Ross MacElroy never got used to walking the halls of the White House. As a child, he’d toured it with his fourth-grade class and was duly awed by the paintings, the elaborate woodwork and furnishings, the carpets and draperies and flowers—especially the flowers. They were everywhere; outside in the carefully landscaped grounds, along the walls here inside the presidential residence, and in every room he and his classmates had a chance to peek into. He recalled holding hands with a little girl in his class, a chubby-cheeked, freckle-faced brunette charmer whose smile took his breath away. He wondered if the thought of walking the White House halls still burned as brightly in her heart as it had the day he and his classmates walked behind their teacher, Mrs. Wooley, doing their best to present themselves as little ladies and gentlemen. Probably not.
Nowadays, he could peek into nearly any room he wanted—within reason, of course—but seldom found the time to do so. As head of the United States Secret Service presidential detail, he no longer walked these stately halls as an awestruck child, but rather as one of the agents tasked with keeping the POTUS, the acronym for President of the United States, safe in all situations
Up to this point, he’d always felt up to the job, confident in his own finely-honed skills, and those of his fellow agents, to keep the leader of the free world safe under any circumstances. Of course, that expert protection didn’t happen without a lot of planning, training, and a suspicious mind. His job was to be distrustful—leery of the mundane and seemingly innocent, as well as the obviously dangerous or unusual circumstances. Maybe most importantly, though, were those un-thought-of events that, fortunately, men and women like Mack thought of; events they hoped to prevent ever occurring.
But there was always somebody in this world capable of not only thinking the unthinkable, but also acting on it. To that end, Mack had developed an eerily accurate barometer for danger in any surroundings. He lived in an atmosphere of distrust and viewed life with a perpetual look-over-his-shoulder attitude, and it was that skeptical nature that Ross MacElroy credited with his success in keeping Stuart Thomas Rogers safe.
Mack didn’t mind putting himself and the other agents in harm’s way under normal circumstances. He may not have agreed with all the appearances the president made, might have preferred the POTUS stay home rather than trek around the world for various summits, public appearances, and political rallies. But it wasn’t his job to decide why and when the president left the relative security of the White House.
It was his job, however, to make sure the leader of the world’s most powerful, and sometimes hated, country had the freedom to do just that—leave the White House grounds, Washington, D.C., or the country, for that matter, to do what was necessary. And for the most part, Mack felt confident he and his fellow agents were up to the job.
But after being in that tiny village earlier in the day, he had a niggling feeling he was about to embark on a mission that might change his life completely—let alone alter the course of history.
He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his gut told him trouble lay in wait for him in Road’s End.
Chapter 6
President Rogers looked up when he heard a tap on his office door. “Come in, Mack.” He stood, walked toward the agent, and extended his hand. “Have a seat.” The president motioned toward the matching sofas that faced a coffee table. “Coffee?”
Mack returned the handshake. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He gestured toward the couches. “After you, sir. And thanks, but I’ve had a lot of coffee today. Can I get you some?”
Rogers shook his head. “Nope. I need to cut down. Enough stress in this job without adding caffeine overload to it.” He crossed his legs and looked Mack straight in the eye. “So, what’d you find? Any problems in … Road’s End, right?”
“Right.” Mack looked away for a second then with a shrug, said, “Not that I can lay my finger on, sir. It’s a small place. Around one hundred fifty folks and from what I gathered, about a hundred forty of them are senior citizens.”
“As in a retirement community?”
“No, just a big bunch of old folks. It’s like the town stopped growing some time right after the Revolutionary War. Folks got older, had a few kids, then died. Most of the residents come from those early families, although the pastor and his wife are new to the community. And they aren’t all that old, I guess—closer to your age, I’d say.” His eyes widened and he cringed. “Pardon me, Mr. President. I just meant, you know, middle-aged.”
Rogers waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought. “No need to be embarrassed, Mack. It’s true.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Okay, back to Road’s End,” Rogers continued. “Little place, old people, a few middle-aged folks. What else?”
