Simon turned to Betsy. "Are you certain that your father's investigator never found anything? Have you seen all the reports that he may have received?"
"I started looking for the file, but I didn't find anything," Betsy told them. "There's always the chance that perhaps I missed something. We can take another look after lunch."
"Simon, you must have some ideas about who might know about Blythe. About me." Dina leaned back in her chair.
"I've been thinking about this for several weeks."
Mrs. Brady appeared at the top of the ramp that led down to the patio below and asked about lunch. Betsy nodded that now would be a good time.
"And what have you come up with?" Dina asked.
"Well, there's Philip Norton. My old journalism professor from Georgetown. He was Hayward's press secretary, and he had been close to Hayward while he was alive and has remained close to the Hayward family over the years. He's the one who proposed the book I'm writing. Norton knows about Blythe and about Dina. I'm still trying to figure out what else he might know."
"Philip was very close to the President," Jude said.
"You know him?"
"It's been a few years since I've seen him, though we've spoken on the phone from time to time, so yes, I know him. I can't believe he'd have harmed Blythe. Or been involved in anything that could hurt Dina." Jude shook her head slowly.
"Okay, so we know that this Philip Norton knows. Who else, Simon?" Dina prodded him.
"Mrs. Hayward, I believe, knew about Blythe, but I don't know that she necessarily knew about Dina. It's possible. If Hayward had in fact told his wife that he wanted a divorce, he might have told her about the child he'd fathered with Blythe. As for the Hayward kids, I have no way of knowing that they knew about either."
"So you're saying that maybe Norton or Mrs. Hayward could be the person we're looking for?"
"I don't think we should count anyone out at this point. But I think that we also have to realize that there could be any number of reasons why someone may have wanted Blythe dead. This many years later, it's unlikely that we're going to be able to figure out all of them."
"We'll start with looking for the investigator's report," Betsy decided. "And we'll do that right after we finish this excellent lunch Mrs. Brady is bringing us...."
It took them until nearly four that afternoon, but the report that Foster Pierce had received from his investigator was finally found in an unmarked file.
"Doesn't appear that there's much in here. Police report regarding the accident itself..." Simon noted.
"May I see that?" Dina asked.
Simon handed it over and continued.
"... and reports from the investigating officer to the effect that, other than one witness, who may or may not have been drunk, a canvass of the neighborhood found no one who had heard or seen a thing. The case was closed within the week," Simon mumbled as he skimmed the typed pages. "This isn't the entire police report. I've already spoken with the investigating officer. He said his report was six pages long when he turned it in. The report in the file is only two."
"Someone removed four pages?" Dina's eyebrows knit together.
"Exactly. The officer told me that the report he'd made had been purged by someone in the department way higher than he was. And since he was a rookie at the time, he was afraid to make waves."
"So someone with a lot of clout had the investigation stopped," Dina said softly.
"Well, if you are assuming that someone from our short list was that person, wouldn't that eliminate the professor? How much pull could he have had?" Betsy asked.
"Depends on whose behalf he was acting," Simon said. "Don't forget that he was the President's press secretary and close friend. So the request to quash the investigation could have come from Hayward. Maybe he didn't want anyone looking too closely into Blythe's life. Or her death."
"It could just as easily have been Miles, or someone else, acting on Hayward's behalf," Betsy noted. "Or it could have been someone purporting to be acting on Hayward's behalf without Hayward knowing it."
"I can't quite see Graham dropping the whole thing and just letting Blythe's killer go without trying to find out who it was. I do believe that he loved Blythe deeply. I think he would have moved heaven and earth to find out who had deprived him of his happily ever after," Jude said softly.
"We don't know that he didn't." Simon sipped at the iced tea Mrs. Brady had brought in.
"But if he had found out who had killed her, wouldn't he have done something about it?" Dina frowned. "I mean, he loved this woman and someone killed her, he finds out who it was ... he was the President, for God's sake. It just doesn't make any sense that he wouldn't have done something about it."
"Maybe he didn't know who it was. Or maybe it was someone he couldn't have retaliated against," Simon pointed out.
"Who could have had that much power over him?" Dina turned to ask.
A clap of thunder made them all jump.
"Weather report's been forecasting a big storm this afternoon and evening," Mrs. Brady announced. "I was wondering if perhaps I could leave after dinner."
"Go now, before the rain starts, Mrs. Brady," Betsy told her. "As long as there's something to cook, between the four of us we should be able to figure things out."
"There's chicken in tarragon cream sauce all made up. It only has to be baked. And there's salad and a strawberry shortcake," the housekeeper noted. "And I have one of the back guest rooms made up for Mr. Keller, just in case."
"That was thoughtful of you, thank you. Perhaps we'll be able to keep Mr. Keller with us for a while." Betsy smiled. "Now go on home, Mrs. Brady, before the roads start to flood out. We'll see you in the morning."
"Thank you," she said, then smiled her good-byes to the guests.
"Okay, my money's on Celeste Hayward," Jude said after Mrs. Brady had departed.
"Or one of his kids," Betsy suggested.
