by Dee Davis
“Oh my God.” Riley felt as if she’d been sucker punched, the air in her body exiting in one fell swoop. She swallowed, trying for words, but there simply wasn’t enough oxygen.
“Riley?” Haywood’s concerned face swam into view. “You all right?”
She nodded, air finally finding its way into her lungs again. “I’m just surprised.”
“That someone could be murdered in prison?” Haywood’s laughter was bitter.
“No, Haywood.” She covered his hand for a second time. “I was surprised because I know who Bryce Daniels is. Or at least I know the name. I’ve been helping a friend with an investigation.”
“About Bryce?” His face took on a skeptical cast, his eyes wary.
“About his trial, actually. It’s possible that it was fixed.”
“That would explain a lot. Bryce always said he was innocent.” He frowned at her, his fingers absently stroking Bryce’s box. “You got anything else?”
“Not much. Bits and pieces mostly. Although they’re starting to fit together. It looks like Douglas Michaels was instrumental in having Bryce framed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. That’s a missing piece. But we do know that someone else figured it out, and was starting to put the screws to Michaels. But then Michaels had the man killed. Or at least we think he did.”
“So you think Michaels’s suicide ties in somehow?”
She frowned, trying to place all that she knew in some kind of logical order. “It’s possible. Although there’s really no way to prove it. But I’d say it seems a likely scenario at this point.”
“But even if you accept all that as true, Bryce was killed after Michaels was dead. So he couldn’t have done that.”
“That’s just it. All kinds of things have been happening since he died. A woman was killed, I was almost run down, there was a bomb, and now there’s Bryce.”
“They tried before.” Haywood frowned, his anger animating his face. “With Bryce, I mean. A couple of days ago. Someone stabbed him. With a shank. I saved him. But Bryce was still scared. I’ve never seen him like that. Talked about it finally being his time. And that some people were just too powerful.” He stared down at his hands. “And in the end, I guess, they were.” He slowly met her gaze, his eyes full of questions. “This sounds like something a lot bigger than a fixed trial, Riley.”
She nodded, all of it almost too much to contemplate. She wished Jake were here. Or her father. Someone to help them sort it through. “And now there’s Caroline.”
“But how in the world could Caroline tie into all of this?” Haywood’s eyebrows drew together in frustration. “She was just a kid at the time.”
Riley looked down at the photograph. “No, she was a woman. We were just too young to see it.” She turned the picture to the back again, rereading the inscription. “Caroline was pregnant when she died, Haywood.”
“I never heard that.” His shock was apparent.
“I only just found out myself. Anyway, the point is, she was in love with the baby’s father. And I think, based on this picture, that it might have been Bryce.”
Haywood’s eyes narrowed as he considered something. “This is probably crazy, but Bryce told me once he worked as a gardener at some big fancy house. You don’t suppose . . . ?”
“I don’t know. It’s certainly possible. If he was, then surely there’ll be some kind of record.”
“I’d think so. But how does this tie in to murder? Are you thinking that someone had him killed because of his relationship with Caroline?”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe that covering up a pregnancy would be worth all that. But it has to fit in somehow.”
“It could have been racially motivated.”
“You mean that somehow it’s worse because Bryce was black? I suppose there are people who would see it that way, but still, it isn’t a reason to frame the man. I mean, Caroline was dead.”
“But the news wasn’t,” Haywood said. “Did Bryce know about the baby?”
“I think so.”
“So if he did, then he’d have been a threat to anyone who wanted to keep Caroline’s pregnancy quiet.”
“True, but not enough of a threat to go to these kind of lengths, surely? Couldn’t they have just bought his silence?”
Haywood’s face hardened. “You didn’t know Bryce. He wasn’t the type of man to be bought. And people would certainly be less likely to believe what a convicted murderer had to say.” Haywood sighed, frustration naked on his face. “But who would do something like that? We know Douglas can’t have been acting on his own.”
“I don’t know. Without understanding what this is really all about, it’s impossible to even guess at who might be behind it. Someone trying to protect my father, maybe.”
“But protect him from what? There has to be something more, something we’re not seeing. Did your father know about the pregnancy?”
“No.” A small niggle of doubt worked its way front and center in her mind, but she pushed it aside. There had to be another explanation. Whoever had framed Bryce had also had him murdered, along with Hank Larsen and Amber Northcott. Her father simply wasn’t capable of something like that. It was the one thing in all of this she was certain of.
“Well, someone must know what happened. It’s possible your father knew about Bryce even if he didn’t know about the pregnancy.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She sighed, her eyes meeting his. “Maybe I was wrong not to tell him.”
“He doesn’t know?”
“I was trying to protect him, but things seem to be spiraling out of control. And if he does know something, that could put him in danger too.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I need to talk to him.”
“He’ll understand why you kept it from him, Riley. And who knows, maybe he’ll even be able to help.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. You’ll see.” He laid the picture in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “Take this. Find the answers.” His voice broke, his words soft, colored with layers of emotion; relief, regret, remorse, and, unbelievably—hope. “He was a good man, Riley. My friend. And he deserves better than this.”
