Sweet Caroline's Keeper

by Beverly Barton

  So, when he'd left the hospital, he had walked away as David Wolfe, with all the credentials to verify his identity to his new employer—the Dundee agency. Ellison had told him that he'd called in a favor from an old friend, Sam Dundee, the agency's retired owner, to get him a good job. As a body­guard he laid his life on the line every day he was on an assignment, and the job required that he be prepared to kill, if necessary, to protect a client. But he wasn't tied to this job for life. He could leave the Dundee agency anytime he wanted to go. In fact, he already had enough money to last a lifetime—money that Aidan Colbert had earned as a Peace­keepers agent. Money that Ellison Penn had put through a "laundering" process before having it deposited in David Wolfe's account. The problem was, David didn't know where he'd go. What he'd do.

  David unbuttoned his shirt and scratched his chest, then sat up and removed the wrinkled garment. As he rubbed his neck, he glanced down at his suitcase, then scooted to the edge of the bed, lifted the case and set it against the foot­board. He unzipped the black carry-on and lifted the small rectangular velvet box out from under the stretchy security straps that held his clothes in place.

  He'd gone straight from the airport to Leander & Smythe Jewelers. He had commissioned the gift two months ago and had inspected it thoroughly when he'd picked it up this eve­ning. He nipped open the box. Beautiful. A pearl-and-diamond bracelet.

  Next Thursday was Caroline's twenty-seventh birthday—June 21st. Over the years he had limited his gifts to birthdays and Christmases. The only exceptions had been her high school and college graduations. He would sign the card sim­ply David, as he had done for the past fifteen years. And through his lawyer, she would send him a thank-you note. Sweet and sincere, scolding him for being too generous.

  He couldn't help wondering if she would celebrate this year's birthday with Gavin Robbins. He sincerely hoped not Why couldn't that cousin of hers—Reverend Lyle Jen­nings—introduce her to another nice young minister? Maybe a man of the cloth would prove himself worthy of Caroline.

  David closed the lid and laid the jewelry case on the bed­side table to his right. Last year he had sent her a pearl neck­lace and the year before teardrop pearl earrings. After she'd turned twenty-one, he had begun sending her birthstone jew­elry.

  Just once he would like to see her on her birthday—in the flesh, all dressed up for a night out and wearing the jewelry he'd bought for her. But he would never again see Caroline face-to-face. He, of all people, had no right to be a part of her life.

  David removed his shirt, tossed it atop his silk tie on the chair and lay down on the bed. The minute he closed his eyes, an image of Caroline appeared. The picture taken at her mother's funeral. Surrounded by caring friends. Never alone. Never lonely. Thank God she had been able to put the night of Preston Shaw's death behind her and build a good life for herself. He had wanted that for her and had done everything within his power to see that from that horrible night forward everything was made right in her world. As right as he could make it. After all the heartache she had been through, she deserved nothing less.

  "Caroline," he whispered softly. "My sweet Caroline."

  They sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, Caroline and her friends, as she tried for the tenth time to open the safe by using a combination of numbers she thought might have had some meaning for Preston. She had tried his birth­day, her mother's birthday and their anniversary. Then she'd tried various other number combinations. Their old phone number, or at least the first six digits. The zip code for that area of Baltimore didn't work, either. Now she was trying Fletcher's birthday.

  Marty and Steve had carried the rather heavy metal safe up from the basement and Allison and Roz had wiped the black box with rags. For the past hour no work on the house had been done. Everyone was sure that something valuable would be found inside the safe. Why else would it have been hidden away?

  Caroline tried the new numbers. Right. Left. Right. Noth­ing. The safe remained locked. A collective groan signaled the onlookers' disappointment.

  "I give up," Caroline said. "Maybe we should just use a stick of dynamite."

  Roz giggled. Mrs. Mabry gasped.

  "Have you tried every important date in your stepfather's life?" Lyle asked.

  "All that I know, including his birthday, mother's birthday and Fletcher's."

  "What about your birthday?" Roz asked.

  "Mine?" Why would Preston have chosen her birthday as the combination to this safe? Maybe because no one would have guessed that he would choose those numbers. "All right. What have I got to lose?"

