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Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. January
  7. One
  8. Two
  9. Three
  10. Four
  11. Five
  12. February
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. March
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. April
  26. Seventeen
  27. Eighteen
  28. Nineteen
  29. Twenty
  30. Twenty-One
  31. Twenty-Two
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Twenty-Four
  34. Twenty-Five
  35. May
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. June
  43. Thirty-Two
  44. Thirty-Three
  45. Thirty-Four
  46. Thirty-Five
  47. Thirty-Six
  48. Thirty-Seven
  49. Thirty-Eight
  50. Thirty-Nine
  51. Forty
  52. July
  53. Forty-One
  54. Epilogue
  55. Acknowledgments
  56. Author’s Note
  57. Ladies of the House - Reader’s Guide
  58. Questions For Discussion
  59. Excerpt

“I’m a simple girl from Turbeville, South Carolina.” She glanced at her chief of staff, the same guy from the cemetery and the bar in Charleston, who let loose two barks of laughter. She smiled, too, both rows of teeth. “I’ve got no bodies buried except for my childhood cat. He’s under the old sycamore in my parents’ backyard. He has a little headstone, too. Made it from some mortar mix my Daddy had leftover at the hardware store.”

I had to mindfully resist rolling my eyes. The story was stump-speech quaint. That is to say, bullshit. After a long pause, Miles prepared to strike. “This is what it’s come to, then,” he said. Ever so briefly, Melinda cast her eyes in my direction, and I did my best to mask my satisfaction with a professional, pensive expression. “All right, since we’re not getting any younger. Our office has come to understand that you bribed some staff at your son’s university a while back. That’s what this meeting is about. I’m not sure what to do with this information. Therefore, we’re hoping you can help.”

“Huh.” She barely blinked. “How interesting.”

“Indeed,” said Miles.

“What’s stopping you from releasing this information?” she asked. “As you said, media would pounce upon it. So would your colleagues. So why don’t you just be frank, Senator. What do you want?”

“Firstly,” said Miles, “my mental health study is stuck. And it confuses me as to why. My staff has worked tirelessly with HHS to get the logistics in place. The money, once we get it, will be well used.”

“Did you try to get it on the omnibus last year?”

This, from the woman who blocked that exact effort. Bo and I exchanged a skeptical look, marveling at her selective amnesia. It was a pretty brazen tactic, even for the Hill.

“Yes,” Miles said. “You didn’t bring it up for a committee vote.”

In a move I was beginning to recognize as a habit, she pursed her lips and hummed. “I don’t remember that.”

“I do,” Miles said. “But since your memory is foggy, let me remind you, getting the funding should be a no-brainer.”

“And you want me to get something earmarked for you,” she said.

“That would be helpful. And I imagine there’ll be some more specific projects we’d like funded, as well,” Miles said, “once you’re confirmed.”