“No, it hasn’t,” Ashley agreed quietly.
“Have you heard from Tim?” Meg asked.
“I talked to him,” Ashley replied briefly. Somehow it was too soon to share the details of the previous night with anyone. She wanted some time to keep them to herself, as if she were hoarding a secret treasure.
“How is he?”
“All right. You know... he never talks much.”
“I heard they took him off the case,” Meg said.
“He wants to fight that.”
“I kind of figured he would.”
“Did Peter get back from his trip?” Ashley asked. “He must have been frantic when he heard the news.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” Meg finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“I tried his office and his apartment and, oh, it’s a long story, but I’m certain I’ll hear from him soon.”
“I’m sure he’s concerned about you,” Ashley observed, wondering why Meg sounded so bewildered about it. After all, how many places could the man be?
There was a knock at Ashley’s door. She said “Hang on a minute” to Meg and covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.
“Come in,” she called to the person in the hall.
Elsie opened the door and, seeing that Ashley was on the phone, retreated.
“Elsie, wait,” Ashley called after her. Into the phone she said, “Meg, I have to go. I’ll be in touch. And thanks for everything.”
Meg said good-bye and Ashley hung up. She looked inquiringly at Elsie.
“Mrs. Fair would like to see you, ma’am,” Elsie said politely. “She’s waiting downstairs in the dining room.”
“All right, Elsie, tell her I’ll be right there.”
“She sent all the Senator’s people away. She said she wanted to talk to you privately.”
Ashley nodded.
“There are four federal marshals downstairs in the library, and a bunch of FBI people outside all around the grounds,” Elsie added in a lower tone.
Ashley sighed. That was to be expected.
“Shall I have the cook prepare your breakfast now?” Elsie asked, folding her hands.
“You can tell Mary I’ll stay, but not to make anything special. I’ll have whatever is already out on the buffet for the others.”
Elsie nodded.
“And please straighten up the green suite also, change the bed linen, clear away the dishes,” Ashley added.
“Yes, ma’am.” Elsie stood in the same spot, watching her.
“What is it, Elsie?” Ashley asked impatiently.
“Miss Fair, I was wondering... and well, some of the other staff people were too....”
“Yes?” Ashley prompted her.
“What’s going to happen to our jobs now?” Elsie finished in a rush. “I mean, with the Senator gone, and Mrs. Fair in charge...”
Ashley waited.
Elsie hesitated, obviously distressed.
“Mrs. Fair is not in charge of this house,” Ashley said firmly. “It was left to me in my father’s will, to be run perpetually from a trust set aside for that purpose. You can tell everyone from me that you will all be kept on in your present positions. No one need worry. Please reassure anyone who is concerned that nothing will change.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Elsie said gratefully, obviously relieved. She left, and Ashley stood slowly, her mind racing with thoughts of her father and the changes his death would bring to her life and the lives of everyone who had surrounded him during the campaign.
His death. She could hardly bear to consider it. The nightmarish vision of his shooting had replayed itself in her dreams until she thought she would never be able to close her eyes without seeing it.
Ashley put her hands to her temples and squared her shoulders resolutely.
She would think about it later, when she could stand it. One thing at a time, she recited to herself. First she would deal with Sylvia, then with the household, and then she would relive every moment of her night with Martin, savoring every detail.
That would sustain her through this difficult period until she saw him again.
Chapter 9
ASHLEY DESCENDED the main staircase and crossed the entry hall into the formal dining room at the front of the house. She preferred the smaller breakfast room off the kitchen, but Sylvia always dined in state, even at eight in the morning.
Her stepmother was seated at the head of the table, and Ashley was not surprised to see that she had company. There was no sign of Charles, but Sylvia’s other children, Cynthia and little Joe, were there.
“Good morning, Sylvia, kids,” Ashley said levelly, going to the buffet and helping herself to a cup of coffee.
Sylvia eyed her without responding. The older woman looked no better than she had the day before; her eyes were ringed with deeper circles and her lack of color was alarming.
“Where’s Charles?” Ashley asked.
“I sent him to the townhouse,” Sylvia replied crisply. “You made it clear that we were no longer welcome here, so I wanted him to get everything ready. Elsie is packing for me right now.” Sylvia raised her cup to her lips. Her hand was trembling badly.
Cynthia, a sensitive twelve-year-old, was staring at Ashley, her expression confused and sad.
“Sylvia,” Ashley said gently, “I admit I was annoyed yesterday and spoke sharply, but I never meant to imply that you should leave. Of course, you may stay as long as you like, you and the children. I was merely saying that Lieutenant Martin was my guest and should be treated as such, with respect, that’s all.”
“Is he still here?” Sylvia asked.
“No. He left early this morning.”
“So. You spent the night following your father’s death with him. That’s in questionable taste, you must agree.”
“Sylvia, it’s a situation you could not possibly understand, so don’t try.”
“I understand a daughter who is too busy cavorting with her new lover to take an interest in her father’s funeral arrangements,” Sylvia snapped, casting a glance at Cynthia. She was obviously wondering if this conversation should take place in front of her daughter, but was too angry to restrain herself.