“Actually, it’s a nice enough town, as hole-in-the-wall towns go. Aptly named, too, because unless someone flew over it or drove a tank cross-country, there’s only one way in or out of that place. One road leads into town from the main highway several miles away then circles the town’s business district, which isn’t much, believe me, and heads right back out the other direction. Same road in and out.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch. “There’s a river running through it, but it’s shallow at the moment and rather narrow at that spot. Not much chance anyone could get a boat down there. We’ll cover the riverbank, of course, but from what I can tell, Road’s End is about as remote a place as you can get and still be on the map.”
“And the pastor and his wife? Good folks?”
Mack nodded. “Very. There was a bit of a misunderstanding when I first met him. He thought I was from the county, a building permit person or some such thing. We had quite a tussle, actually. Got it straightened out eventually.”
“Really? Didn’t he think you were a bit … uh, physically overqualified? And, frankly, I can’t imagine anyone, particularly a pastor, getting into a tussle with you.”
Mack winced. “Well, he wasn’t much of a problem, sir. It was his secretary who convinced me I should let him go.”
“Let him go? What? Did you have to arrest him or something?”
“Not arrest, sir, just restrained him a bit. Thought he was threatening you. Turned out to be a huge misunderstanding, but not before his secretary jumped on my back and whaled the daylights out of me.”
President Rogers laughed out loud. “Man, oh man. I’d pay good money to see that, Mack. You didn’t shoot her, did you?”
Mack smiled. “No, sir. Didn’t have to. She climbed down, read me the riot act, and then flounced out of the room. Pastor Foster explained it all.” He shook his head. “Stupid, looking back on it.”
“I’d love to hear more about that some time. But as far as the wedding goes, we’re set to go, right?”
“Yes, sir. I think we’re fine. I got a funny vibe from the place, but nothing we can’t handle, and it’s as good a place as any for a secret trip away from the White House. I doubt anybody’s even heard of the town.”
“Vibe? As in they don’t like their privacy invaded? They didn’t vote for me? I’m not a senior citizen?” He grinned at that last sentence.
“They didn’t even know you were Mrs. Austin’s sister. I thought Pastor Foster’s wife was going to carve me up when she heard who I was and what I was doing there.”
“Carve you up? Doesn’t sound much like a pastor’s wife.”
“My thoughts precisely. I guess the pastor has some brothers who like to pull practical jokes, and she thought they’d sent me to pose as Secret Service. They had no idea their daughter was marrying your nephew, that Mrs. Austin was your sister, or that Senator Austin was his stepdad. Last names are different, of course, and their daughter never mentioned any of it to them. They had no way to connect you to it at all.”
“But they’re okay with me attending?”
“They’re in shock. I’ll put it that way. But yes, they’re fine with you coming, assuming they can get their church put back together in time. That reminds me, sir. Pastor Foster wants me to
ask a favor of you.”
Stuart Rogers listened as Mack filled him in on the initial misunderstanding with Hugh Foster, the meeting with Hilda Stutgardt, and the town’s subsequent problem obtaining a permit to repair the church in time for the wedding.
“Ms. Stutgardt—takes herself quite seriously, that one—seems pretty proud of her autonomy in these matters and suggested that Pastor Foster might have to go all the way to the White House to override her authority. By happy coincidence, Pastor Foster had just learned you were attending. He was hoping …”
Rogers waved his hand. “Of course, Mack. I’ll have someone make a call. Anything else I can do?”
“No, sir, I think we’re set. Am I correct that Senator Austin will be arriving right before the wedding?”
“Far as I know, but you know Gilbert. Might just make his grand appearance right in the middle of the ceremony. But Irene will keep him in line. He’ll be there. I’m just not sure when.” He cocked his head. “We’re still on with sending Marine One out to confuse the press?”
Mack nodded.
“Good. Anyway, chopper or not, looks like I’ll have the pleasure of his company sometime this weekend. If you can think of a place to send him other than Road’s End, I’m open for suggestions.”