"Or someone very high up who wanted to put an end to Graham's thoughts of not running for that second term." Simon threw his thoughts into the mix.
"How old were the kids back then?" asked Dina.
"Graham would have been around nineteen or twenty, Sarah maybe fifteen or sixteen. She was at boarding school," Simon told them. "And Gray was at college." He frowned. "At least, I'm pretty sure that's what Miles said. I can check the tape."
"What tape?" Dina asked.
"Twice when I met with Miles I taped our conversation," Simon admitted. "He talked about the night that Blythe came back from Arizona after Dina was born. And about the night that she died—"
"Is that legal?" Betsy raised an eyebrow.
"I only did it for my own use, so that I wouldn't have to try to take notes. I was afraid that whipping out a pen and notepad would distract Miles. So I recorded what he said thinking that I could just concentrate on what he was saying. Then when I got back home, I typed up my impressions, recollections of his gestures, facial expressions, that sort of thing, so that I wouldn't forget anything."
"Where's the tape now?" Dina asked.
"It's at my town house, in Arlington. It didn't occur to me to bring it. I'll drive back tonight," Simon told them.
"Wait until the morning, until the storm has passed," Betsy said. "And in the meantime, we can speculate to our hearts' content over dinner. Right now, I suggest we move into the kitchen and start cooking."
Dina was sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, a Bloomingdale's bag at her feet, when Simon came downstairs early the next morning. She was dressed in jeans and a red turtleneck sweater, her hair pulled back from her pale face with combs on either side. A denim jacket sat neatly on her lap.
"I didn't want to miss you." Dina looked up through red-rimmed eyes as he descended the stairs. "I didn't want you to leave without me."
"Was I taking you with me?" Simon paused a few steps above her.
"Would you? I'd like very much to go."
"Why?"
"Because I need to g
et away from here for a bit. Just to clear my head. I'm afraid I'm getting a bit stir-crazy."
"Do Betsy and Jude know what you're doing?" He stepped around her.
"I left them a note. I told them we'd be back maybe by dinner. We will be back by dinner, don't you think?"
Simon studied her face, the dark circles under the lovely eyes, the tension around her mouth.
Well, of course she's tense, Simon reminded himself. Over the course of the past seventy-two hours, she's found out that she isn't who she thought she was, her mother isn't her mother, her father was the President, and someone tried to kill her. Enough to wear down anyone.
"We should be back by dinner. Though I doubt Jude will be happy to find out that you've taken off with me. I can't shake this feeling that she still looks at me as close kin to the Antichrist. And she may be worried if you disappear for a day."
"She knows how to get in touch with me." Dina held up her cell phone. "Besides, I have my bribe all prepared."
Dina held the shopping bag open. "Coffee and warm blueberry muffins. Mrs. Brady thought we should have a little breakfast to take along."
"We?"
"You will let me come, won't you? 1 really need some time away from both my mother and Betsy."
Simon reached for the bag.
"Does that mean you're going to take me along, or are you planning on making off with the muffins?"
"I'd never pass up an opportunity to spend a day with you." Simon opened the front door and held it aside. "You didn't need the bribe, but as long as you've gone to the trouble, we can't let Mrs. Brady's muffins go to waste."
A low gray mist hovered over the pastures. In another hour, it would be burned off by the rising sun, which was, at that moment, still easing its way into the morning. The air held a slight chill and a dense warm scent that wafted up from the barn.
Dina stepped past Simon, thinking that Blythe must have known such mornings in this place, once upon a time. The sense of connection was unexpectedly strong, and she tried to shake it off.
"So, what do you think of Betsy?" Simon asked to break the silence as they reached the main highway.
"I think she's a nice lady who's had a few bad cards dealt."
"She seems delighted to have you at the ancestral home."
"That would make one of us." Dina opened the bag and took out napkins and a muffin, which she passed to Simon.
Simon raised an eyebrow. "I was beginning to think you were all right with this."
"If by 'this' you mean all the lies I've been told over the past thirty years, no, I'm not all right with it." Dina took a second muffin from the bag and began to nibble.
"But surely you understand why—"
"On an intellectual level, of course I do. I know that everyone did what they did out of love for me. But at the same time, the fact remains that I've been lied to about the most fundamental facts of my life. Even finding Betsy has been a bit of a shock, when I'd been told I had no family except my mother...." Dina's voice cracked with the layer of anger that lurked just below the surface. "I love my mother—Jude, that is. We've always been very close, and that's what has made this all so difficult for me. It's always been the two of us. You have no idea of what a wonderful parent she has been. Mother and father and best friend. Everything that's happened"—she waved her hand—"can't change the fact that she's been an extraordinary mother. But what has changed is that she's not really mine."
Simon drove in silence. They had reached 1-95 just above Wilmington, Delaware, before Dina spoke again.
"Even the money that I thought I'd inherited from my father was really from Blythe. It was money that Blythe had left to Jude for me."
"Does it make a difference, which parent had provided for you?" Simon asked.