They sat for a moment more, still clasping hands, then Haywood stood up and banged on the door until a guard opened it. He turned to look back at her, his face somehow less shrouded, more alive. “Good luck, Riley. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And don’t worry about me.” His lips curved in the tiniest of smiles. “I’m going to be just fine.”
Chapter 25
RILEY LEANED HER head against the steering wheel of her car, trying to still her racing heart. The photograph of Caroline was still clutched in one hand, and her keys dangled uselessly from the other. After everything that had happened, she’d honestly believed that someone would try and keep her from leaving the prison.
She’d walked away from the interview rooms waiting for someone to stop her, to take her sister’s picture. But nothing had happened. Nothing at all. Harv hadn’t even pushed for details, merely saying he’d talk to Haywood later.
And now she was safe in her own car. With the kind of knowledge that had been getting people killed. With shaking fingers she locked her car doors, the stormy gloom of early evening giving her the willies. The air hung heavy, almost as if it were waiting for something. Something evil.
She shook her head, holding her imagination at bay. She was overreacting, surely. No one had any idea what she’d just put together. Truth was, she didn’t even know what she’d put together.
She knew for a fact that Caroline had been pregnant. And if the photograph was to be believed, that Bryce Daniels had been her lover. But the connection between her sister’s pregnancy and Bryce being framed was weak, if it existed at all. And there was nothing in any of it that explained why so many people had wound up dead.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the paper. She needed to talk to Jake—to tell him what she’d found.
The phone rang three times then connected with his machine.
Damn it.
She debated leaving a message, then hung up. There was no telling who checked his messages. And what she had to tell him wasn’t for strangers. She thumbed through her wallet, looking for the card with his private numbers, her stomach sinking when she realized it was lying on her desk at home. Frustrated, she dialed 411 and requested the number.
Unlisted. As was his cell phone.
What kind of a reporter had an unlisted number?
She banged her hand on the steering wheel, wondering what she should do. Her instinct was to go to her father. To tell him everything. He’d help her, she was certain of it.
But she’d feel better if she could talk to Jake first. It was his story, after all. But she’d had just about enough subterfuge to last a lifetime. And it wasn’t her fault Jake was unreachable. She needed to talk to someone, and she trusted her father.
Besides, she’d told Jake she was going to tell her father everything this morning. So what if this everything was a little more than she’d bargained for? Her father needed to know. And Haywood was right. Maybe her father knew something that could help.
A sharp rap on the car window jerked her out of her reverie, a shriek of pure fear filling her throat with bile. A uniformed prison guard stood by the driver’s window, frowning. Swallowing back her fear, she inched down the window, praying she wouldn’t regret it.
“You all right, miss?” The man’s eyes seemed kindly, his concern evident, and Riley relaxed slightly, careful to keep the hand holding the picture out of sight.
“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I guess my visit took more out of me than I realized.” She shot him what she hoped was a dazzling smile, fairly certain she’d failed miserably.
He nodded, still peering through the partially opened window. “First time?”
“Yeah.” She relaxed a little more, her smile more genuine.
“It can be overwhelming.” His look had changed to sympathetic. “You best get on home now.” He patted the top of the car in emphasis. “There’s a storm coming. You wouldn’t want to get caught in it.”
She nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I had no idea.” Stupid statement, considering the clouds and the thunder. “I’m on my way.”
She turned the key, and the engine sprang to life.
“Drive carefully.” He patted the top of the car again. “And don’t worry, it’ll be easier the next time.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she mumbled to herself, putting the car in gear. She was in over her head, and if Jake wasn’t available to save the day, then she was ready to take the next in line.
And right now her father was at the top of the list.
After traipsing through the centuries exhibited in the museum, Jake was almost startled by the fluorescent lights and stainless steel of the lab. Tucked away in a sub-basement, the room looked more like something out of a Michael Crichton novel than an historical resources department.
A tall lanky man sat at a table in the corner, peering at something through a magnifier attached to a headband. With his dark tan and thatch of blond hair, he looked more like a surfer than a museum employee.
Jake took a step forward, and at the sound of his footsteps, the younger man looked up with a grin. “You must be Jake Mahoney. David said you’d be coming to get the diary. I’m Branson Meyers.” The man unwound himself from the stool, towering over Jake once he stood up. “I’ve had a hell of a time with it. Between the mud and decayed plant matter, it’s a wonder there’s anything left at all.” He reached for the book. “And when you add clay to the mix . . .”
“Clay?” Jake stared down at the book, intrigued despite himself.
“Yeah.” Branson traced the edge of the book lovingly. “See how stiff these pages are? They add clay to do that. It’s aesthetically pleasing, but when the stuff gets wet, it’s worse than Krazy Glue. Fortunately for you, the pages are only stuck in places. Otherwise it would be a complete loss.” He looked up and shrugged. “As it is, there are still a lot of passages that are ruined. I did the best I could.”
Jake opened the book. The pages were much cleaner, and for the most part they were legible. But Meyers was right, there were entire paragraphs missing. “Did you read it?”