Mack smiled. Rogers’ problems with his brother-in-law were anything but secret. “Well, sir, we can always put him on Marine One and send him off on a surprise state visit to … I don’t know, Jupiter?”
Stuart’s face lit up. “I didn’t realize we’d established diplomatic ties with Jupiter.” He deadpanned. “Good thinking, Mack. Jupiter, it is. I’ll tell him to dress warm.” He stood and extended his hand toward the agent. “Always good to talk to you. I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard since the last time we talked. I’m looking forward to our trip to Road’s End.”
“Thank you, sir. If your visit is anything like mine, you’ll either be highly amused or horrified. But either way, I promise we’ll keep you safe.”
Rogers gave him a thumbs-up. “I know you will, Mack. Now if we could just get this Jupiter trip off the ground, we’d be all set.”
Chapter 7
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was supposed to do with the information I had been given. The President of the United States at our daughter’s wedding? In our crumbling church in tiny Road’s End, Virginia, with Sadie and Winnie, George and Dewey, Martha, Hazel, Frank, and the rest of the gang roaming about freely? The scenarios running through my mind were horrifying. I didn’t have much choice, though. I couldn’t very well arrest or deport, or even hide, our assortment of oddballs just because the leader of the free world was coming to town. That would seem to defeat the whole purpose of that entire “fight for independence” and “freedom of speech” and “right to assemble” stuff.
Mel and I sat at the kitchen table and stared at one another with our mouths hanging open. Melanie stood to refill our coffee mugs, sniffed the pot, dumped what was left into the sink, and started making a new batch.
“Why on earth didn’t Mandy tell us?” She filled the pot with water, dumped it into the reservoir, and turned to face me. “The President of the United States, for crying out loud! Don’t you think it would cross her mind to tell us that we’d be hosting Stuart Thomas Rogers at her wedding? Stuart … Thomas … Rogers?” When Mel gets excited, she starts to repeat herself.
I shrugged. “Beats me.”
“You’re a big help.”
“I am, aren’t I? It’s a gift, you know. I try to be humble about it.”
She harrumphed. “Well, if having the president around doesn’t keep you humble, I don’t know what will.”
“Oh, I’m humbled all right.”
Five minutes later, the coffee was ready and I held up my cup while she poured. “I wonder how she thought we’d find out?” I said. “For goodness sake, wedding’s right around the corner.”
Mel nodded in that grim you’re darned tootin’ it’s right around the corner way she has and said, “Right and as you heard, I’m still hassling with Ruby Mae over the wedding dress, Sadie and Winnie—surprise, surprise—are at each other’s throats over the decorations, and we still have eight tons of dirt piled up in the backyard of the church and a sanctuary that’s about to become one big sinkhole.” She set her mug on the table. “I’m going to throttle Mandy.” I didn’t blame Mel any; I was just glad she said it first.
“Well, I’m sure she probably thought she could tell us tomorrow when she gets here.” I took a sip of coffee then laughed. “Frankly, I can’t wait to see how she tells us. I mean, how do you spring something like that on your parents?”
“That’s just it, Hugh. You don’t spring it on them. You give them plenty of warning, lots and lots of warning. Years of warning. Good grief, she’s known Jonathan for almost two years now. Wouldn’t you think it would come up at least once during that time? ‘Oh, by the way, Mom and Dad, did I mention that my boyfriend’s uncle is the President of the United States? Isn’t that a hoot?’” She slapped the table. “Hoot, my eye.”
“Don’t get riled, hon. You’ve got your hands full already. Fact is, I’m surprised no one’s banged on our door to ask what’s up. I’m sure the rumors were flying fast and furious the minute MacElroy strolled into town. And with Ruby Mae stopping by …” My words trailed off. No need to explain; Mel knew as well as I did that every last soul in Road’s End knew a potential husband for Grace had been spotted in town.
