Runner-up 2

Evelyn Falco wilted when she saw Charlie Bonner pull through the gate of their Beverly Hills home, modest by 90210 standards. The Falcos were blessed with the 90210 ZIP Code even if their home of 15 years would be considered a million-dollar tear-down in today’s real estate market, where McMansions ruled.

The former beauty queen runner-up couldn’t understand how her husband got involved with such a schmuck as Bonner. The Falcos had risen through the L.A. political machine, beginning with a win as a Los Angeles County supervisor who operated with a big budget and little press scrutiny. Falco’s stature rose in the system, and when a longtime Westside Congressman got nabbed for a DUI -- complete with a wild-haired, bleary-eyed mug shot splashed on the front of The Times and every website in the universe -- the Falcos saw their chance. They moved into Beverly Hills, knocked out the incumbent in the primary and gleefully rode the scandal all the way to Congress.

Evelyn was none too pleased to see Bonner, the one guy who would ensure their fall from grace. She loved her stature, the exclusive invitations and her roses more than she loved her husband. Charlie’s hare-brained idea threatened the things she loved most.

Every morning, during her watering ritual, Evelyn daydreamed of divorce. But she knew that divorced beauty-queen runner-ups were a dime a dozen in Southern California. She’d never get a better offer, and refused to go back to being a nobody. Besides, she’d never give up her rose garden.

Falco was her lottery ticket, and she was cashing it.

Evelyn turned off the spigot and wound the garden hose into a neat circle.

Charlie Bonner gave to the annual spending limit in her husband’s never-ending, incessant campaigns and held fundraisers at his glass palace in Malibu. Evelyn never trusted Bonner, but she always pasted on her best Miss Los Angeles smile whenever she saw him.

Today was no exception. She waved at Bonner as he pulled up the drive.

“He’s in the shower,” she called out. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

She left Bonner in the kitchen with a cup of fresh-brewed java and walked into Falco’s steamy bathroom.

“The Prince of Malibu is here,” Evelyn said. “I want to know what’s going on. This guy’s out of control, and you seem to be in lock step with him.”

The congressman’s heart pounded. But he dried himself off as though it were just another pesky question from a buttinsky wife.

“Charlie’s an investor in a development near Red Rock State Park; you know, the surfers’ spot. The ‘green’ people got a state commission to delay development and it’s a mess. He just needs to talk it over and see what can be done.”

Evelyn knew he was lying. But she didn’t say a word. Just held up his bathrobe so he could slide into it.

Falco went downstairs. Evelyn didn’t follow. At first.

Stealthily, she crept to the top of the stairs and tried to listen. But Falco and Bonner were too smart for that. She could only make out a word here and there.

Cabo. Carmen. Flash drive.

What in the devil had her husband gotten himself into this time? It was obvious he wasn’t going to tell her the truth.

Evelyn heard her husband come up the stairs. She fled into their bedroom, pretending to straighten out a drawer.

Falco started packing a suitcase.

“Where are you going?”

“Charlie and I have business.”

“What business?”

“We’re going surfing.”