27
Senator Tobias
“I’m home,” Senator George Tobias yelled, letting himself in the house and double-locking the door behind him. He hung his trench coat in the closet, dropped his attaché case on the floor, and shuffled to the study where Bridgett sat, ensconced in her wheelchair. With an open book on her lap she sat in front of the burning embers in the fireplace. George bent down and kissed her. “Nelson Demille?”
“John Grisham. I finished Demille.”
“Your fire is about to burn out,” he said, placing another log on the embers. He ambled to the wet bar, dropped ice cubes into a glass and generously poured over Maker’s Mark.
“Bad day?” Bridgett asked.
“A mixed bag, really,” he said, setting his drink on the coffee table. “The crime bill is taking more time than it should.” He undid his
