Class of '59 (American Journey Book 4)

by John A. Heldt

  "He might. He might if he wanted only one thing," Ben said. He took a breath. "If he wanted something else, he might tell you how much he loves you and wants you to stay."

  Piper wilted as once again Ben said the right thing at the wrong time. She looked at him until she could look no more. She turned away to hide watery eyes.

  "You said we wouldn't talk about that."

  Ben pulled her closer and kissed her head.

  "I'm a liar, remember?"

  Piper laughed and wiped away a tear.

  "I know. I've known that for weeks."

  "What do you mean?" Ben asked.

  "I mean you haven't dated 256 girls. You haven't dated more than twenty. You're not the Romeo you made yourself out to be when I first met you."

  Ben laughed.

  "Did you dig into my past?"

  Piper nodded.

  "I dug deep. In my first week of school, I asked more questions about you than questions about civics and literature and math. I talked to some of your dates. I talked to a lot of people."

  "What did they say?" Ben asked.

  "They told me you were a gentleman and a stand-up guy. One girl, Tammy Price, told me that you serenaded her when she refused to go out with you."

  "She did?"

  Piper nodded.

  "She said you stood outside her window three straight nights and sang "That's Amore" until her father chased you away. I can't say I blame him. I've heard you sing to songs on the radio, Ben. Your voice would frighten Frankenstein."

  "I was a desperate man back then," Ben said.

  "You serenaded her last year."

  "My memory is bad."

  "I suspect it is when it comes to girls," Piper said. "Fortunately for the two of us, my ability to judge character is very good. I figured that any boy who would go to that length to impress a girl couldn't be all that bad. That's why I decided to go out with you."

  Ben smiled and shook his head.

  "I should have known you were up to something when you started talking to Sally. She said you asked a lot of questions about me the first day of school."

  "I did," Piper said. "I considered her a reliable source."

  Ben chuckled.

  "What else did your 'investigation' of my past turn up?"

  Piper brought a hand to her chin.

  "Let me think. That was a month ago."

  "There must be more," Ben said.

  "Oh, there is. Most things are just escaping me now."

  "Then let them escape. There is no need to round up the usual suspects on our last night together. I want at least part of my past to remain a mystery."

  Piper laughed.

  "I'm sure you do."

  "I'm not kidding," Ben said. "I do."

  Piper smiled.

  "There is another thing. I didn't learn it until recently though."

  "What's that?"

  "I learned you have a heart."

  "That sounds like something my mother would say," Ben said.

  "It was something your mother said."

  "OK. Spill it."

  Piper grinned.

  "Your mom told me that you once stood up Vicki to date an eighth-grader."

  "This sounds bad," Ben said.

  "I thought so, too, at first. Then your mom filled me in. She said you did a very nice thing last fall. She said you fulfilled a promise to a neighbor girl in South Pasadena – a crippled neighbor girl – by taking her out for ice cream on her fourteenth birthday."

  "Don't believe her. Mothers lie all the time to make their children look good. That's how they raise liars like me. You shouldn't take her seriously."

  "Your brother confirmed the story," Piper said. "Is he lying too?"

  "Yes," Ben said. "My mom raised two liars."

  Piper laughed.

  "I believe that as much as I believe you picked our restaurant at random."

  Ben tilted his head.

  "I did."

  "Is that why you asked Sally for advice on where to take me tonight? She told me about your little chat," Piper said. She kissed him again on the cheek. "I appreciate the effort though. Your choice showed imagination."

  "So you enjoyed dinner tonight?" Ben asked.

  "Do puppies pee on floors? Of course I enjoyed it."

  Piper did too. She had enjoyed every moment at Luigi's Grill, a pricey Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills that regularly catered to millionaires, celebrities, and politicians. She had ordered a pasta dish she could not pronounce and goaded Ben into doing the same. By the time the waiter brought out the gelato at eight fifteen, she was ready to kiss every man in the building.