"It makes a difference because it was a lie, too." Dina sighed. "Emotionally, this whole thing is much more complicated than you could imagine. The depth of the anger I feel is so great that it frightens me, but, I've discovered, so is the love. The bond between us goes so much deeper than even I understood. Blythe Pierce may have given birth to me, but I don't know her. I know almost nothing about her. She doesn't seem real in my life. Jude raised me. She's the only family I've ever known. No matter how angry I may feel toward her, she's still my mother. There are a lot of issues we need to deal with, she and I, but all that will have to wait until this is over. Right now, I'm more concerned with trying to find the person who tried to kill me. And, if possible, who killed Blythe."
"That's very mature of you."
"Are you being sarcastic?" Dina opened the bag that sat between her feet. "Are you ready for coffee?"
"Yes to the coffee, no to the sarcasm. And I think it's very generous of you to put your own hurt aside right now, even more remarkable that you're willing to do so in conjunction with Betsy and Jude."
Dina passed Simon one of the travel mugs that Mrs. Brady had filled with coffee.
"Betsy's been kept in the background long enough." Dina leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes for a minute. "And besides, it's time they made up."
"You sense bad blood there?"
"Oh, you could say that."
She rested for another mile or so, then turned to Simon and said, "Interesting, don't you think, that they each look at the situation from the opposite side?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that all along Betsy's been concerned mainly about Blythe's murder and all along Jude's been worried more about the affair becoming public and about protecting me."
"And which are you focused on?"
"Both. I want to find out who killed Blythe. I want justice for her. And I want to keep my anonymity." Dina sipped at her coffee, then asked, "Do you have any idea of what my life would be like if the press found out that I was Graham Hayward's illegitimate child?"
Simon shifted uncomfortably. He was the press. At that moment, he didn't want to think about being the one who could well bring yet even more distress into her world.
"It may not be possible to do one without the other," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"If we find the person—or persons—responsible for Blythe's death, how can we can seek justice without the truth being made public?"
Dina turned her head and looked out the window at the passing scenery, her silence testimony that if she hadn't considered this win/lose possibility before, she was considering it now. In the sun's light the circles under her eyes grew darker, more noticeable. Simon wished there was something he could do, something he could say, that would ease the pain she must be going through. He wondered when she'd had her last full night of sleep, uninterrupted by heartache.
"How did you get involved in all this?" she asked.
"I'm writing a book about Hayward."
"I know that part." She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. "Why Hayward?"
"Why Hayward indeed," Simon muttered. "It's a long story."
"It's a long-enough drive to Arlington, I would think."
"I was working on a book of my own when I was offered the opportunity to work on the Hayward project by Philip. It isn't the type of story I'm really interested in, but I needed the money and he threw in the additional incentive of a two-book contract, presumably to publish the book I've been working on."
"What's your book about?"
"It's about laundering money coming out of South America and the involvement of several highly placed U.S. officials."
"Sounds intriguing."
"I thought so."
"Apparently Dr. Norton thinks so, too."
"It was a carrot." Simon checked the rearview mirror, then sped around the slow-moving station wagon that was straddling the white line.
"What do you mean, a carrot?"
"He offered to publish my book so that I'd agree to the Hayward biography." Simon's eyes never strayed from the back end of the car in front of him. "He knew I'd have problems getting a publisher to buy my book and he wanted me specifically
to write his book."
"Why, and why?"
"I've come to the conclusion that he wanted me to write the book because he thought he could steer me away from the whole Blythe/Hayward affair. And he knew I'd have a problem getting a publisher on my own because I'd already quit my job with the Washington Press because of the book."
"You quit your job over a story?" Her eyes narrowed.
"The legal department wanted me to name sources, and I couldn't do that. My editor wouldn't back me up. I didn't feel I had much of a choice."
Dina seemed to be digesting his words. "So you decided to write a book about it." Dina nodded. "Without naming your sources—"
"Right." Simon changed lanes again.
"That takes a lot of nerve."
Simon floored it and eased around the back of an 18-wheeler, muttering, "I hate 95."
"What?"
"I hate driving on 1-95."
"So I guess when you were given the opportunity to work on this book, it must have seemed too good to be true."
"And obviously was."
"You think he was using you so that you wouldn't put anything in your book that he didn't want made public?"
"Yes."
"Maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing, when you consider the people who could be hurt." She bit her bottom lip and looked pensive.
"You sound like Norton. That's pretty much what he said."
"How astute of him." Dina settled back again, studied the scenery, then asked, "Do you drive through D.C. to get to Arlington?"
"No. We can, but we don't have to. Why?"
"I was just thinking...."
"About.. ."
"About maybe seeing the place where Blythe lived."
"Do you know the address?"
"Yes, I have it written down. Betsy said that she lived on Connecticut Avenue not far from the zoo."
"Easy enough to find. We can take a little detour."
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all. Arlington's only across the bridge from the city. We have all afternoon."
"Thank you. Betsy said she had an apartment in a lovely old Art Deco-style building that's still standing. And someday—not today, but someday—I'd like to see the park where she and Betsy used to walk. Betsy said there was an old gristmill there called Pierce Mill that she and Blythe used to stop at. And I very much want to see Dumbarton Oaks."
The President's Daughter Page 20
