by Jan Coffey
She blinked back tears and nestled her face against his neck. “We’ll make it work.”
Minutes later, Nate saw one of the doctors who’d been working on Hawes coming toward them. He stood up. From the bend of the shoulders and the look in the man’s eyes, though, Nate didn’t even need to hear the words.
Martha hated driving in the dark or in bad weather, but after Nate’s call, she had to get to Philadelphia. So she drove her Lincoln up I-95 through occasional squalls, contending the whole way with the glare of the trucks and the black glaze of water on the road. It would have taken longer to catch a flight. The trains were stalled due to flooding on the tracks south of Philadelphia. But she had to get there.
“There has been a shooting, Martha. Sanford is in critical condition.”
Critical. Sanford is in critical condition. The rest of Nate’s words were a blur. In fact, an hour later, driving like a madwoman, she had to call Nate on the cell phone to ask again the hospital’s name and address.
There had been a few years in their marriage, while he’d been working in the field, that whenever the phone rang she expected to get this call. There had been other times, as recent as a few weeks ago, when his selfishness and womanizing had made her wish she would get this call.
But why now?
Weaving through traffic for three hours and fighting the rain and tears, Martha wanted to think of their good times, though even now it was difficult. At the beginning, he’d been a good husband whenever he’d been forced, and a good father when his arm had been twisted. But he’d been a doting grandfather without any pressure, and now he was coming back to her.
After years of marriage, Martha felt that, as much as he was trying to change, it was the change in her that had made their relationship better. She’d learned to fight for what she wanted. And all she wanted was Sanford.
By the time she arrived in Philadelphia around midnight, the storm had passed. But between the narrow one-way streets, the dark and the crowds of people still milling around, she had a difficult time paying attention to the car’s navigation system.
She was somewhere in the proximity of Independence Hall when she finally pulled over to check the directions. Her cell phone’s ring made her break out into a cold sweat. She remembered giving it to Nate when they’d talked last.
“Where are you, Martha?”
“Philadelphia.”
“Where? I’ll come and get you.”
“Philadelphia.”
“Martha, we need to talk,” he said gently.
Philadelphia! Philadelphia! The word echoed again and again in her head.
She knew what Nate wanted to say to her. She remembered Sanford telling her how difficult it was to relay bad news to families.
She was too late. She’d gotten here too late. A sob escaped her, and he must have heard it on the other end.
“Please, Martha. Let me come and get you.”
“No,” she said brokenly. “I’ll see you there.”
She disconnected the phone and stared straight ahead.
Sanford was dead.
Strangely, the knot grew large in her throat, but the tears stopped. She remembered something from this morning—the way Sanford had held her before he’d left. The pep talk about her intelligence and strength. About the importance of pulling the family together in hard times. She didn’t know what he was talking about.
Martha yanked open her pocketbook and took out the sealed letter he’d stuffed there that morning.
“If something happens to me before I get back from Philadelphia, give this to Nate,” he’d said. “He’ll know what to do with it.”
She stared at her husband’s handwriting. Nathaniel Murtaugh.
Martha gunned the Lincoln into traffic like a woman possessed. Sanford knew something was going to happen to him today.
He’d planned his revenge.
Thirty-One
Sunday, July 4
Ellie turned up the volume of the television set in her father’s apartment as she sat down between Helen and Lou on the small sofa.
“Today, on this historic day, we as a country pause to remember the courage, the struggles, the sacrifices and the victories of our ancestors. On this day, however, we must also remember that when those thirteen unhappy colonies declared their independence, the nation that they began was not immediately formed without disagreement. No, indeed. Even as the battle raged in the cities and in the fields of America, each former colony did so with its own needs in mind. Each growing city had the interests of its own citizens in mind. Indeed, each citizen had his own ideas of what constituted these inalienable rights of life and liberty and pursuit of happiness. Nonetheless, they overcame tyranny from abroad, and they overcame division from within.”
The long applause of the audience to the start of President Kent’s speech offered another opportunity to the news anchor to refer to the smaller box in the lower corner of the screen. A news helicopter camera was capturing the scene of billionaire Graham Hunt—long-time supporter of the President and the driving force behind the Water for America project—being taken out of his mansion in handcuffs by scores of FBI agents and Justice Department officials.
“I saw that George Street fellow on a talk show this morning saying that the President would be signing the Water for America bill, after all,” Lou said.
“Good-looking young man,” Sister Helen commented, shushing them as the President continued.
“We have grown great in the last two centuries. We have grown rich, and we have grown strong. And now we face difficult times. And these are difficult times, make no mistake. But the demonstrations across the globe, the concerted effort of so many, in so many parts of the world, to show their discontent with our American policy of strength over terrorism, will not deter us. We believe in peace and prosperity. They are the hand-maidens of liberty. It is what America truly means. After all, how many of those who proclaim their hatred of us would not trade places with any of us today? Here in America, we are living the experiment that began in 1776. And as Jefferson said, ‘the God who gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time.’ And life and liberty are not the domain of America alone. Life and liberty belong to all who walk on this planet.”