I propped my elbows on the table and massaged my forehead. “I don’t know if I’ve got it in me to handle another crisis. That last one with I.B.’s gang just about did me in.” I groaned. “I can’t even imagine what these folks will do with the president on his way into town.”
“Correction, hon. It’s not that you can’t imagine; it’s that you don’t want to imagine what they can do, because you know full well it’s something no one in their right mind could anticipate. They’re already excited about this wedding; having STR in attendance will just be frosting on the cake. Excuse that awful pun.” She pushed back her chair and looked at me wide-eyed. “Good grief, I nearly forgot. I told Sadie I’d go over cake recipes with her this afternoon. What time is it?” She checked her watch. “Oh, okay. I’ve got a few minutes.”
She sat back down, and I reached for her hand across the table. “Why don’t we just take the next few minutes to catch our breaths and really think about this?” I saluted her with my coffee cup. “Quite an honor actually. Not everyone has a U.S. senator and his wife and the President of the United States at their daughter’s wedding. We’re kinda unique.”
“You can say that again. Wait ’til he meets our neighbors. Road’s End’ll make Washington look like the sanest place on earth.”
I thought about that for a minute then nodded. “You’re right. If he can handle a weekend in Road’s End, then by golly, world peace oughta be a snap. In fact, he might just go into his re-election campaign a changed man.”
Little did I know.
Chapter 8
I think Mandy would have preferred to skydive without a parachute over an erupting volcano than own up to what she was trying to tell Mel and me the next day over lunch. We’d agreed beforehand to let her stumble around for a few minutes, just to make her pay, but Mandy wasn’t thirty seconds into her halting explanation before Mel exploded.
“Enough beating around the bush, young lady. Just what on earth were you thinking?”
The expression on Mandy’s face was a combination of relief, horror, confusion, joy, guilt, dread, and that look you get just before you throw up. I knew her pain; I feel like that most of the time nowadays.
“You know? But how? And for how long?”
I reached over to pat Mandy’s hand. We were just finishing our lunch of ham sandwiches and barbeque potato chips—one of man’s greatest culinary achievements, in my opinion. Mel stood to clear the table and refill our iced tea glasses. We exchanged a glance. We seemed to be in agreement; no torturing today. No time for fun. �
��We found out yesterday, hon. It was interesting, to say the least. Had a visit by Special Agent Ross MacElroy from the United States Secret Service.”
Mandy had the good grace to moan and lower her face into her hands. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I knew we should have told you earlier, but we weren’t even sure the president could make it until a week or so ago. And then time just got away from me and after a few days I knew I’d be here, and I could tell you in person and …” She looked up. “Do you hate me?”
Mel put the pitcher of tea down and leaned over to hug Mandy. “Of course, we don’t hate you, sweetheart. We’re just shocked.” She looked over at me. “And stunned. Overwhelmed. Surprised.” She shrugged, sighed, and sat. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. All of the above, I guess.”
“Don’t forget pummeled within an inch of my life,” I added helpfully.
Mandy scowled at me. “Pummeled?” Back to her mom. “What’s he talking about?”
Mel patted her shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it, honey. He’s fine. Just a little misunderstanding between your dad and Agent MacElroy. He’ll heal. He always does.”
So much for the sympathy vote. “She’s right, Mandy. I’m fine. Someday this’ll all be funny. Just a blip in our family history. A strange blip, but a blip nonetheless. We’ll get through it. Right now, you have some explaining to do, young lady.”
Mandy sighed and fingered the edge of her placemat then ran her thumb and forefinger up and down the side of her glass wiping away the sweat. “I know. And it’s long overdue.” She looked from her mother to me. “But please believe me when I say we truly meant to say something before this. Actually, I didn’t even know about Jonathan’s family for several months after we started seeing one another. He told me his folks live somewhere outside of Washington, D.C., somewhere in Virginia, I guess, but a lot of people live in Virginia. You do, for that matter.” I guess she thought the fact that we lived in the same state as they did excused her for not mentioning they were related to the President of the United States. Ah, the naïveté of youth.
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 4
