“You’d better,” his mother chided.
“May I help you do anything for tonight?” Kim asked, in surprisingly good English. I suppose Rachel and I had expected more of a pidgin English, like in Chinese restaurants.
Tom noticed the shock on our faces and explained, “Kim learned our language at an early age, and she has almost perfected it.”
“I think she sounds adorable.” My perfect wife always knows the right thing to say.
We got them settled in one of our five bedrooms, where they had their own bath. Rachel wanted to talk some more, but I gently guided her back downstairs telling her she’d have lots of time to catch up on everything after the shindig.
Rachel remarked, “I’m so happy!” And she hugged me, as if I had something to do with it. I didn’t mind. As I tried to pull her closer she pulled away, admonishing me, “We have a lot to do, so don’t get sidetracked.”
To which I replied, “It’s your fault. With a sidetrack like yours what do you expect?”
She frowned, but I could tell she was pleased.
------
It was just about noon on doomsday Saturday when I slipped into the Dunn mansion via the side door. It was easy to walk around the house next door, which was empty due to my foresight a few days ago, in which I eliminated the resident. I figured it would be easier to navigate the route in the daylight. I would hide in the basement until the evening, when I would complete my task, thereby alleviating the headache that had plagued me for a long time. With just a modicum of luck, both Ivan Dunn and his wife Rachel would lie dead before the night was over.
Chapter Thirty-six
Early that afternoon I realized there was an important name missing when Rachel and I filled out the guest list. I’d forgotten to invite Vince Allison. His paper might send someone to cover the event, with all the dignitaries on the guest list, but Vince was not the social editor of the San Diego Daily Journal. He was an investigative reporter, and he had been very supportive of me in the past. I wasn’t sure whether he would be working on a Saturday, so I called his home.
“This is Allison, leave a message.” Damn, if he finds out we had a party without inviting him he’ll really be pissed. I tried the paper and lo and behold he was there.
“Is this the Ivan Dunn who always gets himself in deep trouble, and needs me to pull him out?”
“The same.” I went along with him. He’s a good Joe. “Hey, what are you doing tonight?”
“Why? Are you in the shithole again?
“Come on, be nice. I’m inviting you to a party.”
“Is it formal?”
“For you, no. I know you don’t have any good clothes.” Two could play that game.
“Right. So it’s Levi’s and a tee shirt.”
“But you will show up right? Rachel wants you to come, and I couldn’t talk her out of it.”
“I’d be honored. I had a meeting with the President of the United States, who flew in just to see me, but I’ll just blow him off.”
“Hey, I didn’t vote for the guy anyway.”
“You might have if you could read the ballot.”
This went on for a few more minutes. I’ll spare the details. Even though some of his retort was cryptic, I was satisfied he’d be there.
By noon we were both dressed for the party. Rachel had convinced me to wear my fanciest duds, short of a tux, which I always had to rent anyway. I did sport a dark blue tie, white starched shirt, (thanks to my wife, though I wouldn’t think that when it started to itch). I began with a gray suit coat, double breasted, but I would lose that as soon as I could. I had pants to match.
My bride wore a full length one-piece dress of pink, of all colors, but on her it looked good. The shoes didn’t matter because you couldn’t see them anyway. Her gown was low cut, with just a hint of her perfect breasts peeking out. Don’t get me wrong, it was very tasteful. She wore a pearl necklace resting on top of the afore-mentioned body part. Hanging from her perfect ears framing her perfect face were pearl earrings connected by gold chains. She didn’t wear these things out in public, not wanting to parade her wealth, but in the sanctity of our own home she did put them to use once in a while. She wore no hat, thereby not spoiling her hairdo of dark waves reminiscent of the flapper days in the ‘20s. I’ll bet the cops had loved waiting for her for over an hour at the beauty parlor. I’d have to ask Paulsen about that.
When I saw her getup I asked if we were getting remarried after all. She said no, but was looking good for me and our friends a bad thing? I didn’t know how to answer that so I just gawked.
Anyway, our conversation was interrupted by ‘The Bells of St. Mary’s’.
Alan Harrington took a taxi from the airport to a downtown hotel on Broadway when he arrived late Friday night. He planned on arriving at Rachel’s doorstep around noon the next day, which was October twenty-seventh, just two days short of the twenty-seventh anniversary of the last time he saw her. That fact had occupied his thoughts often since he decided to confront her and her son, who was his offspring too.
He didn’t know what kind of a relationship she had with her husband, but deep down in what he might call his soul, he hoped it was a rocky one. He still fantasized once in a while that he and Rachel might begin again what they had started long ago.
He wanted to make a good impression, but he had packed light for the trip. So he rose early Saturday morning in order to shop for clothes. There was a department store only a few doors from the hotel, so he walked over there about nine thirty. The shop didn’t open until ten, so he just hung around outside, looking up and down Broadway. It hadn’t changed much since he was there in boot camp.
A few stores had changed their names, and one of the theaters was gone, replaced by a revival hall of all things.
After picking up some dark blue slacks and a white collared shirt along with black dress shoes he returned to his room to change. By eleven-thirty he was ready for his big day. He called a cab.