  "That's good," Ben said. "I wanted you to enjoy it. That's why I asked Sally for suggestions. I knew she wouldn't steer me wrong. I didn't want to do anything wrong tonight."

  "Do you think you've succeeded?" Piper asked.

  Ben nodded.

  "I think so."

  "I do too."

  "So what you're really saying is that I can do no wrong."

  Piper smiled.

  "Don't get carried away. I'm just saying you've had a good night."

  Ben chuckled.

  "I can't believe this. You just told me I was a gentleman and a stand-up guy, a person who serenades high school girls and takes crippled eighth-graders out for ice cream. Now you're saying I'm just a guy who's had a good night? I'm full of outrage."

  Piper laughed.

  "You're full of something."

  "I mean it, Piper. What's not to like?"

  "You mean besides an abject lack of humility?"

  Ben nodded.

  "Yes."

  "All right," Piper said. She looked at the smart aleck. "If you insist on me spoiling a perfectly fine evening by listing your flaws, I'll do it."

  Ben lifted his arm from Piper's shoulders, placed his hands behind his head, and reclined against the windshield. He grinned as he prepared to take his medicine.

  "Let me have it," Ben said.

  "Very well," Piper replied. She swiveled to face him. "First of all, Ben Ryan, you are the most conceited person I have ever met. Yes, you're gorgeous. Yes, you're smart. But that doesn't mean you should tell people that. Even Vicki told me she had her fill of you more than once."

  "She's lying too. She lies as much as my brother."

  "I doubt it."

  Ben smiled.

  "Is that all?"

  "No," Piper said. "That's just the tip of the iceberg."

  Ben gestured with his arm.

  "Please continue."

  "OK. I will," Piper said. She scolded him with a glance. "In addition to being insufferably conceited, you are obnoxious, slovenly, boorish, argumentative, materialistic, and dangerous. Don't think for a minute I've forgotten the night you almost killed me."

  Ben frowned and took a breath. He sat up, brushed off his slacks, and slid forward on the hood until he was once again at Piper's side.

  "I guess that means you don't like me."

  "No, Ben. It means I think you have flaws."

  "You've laid out a brutal case, counselor. Even I wouldn't go out with me."

  Piper laughed.

  "Fortunately for you, I'm a forgiving person."

  "So you really think I'm a bad boy?" Ben asked.

  Piper nodded.

  "I do. I think you're bad and ornery and needlessly difficult," Piper said. She turned to face him. "I also think you're caring, considerate, and way too sexy for your own good."

  Ben beamed.

  "Now you're talking!"

  "Don't get too excited," Piper said. "All I'm saying is that your virtues outweigh your vices."

  Ben offered a playful grin.

  "What do you think we should do about that, Miss McIntire?"

  Piper smiled sheepishly.

  "I don't know."

  Ben raised a brow.

  "We could drive back to the house. I have a big empty room."

  Piper looked at Ben thoughtfully.

  "You also have a big
empty car."

  She kissed him softly and sighed.

  "Why wait?"

  CHAPTER 47: DENNIS

  Los Angeles, California – Saturday, May 2, 1959

  Dennis Green mumbled and moaned when his unfriendly friend jabbed him in the shoulder and told him to wake up. He didn't like waking up before ten on weekend mornings and suspected that the clock had yet to strike eight.

  "Stop poking me, Carter. I'm awake," Dennis said.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Carter Williams said. "Now throw on some clothes and get your ass downstairs. Some men want to see you."

  "What men?"

  "FBI agents. They want to talk about Mark."

  "What?" Dennis asked.

  "Just go downstairs," Carter said. "I'll meet you in the living room."

  Carter walked away from the bunk bed, one of ten on the second-floor sleeping porch of Zeta Alpha Rho fraternity, and took his leave. He left his fraternity brother dazed, confused, and more than a little irritated on a morning he should have been none of the above.

  Dennis threw back the covers on his bed, swung his legs over the side, and lowered himself to the cold tile floor. He vowed to investigate Carter for criminal harassment if this law-enforcement matter turned out to be nothing more than a case of double parking.