Branson grinned. “Hard not to.”
“You didn’t come across a name, did you?” Jake stared down at Caroline’s writing, willing it to tell him something.
“Her sister Riley is mentioned a lot. But other than that it’s mostly familiar names. She talks about her daddy a lot. And of course the baby. And then there’s the baby’s father. I’d say her husband was one lucky bastard.”
Jake jerked his head up, his eyes meeting Meyers’s. “They weren’t married.”
“Sure they were.” Branson reached for the diary, carefully turning the pages to the end. “See, she says it right here.” He pointed to a faded, mud-stained passage.
. . . well, it’s done. Your father and I are married . . . wonderful feeling to unite with words what was already joined in our hearts . . . together,the three of us. And now nothing can separateus . . . afraid to tell . . . but it’s the only way we’ll ever truly . . . peace.
It was hard to decipher, the words missing altogether in places, but the meaning was perfectly clear. Branson was right. Caroline had married the baby’s father. And if she’d done it in Georgia, there’d be a record. Jake glanced down at his watch, excitement building. If he hurried, he ought to be able to make it to the DHS building before it closed.
“Have I helped?” Meyers’s voice broke into Jake’s train of thought. He’d forgotten all about the man.
“Absolutely. This is just what I needed.”
“Do you want to take the book now? If you’ll leave it with me, I can clean it up some more, stop it from degrading further.”
Jake thought of Riley. Of her need to make peace with the past. “That would be wonderful. I know the family would appreciate it.”
Meyers nodded, already sliding the journal into a Mylar envelope. “I’ll just call you when it’s ready then, shall I?”
Jake reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you. You can’t imagine how much you’ve helped us.”
“My pleasure.” Meyers smiled. “It’s always nice when I can bring the past back to life.”
Jake walked toward the elevator, leaving Branson Meyers with his books, wondering what it was exactly they were bringing back to life, hoping it wasn’t something with the power to destroy them all.
Leon replaced the phone in the cradle and reached for his whiskey. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. A storm was brewing. He could feel it in the air.
“Everything all right?” Carter poured a stout measure of scotch into his glass, his gaze still resting on the phone.
“Just fine.” Leon smiled. “Nothing to worry about. We’re in the homestretch and everything is looking great.” He lifted his glass in salute.
Carter drained his glass and refilled it. “I honestly hope you’re right, Leon. There’s a lot riding on all this.”
“Damn straight there is. But you’re making a killing in the national polls, and we’re leaving tomorrow for our last whistle-stop tour. You’re riding high, Carter, and victory is just around the corner. I can smell it.”
“Well, it’s good that one of us can.” Carter dropped into a chair, looking more like the trailing opponent than the winning one. “All I can think about is Riley. I’ve already lost one daughter, Leon. I don’t want to lose Riley too.”
Leon frowned. “Nothing is going to happen to Riley. She’s fine. And she’ll make a hell of a First Lady.”
Carter smiled, the thought apparently cheering him up. “She will, won’t she?” He lifted his glass again, but Leon snagged it.
“Can’t a man have a drink in the privacy of his own home?” Carter frowned, reaching for the glass.
“A glass, yes, but not the whole bottle.”
&nb
sp; “I’m just fortifying myself. Nights like this remind me of Caroline.”
Thunder boomed outside the window, followed by a flash of lightning. Carter jumped, and Leon sighed. The storm was getting closer. “It was a long time ago, Carter.”
“I know, but after today, with Riley, I can’t help but think of what life might have been like if Caroline . . .” He trailed off, his eyes reflecting his pain. “Maybe if I’d been a better parent.”
Leon slammed Carter’s glass down on the table, sloshing liquid every which way. “Jesus, Carter, stop it. Caroline’s death was an accident. A twenty-year-old accident. You are on the brink of the greatest achievement of your life. This is not the time for reliving the past.”
Carter met his gaze, his own defeated. “Maybe this is exactly the time.”
“We’re talking about Riley again.”
“Leon, if it isn’t Jake Mahoney, it will be someone. She can’t stay my little girl forever. We’ve been lying to ourselves to believe that she could.”
“Make no mistake, Carter, I want Riley to be happy. Hell, she’s like one of my own. But I will not allow her to do that at the expense of the presidency. America is voting for you, Carter. But in some part of their being, they believe they’re voting for you and Riley.”
“What, a new and twisted Camelot?” Carter’s voice was bitter, and he grabbed the glass from the table, filling it with scotch.
“If that’s what it takes to win, sure.” Leon narrowed his gaze. “You knew the cost would be high when you signed on.”
“But that’s just the point, Leon. I knew, but Riley didn’t.”
“Of course she did, Carter.” He tried to keep his voice soothing, but the approaching thunder threatened to drown him out. “We’re all in this together. You, me, and Riley.”
“And Maudeen.” Carter switched subjects like lightning, but Leon was grateful for this one. Riley was essential to their success, and he couldn’t have Carter taking his eye off of that ball.
“I take it things are better between the two of you?”
Carter shrugged. “Let’s just say we had an energetic night last night.”
