The Governor's Wife Read Online Free

to get me. She walked me down a hall filled with bright colors and a soft hissing that sounded like steam escaping from a busted pipe.
    “What’s that?” I said.
    “What?”
    “Sounds like a gas leak.”
    “Oh.” The assistant looked back at me with that zombie/acolyte smile you used to see only at an
Oprah
taping. “That’s their waterfall. Isn’t it beautiful?”
    “Whose waterfall?”
    “Marie and Ray’s. They spent a month in Kenya. Marie recorded all the sounds of their trip so they could reconnect with Africa whenever they felt the need. These are the waterfalls of Thika. I’m thinking of playing it at my wedding once I get engaged. Course I have to get a boyfriend first. Here we are.”
    The assistant pushed open a door and I walked into Marie Perry’s office. In case I had any doubts, there was a life-size portrait of her and Ray hung on the wall directly above her chair. The shot was taken at least five years and half a lifetime ago. Ray was dressed in a tux and reaching out to shake a hand. Marie Perry was glammed up in an evening gown and glancing over her bare shoulder at the world she’d left behind.
    “That’s a Bichet.”
    I turned. The woman herself stood in the doorway.
    “The gown, I mean. Andre Bichet. The photograph was taken by Bellows. He used to take all our shots when…well, you know when. I keep it around to impress I’m not sure who these days.”
    Marie Perry walked behind her desk. She was dressed in faded jeans and an oversize sweater with a set of reading glasses stuck up on her forehead. Back in the day, she’d been touted as the engine that powered the Raymond Perry political machine. She knew who to woo and who to avoid. More important, she wasn’t afraid to stick a knife in someone’s back if she had to. And in Chicago, you always had to.
    Most people assumed the governor’s mansion in Springfield was just the beginning for Marie Perry. The woman had plans. A seat in the U.S. Senate for her husband, maybe a run for the White House if the cards fell right. But first lady of Illinois was as far as she’d rise. And it had been a costly climb.
    The years had done their best work on her face. Puffiness around the lips and eyes. A loose bag of skin under the chin. Lines carved into pale, drawn cheeks. Marie Perry was decaying before my very eyes. Even worse, she was being mocked by the polished image that hung just behind her.
    “You mind if I smoke?” she said and sat down.
    “What about your yoga class?”
    She chuckled and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. “I gave that up a while back. You want one?”
    I shook my head and took a seat across from her. Marie lit up and streamed smoke from the side of her mouth. It wreathed her head, then floated toward the ceiling.
    “I used to do yoga, meditation, chanting. The whole nine yards. Then Ray disappeared, the feds arrested me, and the press had me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Walk through that shit storm and tell me how
nama
-fucking-
ste
life sounds.”
    I was going to ask about Kenya and the waterfalls but figured no one should have too much fun in one day.
    “You told my assistant you wanted to talk about Ray,” Marie said, playing with the pack of Marlboros as she spoke.
    “I’m a private investigator.”
    “I know who you are, Mr. Kelly. Why are you interested in my husband?”
    “You mean who hired me?”
    She ashed her cigarette and drew one foot up onto her chair. “Exactly. Who hired you? And why do they care about Ray?”
    “I don’t know the answers to either of those questions.”
    “And yet you took the job anyway. Must be a good bit of money.”
    “It’s not about the money.”
    Smoke bubbled out of her mouth along with the laughter. “Don’t bullshit me and I’ll extend you the same courtesy.”
    “Can we talk about your husband?”
    “Why should we?”
    “I don’t know. Why did you agree to meet today?”
    “Maybe I was bored. Not a lot of demand these days for a disgraced former