by Dinah McCall
Jasper grabbed a folding card table as Thomas and John started dragging chairs from around the room and placing them at the table. Rufus yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out a deck of cards and a box of poker chips. Within seconds, the five men were seated around the table, ostensibly immersed in a game of poker.
“I’ll bid five dollars,” Jasper said, just as the door banged inwardly.
All five men looked up with expressions of pretend surprise.
David soot, his cards still in his hand.
“Isabella! Darling! Is something wrong?”
Isabella went limp with relief. Poker. They were all in Uncle David’s room playing poiker.
“I called you—all of you—and no one answered. I thought something had happened to you, too.”
David laid down his cards and went to her, taking her in his arms.
“We’re so sorry we worried you, dear, but my phone didn’t ring.”
“I called and I called,” she said.
Jasper got up and went to the phone. “Look,” he said. “It’s unplugged.”
David frowned. “Probably the cleaning staff accidentally unplugged it. I’m so sorry you were concerned, but as you can see, we’re fine. Why don’t you come sit with us? You can help me play my hand, just like you used to when you were small.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. I didn’t make myself clear. It’s not just that I couldn’t find you. I thought you were all dead, just like Uncle Frank.”
“But why would you think that?” David asked.
“I don’t know where to start,” she said.
“At the beginning is usually best,” Thomas said, and offered her a chair.
She sat, because her legs were still shaking, and then looked at the five aging men who meant so much to her.
“you are all I have left in this world,” she said softly.
“And we love you as if you were our own child,” David said.
“I know,” she said. “But a situation has developed since we talked this morning.”
David ruffled her hair. “I see you took my advice. I like the new style.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I mean.” She took a deep breath and the spat out the words like a bad taste. “Jack Dolan isn’t a writer.”
David frowned. “He hasn’t trifle with your affections, has he? Because if he has, I’ll—“
“No, no…oh, Lord, I’m saying this all wrong.”
“Then let me help,” Jack said.
They turned as one, looking with surprise at the man in the doorway.
“Jack, I was just about to—“
“I heard,” he said, and entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“Sir, I believe you owe us an explanation,” John said.
Jack frowned. “No, sir, I don’t. But even so, I will tell you what I told Isabella. I’m a Federal agent.”
Five men stared without speaking, each locked into his own set of horrors.
Isabella interrupted.
“Uncle David, he thinks Victor Ross is the man who killed Uncle Frank.”
There was a collective gasp of horror, and then all of them were talking at once.
“Wait…wait…” Jack said. “One at a time…please.”
“I’ll ask the most obvious question first,” David said. “Why would Frank’s killer come all the way to Montana? We were given to understand that his death was the result of a mugging.”
Jack hesitated, debating with himself about revealing Frank Walton’s true identity, then decided against it.
“We’re not sure,” Jack said. “All we know is that the killer cleaned out Mr. Walton’s hotel room, making it appear as if he’d checked out on schedule, then used his plane ticket.”
“And I hired him,” Isabella wailed. “I gave that man shelter and food and money.”
“You couldn’t have known,” David said. “None of us could have. Why I even treated him that day he was ill, remember? Just because he deceived us, that does not make us culpable in Frank’s death.”
“I know,” Isabella said. “But still…” The she shuddered. “I can’t get over the fact that he was in my home, standing in my own living room and commenting on art as if he hadn’t a care in the world.”
“What art?” Jack asked. “And why was he in your room?”
“I told you earlier. He helped me carry some things from my car, then he waited so I could pay him.”
“Did you give him cash?”
She nodded.
Jack’s mind was racing. If Ross was the Hawk, money was the last thing he would need. He had a way of procuring whatever was necessary without buying it, and leaving bodies in his wake.
“Mr. Dolan…what made you think that Victor Ross was the killer?” Thomas asked.
Again Jack guarded his words. “He was a stranger.”
“Yes, but you said you thought your recognized him, remember?” Isabella said. “I even commented on the same thing to Ross myself when he was looking at the painting.”
Shit. “Exactly what did you say?” Jack asked.
“The painting is of a farm scene. He said it reminded him of where he grew up. I asked him if that was Louisiana. He said no, that he’d never been there and wanted to know why I asked. I said a guest had seen him earlier and thought he looked familiar. That was all I said. I had no way of knowing it would alert him.” She looke up at Jack, her expression drawn. “It was me, wasn’t it? What I said made him run.”
Jack laid his hand on her back and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring pat.
“We don’t know that, and besides, it can’t be helped. If I’d been thinking. I would have kept my comments to myself. I’m the one who knew there was a killer in the area, not you, so don’t blame yourself.”
“But I still don’t understand,” Jasper said. “Why would a New Yorker commit a crime in Brighton Beach, then come all the way to Montana where his victim lived? It makes no sense.”
“Ross isn’t from New York,” Jack said.
“Then where is he from?” David asked.