Ashley hung on to her temper with an effort. “Sylvia, we’re both under a strain, and I’m sure you don’t mean to be as rude as you sound. Anything that you arranged for the funeral is fine with me. My father exists in my memory now, and fancy eulogies and flowers won’t alter my recollection.”
Sylvia smiled bitterly. “Nicely put. You’re so good with words, aren’t you? Such a lawyer, right to the end.”
Ashley fell silent. Sylvia had clearly stored up some resentment there, and Ashley was nonplussed. Sylvia had always seemed content with her charities and her children, the family from which Ashley had constantly felt excluded.
“And now you’ve forsaken Jim Dillon, whom you’ve known for years, and if I may say so treated very cavalierly, to take up with this... cop,” Sylvia said. “And a useless one at that. He didn’t fulfill his function and prevent Joe’s murder, did he?” Her face crumpled and her eyes grew wet as she remembered the tragedy.
Ashley looked at the kids, who were glancing from their mother to her like spectators at a tennis match.
“Why don’t we continue this in the library?” Ashley said softly to Sylvia. “I’ll call Elsie to serve Cindy and Joe, and we can talk.”
Sylvia made no objection, and by the time the two women were settled with a tray in the adjoining room, Ashley had herself under firm control.
“Sylvia,” Ashley began, “Lieutenant Martin did everything possible to keep Dad safe. I was there most of the time; you weren’t. You’ll have to take my word for that.”
“Oh, you’d say anything to defend your boyfriend,” Sylvia answered bitterly.
Ashley realized that discussing the subject was useless. She wasn’t going to get into the issue
of Martin’s competence again. She had witnessed what happened in Millvale, and she knew he was blameless. Grief looked for a scapegoat, and Sylvia could not accept that the unthinkable had happened. She wanted to point an accusing finger at somebody, and the cop assigned to the case was the most convenient target.
“Have you considered the possibility that this oh-so- wonderful policeman may be after your money?” Sylvia demanded.
Ashley stared back at her, stunned. Then she started to laugh. She couldn’t help it.
“I don’t find that concept particularly amusing,” Sylvia said to her stiffly.
“If you knew Tim at all, you would realize how ridiculous that question is,” Ashley said, still smiling.
“Why ridiculous? Cops are not known for their lavish earning potential, and you have just inherited all this,” Sylvia said, making a sweeping gesture to include the house.
“Tim considers ‘all this’ to be the chief barrier to our relationship,” Ashley informed her.
“‘Relationship’? I suspected it was something more than comforting the bereaved. I suppose from your last remark that he wishes you were poor?”
“I think he would like it a lot better if we were more evenly matched in the monetary department, yes.”
“You’re a fool if you believe that. Other people envy us, and some of them will try to take advantage.”
“Not Tim. I think I know him better than you do.”
“He looks like a gigolo to me.”
Ashley stared at her, openmouthed. “A gigolo?”
“Why not?”
“A gigolo cop?” Ashley said. She couldn’t believe it. She felt laughter bubbling up again, but suppressed it.
“He has the look, the manner,” Sylvia said. “I’ve watched him. So handsome... and that intensity. It works on women like a magnet.”
“Sylvia, Tim is a lieutenant on the Philadelphia police force. Cops work for a living; they work hard. Gigolos hang out in casinos and service rich women.”
“He’s servicing a rich woman. He did so last night. And you’re very vulnerable right now. We all are.”
Ashley bit back the angry words springing to her lips. It had been a mistake to even discuss Tim with Sylvia, but maybe the older woman really was trying to give her good advice.
“Look, Sylvia, I know what I’m doing, and I have every intention of behaving sensibly. Can we change the subject and talk about the practicalities now?”
Sylvia was silent for a moment, and then said shortly, “Fine.”
“I will be staying here until after the funeral, when I plan to return to my apartment,” Ashley informed her. “My father left you the town house and the place in Bar Harbor, as well as the cabin at Bear Trail Lake. You said you’ll be at the town house for now, is that right?”
“Yes. I may sell the cabin. I really haven’t had the time to consider what’s best. Joe rarely used it in recent years, and I have no interest in hunting.”
“I see. Well, I told Elsie to assure the staff here that they would all be kept on in their jobs. I plan to keep the house open, and you and the kids can use it whenever you want.”
“Thank you,” Sylvia said grudgingly.
“Sylvia, I want to make this as easy on both of us as possible. Now, why don’t you tell me about the funeral plans?”
A truce effected, her stepmother nodded and proceeded to do just that. It was an hour before Ashley was finished with the conversation, and then she went looking for her stepsiblings, of whom she was fond. They were stunned and bewildered by their father’s violent passing, bereft of his presence when they were too young to understand the forces that had taken him away.
Ashley found Cynthia in the kitchen with Elsie, helping the older woman put away the breakfast dishes in the pantry.
“Cindy, how are you feeling?” Ashley asked her, taking the child aside as Elsie made a tactful departure.
Cynthia shrugged, her eyes on the floor.
“You can tell me,” Ashley said gently.
“I miss my dad,” Cynthia mumbled.