  Everyone watched with baited breath as once again Car­oline turned the knob on the small personalized safe. She tried her birth date. Nothing happened. Then she tried it back­ward. Still nothing.

  "It's no use," Caroline said, then just as she spoke, an idea hit her. Without saying another word, she spun the dial to eighteen, then to twenty-one and back around to eleven. Fletcher's birth date, February 18th. Her birthday, June 21st. And Preston and Lenore's wedding anniversary, the date that had joined two families. January 11th.

  The safe opened, pretty as you please.

  Chapter 3

  I can't believe it!" Caroline gasped as she turned the handle and opened the solid steel door.

  The others hovered closely, and when they got a good look inside, a chorus of disappointed sighs permeated the kitchen.

  "No diamonds and rubies," Roz said.

  "It's empty." Steve frowned.

  "No, it's not empty." Caroline reached inside and grasped the small manila envelope stuck in the back of the safe.

  When she pulled the envelope out and held it up, she saw that her mother's name had been written plainly across the top, in a bold, distinctive hand that Caroline felt certain was Preston's. A tremor shivered along her nerve endings.

  "Aren't you going to open it and see what's inside?" Roz asked.

  With quivering fingers, Caroline ripped open the envelope, then reached in and pulled out a single sheet of stationery.

  "It's only a letter," Allison said.

  Yes, it was only a letter, but instinct cautioned Caroline as she unfolded the message Preston had written to her mother. What if it were something private, a love letter? They're both dead now, Caroline reminded herself. Reading something personal can't harm either of them.

  November 30. The letter was dated only a few weeks be­fore Preston's death.

  My dearest Lenore,

  If you are reading this, then my worst fears have been confirmed and they have killed me to keep me quiet. When you clear out this safe, you will find this letter and the enclosed key. Safeguard this key and the iden­tical one in your possession. They unlock the means by which to keep our family safe, after I am gone. Look inside your heart for the proof of my love for you and the children. If they try to harm you or either of the children, do not hesitate to use what I have left you. This is my last and most precious gift to you, Fletcher and Caroline.

  Your devoted husband, Preston

  "What does the letter say?" Roz asked.

  Ignoring her friend's question, Caroline turned the enve­lope upside down and shook it. A key fell out and into her open palm.

  "A key?" Lyle stared at the object Caroline held.

  "A key to what?" Roz asked.

  Caroline closed her fingers over the mysterious brass key. What did it open? It was such an ordinary-looking thing. Not fancy. Denoting nothing specific. "I have no idea what it unlocks."

  "Didn't your stepfather say in his letter?" Lyle asked.

  Caroline shook her head, then stood and held out the letter to her cousin. "I don't understand why Mother left this en­velope in the safe. It's apparent that she knew about the hid­den passageway and where Preston kept the safe. She must have cleaned the safe out before she moved from the house."

  "We didn't even see the envelope at first," Roz reminded Caroline. "Wasn't it stuck way in the back? It's possible your mother simply overlooked it"

/>   Lyle scanned the letter hurriedly. "Oh, my, my. If what he says in this letter is true, then whoever killed Preston Shaw wasn't some thief trying to burglarize the house."

  "If that letter is true, then my stepfather was assassi­nated," Caroline said. "And this key—" she opened her hand, lifted the key and held it up between her right thumb and forefinger as she stared at the object "—might unlock the identity of his murderer."

  "I think you should call Fletcher right away," Lyle said. "He should know about this letter and the key. Perhaps he'll recognize the key and know what it unlocks."

  David woke with a start, sweat drenching his naked chest. He rose from the bed, sat on the edge and placed his bare feet on the floor. He hadn't been plagued by that particular dream in a long time. Not in years. He supposed he had finally reached a point where he'd been able to reconcile his guilt with the knowledge that he had acted under orders and done the right thing. Raking his hand through his hair, he stood and walked across the room and into the bath. He left off the light so that only the dim glow of the moon coming through the window eliminated the complete darkness. He turned on the faucets, cupped his hands to catch the cold water and splashed his face, then lifted a towel from the nearby rack and blotted the cool, reviving moisture.

