The Keeper Returns (The Wallis Jones Series Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  The garden outside was now covered in shadows. He was wearing a version of the Richmond uniform for lawyers. A slightly starched white shirt with a bright blue tie, grey slacks with a slight cuff at the bottom. Norman didn’t see any real advantage to standing out in a crowd. His family neatly pulled that off just by their unique heritage, anyway. He looked at the dark circles underneath his eyes and it only made him feel worse.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” said Esther. She had always been able to tell what he was thinking. “Self-pity does not look good on anyone. Besides, I have you by at least twenty years and I’m still swinging.”

  “That’s a dame,” Helmut whispered to Father Donald, gaining an appreciative look out of Esther.

  “Norman, we find it necessary to pause, at least for the moment. Better to take stock than make some grave error. We are all here so that we can share the little bits of knowledge that we have and to stay watchful. Unfortunately, for the moment we must wait to see what this hidden hand inside of Management is up to. Until then, watch over your family. Tell Wallis, if you need to,” she said, “because I know you will, anyway.”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s started again,” whispered Wallis. She always found it difficult to speak too loudly in the sanctuary of the glass greenhouse that sat on Alan Vitek’s ten acres out in Hanover County. Alan gave her a smile and pointed at his ear, shaking his head.

  “I can’t hear you unless you speak up,” he said, looking up at the fans. “Love this spot for so many reasons. Little bit of nature with a quiet place to sit and all the background hum makes it easier for me to focus when I meditate.”

  “What even gave you the idea?” asked Wallis.

  “My wife grew up right next to one. Her family had their own flower shop and greenhouse and I would pick her up there when we were courting. The part I always liked is that you need to have a fair amount of ventilation and air movement inside to help with growth and you have to move that air around quickly. Her family had multiple fans and ventilation windows,” he said pointing up at his own system of fans, “to constantly circulate the air and to moderate the conditions according to the inside temperature.” Alan laughed putting his chin down against his chest for a moment. “I get a little geeky sometimes,” he said, looking back up at Wallis. “How things work is just as much fun for me as sitting here in the stillness.”

  Wallis gave him a half smile, trying to let go of the thousand worries inside of her head.

  “But that’s not why you’re really here, is it?” he asked, smiling. “Take your time, tell me what’s happened.”

  Wallis felt the hard stone in the center of her chest and she hesitated, wanting to gain control of her emotions before she said the words. Alice Watkins is dead. She wasn’t sure she could stop herself from letting out a wail once it was said.

  That’s why she had sought out the refuge of the greenhouse. She had been coming here every now and then in the past two years whenever she needed a place to find a little piece of calm. Lately, that was more often.

  The private investigator sat in his usual spot with the overgrown ferns hanging down beside his face, not saying anything. He sat up straighter for a moment, adjusting the leather shoulder holster and pulling down on his blue button-down shirt where the holster was making it bunch up under his arms. His jacket was draped across the chair between them and Wallis kept taking glances at the small handgun, a .380 Glock 42 that he had taken out of his shoulder holster and rested on top. It was the same model as her mother’s favorite gun. Focusing on the smaller details was helping her to get the words out.

  “Did you hear that Alice Watkins was murdered? Murdered,” said Wallis, surprised at the whole idea. “Before two years ago I don’t know that I knew anyone, personally that had been murdered. Now I’m not sure I can count them all on one hand.”

  Alan didn’t answer. The lanky investigator stretched his legs till his long, narrow feet nudged pots of daffodils just starting to emerge. His long, angled limbs were bent to fit on the worn wooden ladder-back chair.

  “Truth is what matters to me. We deal in so much deception there has to be some baseline of truth or I can start to believe my own lies,” he said, letting out a chuckle. “However, this story of legacy, mission, purpose. Frankly, I identify more with my mother's more humble roots and that’s how I see myself. I don’t know. I feel like I’m rambling. It’s hard to get a clear thought this morning. What are you trying to say, Wallis?”

  “Who someone is and what they have to offer counts and counts more than any bloodlines,” she said, slapping the wooden seat. “Actions count more when added up than the grand gestures.”

  There was a hum from the slowly moving fans overhead. Wallis looked up at the green glass windows on the near side of the greenhouse that were in a stack of different sized rectangles. A local craftsman who Alan had helped move from Management to the Circle had done all of the work.

  “Those are all great ideas, Wallis, but without any kind of plan of action I’ve found that great ideas tend not to go anywhere.”

  Wallis looked down at her lap. It wasn’t like her to be so unsure of what to do next. She had always had a plan in life. She knew she wanted to be a family court attorney, what kind of husband she was looking for and how life ought to look in general.

  “None of my great ideas are working out,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It’s getting a little tough to keep making plans.”

  “Maybe that’s because they’re your plans.”

  “Didn’t you just say, make a plan?” she asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

  Alan sat up straighter and stretched his arms over his head before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “It’s like the simplest of concepts that is near impossible for most of us mere mortals to grasp. And when we do it’s like a firefly in a bottle. Just a little bit of light that won’t last if we don’t just let it go.”

  “I’m not following at all,” said Wallis. “How do I deal with the Watchers? I can never be sure there isn’t one following me or even living just down the street.”

  “I know, look, I’ve known you for quite a few years now. You’re stubborn and you go after something until you finally let go and it all comes together.”

  Wallis felt a smile creep across her face despite the low-level of anxiety that she was normally feeling lately.

  “For most people, being polite is a necessity in order to live in the suburbs. They’re good people. But when it comes to life in general, the plans for life, they’re not willing to let go of how it ought to look,” he said to her, making a little steeple with his long fingers.