It took a little over a half hour to navigate out to La Jolla. Alan marveled at the view as the taxi wove its way up the hill by Mount Soledad. He’d never seen this part of town when he was here in ’42.
Had there been a big chiming clock hanging outside the Dunn mansion, it would have sounded noon at exactly the time Alan’s cab pulled onto the circular drive outside. He paid the driver, with a meager tip, walked up onto the elaborate porch, and rang the bell.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It seemed a little early for the guests to begin arriving, and we both wondered who might be outside our double-doors. Rachel beat me to the door. I was a couple of steps behind.
It took her only a second to recognize the man standing there. At the same time he said, “Hello Rachel,” she fainted.
I wasn’t close enough to catch her, and the stranger, though he reached out, was too far away. She fell in a heap, hitting her head on the tiled entranceway.
I dropped down to the floor and picked up her head, cradling it in my lap. Her eyes opened, and she reached up with her left hand, touching the spot that had apparently hit the tiled floor of the entranceway. “Oh, that hurt,” she said, as she glanced back at the man on our porch. “Phillip, is that you?”
I knew right away who she meant, and I stared at him. Even with a beard and mustache I could see the resemblance to myself. After all, he was my half-brother, and as such he was entitled to a good part of my good looks. He was also the same guy I saw standing outside the Tokyo church when Thomas and Kim were married. He’d trimmed the beard, and his hair was shorter, more like mine, but I recognized him from that day.
I studied the man who, for all intents and purposes had risen from the dead. “I’m Ivan Dunn, the lady’s husband, or do you already know that?”
When he spoke he even sounded a little like me, but with a slightly deeper voice. He noticed my quizzical look and answered, ignoring my question.“You’re entitled to know what happened to me,” and he added, “I’m sorry to just barge in on
you like this. Maybe I should have called first. I considered that, but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe who I was.”
“You’re probably right.” So what do we call you, Phillip Atchison, or Jeb Lee?”
Our visitor grinned, “You need a program to keep up. I’m going by the name Alan Harrington now. It’s a long, and sometimes not pretty, story.”
I said, “We’re dying to hear, but we don’t have much time now. As you can see we’re dressed for a party.”
“Do you have to leave right away?” Phillip asked.
“No the party’s here, and you just crashed it,” I cracked wisely, or wise-cracked.
I could see he was studying me, trying to decide whether or not he liked me. It occurred to me he didn’t know we were related. I didn’t tell him then.
“Come in. We have a lot to talk about.” I helped Rachel to her feet, and moved into the living room, still holding her. She seemed a little unsteady.
He stepped through into the room. “Thanks. I was getting tired standing out there.” He took a seat in one of the chairs lining the wall, near the staircase.
Rachel finally spoke, after sitting down herself. “How did you know where to find us?”
“It’s a little complicated. I don’t really know where to start.”
I started to say, “Start at the beginning,” but Rachel interrupted me.
“We have guests arriving in a couple of hours. Please stay for the party.”
I looked at her like she was crazy, but dutifully I said nothing.
“I’d like that.” Phillip smiled. He did have an infectious grin, but then what could we expect? He looked like me.
“All right, you tell us your story, and we’ll tell you ours.” I know, it sounded like a song, but I couldn’t help it. I leaned forward, anxious to hear how this man rose from the dead in the middle of an ocean, and how he had found his way to our doorstep. Apparently he was willing to tell us.
“Okay. You know what happened in the bank the day I disappeared from Richmond, right?” He stopped, and looking at Rachel he asked, “This is going to take a while. Do you suppose I could get a head start and have a stiff drink?”
Chapter Thirty-eight
I looked around in the basement where I had entered the big house. It was dark, with no lights on, and I didn’t dare turn them on, but I could see a little. There was some furniture, and it looked like a wine cabinet around the corner of the stairs leading to the main floor. I started up the stairs when I heard music. It sounded like the Bells of St. Mary’s. I was confused, so I waited. Then I heard another voice beside that of the Dunns. Maybe whoever it was would leave right away. I was getting anxious to finish this thing, and have some peace for the first time since Dunn had put me in jail.
The vague conversation upstairs seemed to go on forever. I’d just about decided to break in on them anyway when that idiotic song played again. What the hell was going on?
Ted Springstone watched from the window of his patrol car as a steady line of cars entered the circular drive, and the people went inside. He hadn’t been told about any party. He wondered what was going on.
Every two hours he would exit his vehicle and walk around the big mansion outside to make sure everything was quiet. His last rounds were at two. He looked at his watch; three-thirty. His next rounds would be at four. He went back to his Playboy magazine.
It was after three when Phillip concluded his incredible story. I couldn’t help thinking about the women he had left, who’d all have been better off had they never met him; Celia Devin, Ruth Emerson, Margaret Lee, even Rachel. It seems the only one he’d treated fairly was Yasmin Shigehara. I think he really loved her.
Then it occurred to me he didn’t even know I existed until recently. It was time to fill him in.