  Preston Shaw had been dead nearly fifteen years. Why did he occasionally still dream about the night the man had died? Preston didn't just die, David reminded himself. You killed him. Acting under orders from Ellison Penn. The Peacekeep­ers' secret agents took care of their own, whether to protect them or to dispose of them. If one went rogue, which rarely happened, then he or she met a swift punishment at the hands of the organization itself. Shaw had been under suspicion for several months, but no one wanted to believe the charming man was capable of subversive activity that might threaten the United States. But despite Shaw's blue-blooded back­ground and the respect he had earned over the years, in the end, he had proved himself dangerous to the very government he had sworn to serve.

  Only a handful of people knew the truth—the wealthy, suave, sophisticated, gallant and greatly admired Preston Shaw had assassinated U.S. senator Herbert Harwell, under orders from a secret society of insurgent and highly danger­ous powerful men known as the Loyalists Coalition. Preston Shaw had been a double agent.

  And two months later, the Peacekeepers' special agent, Aidan Colbert, executed the traitor Shaw had proved himself to be by that one atrocious, deadly act.

  David padded through the apartment, out into the large open space that combined a living room and kitchen. He plopped down in the black leather easy chair, hoisted his feet atop the matching, contemporary-style ottoman and picked up the TV remote control. At this time of night, when he suffered with bouts of insomnia, he usually watched reruns of black-and-white comedy shows from the fifties and sixties. He had a weakness for the Andy Griffith Show and Father Knows Best, both depicting an unobtainable ideal of family life. God knew his own family life had been the furthest thing possible from ideal. The horrors his father had inflicted on them might have come from an Edgar Allan Poe tale of tor­ment and fear.

  But that wasn't your past, your childhood, he reminded himself. That life belonged to Aidan Colbert. And Aidan Col­bert is dead.

  David clicked on the TV but kept the sound muted as he flipped through the various stations. As he zoomed from channel to channel, his gaze traveled back and forth from the television set to various other objects in the room. In his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of the file folder con­taining the history of one Caroline Lenore McGuire.

  What he needed to do was strike a match to the folder, to destroy it completely. Over the years, he had foolishly al­lowed Caroline to become an obsession. What had started out as a man wanting to help a child, to watch over her and keep her safe, had turned into more. Exactly what, he wasn't sure. But whatever it was, it wasn't good for him. If he'd been smart, he would have let his observation of Caroline's life end with Aidan Colbert's death.

  David turned up the sound on the TV just enough to create a racket, then meandered into the kitchen and prowled around in the refrigerator. After retrieving a bottle of imported beer, he popped the cap and walked back into the living room. The program on TV was an old movie with a scene depicting a light snowfall in a metropolitan area.

  His mind drifted swiftly back in time. It had started to snow that night, just as he left the Shaw house. Small flakes at first, but by the time he had returned to the Peacekeepers' headquarters, the ground was covered with a light dusting. The first snow of the season. Had Caroline ever realized it had snowed that night or had most of her memories from that time been banished along with the horror of finding her step-father's body and coming face-to-face with his killer?

  Tomorrow morning, he would telephone Ellison and tell him to end the surveillance of Caroline. In all these years no one had tried to harm her, so what was the point of the agency continuing to protect her? Not the agency, an inner voice reminded him. The only reason Ellison had continued keeping watch over her was as a personal favor to Aidan Colbert. But Aidan was dead and it was high time to allow his obsession with Caroline to die, too.

  It had been three days since she had found her stepfather's cryptic message to her mother, perhaps the last letter he had ever written. And despite everyone's insistence that she not make too much out of what Preston had written, Caroline found that she simply could not let it go. She had discussed the matter with Lyle and Roz, but the minute they saw how upset the revelation made her, they suggested that perhaps Preston had been paranoid for some reason. After all, the police had thoroughly investigated her stepfather's death, hadn't they? And when she had shown the letter to Fletcher, he'd been shocked and at first as convinced as she that some­one had murdered his father because he possessed informa­tion that could harm someone else. Perhaps someone very powerful. After all, Preston had belonged to a prestigious Washington organization and wielded a great deal of power as second in command at Peacekeepers International. Wasn't it possible that some foreign government had ordered his as­sassination? Fletcher had immediately contacted Gavin Rob­bins, who had, as a favor to Fletcher and her, gone straight to Ellison Penn, the head honcho of the Peacekeepers fifteen years ago and now.