Another wave of applause erupted from the audience. To the loud complaints of the people gathered in the room, Ellie flipped through the channels on the TV to see if she could get more news of the arrest. But all the stations were covering the events in Philadelphia.
“Nate said he’d call you as soon as he’s done there,” Helen said, wrestling the remote out of Ellie’s hand and changing the channel back.
“If you were so hot on hearing Kent talk,” Lou grouched at the nun, siding with Ellie, “why didn’t you use the tickets Nate gave us?”
“Because it’s a lot more fun to stay here and torment you. Now shush!” she retorted, turning up the volume.
“From the tangled threads of contention two centuries ago, our ancestors wove the fabric of this nation. From partisan feuding, our ancestors wove a cloth representative of unity, of strength, of diversity. From the fraying knots of tyranny and slavery, our ancestors wove a flag that would wave over a society of tolerance, of democracy, of liberty. That flag has been a symbol of a national strength that has shaken the globe for more than two centuries.”
“What the hell is going on?” Lou leaned forward toward the television screen. “That’s an old Betsy Ross flag. Is that thing a fake?”
“No, that’s the real Robert Morris flag,” Ellie said with a smile. “With all the hoopla in the news the past couple of days, the true owner—who, by the way, has no desire to sell it and knew nothing of all the rumors of auction—decided to come forward and loan the flag to the government for the celebration.”
Everyone quieted down again as President Kent continued.
“Now is the time for us to use the same creative, determined action that our ancestors used to weave this great nation. Our task, however, is to bring the
ir dream to those who now envy us. We must show those who say they hate us that we do not hate them. We must see to the needs of poorer nations. We must improve the lot of those who lack a sound education. We must build a relationship with our global partners—and we must all be global partners—so that we might transcend our differences. And we, here in America, must show the world that we are unified in this effort.”
At the roar of applause, the news anchor reported that the Attorney General had just told reporters that the President would be making a statement regarding the arrest of Graham Hunt at the news conference this afternoon.
“For years, historians bickered and feuded over the legend of Betsy Ross and our first flag. As we now know, in Philadelphia in the year 1777, George Washington approached a widowed seamstress and asked her to sew a flag that he had helped to design. That flag flew over his troops when the British surrendered at Yorktown. That flag was given to Robert Morris after the revolution. Today, you see that same flag hanging proudly behind me.
“This flag, wrought by the hands of a humble Philadelphia seamstress, is the centerpiece for a month-long celebration of unity. What we are beginning today in Philadelphia, we shall carry across this nation and beyond the seas. This symbol of freedom, made of cloth woven so long ago from tangled threads of discontent, will mean something new to those citizens of countries all over the world. Those who see it will know that the life and the liberty and the pursuit of happiness that belong to every American can belong to them, as well.
“This is our promise. This is our vow. Let the celebrations begin. God bless you all.”
“Good speech,” Helen commented.
Lou looked at his daughter. “Who owns the flag?”
“Some Saudi prince living in L.A.,” Ellie answered, getting up from the couch.
Epilogue
Saratoga Springs, New York
One month later
The huge tent provided shade, and a gentle breeze kept the air moving for the crowd of two hundred or so people who had gathered for the scaled-down Saratoga version of the Antique Road Show. The grassy area behind the Murtaugh homestead was the perfect setting for the Animals for Seniors fund-raiser, and Karen Murtaugh could hardly restrain her delight at the turnout. With the money they had taken in for admission into the tent, they’d already raised enough to make a good start toward providing pets for elderly members of the community. And the refreshment tables and raffles were expected to bring in double the admission money. The extra funds were targeted for a new seniors’ center that was being built.
At one of the six tables reserved for the antique authorities, Ellie sat with the family golden retriever at her feet and a line of attendees stretching out in front of her. Her friend John Dubin sat at another table, and four other local antique experts manned the other tables. Above each table, a sign had been hung, indicating the areas of expertise of that particular professional.
The show had only been going for a couple of hours, but the place was positively buzzing with the voices of people who possessed treasures beyond their dreams and those who had surprises of the other kind. Overall, though, everyone was having a wonderful time.
Nate handed a cup of coffee to Ted, and both men watched as Bill Murtaugh introduced Lou around to friends.
“Thanks for bringing Lou up today. Ellie was really surprised and delighted to see all of you.”
“Thanks for the invite. Chris and I both needed to get away from the city, too.” Ted looked at the eight-year-old, busily refilling the dogs’ water dishes at one end of the tent. “I just hope that he doesn’t have too much of a good time. I don’t want him to change his mind about adopting me.”
Nate smiled. “I don’t think there’s any chance of that. How’s the paperwork going?”
“Going and slow are the best words to describe it.”
“You’re way too polite.”
