The Scandal and Carter O'Neill

Don’t tell me she’s gone and gotten arrested, too.

“I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Would you say…ten?” Jim asked, consulting his notebook, and suddenly the room spun. Carter was dizzy. Sick.

There is no way he could know, he told himself. No way.

“Am I right?” Jim asked. “You would have seen her when you testified on her behalf in court ten years ago.” Jim held out his tape recorder, his bland face crowned with conceit.

Jim had made a career of shining a light into the dark corners of the previous administration, but for the last two-and-a-half years, Jim Blackwell had been stymied in his efforts to pull up any dirt on the current administration.

But Carter’s father’s arrest was changing all that.

“You’ve already done this story, Mr. Blackwell,” Carter said. “When my father was arrested, you took great care in giving the residents of Baton Rouge a good look at my bloodline. And I say now what I said then—I am not my family. I have very little contact with my family. I do not discuss them. I think you’re repeating yourself,” he said.

“I’m just trying to get my time line straight. You testified on your mother’s behalf in a breaking and entering case ten years ago. You seem a bit fuzzy on the specifics, which makes me wonder what else you’re fuzzy on. There is, after all, a thirty-carat ruby still on the loose.”

“We’re done here,” he said stacking his cards, getting ready to leave. Amanda, his assistant and soon-to-be campaign manager, swung up on his left.

“Answer the damn questions,” she breathed in his ear. “Or it looks like you have something to hide.”

And then she swung away.

Nausea rolled through him. He did have something to hide. He had a whole family tree of criminals and rogues that needed burying. But Carter gritted his teeth, and stayed. “Yes, it has been ten years since I’ve seen my mother. We are not in contact. And I have no idea where the ruby is.”

“You were her alibi in the breaking and entering case,” Jim said. “The charges against her were dismissed on the basis of your testimony,” Jim said.

“What is your question?” he asked, knowing in his stomach what the question was going to be.

“No question,” Jim said, and Carter nearly sighed in relief. “Just getting my facts straight.”

So you can come at me later. Carter had no illusions that Jim Blackwell was just here to get his facts straight. Jim Blackwell was throwing down a gauntlet, right here in front of him, Mrs. Vogler, and the kid with a mouthful of chocolate-chip cookies in the back.

His nausea vanished and he was suddenly clearheaded, sharp-eyed. Jim Blackwell was starting a fight, and Carter loved a fight.

“I feel it’s necessary to remind you of my law degree from Old Miss,” Carter said. “I understand the legalities of libel better than the previous administration, and I would say after your last article about my family, you are skating on thin ice.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. O’Neill?”

“Just helping you get your facts straight, Mr. Blackwell.” He glanced over at Amanda, whose smile was sharp, approving. Apparently he’d handled that right. Score one for the Notorious O’Neills.

“We’re done here,” Carter said and stepped away from the podium toward Amanda, who had pulled out her BlackBerry and was, no doubt, already on damage control.

“Your father is giving me heartburn,” she muttered, shooting him one poisonous look. “And now I’ve got to look out for your mother?”

“No one has any idea where my mother is,” he said. “She’s a nonissue.”

“Excuse me!” a woman cried, and he knew, just knew it was elf girl, and he just wasn’t up for more questions about how these women would live their lives without this community center.

It was bad politics, he knew that, but he pretended not to hear her.

“Wait a second!” she yelled, her voice sharper. Carter reluctantly turned.

The elf had gotten on a chair. Great.

She was lovely, actually. Her long, shapeless coat had some kind of wild embroidery on it, and her short, ink-black hair sparkled in the light coming through the dirty windows.

A pixie.

She slowly pushed back her long coat to reveal the swell of a very pregnant belly.

Maybe it was the way this day had been going; maybe it was the bloodthirsty toddlers, but some warning system in Carter’s head went: uh-oh.

“Where have you been for the last five months?” the elf asked, her eyes snapping. Her hands cupped her belly, and Mrs. Vogler sat down like a stone.

“Oh,” she sighed. “You’re a bad, bad man.”

The whispers started immediately, and the only thought buzzing through Carter’s suddenly decimated brain was, thank God there were no cameras.

Jim Blackwell lifted his cell phone and snapped a shot of the pregnant elf on the chair.

“Oh, crap,” Amanda said.

“I’ve never seen this woman in my life,” he said to Amanda and to the crowd.

Elf girl shook her head and got off the chair. “I knew you’d say that,” she whispered, convincingly heartbroken.

Thank God, the little liar started to walk away.

“You need to go after her,” Amanda said, furiously whispering in his ear.

“Are you nuts?”

Amanda pointed to Jim Blackwell, who was writing everything down. “Get to the bottom of it, before he does,” she said. “We can’t let that guy get the drop on us any more than he has.”

Amanda was right. He pushed his notes into her hand, and she immediately stepped forward and began spinning the situation, but it was like waving a tissue in front of a bull. Carter felt every eye, especially Jim Blackwell’s, on his back as he approached the girl.

He caught up with her at the front door and put one hand under her elbow. Carefully, so it didn’t look as if he was manhandling her, he spun her around and led her back around toward the pool, and the second exit onto an alley, where things would be less busy.

“I’m sorry,” she said right away, her voice breathy. “Really, really sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“About what?” he snapped. “Ruining my career?”

“Getting your attention.”

“Really? Nothing but accusing a total stranger of leaving you knocked up and alone?”

“You just kept ignoring me. Which, may I say, was pretty rude.”