  "Ellison has assured me that Preston wasn't involved in anything dangerous for the Peacekeepers at the time of his death," Gavin had said. "And the organization conducted their own private investigation and came to the same conclu­sion as the police—a botched robbery had resulted in the murder of Preston Shaw."

  "But what about this letter?" Caroline had waved the handwritten missive under Gavin's nose.

  "Caroline, honey, why do you want to dredge up the past this way?" Gavin had asked. "Ellison and I both remember how odd Preston had been acting the last few weeks of his life. Ellison thought he was on the verge of a nervous break­down because his marriage was in trouble. If Preston's men­tal state was shaky, then he very well could have become paranoid."

  "I do remember the last couple of times I saw Father he acted rather peculiar," Fletcher had said. "He seemed dis­tracted."

  "I believe that what you both have told me only adds to the evidence in this letter that Preston feared for his life." Caroline had paused, looked at the two men, saw skepticism on their faces and then continued, "And he was afraid for Mother and Fletcher and me."

  "Even if what you suspect is true—and I don't think it is—after all these years, there would be no way to prove it," Gavin had said. "No way to find Preston's murderer. Be­sides, why put yourself and Fletcher through hell all over again?"

  "That's where you're wrong," she'd told him. "I have a key that can unlock the evidence Preston left as an insurance policy to protect his family."

  "Perhaps Caroline is right." Fletcher had put his arm around her shoulders. "If there's any way we can find Fa­ther's murderer, then I'm willing to relive that hell, to go back and rehash what happened that night." He had looked point-blank at Caroline. "What about you
, kiddo, do you think you can relive what happened? Maybe you'd better think about it before you open that old can of worms."

  Caroline had thought about it. All last night and all day today. And no matter how many times she went over things, she came to the same conclusion. She believed what Preston had written in the letter. Her stepfather had been the victim of cold-blooded, premeditated murder. The bearded man in the shadows had been an assassin. And she had practically witnessed the crime.

  Then why didn't he kill you? She had asked herself this question a million times and had yet to come up with a log­ical answer. If he had been merely a burglar or if he had been a hired killer, why would he have balked at killing a child if it meant protecting himself?

  If she could find the lock that the key opened, she might well find the answer to this question as well as all the others surrounding Preston's death. Unfortunately Fletcher didn't recognize the key and she had no earthly idea where to start looking.

  Caroline liked parties well enough, although she preferred quiet evenings at home. She loved sitting on her back porch in the evenings partly because she had a great view. The waterfront footage, which was part of the five acres that had come as a package deal with the house, had been one of the reasons she had purchased the mneteenth-century ramshackle wooden structure and remodeled it four years ago. But this was one party invitation she couldn't decline. When Gavin had called to ask if he could be her escort to the birthday party Fletcher was giving for Brooke aboard his yacht, she was delighted that she wouldn't be attending the event alone. Even though she had decided not to date Gavin again, she'd thought one more date wouldn't matter. But after tonight she'd tell him that she couldn't see him again.

  When Gavin and she had boarded the Lenore, he had pulled her aside and said, "You'll be the most beautiful woman here tonight."

  Gavin was always complimenting her, saying all the things she supposed most women liked to hear, which made her wonder if Gavin's womanizer reputation wasn't well founded. They had been dating on and off for the past few months. More off than on, but that was her doing, not his. When she'd made it perfectly clear after their third date that she had no intention of hopping into bed with him, she had assumed he wouldn't be back. She'd been wrong. After that, his pursuit of her had intensified, as if he liked the challenge. Perhaps he believed he could wear her down with his gen­tlemanly charm. It was past time for her to be totally honest with him. She liked Gavin well enough, enjoyed his company occasionally and was inordinately flattered by his attention, but she wasn't in love with him and never would be. Call her old-fashioned, but she wanted to wait for love, wanted her first time to be with a very special man.