That could mean half a dozen things, and I’m tempted to ask her to clarify. Instead, I say, “You heard him last night. He was comforting Molly as much as anything else. Probably because he blames himself for not being around to warn her. And given everything that’s going on right now, I really don’t think—”
“I think you’re a little naive when it comes to guys.” She rips a paper towel off the roll and wipes the grease from her fingers. “That is, if you really can’t tell he’s attracted to you. Aaron’s not exactly experienced in that regard either, so you’re probably perfect for each other. I’m not saying hands off, or anything like that—although I probably would have to Molly. That would never have worked out. All I’m saying is don’t hurt him.”
I can tell it’s not worth arguing with her, so I focus on making coffee. The convenience store choices were limited, but Folgers is better than the syrupy stuff Aaron found in the pantry. Taylor gives the pot a dismissive sniff and grabs a soda from the fridge.
“I’m going back upstairs to finish the reading on Deo. I’ve got an outline, but it’s going to take one more session. Maybe two. I wish I had more time, because I’m pretty sure they’re going to call you either today or tonight with instructions.”
“Where are you getting that from? Aaron said you could only do the remote viewing stuff.”
“Right . . . but this isn’t based on my sixth sense.” She picks up Aaron’s tablet and opens a browser. “It’s just common sense, if we assume those texts last night were coming from Graham Cregg.”
She waits a minute, then spins the tablet toward me. Across the top of the site is a picture of an older man in a dark suit shaking hands with a crowd of people. The banner behind him says, Cregg For Our Future.
“But . . . that’s Ron Cregg,” I say, still not following her logic.
“I know. He’s running as an independent, so he’s doing a ton of rallies, fund-raisers, and town hall meetings. Mostly on the weekends. And since Papa Bear can’t hit every event on his own, he’s had the entire family traveling, including his son. See . . . this one is from a few Saturdays back.”
Sure enough, two of the images are of a speech by Graham Cregg at an event in Colorado. He looks thinner than he did in the photo we saw at Sam’s office, but it could be the angle. A perky-looking woman with pale-blonde hair stands next to him at the podium, which is decked out in red, white, and blue.
“He’s married?”
“That’s not his wife. That’s his stepmom. But yes, he’s married. Two kids. An uber-rich senator’s son, reasonably decent looking for his age? I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t married. And the poor woman might not even know she’s married to a psychopath. Lots of husbands have hobbies.”
I laugh. Taylor’s sense of humor is kind of dark, but I like it.
“There were a bunch of events listed on the schedule this weekend,” she adds, “including a few in DC, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. Friday and Saturday night is prime time. They probably have events going late into the night. But they’ll wrap things up earlier today, since it’s Sunday and some of those people have jobs to be at tomorrow morning.”
I’m about to click away when another picture catches my attention—a dark-haired woman shaking hands with an elderly man. Lurking in the background is a man who looks a lot like the bodyguard from the police station. I can’t be certain, given the angle, but . . .
“That looks like Dacia Badea.”
Taylor looks at the picture for a moment. “I’d imagine someone who can read minds is pretty handy on the campaign trail. Especially teamed up with a guy like Cregg who can make people whip out their checkbooks and contribute.”
From Molly’s memories, I get the sense that Cregg’s gift isn’t quite that flexible. I think he may have to focus really hard to get people to do his bidding, and it’s not exactly stealth mode.
“But they’d know, wouldn’t they? I mean maybe not in Dacia’s case, since she’s only snagging their thoughts. But Molly knew Cregg was inside her mind.”
She shrugs. “Convincing someone to snip off a pinky is hard. But making some rich dude add an extra zero to a check he was already writing? Probably not so much. And Daniel said the card she flashed was from the senator’s office, so I think it’s safe to say they’re putting her to good use.”
“Isn’t that . . .” I catch myself on the verge of saying illegal, but we’re talking about someone who’s been complicit in more than one murder. “Never mind. But you know, it actually does make sense, thinking back. Dacia was dressed up when she arrived at the police station. It was a suit, but more like something you’d wear to an event. And she made it clear that she had other places to be.”
“They probably planned on waiting to deal with you until Monday . . . but then you and Deo took off and forced their hand. They’re just pushing your buttons with these quotes.”
“Maybe.”