Sex Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 6) (17 page)

“That,” Nina found herself saying, “is gut level all right.”

“So the bottom line is, we’re going to be assigning some people to both of you.”

“How many people?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re still making those decisions. The main thing is, your protection will be discreet. Often you won’t know anybody’s watching you. But you’ll each be our responsibility now. And there won’t be any more instances like the library.”

And with that—at least that and a few cursory words of caution mixed with encouragement, it all coming out to sound like, “Don’t worry about a homicidal maniac trying to kill you because we’ll be there watching him do it!”—the meeting ended.

A limousine dropped Laurencia outside the Senate building, then continued on to take Nina to her office in The Rayburn building.

She entered, made her way down the crowded hallways, down the stairs of the old building, and finally stopped before the door of her own office.

Which she opened, to reveal eight hard-working people and a chief of staff.

None of them knew about the library.

She greeted everyone, hung up her jacket, and walked back to her own private office.

A stack of letters lay unopened on it.

On top of the stack, though, was a single piece of paper.

Ivory colored.

She picked it up and read:

I ENJOYED OUR TIME IN THE LIBRARY

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW SECURITY BLANKET

CERTAINLY YOU MUST FEEL SAFE NOW.

OH AND BY THE WAY—

TELL LAURENCIA DALRYMPLE TO DROP OUT OF THE RACE

IF SHE DOES NOT DROP OUT BY JULY 14, SHE WILL NOT EXPERIENCE JULY 15.

She stood for a time, stock still, the letter shaking in her hand.

Then she sat down, put her face in her hands, and attempted not to cry.

CHAPTER TWELVE:
 
BUSTER THE BEAGLE AND THE TWO DOLLS

Nina was loathe to let the bizarre experience in the university library sour her on Georgetown completely, so the following day she splurged and took a cab to 31
^st
and R Street, which she had learned was the most convenient entrance to the magical world that was Dumbarton Oaks. She had been told of the place early on in her Washington D.C. life, and this would be her fourth visit. For some reason, she could not stay away. Dumbarton Oaks was, of course, really three gardens in one: a wild and tangled English garden, a mathematical French garden, and a magnificent rose garden. There was a stunning collection of terraces, tree-shaded brick walks, fountains, arbors, and pools.

There were also running trails, and, if she ever needed a good slow jog to rid her mind of disturbing memories, it was now.

And so, this particular morning she had pulled on her black
Lissie
t-shirt (letter writer be damned), her red shorts, her battered jogging shoes, and her floppy hat—and gone for it!

She was now half a mile from the park’s main entrance and chugging along at almost the speed she would have attained on her Vespa, if her Vespa were here.

She missed, she realized as she eyed longingly a bench that was still over a hundred yards away, her Vespa.

But then again, she missed her cat, although it was not certain that Furl missed her, since he was being taken care of by Jackson Bennett and his daughters.

She missed the ocean, and her shack.

She missed Margot’s visits, and the puttering around in Elementals that she had become accustomed to.

Instead, she had this bizarre existence that was proving to be nothing like she had expected.

Was it a dream?

The fact that she could have been elected as a temporary replacement in the United States House of Representatives was strange enough; but the events of the last week, the viralization of her sex tirade, the formation of the Lissie Movement, the nationwide protests and counter-protests, the fervor that this gender revolution was making…

…no, she half expected to wake up, her head still lying on the table on her oceanside deck, the waves growling beneath her, and Furl rubbing her ankles, looking up angrily as if to yowl:

Rrrgggh.

Or…

Stop dozing and feed me!

She had halved the distance to the bench when another animal entered her life, this time from behind, at the same instant she heard another voice cry out:

“No! No, Buster! Buster come back here!”

Buster did not come back to the source of the voice, though, because he, trailing his leash, had overtaken Nina and was bounding joyfully at her right leg, licking her knee, and doing his best to tell her that he absolutely loved her.

She returned some of this love, at least––although she could not pant quite as heartily as Buster could—because the intrusion into her life of this mammoth beagle was making it impossible for her to run, and for that, at least, she was immensely thankful.

“Buster, leave the lady alone.”

Buster had no intention at all of doing that.

Instead, he continued to stand on his back two paws, his tongue about at her navel level now, his white-tipped tail churning back and forth in the rose-scented early summer air, and his eyes bright with the realization that:

“I HAVE MADE A NEW FRIEND!”

“Stop that!”

The source of the voice—and, quite probably the owner of the dog—approached as fast as she could, which was not too fast, given that she was pushing a double-seated baby stroller before her, while grasping futilely at the other end of Buster’s black leather collar.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“Oh don’t worry about it!” Nina said, laughing back at the laughing Buster, but not drooling as much—she hoped—as he was.
 

“He’s so strong—I couldn’t hold onto his leash!”

The woman who had failed so miserably at restraining her animal was probably in her mid-twenties, also appareled for jogging—almost everyone in Dumbarton Oaks at ten o’clock this morning was there for jogging, Nina noted—Hispanic, and quite beautiful.

She had long lustrous glowing black hair that came almost to the middle of her back, and her raven eyes sparkled as she smiled.

