Page 58 of Hello, Summer
“You’re dating this dude? That was fast. Even for you.”
“I amnotdating Sean Kelly. I’m not dating anybody. Jesus! I haven’teven been home for a week. We grew up two doors apart, okay? I happened to run into him at a bar the first night I was home. I’d had a couple of drinks, so he offered to drive me back to town in my car.”
“It’s not really any of my business,” Kevin said quietly, and Conley knew she’d hurt him. Again.
“Kevin,” she said. “I swear. He’s like a brother. In fact, he’s more Grayson’s friend than mine. Look, I know things ended badly between us. And that’s on me. I screwed up. I treated you like shit. And I’m sorry for that. I’m just not good at this stuff.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” he said finally. “Okay, let’s get back on topic. Tell me exactly what you need.”
“One of the things I’m interested in is how a career politician can afford what’s been described as a waterfront mansion worth millions—on a congressman’s salary.”
“Maybe he inherited money?”
“I don’t think so. Up until a few years ago, he lived in a nice house not far from my grandmother’s place. And then some developers come to town about five years ago, and they buy this little spit of land. It’s called Sugar Key. When I was a teenager, it was where kids went to watch the submarine races.”
“Huh?”
“It’s where teenagers went to drink rotgut and screw in the back seat of somebody’s Honda,” she said. “Nothing out there back then but scrub pines and palmettos. And mosquitoes. Lots of mosquitoes. From what I hear,” she added.
“I’ll bet.”
“They built a gated golf and tennis community with only like ten lots. And Symmes owns a house out there.”
“You should be able to just look that up in the county tax maps online,” he said.
“I should be, but I tried doing it with just Symmes’s name and came up with zip. I need an address. And that’s not easy to come by for a sitting member of Congress.”
“Okay, I think I should be able to get that. I can always call somebody up in the D.C. bureau.”
“While you’re at it, see if you can find out where Symmes lived in the district. And how much that place is worth.”
“Anything else?”
“My source tells me that Symmes was tight with the developers of Sugar Key. I’m thinking if we find out who the corporate officers are, maybe that’ll give us some insight into what kind of relationship he had with them.”
“You’re thinking a real estate developer killed a member of Congress? In a single-car accident on a country road?”
“I don’t know what I think,” she said. “I’m just doing what I know how to do. Turning over rocks.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “You’re asking for a lot, Conley.”
“I know. But there’s a story here, Kev. I can smell it. It’s just out of my reach. And it’s so damn frustrating.”
“Down the rabbit hole you go, huh?”
“Only if I can get somebody to help me dig that hole. And it ain’t gonna be anybody around here. It’s like Robinette is some sacred cow. Get this—he was married with a couple of kids, and when he was in his forties, he got his secretary pregnant. While he was in office! Somehow, he managed to hush it up, divorce the first wife, and marry the baby mama, who was a couple decades younger. And nobody in Silver Bay even raised an eyebrow. A columnist for theBeacon—she’s this ancient crone named Rowena—got wind of the story, wrote a piece, and my granddaddy killed her story, because he said it was beneath the paper’s dignity.”
“When was this?”
“Back in the eighties,” Conley said. “But it might as well be today, because my sister insists it’s still not a story.”
“She’s worried about pissing off the family? Or losing subscribers?”
“Both of the above. Plus pissing off the few advertisers we have left. According to my grandmother, Grayson has been shopping the paper to sell.”
“Are people actually buying newspapers these days? I thought print journalism was circling the drain.”
“I can’t have this discussion right now. It’s too depressing. Do you think you can help me?”
