Up in Smoke
Page 32
“I argued. He stayed firm. He was so adamant, I wondered if maybe he believed it happened that way.” The governor scraped a thumb over a bristly jaw. “I should never have let him get away with it. I should have admitted to my cowardice.”
“You took care of him.”
“We were friends. He didn’t have anybody. His parents were dead, he had no relatives.”
“What happened that Wakely had to be killed?”
The head of the bed rose a bit as he pushed a button. “Shouldn’t you ask Todd that question?”
“I have. He’s not talking.”
“Best thing in his position.” Governor Garrett, slowly and wincing with pain, changed position again. “I can only guess at it.”
“I’d like to hear your guesses.”
“Vince,” he said.
“Yes,” she prompted when he didn’t go on.
“He wanted money. He threatened to tell the world I could have saved those six smoke jumpers. If I’d gone to the tail of the ridge and warned them, they’d have made it out. He’d say he was there. He knows what happened, but I was only interested in saving my own skin.”
“Did you pay him?”
“No. Todd wanted to. He was furious when I refused. I told him we’d just have to take what came if Vince went public with this story. Then Vince died, so it no longer was a problem.”
“Cass Storm said Todd killed Vince.”
“You believe her?”
“Todd is denying he said any such thing, but I do believe her, yes. Did he kill Vince’s wife because she believed her husband, intended to go to the press with his story?”
The governor’s face was gray and he was obviously in pain. “Probably.”
“Why did Wakely go to see Gayle? Was he going to back Vince’s story?”
“He could only have been trying to take her out of it.”
“Then why was he killed?”
“Sometimes Wakely talked too much, if he had a little bit too much to drink.”
The governor sighed, a sad weary sigh. “I don’t know about the little girl, Gayle’s sister.”
“Sunglasses. He lost them when he killed Gayle. Prescription glasses he thought could identify him. When he came to look for them, she saw him. Even though she didn’t get a clear look, he couldn’t take the risk she’d remember something.”
Susan’s job was to protect that child and the failure would stay with her the rest of her life.
“All this just because I decided to make a try for presidential candidate. I didn’t think I had a prayer. I just wanted to make a few speeches, get a few key issues out to the voters. Then it began looking like I had a shot. Nobody was more surprised than I was.”
The governor rubbed a knuckle down his jaw. “Todd didn’t ever hesitate. He was a man who took care of things and he meant to take me right into the White House. He couldn’t let my cowardice get out. Who would vote for a coward? This is God’s way of punishing me for twenty-year-old sins.”
“Did Todd use the same aftershave as you?”
“Huh, actually it was mine that he used. Molly always insisted on buying the stuff for me and I passed it off to him, because he liked it and I didn’t.”
A nurse stuck her head in the door and said Susan would have to leave, she was upsetting the patient. Susan nodded and stood. “What did you say to the girl right before you left her hospital room?”
“‘May the sun shine down on you and bring you much happiness.’ I guess that didn’t come about, did it?”
“You were a hero,” she said. “With a broken arm and a broken foot, you managed to get your friend out of a killing forest fire.”
She thanked him for seeing her and wished him luck with his campaign. “I’m sorry we didn’t do a better job of protecting you.”
“When that woman shot me, I thought I was dead.” With a soft trace of self-mockery, he said, “I reached up with outstretched hands and my fingertips touched the face of destiny.”
48
Wind tore across the prairie and clouds fled like frightened souls. In its wake, tree limbs littered the streets, roofs were blown off, windows were broken, power lines were down. Around noon, irritated that she couldn’t find Parkhurst, Susan asked Hazel to track him to his whereabouts and tell him to get his ass in here. Hazel told her he’d taken the afternoon off to tend to some personal business. Grumbling that cops shouldn’t have a personal life, she plowed through work. A little after seven when she left the office, it was dark, daylight saving time had gone the way of dead leaves. Heavy sadness sat on the brain sludge in her mind. The governor shot, his close friend dead, his campaign manager arrested. Gayle Egelhoff dead. Fourteen-year-old girl dead. No relatives. Casilda Storm was arranging both funerals.
When she rounded the corner, she spotted Parkhurst’s Bronco parked in front of her house and he was sitting on the porch steps, forearms resting on his knees. She drove into the garage, cut the ignition and slid from the pickup. Trudging around to the front of the house, she climbed the stairs and sat beside him. “What are you doing here?”
“A favor.”
“For whom?
“Your cousin.”
“Sean Patrick? What favor?”
“He left.”
“Without saying good-bye?” Damn it. She’d been looking forward to a long evening of reminiscing, drinking, making snide comments about the rest of the relatives, maybe even getting pie-eyed. “Just like a man.”
“He left a note.” Parkhurst offered her a folded piece of paper held between first and second finger.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You read it?”
“Would I read someone else’s personal note?”
She snorted. “Where’d he go?”
“The whole circus load of politicians and media left and he left with them.”