“Russia.”
Isabella sighed. “That makes even less sense than ever,” she said. “We have no ties to Russia, do we, Uncle David?”
Jack’s attention slid from Isabella to the aging doctor, and the moment he looked at his face, he knew. He looked at the others, and while they were doing their best to hide it, he could tell they were in shock.
That settled it. They knew Walton’s secret. He could see it in their eyes.
12
When Isabella saw Jack touch his cheek and then wince, she remembered they had yet to doctor his face.
Uncle David…I told Jack you would put something on his scratches.”
The old man seemed to shift mental gears as he looked at the wounds.
“Of course,” he said. “Please, sit here. I’ll get my bag.”
Jack sat willingly, glad for the excuse to stay in their midst.
“How did this happen?” Jasper asked. Did you fall?”
“No. I was running down White Mountain. Didn’t pay close enough attention to where I was going, I guess.”
David set down his medical bag, then took out some sterile swabs and a bottle of disinfectant. “White Mountain isn’t a very good place to jog,” he said.
Jack looked up, meeting the doctor’s gaze. “I wasn’t jogging.”
David didn’t question him further, which Jack thought strange. It was almost as if he knew why Jack would have needed to hurry.
Isabella suddenly straightened and turned to Jack.
“Jack, I just remembered something.”
He winced as the disinfectant ran into one of the deeper cuts.
“Like what?”
“Remember when you ran into the lobby and were shouting for me?”
“Yes?”
“Why the panic?”
He shifted slightly so the he could see her face.
“I needed to see that you were all right.�
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A frown knitted her forehead above her brows.
“I’m just not following all this. If Ross killed Uncle Frank—and I have no doubt that you believe he did—then why would you assume I’m in danger? What happened up on the mountain that made you so sure it was him? He’s been here for quite a while. You’d seen him more than once and never said a thing. Why now?”
David had finished cleaning the cuts and scratches and was listening intently, as were the other old men.
“I didn’t go to White Mountain to hike. I went looking for the man who used Frank Walton’s plane ticket home. I didn’t find him, but I found a camping knife with Russian markings. As I was coming down the mountain, I remembered where I’d seen Victor Ross’s face.”
Jasper Arnold leaned forward, his eyes wide and filled with shock.
“Where?” he asked.
“It was in Quantico, Virginia, during my training days. We were studying…well, for lack of a better word, what amounts to espionage. One of the trainers showed a file about the Cold War, and we were discussing some of the more famous spies of that time and the tactics they had used then that were now out of date. There was a picture of a man, a Russian agent, who was believed to be a spy they called the Hawk. The face just stayed with me. I‘m pretty sure Victor Ross is the same man, only I can’t be positive. Age is bound to have changed him some, and he’s gone now, so I can’t look at him again. But…” He shrugged.
“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Isabella said. “Even if Victor Ross was the Hawk, and even if he did kill Uncle Frank, are you saying he’s turned into a common criminal? And why did he come to the United States, anyway? Wouldn’t he still be in Russia, savoring his reputation and retirement?”
“There isn’t much left of the old Russia,” Jack said. “And I’m not implying, nor do I believe, that he’s here just robbing and killing for the hell of it.”
“Then what do you believe?” Isabella asked.
Jack stood, nodded a thanks to David for the treatment, then made a unilateral decision to reveal more of what he knew.
“I believe he was sent to find one certain man. I believe he found him, but not everything else he expected. I think that’s why he came to White Mountain. He came to Frank Walton’s home looking for something, and until he finds it, anyone regarding themselves as Walton’s family might not be safe.”
“My God!”
They turned. Thomas Mowry was clutching his chest.
“And he found us,” the old man muttered. “He found us all.”
Immediately, everyone rushed to his side. Jasper was closest and was already easing Thomas down to the floor and loosening his clothes. David had his medical bag in hand and went to his knees.
“Thomas…Thomas…are you in pain?” he asked.
“No…just felt faint,” he muttered.
“Help me get him in bed,” David said.
“Let me,” Jack said, and lifted the old man in his arms.
“In there,” David said, and led the way to Thomas’s bedroom.
Jack laid him down, then stepped back, letting the doctors do their thing. He stood for a moment, seeing the fear and concern on their faces, as well as the bond that years of companionship had woven. He hated being the one to upset their quiet little world, but if they had knowingly harbored a defector, it was bound to come out eventually.
It wasn’t until Thomas began coming around that Jack realized Isabella was missing. He turned to look for her and saw her, pale and shaken, standing in the doorway. He went to her.
“Honey, he’s okay. I think it was just shock.”
She stared at him as if he were a stranger.
Jack frowned. “Isabella?”
She shrugged out of his grasp and then walked out of the room He caught up with her at the head of the stairs.
“What/” he asked.
“There’s something you’re not telling us.’
“I’ve told you everything I can.”