  He walked across the porch, pulled a few items from a closet, and headed for the door. Dressed in striped pajamas, a bathrobe, and corduroy slippers, he was ready to take on the world.

  Dennis asked himself some questions as he walked down a hallway and then a flight of stairs. Why did the FBI want to talk about Mark? Why did the FBI want to talk about anyone in a fraternity on a Saturday morning? Was someone in serious trouble?

  Dennis gave the questions a moment of thought and then turned his full attention to the matter at hand. He had a date with J. Edgar Hoover.

  The college senior reached the bottom of the stairs a moment later. He turned to his left, walked across a large parlor, and made his way toward an open door. He heard voices even before he passed from the parlor to the living room. He had a crowd waiting.

  Dennis felt uneasy the second he stepped into the room. Seven people gathered in a group in front of the console television, including three men in crisp suits and four fraternity brothers in not-so-crisp pajamas. Carter turned his head as Dennis approached.

  "Dennis, these are the men I mentioned," Carter said. He turned toward the men. "Gentlemen, this is Dennis Green. He is Mark Ryan's roommate."

  Each of the suited men flashed badges. The closest stepped forward.

  "Good morning, Dennis. I'm Special Agent Trent Richards of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. These are my colleagues, Agent Frank Dennison and Agent Manny Trujillo."

  Dennis shook three hands.

  "We're here to investigate a serious matter that may involve Mark Ryan," Richards said. "Do you have a moment to answer some questions?"

  "Of course," Dennis said.

  Richards, a tall man with a deformed ear, pulled out a pen and a notepad. He scribbled a few notes, glanced at his colleagues, and then smiled at Dennis in a way that left him cold.

  "I'm told you're Mark's best friend. Is that true?" Richards asked.

  "It is," Dennis said.

  "When did you last see him?"

  "I saw him yesterday. Is he in trouble?"

  "No," Richards said.

  "Is he in danger?" Dennis asked.

  Richards shrugged.

  "I don't know. That's what I'm here to find out."

  Dennis nodded.

  "How can I help?"

  "You can help by telling me if Mark has come in contact with a young woman who recently moved to this area," Richards said. "We believe her name is Colleen Finley."

  "I don't know any Colleen."

  "I see," Richards said.

  "What does Colleen look like?"

  "She's about five-foot-five and 120 pounds with long brown hair. She's very pretty and very southern. We think she came here from Huntsville, Alabama."

  Dennis felt his stomach turn the second he heard brown hair, pretty, and southern. He had no doubt the FBI wanted Mary Beth McIntire.

  "Is she dangerous?" Dennis asked.

  "We don't know," Richards said.

  "What makes you think Mark may be associating with this woman?"

  The agent stared at the student.

  "We have three independent sightings of Miss Finley with a man fitting Mark Ryan's description. They were seen together twice in Las Vegas six weeks ago and once in Bunker Hill last Tuesday. The man with Miss Finley wore a Zeta Alpha Rho shirt."

  "There are four Zeta chapters in the area," Dennis said. "Have you checked the others?"

  Richards lowered his pad.

  "We've checked every one. This is our last stop."

  "I see," Dennis said.

  Richards fixed his gaze.

  "I sense you know something."

  "I might," Dennis said. "But before I say more, I'd like to know more. I'd like to know why the FBI is looking for Colleen Finley and why she may be a threat to Mark."

  The agent cocked his head.

  "It's real simple, Mr. Green. Colleen Finley is a fraud artist. She has defrauded nearly a dozen men out of more than four million dollars in the last three years. Most of her victims have been college men with access to family money. Has your friend come into money lately?"

  Dennis sighed.

  "He has."

  "Please explain," Richards said.

  "Mark's father died last fall and left him a large inheritance."

  Richards stared at Dennis.

  "Do you know where your friend was last night?"

  Dennis took a deep breath.

