Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2)

by Deborah Dee Harper

  STR paused with a forkful of potato salad halfway to his mouth. “Call me Stu.”

  “Sir …”

  “I mean it, Hugh. At least when we’re alone, okay?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir. Well, yes, Stu.”

  “Good.” He gestured to the other chair. “Have a seat, by all means. Great food. How do you stay so fit with all this good stuff to eat?”

  “Running from Sadie, mostly,” I said. “And George and Dewey and ... well, others.”

  “Like assassins?”

  I grinned. “And drug thugs and camels and dodging bullets and tornadoes and such. You know, the usual pastor-of-a-small-town-church stuff.”

  He chuckled. “You know, I meant to talk to you before I dropped that bomb at church about me and the Lord. Sorry I didn’t tell you my news first.”

  “Mr. ... Stu, I wouldn’t have cared if you never talked to me about it. I’m just so pleased you’re open to God again. If I may ask, what happened to change your mind?”

  He looked me square in the eye and held my gaze for a second or two. “That tornado dissipated before our eyes, and there was no natural reason for that to occur. I have to believe it was divine.”

  Sadie charged into the room just then.

  “Hey, you two. The second half of the First Annual Presidential Promise Breakers Summit of Road’s End, Virginia, is gonna start. Wanna be there, or should I just talk to myself?”

  I wanted to vote for the latter suggestion, but STR slapped the arms of his chair and said, “Whenever you’re ready, Sadie. Want to finish it up here or over at the church?”

  “Here.”

  All righty then.

  She turned on her heel and yelled toward the dining room, “Hey, git yer food and drinks and sit yerselves down. We’re gonna finish this summit thing right here. And make it snappy. Ya got five minutes or yer gonna lose yer seats.”

  Since nobody wanted to miss out on more food and drinks or lose their seats, there followed renewed pushing and shoving to get to the various food stations around the dining room and kitchen before their time was up, followed by a cakewalk of sorts to claim seats. Finally, everyone got themselves settled into a seat—I noticed most of the men stayed in the dining room closest to the baked goods and wedding cake—and Sadie called the meeting to order.

  “Okay, then. Hazel, you got the minutes again? Good. Okay, let’s git started. This shouldn’t take long since I made most of my points at the rehearsal dinner the other night and at church earlier today. All I’ve really gotta do is present the president with my manifesto, which includes my amendment to the Constitution.” Notice she didn’t say proposed amendment. No, I think Sadie figured that once she passed her amendment over to him, it was a done deal. Constitution amended. Problem solved. Sadie saves the day and the country and the world and whatever else needed saving. “That okay with you, Mr. President?”

  Being the intelligent man he is, STR nodded. Woe to anyone who didn’t accept Sadie’s suggestions.

  “Okay, then, here goes. I’ll read it out loud so everyone knows what I’m givin’ you, so don’t even go thinkin’ ’bout anything underhanded like switchin’ documents and such.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Sadie,” he said, “but please, read it aloud so we can all hear what you have to say.”

  She cleared her throat. Sounded a lot like scraping a concrete block down a tin roof.

  “All right then. It says: ‘Being of sound mind ...”

  Oh, please.

  “... and body, I, Sadie Adelphia Rose Simms of 1 Gloucester Street, Road’s End, Virginia, being an American citizen from birth with all the rights and privileges thus bestowed upon me, do hereby present to President of the United States, Stuart Thomas Rogers, the 28th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America, originally written in 1787 and put into effect on March 4, 1789, to be immediately included in the Constitution, and granted all the authority, significance, and power as granted to any preceding or subsequent amendments, and put into effect upon transference of the attached documents from my hand to his.”

  The president and I looked at each other. I have to say Sadie covers all her bases.

  “Wow, Sadie,” STR said, “I’m impressed. That was very official.”

  “Darned tootin’, it’s official, Mr. President.” She waved two sheets of paper in the air. “This is the real deal. Now do you want to hear it or not?”

  “I sure do.”

  “Well then, everybody shut yer trap and listen up. You, too.” She pointed at STR.

  Mack, shot-up arm and all, looked ready to send her into orbit. STR held up a cautionary hand and said, “Sadie, please consider my trap shut.”

  “Okay, then. I’m gonna paraphrase a bit here so you can all understand what I’m sayin’. And if it sounds familiar, shut up about it and listen ’til I’m done. There’s ten points.

  “Number one: ‘Thou shall have no other gods before me.’ That means nothing else gits put above God. Got it, folks? Nothing. No power, no glory, no wealth, nothing.

  “Number two: ‘You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below.’ There’s more, but you get the drift.

  “Number three: ‘You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.’ No swearing, you dimwits.

  “Number four: ‘Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.’ Simple enough, I’d say. Take a day each week to rest. Period.

  “Number five: ‘Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you.’ With God’s help, our parents brought us into this world. Most of us don’t have our mothers and fathers around any longer, but those of you who do, be good to ’em. Love ’em. Respect ’em. They deserve that much.

  “Number six: ‘You shall not murder.’ I take exception to this one once in a while, but Lord willing, I’ll keep it to my dying day.

  “Number seven: ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ Keep yer eyes and yer hands to yerself.