She unfolded the note and a twenty-dollar bill fell out.
Soon as this campaign is over, I’m coming back and we’re having a long talk. In the meantime, buy a pizza and share it with your Friend. Whatever else you want to do is up to you. Can’t say I admire your choice, but then you never liked my choices either, so we’re even.
Don’t kick a gift horse in the teeth.
Love,
Sean
She flicked the note with a finger. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?”
“What are you doing here?”
“He said I had a strong back.”
“A strong back.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. She was trained to stay calm in the face of incipient lunacy. “I see. And do you?”
“Not anymore.”
She wanted to ask him where he’d been all day, but instead she said, “What’s this about a gift horse?”
“He said you have trouble accepting gifts and you kick and scream. Bite, too.”
Waving the twenty-dollar bill, she said, “Want to share a pizza?”
“Sure.”
As she almost never went in by the front door, she had to fumble for the right key. Once inside, she stopped dead. Where the old upright piano always sat was a shiny black baby grand. She turned to look at Parkhurst.
With a shrug of innocence, he held out empty hands. “I just helped the delivery guy bring it in.”
“Who unlocked the door?”
“Right. I did that, too. Sean said no matter how much you beat me up I wasn’t to tell you where it came from in case you feel a stupid obligation to return it.”
“That means it was expensive.”
“He also said the old one was taken out and humanely shot. Can you play this thing?”
With a half-laugh, she played a set of chords. “My mother was a musician. Children of musicians get piano lessons whether they want them or not. Order the pizza while I see if he left us anything to drink.”
A bottle of claret sat in the refrigerator and a bottle of chardonnay sat on the kitchen countertop. Maybe she’d get pie-eyed with Parkhurst and think ab
out choices, loneliness versus being alone and time to move on.
Maybe.
49
It was early morning when Cass went out to the garden. She stood under the maple trees with the sun just rising over the hills and rosy new light filtering through the red and gold leaves. Frost sparkled on the grass and a crisp bite hovered in the air. Winter was coming. The thought of the earth tucking in for a cold sleep tugged at forgotten dreams. Rosie the dog scouted the area, trotting around with her nose down.
It’s been over a year, Cass thought, one year without Ted and Laura. There was a time when she didn’t think she’d survive. “We’ve come home,” she said. They didn’t fill her mind as much now, there was room for other thoughts. Yesterday she’d taken the little leather pouch of mingled ashes from her purse and put it in a box with Ted’s cuff links. The box sat on her dresser. She could eat, she could dress, she could talk with other people, but still unexpected times popped up when she’d feel what it was like to hold the warm weight of a three-year-old child. It wasn’t a memory exactly, more an imprint that had been left in her body.
She no longer craved the earth around her bones, no longer wished to be dead. She couldn’t actually say she was glad to be alive, but she no longer resented it. The stubborn fact was that she was alive.
“Monty the cat loves it here. He’s found all the best hiding places.” She smiled as Rosie ran up and nuzzled her hand. “And I have a dog now. Laura, you’d love Rosie. She’s a great big black dog and Monty bullies her terribly.”
A car pulled into the driveway, Bernie, bringing Murray, Wakely’s physical therapist, to stay and take care of the animals while she was away.
The dog gave her a welcoming bark and tore off toward the house. “You’ll never believe this, Ted. I’m working for a politician. And we’re just about to take off.”
Bernie and Murray got out of the car and went in the house. When she heard Bernie in the kitchen, she called, “Out here.”
Bernie came out with two containers of coffee and handed her one. “Ready? Plane leaves in twenty minutes.”
“Careful, you’ll step on the worm!”
Startled, he looked down and with exaggerated care lifted his foot over the earthworm crawling across the stepping stone. “Sorry. Didn’t know you cared so much.”
“Hey, when I was a child, some of my best friends were worms.” She took a sip of coffee. “Besides, they’re good for the garden.”
Bernie nodded, patted the dog’s side, grabbed her muzzle and swung it from side to side. “I don’t want to rush you or anything, but we need to get a move on.”
“Give me one more second. And then I just need to get my bag.”
Bernie nodded. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Holding the coffee with both hands, she stood in the center of the maple trees. If she listened very carefully, she could hear Laura’s laughter under the whisper of the wind.
Other Police Chief Susan Wren Mysteries
Winter Widow
Consider the Crows
Family Practice
Murder Take Two
A Cold Christmas
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
UP IN SMOKE. Copyright © 2003 by Charlene Weir. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Weir, Charlene.
Up in smoke / Charlene Weir.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-31020-X
1. Wren, Susan (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Political campaigns—Fiction. 3. Police—Kansas—Fiction. 4. Police chiefs—Fiction. 5. Policewomen—Fiction. 6. Governors—Fiction. 7. Kansas—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3573.E39744U6 2003
813'.54—dc22
2003047296
First Edition: November 2003
eISBN 9781466834460
First eBook Edition: November 2012