  "I know where he is right now. He's at the beach with the woman you want. He's at the Surf Side Hotel in Santa Monica."

  CHAPTER 48: MARK

  Santa Monica, California

  The ring of the phone woke Mark with a jolt. Loud, incessant, and obnoxious, it rattled him, mind and body, until he rolled out of bed and picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  A man spoke over a scratchy line.

  "Mark?"

  The time traveler put a hand to his temple as he tried to match the familiar voice with the information stored in his head. He couldn't do it.

  "Yes, this is Mark. Who is this?"

  "It's Dennis."

  "Dennis?"

  "Yeah, I know. It's early here too."

  Mark glanced at the clock next to his bed and then at the woman in his bed. Each had a revealing face. Both were alive and ticking at eight thirty.

  "What's going on?"

  "I don't know. I'm sorry to wake you, buddy, but something happened a few minutes ago that I think you should know about."

  "What?"

  Dennis sighed loudly over the phone.

  "Three FBI agents came to Zeta Alpha Rho and asked questions about a woman who fits Mary Beth's description. They asked a lot questions about you."

  Mark rubbed his temple.

  "FBI agents?"

  "That's what they called themselves," Dennis said. "They talked to Carter and Jack and then asked for me. They wanted to know where they could find you."

  "Did you tell them?"

  "I did."

  "Dennis!"

  "They had badges, Mark. They had information too. They said that Mary Beth is some kind of traveling criminal. They said she's a con artist who steals money from people like you."

  "What are you talking about?" Mark asked.

  "The agents claimed she's a woman named Colleen Finley," Dennis said. "They said she's scammed millions of dollars from people."

  "You don't believe that."

  "I don't know what to believe."

  "You've met her," Mark said.

  "I met a woman who came to California out of nowhere. How well do you really know her?" Dennis asked. "How do you know she is who she says she is?"

  "I just know."

  Mark did not tell his b
est friend why he knew. He did not want to compound his morning with a time-travel tale that would surely make things worse.

  "Is Mary Beth with you now?" Dennis asked.

  "She is," Mark said.

  "You might want to fill her in then."

  Mark glanced again at Mary Beth and saw that she was following the conversation closely. He could see fear and apprehension in her bleary blue eyes.

  "Tell me about these agents," Mark said. "What did they look like?"

  "I just remember the one. He said his name was Trent Richards. He was tall with black hair and dark eyes. He had a bad ear too. His left ear was messed up."

  Mark put his hand over the speaker and turned to Mary Beth.

  "Get dressed."

  "Why?" Mary Beth asked.

  "Just do it," Mark said. "We have to go."

  "OK."

  Mark returned to Dennis.

  "Are the men still there?"

  "No," Dennis said. "They left twenty minutes ago."

  "Did you name the hotel? Did you tell them exactly where we were?"

  "I did, Mark. I didn't think I had a choice. Please tell me these guys are cops."

  Mark took a breath.

  "I can't, Dennis. I can't."

  "Oh, crap."

  Mark closed his eyes as he tried to process a hundred thoughts. Somehow, someway, the bad men from Bunker Hill had tied him to Zeta Alpha Rho. They knew his name and his present location and would likely figure out the rest before the morning was done.

  Mary Beth had no doubt concluded the same. She had already put on the white cotton dress she had worn on Friday and was now busy throwing makeup and toiletries in a bag.

  "Did you tell the men I've been living at home?" Mark asked.

  "No," Dennis said. "I didn't say anything about your house or your family. I didn't get the chance. They took off the second I named the hotel."

  Mark sighed. He was grateful for that. He had only begun to consider what all this meant for Ben and Piper and the mother who would soon return home from San Diego.

  "Did you see the car?" Mark asked.

  "Did I what?"

  Mark cursed the bad connection.

  "Did you see the car the men drove?"

  "I did," Dennis said. "I saw it plain as day."

  "What was it?"

  "It was a Lincoln, Mark. They left the lot in a new black Lincoln."