“I know,” Ashley said. “I miss him too.”
“He’s not coming back.”
Ashley shook her head, wishing that she could contradict that statement.
“Ash, what happened?” Cynthia asked.
Ashley didn’t answer immediately, wondering what Sylvia had told the girl.
“They’re trying to keep me away from the news,” Cindy said, “but I know Dad was shot with a gun.”
Ashley nodded.
“Who did it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Are the police looking for him?”
“Oh, yes. They’ll find him, too.”
“They don’t always find assassins, I know. I read about it in school. Sometimes the police don’t get them.”
“The police are looking very hard, Cyn, I promise.”
“Why would somebody shoot Daddy?” Cynthia asked, her adolescent face crumbling.
Ashley hugged her close. “I don’t know, baby. There are sick people in the world. Maybe somebody who didn’t like what he was trying to do for our country, maybe somebody who’s just insane and doesn’t have a real reason. It’s hard to understand something like this; even adults have a lot of trouble with it.”
“Mommy says we have to remember what a good man he was and keep him in our hearts forever.”
Ashley’s eyes began to sting. “Your mother is absolutely right. And we all have to do our very best to help her now, because she’s very upset.”
Cynthia drew back to look at her stepsister. “Aren’t you very upset, Ash?”
Ashley sighed, then nodded.
“Then don’t we have to help you too?”
“We all have to help each other; it’s the only way we can get through this. Will you give me your word that you’ll mind your mother, and if you need anything you’ll let me know?”
Cynthia nodded.
“Good girl,” Ashley said, kissing her. “Now, where is Joey. I want to talk to him too.”
“He’s upstairs in Mom’s bedroom, playing with the thunderbikes Mom bought him.”
Ashley kissed Cynthia and then went up to the second floor to look for the little boy. She found him on the floor where Cindy had said he’d be, assembling plastic motocross bikes from a kit.
“Hi, Joe,” Ashley said, crouching on the rug next to him.
He looked up at her, and she saw the telltale tracks of tears on his face.
For some reason, that released the flood that had been blocked up inside of Ashley. She gathered the boy into her arms, and with that solid little body cradled next to hers, she cried and cried.
* * * *
Martin drove back to Philadelphia from the Fair estate in record time. His thoughts were filled with images of Ashley and their lovemaking, but as he got closer to the city, his concentration shifted to Rourke and the coming confrontation.
He was still wearing the clothes he’d worn to see Ashley, but he went straight to the precinct house, not stopping off at his place to change. The police station looked the same as it always had, but Martin felt that he’d altered immeasurably since he was last in it. He walked through the corridor outside Rourke’s office, oblivious to the pea-green institutional walls, the notices tacked to bulletin boards, the soft-drink and coffee machines, one of which predictably bore a hand-lettered Out of Order sign.
Heads turned as he passed, but no one spoke to him.
He knocked on Rourke’s door.
“Yeah,” Rourke barked from inside.
Martin went into the office.
Rourke was on the phone. He looked up when Martin entered the room, then said into the phone, “I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up, staring at his visitor.
Martin faced him across the desk.
“You look like hell,” Rourke greeted him.
Martin said nothing.
“You been getting any sleep?”
“Some.”
“You got skinny, too. It’s all those smokes, kid. Give the cigarettes a rest; you’ll live longer. I gave ‘em up four years ago, and look at me. Never felt better.”
Martin stared at the wall behind Rourke’s head. This was all he needed now, a health lecture.
“How’s Capo?” Rourke asked.
“He’s going to make it.” Martin paused and added shortly, “No thanks to me.”
Rourke held up his hand. “We’ve been through this already. I don’t want to hear that.”
“I still feel like I screwed up. Fair was my responsibility, and he’s dead.”
Rourke shook his head. “Internal Affairs already knows the Senator disobeyed your instructions. He didn’t stick to procedure. They’re aware of exactly what happened.”
“I thought IA would be involved.”
“You’ll have to talk to them, but it’ll be routine. They know there’s only so much you can do in a situation like that.” Rourke got up from his chair and walked around his desk, putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Don’t take it on, Tim, or you’ll never get over it. You’re a veteran, you’ve been through things like this before. Put it behind you.”
“I never saw anyone I was protecting get murdered right in front of my eyes. I felt.. . helpless.”
“Yeah, I know. Cops hate helpless. But you’ve got to let these things slide. Neither one of us expected this to happen.”
“I want to go after the guy, Gerry. It was my show. I deserve the chance.”
Rourke stared at him. “The feds have it now.”
“Then give me a leave of absence. Starting now.”
“Tim, you know how long it takes to get a leave approved around here. You’d be in a rocking chair before it came through. And anyway, I think you should stay clear of this until the IA investigation is over and you’re pronounced clean.”
“Gerry, it’s my case, and they’re pushing me out of it.”
“It’s not your case anymore, I already told you that.”
“So I’m just supposed to fade into the woodwork? I have nothing to say about it?”
“For Christ’s sake, Tim, let the feds have it. The damn thing’s getting worse every minute. That was the Bureau on the phone when you came in here.”
Fair Game Page 24