Nina could not help thinking of Sonia Ramirez, and wondering as she did so if this young woman was a basketball player too.

Some kind of a ball player she must have been—or some kind of a gymnast or swimmer or runner or whatever––for her body had that look about it that said “I’m out here running, although I don’t need it at all and would look this fit and strong even if I never ran another day in my life.”

That
look.

“I’m Sylvia Morales. And…wait….are you Nina Bannister?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh, my God! You’re my idol!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!”

“No, you are, you really are! I’m a Lissie! I didn’t wear my black shirt this morning! But I’m still a Lissie and many of my friends are, too. We talk about you all the time, and the great speech you gave!”

“I’m flattered!”

“No. I’m the one who should be flattered! My dog Buster almost ran over one of the most famous women in Washington!”

As for Buster, he was still going at it, and it was all Nina could do to keep her palms pressed hard enough on his glossy aircraft carrier back to satisfy him.

“Would you give me your autograph?”

This shocked Nina somewhat, because she had never been asked for her autograph before, and so it took an instant or so for her to recover her composure and answer:

“Yes, I’d be happy to.”

“Ok, then, here—let me get this little wallet I carry out of my jogging pants—and, here, I’ve got a pen, too…”

Nina watched her search for these articles, and noticed, as she did so, the two children who were riding quietly in the double stroller.

They were almost completely covered beneath a neatly folded red blanket.

Their faces were angelic, and the long wispy eyebrows extended from their cornflower blue eyes fluttered ever so slightly in the breeze that was easing its way through the park.

These things Nina noted even before the realization hit her that they were not children at all.

They were dolls.

Just toy store dolls with radiant blonde hair and WHITEWHITEWHITEWHITE skin.

Making Nina think:

Oh great. I’ve run into another looney
.

The university library. Dumbarton Oaks.

Maybe it’s just Georgetown.

Better go up to Foggy Bottom. Or just stay home.

“Here. If you could sign the back of this business card.” Nina took the card and looked at it, half expecting to read the words:

PROFESSIONAL IDIOT

What she did read, however, were the words:

SYLVIA MORALES

AGENT

UNITED STATES SECRET SERVICE

“Just turn it over, and sign the back, if you will.”

“Sure.”

Nina did so, saying:

“That explains a few things. Like your
children
there.”

“Aren’t they just dolls?”

“That’s extremely well put. Here.”

She handed back the card.

“We’re going to be watching out for you,” said Sylvia, quietly, “from now until the election. You may not always see us. In fact, if you’re too aware of us, then we probably aren’t doing our jobs very well.”

“You really think I’m in danger?”

A shrug.

“There are a lot of crazy people out there. Apparently one of them has been writing letters. We tried to find fingerprints on the letters that showed up in your office yesterday. No luck. The scary thing, of course, is how he could have gotten in there.”

“Yes.”

“And the thing in the library. By the way, that’s still being kept completely confidential. No one knows about it. I’m assuming you haven’t talked about it.”

“No. Not a word.”

“Good. Well, Nina, try not to worry. You’re in good hands now, I promise.”

“So––you, like…I mean, could you kill somebody with your bare hands?”

“No, but this dog could.”

“I feel safer already.”

“Damn straight. Now, I hear that you’re going over to George Washington University tonight.”

And that was true.

No faulting the Secret Service on their Intelligence Gathering Branch.

“I am. Laurencia set it up a few days ago. There is a professor there named Morgana Davis. She teaches a class in Women in Literature. Apparently, the students want to know more about me, and about what I’m doing here in Washington, and how the
Lissie
movement came about.”

“I want to know more about all those things too. So I’m going to be in the class when you talk. I called Professor Davis this morning and asked if I could sit in.”

“Did you tell her you were in the Secret Service?”

“If I did that, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“But you need to realize, anytime you speak before a crowd now…well, I or one of my colleagues will have your back.”

“That’s good to know, Sylvia. I appreciate it. And so does Laurencia, I’m sure.”

“Just doing our jobs.”

“Are the two kids coming tonight?”

“They’re a little young for advanced feminist studies.”

“There’s that to think about. That and the fact that they’re not real human beings.”

Sylvia shook her head and straightened the blanket covering Doll #1:

“That never seemed to be a problem for a lot of the professors I used to know in college.”

“You have a point.”

“Nice to have met you, Nina Bannister. I hope to see you more in the future. But I also hope you won’t be seeing me.”

“Vaya,” said Nina, Olivia Ramirez’ words flashing into her mind as she spoke, “con Dios.”

The Federal Agent beamed back at her:

“Y Usted, Nina. Y Usted.”

So saying, she turned and, two plastic children in front of her and one overweight beagle behind her, walked away.

George Washington University, having no campus of its own, is a mélange of modern office buildings and nineteenth-century houses between 19
^th
and 24
^th
streets south of Pennsylvania Avenue.

Still, as the sun set around seven o’clock and streetlights began to come on, there was a collegial feel as Nina walked with Laurencia toward Briarwood Hall, where she was to speak. Students were everywhere, and there were still open spaces of ground where Frisbees could be thrown and dogs could launch themselves high in the air to catch them.