“Actually, there are other words, but I can’t use them in public. We’re moving in the right direction, though. And because the parents have agreed to my offer, the lawyers tell me that Chris can live with me and go to school in Philadelphia this coming fall, even if all the paperwork isn’t finalized yet.”
“I’m glad.”
In the end, Chris’s testimony wouldn’t be needed for the trial. Sanford had left behind enough specifics in his letter to bury Graham Hunt. Nate had waited until everything had been pulled together into an airtight package for the federal prosecutors before giving his notice. To celebrate the occasion and to help his mother set up, he and Ellie had come up three days ago.
“So how’s the job search going for you?” Ted asked.
“I’m going to practice law in Philadelphia.”
“No kidding?” He slapped him on the back.
“Heck, I figured I must have liked it at one time. That’s why I went to school for it.” Nate shrugged. “I thought I’d try it for a while. If I don’t like it, then I can always become a handyman for Ellie.”
“Vic would love it.”
Nate punched Ted in the arm, causing a little of his coffee to spill on the grass. “And here I thought I liked you.”
“But you do.”
Ted’s laughter followed Nate as he moved under the tent and threaded his way through the crowd toward the dark-haired beauty wearing the billowy white antique dress. With its laces, hooks and eyes and everything else, Nate was certain that those dresses were devised to drive an impatient man out of his mind.
And he was getting impatient. Three days of separate bedrooms. Three days of stealing kisses in the hallways. Three days of not even being able to steal her away to the swimming hole.
A few steps away from her, Nate leaned a hip against an antique table and watched Ellie as she patiently explained to their local priest, Father Bob, how to take care of his collection of rare books.
“You have to move the bookcase away from the radiator. Overheating dries out a book. It makes it shrink. The leather and cloth bindings crack, and the book literally falls apart. Direct light can…can…” Ellie saw Nate watching and smiled.
“Excuse me, fella.” The priest frowned at him. “Are you bothering Ellie?”
Nate shook his head innocently but didn’t move.
“Sunlight fades the dyes,” she continued. “Cool basements, so long as they’re dry, are the best places for your books.”
The priest gathered his three volumes. “I have one other thing you should look at.”
He started searching his pockets. Though only one item was to be appraised at a time, none of the people in line complained that the priest was not following the rules. Father Bob finally came up with a small box that he placed before Ellie. She opened it and stared for a few long seconds.
“A step-cut diamond. This is absolutely stunning.” She had a hard time tearing her gaze away from it, but finally she looked up. “But I’m not the best person to appraise this ring, Father. At the end of this row, there’s a lady who’s an expert in nineteenth-century jewelry.”
“Which row?”
“The same as this one.” She pointed toward the table.
Father Bob shook his head. “I don’t see her.”
Ellie motioned to Nate, and he approached. “Can you please take Father Bob to the first table?”
“Where’s the first table?”
She gaped at him. “You put up the numbers.”
“Someone must have mixed them up.”
“Rita. Her name is Rita,” she said quietly to him. “She appraises jewelry, and she’s sitting at the far end of the tent.”
“I don’t see her.”
Ellie shook her head at him and made a polite excuse to the people in line. “I’ll be back in a minute, folks.
Come with me, Father, I’ll show you the way myself.”
With the ring box in hand, she started across. “Father Bob wants to know how you like the ring,” Nate asked when they were not a dozen steps away from her table.
“It’s elegant. Absolutely bea
utiful.”
“Father Bob wants to know if it fits.”
Ellie came to a dead stop and turned slowly around. Nate saw her beautiful face turn a shade of pink when she realized that the priest wasn’t following them.
She smiled up into his face. “What are you doing, Nate Murtaugh?”
“Proposing?” He took her free hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I love you, Ellie. Will you marry me?”
All activity in the tent stopped at once and, though Ellie was not even aware of them, two hundred people stood holding their breath, waiting.
Authors’ Note
We hope you enjoyed Triple Threat.
One of the great joys of writing novels lies in creating fictional worlds that come alive for our readers. We love receiving letters and e-mails from people all over the world who ask us about the characters who “live” in our books. As we often do, we also love bringing back individuals from our earlier books. For those of you who read about Ted Hardy’s trials in Twice Burned, and those of you who wanted to know if Ted was going to be okay, we hope you enjoyed the glimpse into his recovery that we provided in Triple Threat.
For anyone planning to visit Philadelphia anytime soon, don’t forget to stop by and see Vic. The antique shops along Pine Street and on the adjoining streets are a delight…as are the restaurants throughout the city. Most important, though, be sure to stop by the Betsy Ross House on Arch Street.
As always, we are so grateful to those of you who continue to read our Jan Coffey and May McGoldrick books. We love you for your kindness and support.
And of course, we’d like to thank our sons for their love, patience and sense of humor. We love you more than life itself.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6276-1
TRIPLE THREAT
Copyright © 2003 by by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
