he brings back inside the Jeep, where Brendan says, “She seems nice. What? Did I talk too much?”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Andre says. “And, by the way, she thinks you and I are a couple.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got two wedding brochures in your pocket.”
“Me and you?” Brendan cringes. “Please, I can do better.”
Brendan pulls the Jeep onto the road. Andre sits quietly, sulking, imagines all that he could have bought instead of overpriced organic produce. New Italian loafers. A good bottle of brandy. Maybe a house. The list is long and growing, and, with each additional item, his irritation rises. Then his anger finds use.
“The county manager. Paula Carrothers.” Andre silences the radio. “Have we requested anything on her?”
Chapter Six
Too early the next morning, at the Lee family dinner table, Andre recalls the details of his new straw man’s background. Traditionally, the firm would interview neighbors, past employers, archenemies, and ex-lovers. People would be amazed at the things their postman knows about them and astonished by how cheaply he’ll sell their secrets. But, for this assignment, the firm’s investigators are not authorized to travel or to make calls. Too much risk. Too small a community. Too little time. Therefore, the background check is limited to online databases, the records, both intimate and impersonal, purchased for a modest sum.
“I don’t see why we can’t stick to the one issue.” Chalene Lee sits in her husband’s lap. Tyler’s wife is a cheery, dimple-cheeked woman, twenty-two weeks pregnant with their seventh child. She’s birthed five sons, adopted one more, says she loves them all the same. Her background check is pretty clean: secretary of her church’s women’s missionary society, part-time manager at a laundromat, part-time school bus driver for kids with disabilities. She’s popular with parents and with her employers, has but one blemish on her record, an incident six years ago when, driving the bus, she seized the cane of a blind eight-year-old who kept smacking a quadriplegic girl. Chalene’s applied for a third job two counties over, third shift at a factory, the nation’s second-largest producer of Going Out of Business signs. With another child on the way, the Lees make no secret that they could use the extra cash. Their jobs, six between the two of them, and federal assistance aren’t nearly enough. Even their eldest son, an eighteen-year-old high school senior, works part-time, scrapes a grill at a burger joint, shares his wages with Mom and Dad. Chalene says, “When my Tyler talked to Miss Vicki, she didn’t say nothing about three initiatives.”
Tyler’s rubbing her thigh; she’s caressing his nape. The past half hour, the two haven’t kept their hands to themselves. Kissing. Caressing. Cuddling.
“These three ballot initiatives share a theme. Each says that the government has gotten too big, too out of control.” Andre needs his straw man’s wife to buy into the campaign, because if he can’t convince her, then what hope should he have of convincing anyone else? “Remember, we’re trying to rein in government. To take the power away from the bureaucrats and special interests. The local government, the state government, the feds in DC. Someone needs to remind them about American freedom. Someone needs to take a stand.”
“Big Brothers at their worst.” Tyler pets the small of Chalene’s back. “Sweetheart. This is good for everyone. It’s good for the county. It’s good for us.”
Tyler places both hands on his wife’s round belly.
Andre shifts his eyes toward Brendan, who stares through a window at Tyler’s twin sixteen-year-old sons. Each is the spitting image of their father, and they’re wrestling on the front lawn. Andre shifts his sight again, past another son asleep on the fold-out couch. Finally, Andre sets his gaze above a faux mantel, where hangs a pastel portrait of Jesus. Andre wonders whether Tyler and Chalene have any shame, pawing at each other like love-struck teenagers in front of their Lord and Savior.
“Instead of one ballot initiative, we’ll have three. The first is symbolic,” Andre says. “The county must post the Bill of Rights at the door of every government building. To remind those government bureaucrats that this country was founded on principles of freedom and liberty.”
“Who can argue with that?” Tyler says. “Honey, remember that time the boys got a citation for burning lawn clippings in our own front yard? Private property. Boys weren’t causing no harm. And the county comes and gives us a fine.”
“And, did you know, the county government is the largest landowner in