“You know, Rachel and I met because of you,” I began. Then the music started. Damn, isn’t anyone fashionably late these days? I answered the door, and then the steady parade of guests started. I forgot about Phillip for the moment.
It wasn’t long before the party spilled out onto the lawn in the back yard. It was a warm night after a day of Santa Ana winds, so I left the patio door open. With the liquor flowing I was afraid someone would run into the glass on their way in or out.
We had quite a who’s who gathered. Everyone we invited showed up, and maybe a few we hadn’t sent invitations to or called. I was thinking of Phillip Atchison the third. There might have been more, for all I knew. I was glad to see Vince Allison when he showed up. That was one crisis averted. I could depend on him to tell some hair-raising stories to liven up the festivities. Some of them even involved me.
Sure enough, a bunch of our guests were huddled in a corner of the living room as Vince was just getting warmed up. He loved being the center of attention. That was about to end however.
Soon, as you might expect, we ran out of wine upstairs. It was time to make a wine cellar run.
Chapter Thirty-nine
There was so much noise on the other side of that upstairs door, I began thinking maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. My impatience had put me here in this basement, but perhaps I was hasty. I turned and started for the door leading out when I saw movement through the glass window of the exit. I turned back. Just at that moment I heard the door handle from the main floor make a sound as if it was turning. I was going to be trapped if I didn’t do something.
If it was Rachel, or even her husband who’d be coming down the stairs, I would go through with my plan, and shoot my way out if I had to. If it was someone else, I would just hide until they went back upstairs. Whoever was outside must leave sometime, and I could make my getaway then. A flimsy plan at best, but my hatred had led me here, and I was anxious to finish the job.
Rachel reached for the basement door handle. As she was turning the knob, I noticed, and told her I would go. Phillip chimed in, “let me help. It’s the least I can do.”
“Okay,” Rachel replied. “There’s some other things I should really be doing. The light switch is just inside the door, and the wine cabinet is right around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Bring a white and a red. I don’t care what brands they are, and most of our guests won’t notice.” She removed her hand from the door knob.
As the door slowly opened I saw that it was a man. I was in a position where he couldn’t see me at first, but then I recognized him. He looked different somehow. Maybe they were having a costume party up there. Dunn was wearing a short beard and mustache. Instinctively the .22 caliber pistol in my right hand fired. It was almost a reflex action. It was as if I was watching someone else. I could see in the faint light from the open door as he clutched his side. Then his body came tumbling down the seven or eight stairs to the basement floor where he sprawled partly on the bottom stair and on the cement floor. Half my job was done.
The sound of the single gunshot reverberated throughout the main floor. The only guests who might not have heard it were the ones who had spilled out onto the patio and adjacent yard. I rushed to the still open door leading to the basement and, flipping the light switch just inside the dark room, the first thing I saw was Phillip at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t appear to be moving. I quickly glanced around what I could see downstairs from my vantage point in the doorway. I saw nothing else out of the ordinary.
I turned toward the kitchen and yelled, “Call an ambulance!” to anyone who could hear. I then bounded upstairs and retrieved my gun from the drawer in the nightstand. I quickly went back downstairs where the party had grounded to a halt, with all the guests wondering what had just happened. Instinctively all the visitors associated with law enforcement drew their weapons. They all thought it could turn out to be a massacre.
Ted Springstone also heard the unmistakable sound of a shot. He was only a few feet from the outside door and he quickly covered the distance as he drew his service revolver. He looked through the glass andsaw the body at the bottom of the stairs in the now illuminated room. He cautiously stepped
inside.
I panicked when I saw the uniformed deputy enter the room. I fired at him, but I apparently missed as he ducked back outside. With my exit blocked there was only one way to go.
When I got back to the main floor I was joined by Harry Shields, Angelo Rodrigues, both of the FBI, and the man in his cowboy hat, Everett Paulsen. Each had a revolver in his hand. At that exact moment Harold Lambright burst through the open basement door. His gun was visible in his right hand. Seeing the armed man was all it took. Four shots rang out, one of them mine and, riddled with bullets, the intruder fell dead on the kitchen floor. Apparently no one else was shot, except of course Phillip Atchison III.
Chapter Forty
It was the morning of October twenty-ninth 1956 when Phillip Atchison III, shortly after awakening from a coma, looked up to see his childhood sweetheart and me, her husband, walk through the door of his hospital room.
“What happened?” was his natural response as he saw the two of us.
“You were shot.” Rachel volunteered, as if that would be a surprise.
Phillip reached up with his left hand to his bandage near his belly button. “I guess I’m lucky to be alive.”
“You could say that,” I replied.
“Who was that guy?” Phillip questioned.
“His name was Harold Lambright. He apparently mistook you for me. He had a grudge against both me and my wife.” I made a point of using the term my wife, fully aware that he had been her lover all those years ago. In fact this would be the anniversary of the last time he saw her.
It didn’t look as if the name of the killer was familiar to Phillip, as I searched his face for a reaction.
“Is he still out there somewhere?”
Return from the Shadows-Ivan Dunn the Final Chapter Page 12
