Blessed are the Meek by Kristi Belcamino Read Free Book Online

make those difficult phone calls to make sure every victim I write about is more than just a name in the paper. I kiss my fingers and gently touch the picture. With her dark hair and small pink lips, she looks like an angel.
    â€œ L ISA, WHAT CAN you tell me about Mayor Grant?”
    She’s eating lunch at her desk. My stomach grumbles when a whiff of a half-­eaten cheeseburger and French fries drifts up to me.
    She answers in a staccato voice, still typing, without taking her eyes off her computer.
    â€œFrom big money. Mother’s family is East Coast, blue-­blood royalty. Father’s family descended from a San Francisco railroad tycoon. Think the Kennedys, but conservatives. Republican Party loves him. On fast track to the White House. Against gay marriage. But appointed several gay staffers. Walks right down the middle, which makes him a very viable presidential candidate for the GOP. Only thing holding him back is being single, but I heard that the plan is before the election, he’ll find his dream girl. The spin doctors will use it to conjure a romance and engagement the likes of this country hasn’t seen since Grace Kelly married the Prince of Monaco. He’ll be like our own royalty—­Princess Di will have nothing on him.” She takes a breath and looks up. “How come?”
    â€œThink he’s capable of murder?”
    She stops, shoves a fry in her mouth, and gives me a look over her huge round glasses. “He’s a politician.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a yes.”
    â€œPoliticians will do nearly anything to get what they want,” she says. “With that said, Grant is probably too smart to murder someone. You talking about Sebastian Laurent?”
    I nod. “Maybe Grant wanted boyfriend out of the way? Maybe Annalisa Cruz is the girl he’s going to woo and marry in front of the world. She’s got the looks for it.” I hand Lisa the photo of the ­couple having dinner.
    Annalisa Cruz’s hair is pulled back in a chignon, and she’s wearing a slinky red dress—­big diamond earrings dangle from her small earlobes. Grant is in a dark suit. The pair sits at a restaurant table bathed in candlelight.
    Lisa gives the photo a fleeting look. “I heard about that, too, but that’s par for the course in politics. And, trust me, Grant wouldn’t have to resort to murder to steal another guy’s girlfriend. You’ve obviously never met him. Want to?”
    Lisa takes another bite of her cheeseburger, dips her frizzy black-­and-­gray hair, and flips through a stack of papers. Unearthing one, she hands me a letter on fine parchment paper with the seal of the mayor’s office at the top.
    She holds a finger up, asking me to wait as she finishes chewing her bite. Finally, I see her swallow. “I can’t make it to the annual press-­club dinner tomorrow night. Kellogg wants someone from the paper there. Call Grant’s assistant and confirm. You’ll get to see the mayor in action, and, at the very least, you’ll get a good meal out of it.”
    I thank her and walk away.
    â€œGiovanni,” she calls after me. “Like I said, Grant has no problem with the women. Watch yourself. He’s partial to brunettes.”

 
    Chapter 9
    T HE PRESS-­CLUB DINNER is black tie. Crap.
    â€œThe women will be wearing formal, floor-­length gowns and the men tuxedos,” the mayor’s press assistant says when I call to confirm.
    â€œGotcha.” I hang up, thinking, what kind of ­people actually own “floor-­length gowns” for crying out loud? Not reporters, that’s for sure.
    On Saturday morning, with the dinner in T minus ten hours, I realize I need help. I pick up the phone.
    â€œMama, want to go shopping?”
    â€œI’m on the next BART train.”
    Just like I expected, she doesn’t even mention the anniversary at the cemetery yesterday or that