“Dead? Dead, how?”
“He was murdered. His body was found floating in the harbor in Buenos Aires.”
“Do the police have any idea who did it? I mean—can they connect this to us in any way?”
“No. We’re perfectly safe.”
Thor asked, “What about our plan? Can we go ahead with it?”
“Not at the moment. We have no idea how to reach Angel. However, the Controller gave Harry Lantz permission to reveal his name to him. If Angel is interested in our proposition, he will find a way to get in touch with him. All we can do now is wait.”
The banner headline in the Junction City Daily Union read: JUNCTION CITY’S MARY ASHLEY DECLINES AMBASSADORSHIP.
There was a two-column story about Mary, and a photograph of her. On KJCK, the afternoon and evening broadcasts carried feature stories on the town’s new celebrity. The fact that Mary Ashley had rejected the President’s offer made the story even bigger than if she had accepted it. In the eyes of its proud citizens, Junction City, Kansas, was a lot more important than Bucharest, Romania.
When Mary Ashley drove into town to shop for dinner, she kept hearing her name on the car radio.
“…Earlier, President Ellison had announced that the ambassadorship to Romania would be the beginning of his people-to-people program, the cornerstone of his foreign policy. How Mary Ashley’s refusal to accept the post will reflect on—”
She switched to another station.
“…is married to Dr. Edward Ashley, and it is believed that—”
Mary switched off the radio. She had received at least three dozen phone calls that morning from friends, neighbors, students, and curious strangers. Reporters had called from as far away as London and Tokyo. They’re building this up all out of proportion, Mary thought. It’s not my fault that the President decided to base the success of his foreign policy on Romania. I wonder how long this pandemonium is going to last. It will probably be over in a day or two.
She drove the station wagon into a Derby gas station and pulled up in front of the self-service pump.
As Mary got out of the car, Mr. Blount, the station manager, hurried over to her. “Mornin’, Mrs. Ashley. An ambassador lady ain’t got no call to be pumpin’ her own gas. Let me give you a hand.”
Mary smiled. “Thanks. I’m used to doing it.”
“No, no. I insist.”
When the tank was filled, Mary drove down Washington Street and parked in front of the Shoe Box.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Ashley,” the clerk greeted her. “How’s the ambassador this mornin’?”
This is going to get tiresome, Mary thought. Aloud, she said, “I’m not an ambassador, but I’m fine, thank you.” She handed him a pair of shoes. “I’d like to have Tim’s shoes resoled.”
The clerk examined them. “Ain’t these the ones we did last week?”
Mary sighed. “And the week before.”
Mary’s next stop was at Long’s Department Store. Mrs. Hacker, the manager of the dress department, said to her, “I jest heard your name on the radio. You’re puttin’ Junction City on the map. Yes, sir. I guess you and Eisenhower and Alf Landon are Kansas’s only political big shots, Mrs. Ambassador.”
“I’m not an ambassador,” Mary said patiently. “I turned it down.”
“That’s what I mean.”
It was no use. Mary said, “I need some jeans for Beth. Preferably something in iron.”
“How old is Beth now? About ten?”
“She’s twelve.”
“Land’s sake, they grow so fast these days, don’t they? She’ll be a teenager before you know it.”
“Beth was born a teenager, Mrs. Hacker.”
“How’s Tim?”
“He’s a lot like Beth.”
The shopping took Mary twice as long as usual. Everyone had some comment to make about the big news. She went into Dillon’s to buy some groceries, and was studying the shelves when Mrs. Dillon approached.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Ashley.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Dillon. Do you have a breakfast food that has nothing in it?”
“What?”
Mary consulted a list in her hand. “No artificial sweeteners, no sodium, fats, carbohydrates, caffeine, caramel coloring, folic acid, or flavorites.”
Mrs. Dillon studied the paper. “Is this some kind of medical experiment?”
“In a sense. It’s for Beth. She’ll only eat natural foods.”