Murder at the Watergate Read Online Free

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    “Hey, Janet. How’s everything?”
    Her long, dramatic sigh said it all. “I’ll be glad when this one is over and we’re all rich.”
    Hedras passed her and went to the ballroom entrance, where dozens of hotel employees were putting finishing touches on tables. Although it would not be a sit-down dinner, plenty of tables had been provided for those wanting to get off their feet, or wishing to confer with others more comfortably.
    Elfie Dorrance was on the other side of the roomspeaking with characteristic animation to the Watergate’s sales and catering manager. When she spotted Hedras, she abruptly ended her conversation and came to him in her trademark self-assured, regal manner; Elfie Dorrance was as graceful as she was handsome.
    “Christopher, darling, I wondered where you were. You’re generally early.”
    “I was up all night, caught a few hours’ sleep.”
    “Come with me,” she said, touching his arm and leading him from the ballroom to a room off the hallway called the Crescent Bar, which at one time was open to the public but was now reserved for the cocktail portion of weddings and other social events.
    “Off limits, Mr. Hedras,” a Secret Service agent on duty said.
    “Just a few minutes,” Hedras said. “We need a quiet place.”
    The agent stepped back to allow them to enter. Elfie led Hedras to a remote spot in the room, looked around unnecessarily to be sure they were alone, and said, “Thank you for straightening out the mess with Manuel.”
    Hedras’s voice was lower. “It wasn’t easy, Elfie. He can be intractable when it comes to people like Manuel.”
    “I know, and if Joe doesn’t get off that stance it could kill his chances next November. Does he realize, Chris, that one out of every sixteen Americans is of Mexican descent?”
    “Of course. Look, we both know what has to be done. But you’re pushing him too hard and fast, Elfie. You know what he’s like. He’s easygoing until he gets a piece of gravel in his craw, like the stuff going on in—andcoming out of—Mexico. Then he plants his feet, draws a damn line in the sand, and it takes tanks to move him.”
    She broke into a large, engaging smile. “Or some gentle persuasion. All I’m saying, Chris, is that pulling further away from the president’s position on Mexico is eventually going to become public, set him at odds with the administration and, I might add, with our friends to the south. I couldn’t believe it when he argued against inviting Manuel for this evening.”
    “He’s sensitive to any contributor whose name ends in a vowel. All this talk on the Hill about investigating the president’s so-called Mexico connection in the last election has him on edge. Sometimes I think he might fall off.”
    “This is different, Chris. Manuel Zegreda is an upstanding, successful American businessman of Mexican descent. And a citizen, I might add, who heads up an American subsidiary of a Mexican conglomerate. If he wants to give money to a presidential campaign, he’s entitled to do that. It’s legal.”
    “You know it goes deeper than that with Joe,” Hedras said, glancing toward the door where Janet, of the meeting-planning committee, was waving for him to join her.
    “Let’s talk this out another time,” he said. “The important thing is that Zegreda got his invitation and will be here. Are you staying in town for a while?”
    “No. Off to London in the morning, then to San Miguel. I’ll be there through the elections.” She touched his tie. “Why don’t you come down, relax with me a few days?”
    “Relax with
you
? The last time you relaxed was whenthey put you out for your appendectomy. Soon, though. We’ll grab some time when you’re back. By the way, the president made it official this afternoon. The veep will represent the country at the presidential inauguration in Mexico City.”
    “Good. You look splendid, Chris. New suit?”
    “Yes. I won’t bother to say you look splendid