  “Number eight: ‘You shall not steal.’ And that means cookies from my bake house.

  “Number nine: ‘You shall not give false testimony against your neighbor.’ That means on the street, in the grocery store, in court, in church, in ladies’ circle …” She glared at a few of the women around the room. “… or in my bake house in the mornings …” She turned her glare to the men. “… in the offices of Congress, in congressional chambers, or in the White House.

  “Number ten: ‘You shall not covet your neighbor’s house. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.’ Another simple one. If someone else has something you want, find a way to git one for yerself. Leave theirs alone.”

  She took a breath, then walked over to the president, stopped in front of him, and handed him the two sheets of paper. “Had a folder for ’em, but lost it somewhere, so you’re just gonna have to find one for yerself.”

  STR looked up at Sadie and smiled. He stood and accepted the two sheets of paper then extended his hand. She did the same and they shook. Then the President of the United States, most powerful man in the world, and Sadie Simms, all-around thorn in the side and constitutional amendment writer, hugged for a long time.

  When they parted, STR said, “Sadie, if you don’t mind, instead of finding a folder for this document, I’m going to have it framed and hung in a very prominent place in the Oval Office. Somewhere I can see it every day of my life. And I’m having copies made for every member of Congress to be placed on their desks in the Senate and House of Representatives—and signed for, so they can’t pretend they didn’t get it, as well as my staff, members of the media, and any other person or group I can think of who needs this as much as I do.”

  Sadie nodded then turned and walked into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a fresh cup
of coffee. “Fresh coffee, if anybody wants it. Git it yerself, though. I’m nobody’s slave.”

  With that, the First Annual Presidential Promise Breakers Summit of Road’s End, Virginia, was adjourned.

  Chapter 50

  The next few hours were enlightening, to say the least. During a heart-to-heart with Mack, I learned he and Irene Austin were childhood sweethearts.

  “One of my favorite memories from childhood is of Irene and I walking the halls of the White House during a fourth-grade class trip,” he said. “Of course, I never dreamed I’d ever be there again, let alone guarding the President of the United States—her older brother, no less. We were pretty close all the way through high school, but had a blowup over something really stupid—can’t remember what, but if I had anything to do with it, believe me, it was stupid—and broke up. I spent some time in the Peace Corps and before I knew it, I heard she’d married someone named Sterling and had a baby. That’s Jonathan, of course.”

  He fell silent, and I let him gather his thoughts. “A few years later, her husband died, and I thought about getting back into her life. But I was proud and for whatever dumb reason, I didn’t. Before I knew it, she was married to Gilbert Austin.”

  I must have had “Why?” written all over my face because he smiled and continued, “Beats me why she married the guy, but I imagine he wasn’t quite as obnoxious back then as he is today. That was before STR was president, but I often wonder if Austin didn’t sense he could be marrying into a powerful family.”

  He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, shifting his weight in a chair that was already threatening to implode under his heft. “At any rate, she was off-limits again. Still is, for that matter. She’s married and that’s that. Doesn’t matter that I can’t stand the man she married. I told myself I was lucky to escape the marriage trap and left it at that.” He shook his head. “Never forgot her, though. Then STR becomes president and bingo, she’s back on the fringes of my life again. By this time, the whole world knew what a jerk Senator Gilbert Austin was, and I often wondered why she didn’t get rid of him. But she’s a devout Christian and I think—you’d have to ask her to be certain—but I believe she felt she was in that marriage for the rest of her life. It isn’t in her to hurt anyone, disobey God, or humiliate the senator.”

  “Admirable of her,” I said. “Not everybody thinks that way, especially if they’re married to someone as unlikable as Gilbert Austin. What got into him, anyway? Why try to have STR killed? You’ve got to be more than ornery to cook up something like that.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s a lot more than ornery, I can tell you that. I think once STR was voted into office, Gilbert started wondering ‘why not me?’ He probably stewed in his juices until he couldn’t take it anymore and decided to go for broke.”

  “But he had to know he’d be implicated.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mack said. “According to Artie, who spilled his guts last night while we waited for the cops to haul the two of them away, the plan was to eliminate anybody who was a witness to what actually happened. The storm worked to their definite advantage—especially for Austin who got himself locked in your tunnel.” He laughed. “That took him right out of the picture, but of course he was counting on Artie getting the job done, taking his pay, and keeping his mouth shut.”

  I was stunned. “You mean he’d have killed not only STR, but you and me and ... and Tanner?”

  Mack looked away for a minute. “You know, Hugh, I’m not sure Artie could’ve done that. Yes, he had high hopes he’d someday be in charge of guarding the president, who would be Austin, of course. At least in their minds. Artie told me Austin promised him lots of money, a plum job, immunity against any lingering charges or problems, you know, the usual empty promises of a greedy, evil guy. Then, too, I guess the senator thought if he could claim he was instrumental in trying—emphasis on trying—to save all of us, he’d be voted into office in a landslide like STR was. But he was stuck in the tunnel and there went that plan.”

  “But who’d take the fall for shooting us if Artie’s a big hero?”

