For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,19
said. “I think we should just get going on this.”
I know. I had just told Mahoney I wasn’t going to talk to Rachel Barlow, and here I was, talking to Rachel Barlow. Well, there were good reasons for changing my mind. For one, I had already checked with Dutton, who had nothing on Madlyn’s credit cards, but expected word back on my telephone records by that afternoon. And I had talked to two of Madlyn and Gary’s friends (actually, Madlyn’s), both of whom reported no problems in the marriage and absolutely nothing unusual of late. I had decided, also, that my petty feelings about Gary shouldn’t impede the investigation, so I shouldn’t exclude a whole avenue of inquiry just because it came from him. Besides, I didn’t have any other ideas.
Rachel Barlow had decided to run for mayor, I found out through Harrington’s clip morgue, because she felt it was time for “a new voice” in Midland Heights. Seeing as how the old voice, Mayor Sam Olszowy, had been in office for more than fifteen years at the time, it was a safe bet that the town liked hearing the voice it had now.
But Olszowy had made several potentially critical errors. He had seriously underestimated Rachel Barlow, dismissing her out of hand as a credible threat in the Democratic primary. There are no more than 200 registered Republicans in town, so the Democratic primary, assuming Hitler isn’t nominated, will pretty much decide the general election.
In office and in his campaign, Olszowy was ignoring the town’s changing demographics, too. He continued to cater to the senior citizens, who didn’t want the school budget passed, and weren’t interested in bringing more businesses to the downtown, either. But ignoring young parents in Midland Heights is like running for office in New York and announcing that you’re a big Atlanta Braves fan.
Next thing you know, Rachel Barlow, with her “we’ll set up a committee and investigate it” platform, and her strong advocacy of a healthy school budget, despite having no children of her own, was running close to even with Olszowy in the polls (assuming one can take accurate polls in an election this insignificant). Who the mayor of Midland Park might turn out to be would have as much an impact on my life as what brand of liquid soap they chose to put in the men’s room at New Jersey Turnpike rest stops. Maybe less.
“What is it you want to know?” Rachel asked, her hands folded in her lap, like the last contestant at a fifth-grade spelling bee waiting for the word “extraneous” to be called out.
“Well, to start, how well do you know Madlyn Beckwirth?”
Rachel shifted gears to that of a beauty pageant contestant asked how bikini waxing could actually help end hunger in Third World countries. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets, looking for an answer lodged tightly in her left frontal lobe.
“Madlyn is my campaign manager. We moved to town just about when she and Gary did, five years ago. I asked her to manage my campaign because she’s my best friend, and I trust her. Also because she brings an impeccable record to public service, having been a past president of the PTO at Roosevelt School and treasurer of the Boy Scout troop her son used to belong to.” Rachel rolled her eyes back down to look into mine, with all the charm of a department store mannequin.
“That’s fine,” I said, in my best reporter style, “but I’m really not looking for her resumé, and I’m not asking essay questions, either. This isn’t a shadow-debate with Mayor Olszowy. Just relax and talk to me.”
“I thought that was what I was doing.” Rachel’s eyes bored in just a bit, and widened maybe a millimeter. There was a side of her that you didn’t want to cross. She was hiding it, but not well.
“You are, but you need to relax. We’re just having a conversation. You’re not being questioned by the grand jury.” I was trying my best to smile, but the cold front that had drifted over the kitchen table was hard to get past. I was pretty sure I could see my breath. “Now. Have you noticed Madlyn acting unusual lately?”
“Unusual?” Rachel said the word like it would be visible coming out of her mouth, and would be ugly and hairy. Anything that wasn’t usual clearly wouldn’t be welcome in this kitchen.
“Not ordinary,” I said. “Something she wouldn’t do under normal circumstances.”