“Frank Walton was nothing to you, but he was part of our family. You have no right to keep us in the dark.”
He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
“Ask you uncles,” he said. “They know more than they’re telling.” Then he added, “If you need me, I’ll be in my room. I have some calls to make.”
“What do you mean…they know more than they’re telling? Are you insinuating that my uncles are somehow involved in what happened to Uncle Frank?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
He walked away, leaving her to digest what he’d left unsaid.
Isabella turned and stared down the long hallway to the last room on the right, then started walking. Halfway there, she stopped, her heart pounding, he hands damp with sweat.
Oh God!...please…I can’t take much more.
Then David came hurrying out of the room.
“Isabella, we’re going to take Thomas into Braden. I think he’s all right, but to be on the safe side, I’m going to put him on a heart monitor for the night.”
“Can I help?”
David paused, then smiled gently and pressed a kiss on her cheek.
“No, darling, we can manage just fine. You hold down the fort here, okay?”
“What if that man come back? The one Jack Dolan says killed Uncle Frank?”
Something flickered in the back of David Schultz’s eyes. When Isabella saw it, her faith in the uncles quietly died. For the first time in her life she felt alone in the world, and she knew that if he answered, it would be a lie.
“Never mind,” she said softly. “You take care of Uncle Thomas. I’ll take care of myself.”
She walked away, her back straight, her stride long and purposeful, and David had never felt as guilty or as old as he did at that moment. They were deceiving her, and she sensed it. Not in a way she would ever imagine, but somehow she knew there was a secret that she didn’t share.
“Lord help us all,” he muttered, and went downstairs to meet the ambulance that was already on its way.
Jack slammed the door to his room because it was his only outlet for the frustration he was feeling. He strode to the bed and sat down with a thump. The urge to lie back and sleep was strong, but there were things he had to do first. If only he’d come to the realization a day earlier, Victor Ross might still be here. He needed to confirm his suspicions, but had no way to—no, wait.
He came off of the bed in a leap and ran to the dresser where he’d tossed the pictures he’d been taking as part of his cover. He’d taken numerous pictures of the hotel as well as the surrounding area. If he was lucky—and he was due for some luck—the gardener could have been in some.
Grabbing the fistful of photo packets, he tossed them on the bed and then kicked off his shoes. His belly was growling from hunger, but there was too much to do to bother with changing and going downstairs. Room service wasn’t offered, but he figured if Delia was on the registration desk, he could talk her into getting him something from the kitchen. At least it was worth a shot.
He dialed the front desk and then counted the rings. About to hang up on the eighth ring, he finally heard Delia’s breathless voice.
“Front desk. How may I help you?”
“Delia, it’s Jack Dolan in 200. I know Abbott House doesn’t offer room service, but I was wondering if I could talk you into getting me some food. I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”
“Certainly, Mr. Dolan. I would be happy to see that you get some food. In fact, I’ll bring it up myself.”
“Thanks, Delia. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
He disconnected, then reached for the first packet of pictures and quickly shuffled through the prints. Victor Ross was in none of them. He looked through the second, then the third, and was halfway through the fourth packet when he started to smile.
“Bingo,” he said softly, and turned the photo he was holding a little closer to the light.
It was a morning view of the back terrace, and none othe
r than Victor Ross was coming out of the service entrance. Jack remembered thinking at the time that the man had been in a hurry but had paid little attention. If only he’d looked at him then as closely as he was seeing him now, things might have been well on their way to being over. He flipped through the rest of the photos quickly to make sure there wasn’t another that was better, but there was not.
Tossing the pictures aside, he hurried to the desk, scanned the picture into his laptop, then reached for his cell phone. Within moments, the director answered.
“Dolan?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry to be calling so late but—“
“I only pretend to have office hours. What’s up?”
“I think I’ve identified the man we’ve been looking for. Unfortunately, I missed apprehending him. He got spooked and ran before I could get to him.”
“I can get a team there P.D.Q. Do you know where he went?”
“No, although I’m guessing he went back to the mountains. Aside from Braden, which is too damned small to hide out in for long, it’s the only place close by in which to hide.”
“Maybe he figured out that Walton had nothing of value and has headed for home.”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said.
“Why not?”
“Because he left without answers, and I don’t think that will be acceptable to the people who sent him.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the director spoke.
“What haven’t you told me?”
“I think it was the Hawk.”
“Who are you--?” Jack heard the director’s swift intake of air and then a shift in the timbre of his voice. “The Hawk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I thought he was dead…or at the least living somewhere in relative obscurity on a government pension.”
“The man I saw was far from dead.”
“I don’t know…that’s a big stretch. If it was him then the scope of this is broader than we thought.”
“Yes, sir. I was thinking the same thing. I have a snapshot. It’s not a closeup, but his face is pretty clear. I’ve scanned it into my computer, and I’m sending it to you now.”
“Give me a second,” the director said. “I’m not in my office.”