  “Reynolds. They’d have eliminated him, too, and blamed him for the whole mess. That gives Artie an out and Gilbert’s a big fat hero.”

  I leaned my arms on my thighs and hung my head, thinking. Boy, that’s a lot to take in. I said. “Now they’ll both spend the rest of their lives in prison.”

  “Well, Artie will, but probably not Austin.”

  I sat up straight. “Why on earth not?”

  He looked at me and shook his head. “He’s dying, Hugh. The man’s dying, and his defense team will probably drag out his appeals until he’s gone. He’ll spend some time behind bars, but it’ll be in some cushy correctional place with all the luxuries of home.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Then eventually he’ll die, and the world will remember Senator Gilbert Austin as an attempted murderer and a lousy senator.”

  “I wonder if he knows Christ,” I said, as much to myself as anyone else.

  Mack snorted. “If he does, he’s not doing a very good job of following Him. My guess would be no, he doesn’t.”

  “We’ll have to work on that, Mack.”

  Some other things were cleared up that afternoon, as well. I’d wondered how the men knew to have Joe and Rudy put Senator Austin in the tunnel when both agents left the basement.

  George told me that he and Dewey finally figured out what was bugging them about the conversation they’d heard outside the church the night before.

  George said. “Finally remembered him coughing up a storm when he was talkin’ to the other guy by the church. Then he was coughin’ upstairs before we went to the basement. That meant one of the bad guys had to be Austin. So, we had to neutrasize him. I figgered the other one had to be one of the agents, but wasn’t sure which one, so I laid my trap for both of ’em and let it sort itself out. Worked, too, didn’t it?”

  Well, I guess if you consider shooting an already-shot man in the calf in the dark with a rusty pistol pointed out a borehole in the church basement rigged to a string wrapped around a tree in the backyard during a tornado as working itself out, then yes, it did indeed.

  I was with Mandy, Jonathan, and STR when he told them about following Tanner out into the storm.

  “I didn’t catch up with him until we were nearly at the dairy, and by that time, he’d tackled Pewter and had her in a death grip. I could see the building ahead of us, picked him up, and ran into it.” He laughed and scratched his cheek. “Wasn’t expecting a camel, but hey, things in this town are a little weird, so I figured, ‘What’s the worst that can happen to us with a camel?’ We were already in the middle of a killer storm. The two of us, well, three counting Pewter, hunkered down beside Sophie to wait it out. Don’t tell Sherman, but I was using her for protection against falling debris. Pewter and Sophie didn’t exactly take to one another—I think Sophie licked her or something—and that’s probably why Pewter exacted her revenge on Sophie at just the right moment. God does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?”

  “That He does,” I said. “That He does.”

  Old Eagle Eye Reynolds is a lot nicer when you get to know him.

  Apparently, after I grabbed Tanner from him to run into the dairy, he circled back around the front and east side of the house to check things out while we were running for cover. “Sorry, Pastor, but I never bothered trying to corral that cat. Instead I slipped on something tearing around a corner, hit my head on one of those paving stones, and knocked myself out. Missed the whole darned thing. Some agent I am. Sorry, sir.”

  STR overheard him and walked over to us. He thumped Reynolds on the back and said, “Don’t go saying that about my number two guy, Reynolds. Have to hand it to you and Mack—you did a bang-up job, excuse that pun, of ferreting out those two. I’ll be eternally grateful to you both.”

  Mack walked up just then and I looked at him and grinned. “Intel, Mack? Was this what all that intel was about?”

  “I could tell
you, Hugh,” he said with a grin, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Chapter 51

  Later that night, I wandered over to the church for a little private time with God. The sun was just beginning to set behind the trees that lined the field beyond the cemetery, giving the sky and a few wispy clouds floating around it a warm, peachy glow. Road’s End was quieting down for another night. At least I hoped this one would be quiet. I’d had enough noise, adventure, intrigue, tears, close calls, bruises, wind, rain, and calories to last me a good long time.

  I stopped by the iron fence that surrounded the cemetery for a moment and said hello to Roscoe. He was still flat on his back, but at least that prevented him from being tipped over in the wind last night. I wondered how much drama Roscoe and his cousin Lawrence lived through so many years ago. Plenty, I was sure, since they’d been around during the Revolutionary War.

  “Does it ever calm down around here, Roscoe?”

  Nothing. Roscoe might have been a mean one, at least according to Grace Headley, but I gotta hand it to him. He was also quiet.

  I walked into the church, half-expecting to find Bristol working on something or other. Then I remembered he and Grace were having dinner over at her house this evening. I don’t know if Grace wore him down with her beauty and obvious interest or if Mack put a bug in his ear like he told me he was going to do. In any event, I wished them well. Ruby Mae was spending the evening at Mount Vernon, courtesy of George and Martha Washington, so with any luck at all, Grace and Bristol wouldn’t have to deal with her for a while. I had a feeling if anything serious evolved in her relationship with Bristol, my secretary would lay down the law with her mother in no uncertain terms. Just thinking about it made me grin.

  I walked about halfway down the aisle and worked my way down to the end of the pew so I could be near the window. I watched the sun dip behind the trees and eventually give up the ghost until tomorrow morning. Night fell across the town.