffeepot. He was a tall, fit man in his mid-seventies. “Is Shit-Kickers here yet?”

“Kyle,” she chastised. “I wish you wouldn’t call Senator Wilson that.”

“First of all, it’sex-Senator Wilson, and secondly, he works for me. I get to call him whatever I want.”

“If I live to be a hundred, I don’t think I’ll ever understand the pleasure you take in torturing that man.”

“He’s a swamp creature, Elaine. From the moment he emerged from his mother’s womb, he’s had one hand reaching out for payoffs, the other for power, and all the while crying for attention.”

“But still.”

“Butnothing. During his two terms in the Senate, did things in this country get better or worse?”

Elaine Paulsen rolled her eyes. “I know a rhetorical question when I hear one.”

“Yes or no?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know exactly where I stand on all of this. Morally and culturally, I think we’ve slipped—a lot. That being the case, Gregory Wilson is just one man. He was one out of a hundred Senators. The blame doesn’t rest squarely with him.”

“No, but he’s a good place to start.”

“The voters are another,” she replied. “People get the government they deserve.”

“True,” said Kyle Paulsen. “His replacement is a considerable improvement.”

“Why did you hire Senator Wilson, then?”

“Because swamp creatures prefer to work with their own. If I go down to Capitol Hill, all they see is a big, fat checkbook. They’ll mind their manners, put on an air of false piety, and tell me whatever they think it’ll take to get their hands on my money.

“But when Shit-Kickers goes to the Hill, his fellow Congresscritters see one of their own. Wilson speaks their language. Even out of office, he’s still a comrade in arms to them, a coconspirator who isn’t afraid of getting his hands, or anything else, dirty.”

Elaine paused, trying to come up with something positive about the former Senator. “You have to admit, he has always been quite conversant in the Constitution.”

“That’s always been an act. Boob bait for his rube voters. He used to carry a pocket version with him just in case there was a camera and then, faster than you could say ‘Slick Willy Wilson,’ he’d whip it out. It’s a wonder he never developed a permanent case of bullshit elbow from it. Most transparent person in the Senate. Ever.”

“And yet here he is, pulling into our driveway,” Mrs. Paulsen observed, pointing out the kitchen window.

“I’ll be in my study,” said Mr. Paulsen as he splashed some creamer into his coffee. “Don’t let him talk your ear off at the front door. He thinks he’s a real charmer, that one.”

“I will speak with the Senator for as long as I please. He traveled all the way up here. There should be at least one bright spot in his visit.”

“That’s always been your problem, Elaine. You’re too nice. Especially to the help.”

“And your problem is that you’re never happy unless you’re complaining about something. Now, take your coffee and get out of my kitchen,” she teased. “I’ll show the Senator in.”

True to her word, Mrs. Paulsen took her time visiting with former Senator Wilson, who insisted, as he always did, that she call him “Greg.” By the time she delivered him to her husband’s study, Kyle Paulsen was convinced that his wife had been dragging out the small talk with Wilson just to piss him off.

When the man finally entered his study, Paulsen remained behind his desk and let Wilson come to him.

“Good to see you again, Kyle,” said Wilson as he stepped into the richly appointed room.

Rolling ladders with shiny brass fittings fronted mahogany bookcases stuffed with leatherbound editions. Oil paintings depicting scenes of whaling and other eighteenth-century seafaring life hung in heavy, gilded frames. The floors were covered with insanely expensive Persian carpets fit for a sheikh.

But the room’s focal point, the feature that most took visitors’ breath away, was the gigantic picture window overlooking Frenchman Bay. From it, you could see everything from the Egg Rock Lighthouse to the Porcupine Islands and beyond.

In front of the window was an antique telescope and next to it a collection of navigation equipment—sextants and compasses, many of them hundreds of years old.