  Wallis had seen him make this gesture before. It was always right before he was going to say something that she was sure she should write down and just carry in her pocket. Like a fortune out of a cookie but something that might actually be useful.

  There was a faded strip of paper taped to her bedroom mirror that had scribbled on it, ‘set the truth free, let it do its own work’ in faded blue ink. Those words had saved her marriage at its darkest point two years ago.

  Wallis had shown up at the greenhouse that night at Esther’s urging after finding out what Norman had kept from her because for the first time since she had met him, she wasn’t sure she could stay. That had scared her almost as much as having a gun waved at her son.

  “It’s not the making of the plan that’s the problem. Those are necessary. How do you drive to Asheville, North Carolina if you don’t get a map? Love Asheville, have a lot of cousins there.” He glanced at Wallis who tried to look patient. The investigator let out a small grunt.

  “The problem starts almost immediately after that when we decide that the route we came up with is now the only route that’s possible. If the road has been washed out we stand there and cry about it or shake our fist and then demand that the road be rebuilt. It doesn’t seem to occur to us that the plan will have to change.”

  “I actual
ly understood that but I’m not getting how it applies to this particular situation.”

  Alan raised a bushy eyebrow, which made him look twice as indignant.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll sit here quietly.” It was somehow comforting to have someone so calm insisting on manners. Southerners, when confronted with chaos often start with manners to sort out what to do next.

  “Look, I know your nickname among some of the less self-assured lawyers in town is Black Widow and I know you hate that name, as you should. But I’d venture to guess that you also took a certain amount of reassurance from it. Yet, one more sign that you knew what you were doing. That was your mistake, right there.”

  Alan sat back and shut his eyes for a moment. He was back to meditating. She sat quietly and waited for him to start again, trying not to think about getting home and checking on Ned. That had become important to her lately, even if Ned found it to be just one more example of bad parenting.

  “You made a plan and expected everyone to go along with it. After all, you’re an educated, sound and reasonable person who generally thinks well of everyone, right?” The eyebrow shot up again as he steadied his gaze at Wallis. “And then, suddenly no one was listening and people were dying. You missed the point, Wallis. Life was never yours to design, just to be a part of with everyone else.”

  “Not if people are shooting around you.”

  “Ha, that’s a good one. But not true, not true. Okay, time to go,” said Alan, suddenly standing up to his full height, well over Wallis’ head. He easily slipped his gun back into the holster. “My wife will have dinner waiting for me and you’ve got enough to chew on for now.”

  “You didn’t really tell me how to deal with the Watchers,” said Wallis.

  “Actually, I did,” said Alan, as he held open the painted white door. “Your plan needs to be able to change quickly and often.”

  “Depending on who’s holding the gun,” said Wallis.

  “In a matter of speaking, yes,” said Alan.

  Wallis picked up Ned from his friend, Paul’s house. Wallis had handled the divorce when Paul’s mother Sharon had finally gotten a divorce from her husband, David Whittaker.

  Ned waved goodbye to Sharon, who came out to the front hall, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

  “See you at Bunko later?” she asked Wallis. Ned brushed past her without a word and headed for the car.

  “I’ll be there,” said Wallis. “It was my turn to pick up the prizes. Have to get him home to dinner first. Better run.”

  “Sure,” said Sharon, “Hey, Paul is the same way with me. It’s just a phase. Rumor is that it’ll pass in about ten more years,” she said, laughing.

  The drive home was quiet but Ned had sat up front next to Wallis. She took that as a good sign.

  “You have much homework?” she asked.

  “No, and it’s already done,” he said, not looking at her. “I think I’ll move my stuff tonight.”

  “Okay. You need help?”

  “Dad can help me. You have Bunko.”

  Wallis felt a twinge and wondered if he had picked tonight because he knew she’d be out.

  “It’s nice to have a few minutes alone with you.” She knew she was fishing for some kind of reaction. Something she would never do in court.

  “Okay,” said Ned, as he pulled out a book. Let everyone off the hook, she thought, as she let the silence fall between them the rest of the ride home.

  Later in the kitchen she watched Ned relax more around his father. Wallis stayed in the kitchen after Ned went upstairs to start carting his things to the small bedroom at the top of the house.

  “You don’t normally stick around to watch me wash dishes,” said Norman. “Something up?”

  “I want to tell you but I’ve been told to mind my own business.”

  “Interesting. Tell me anyway.”

  “Ned can’t stand to be around me. He tolerates being in the same room with me.”

  “He does the same things to me. He just saves it for when you’re not around. He’s a genius, you know. If he did it in front of someone else, we’d realize it’s him, not us,” said Norman, smiling as he stacked the plates back in the cupboard. “It’s psychological warfare at its best.”

  “It’s so painful, I find myself thinking about being nicer to Harriet.”

  Norman stopped what he was doing and came over to sit by Wallis at the kitchen table, flinging the damp, yellow dish towel over his shoulder.

  He scooted his chair over till the yellow pine was touching Wallis’ chair and he took her hands into his. “We’re a team, Ned’s a kid. Worse, he’s a tween with a genius IQ. We’re outgunned. But, we’re still a team.”

  “Norman,” Wallis whispered, “I really do love you.”

  “I know,” said Norman.

  “No, listen to what I’m saying. I get it even if I’m struggling right now.” Wallis took in a deep breath and let it out slowly to give herself a chance to think for a moment. “I am unsure of everything right now. Every little detail. And for some reason I want to be right.”

  “That’s understandable,” said Norman, giving her hands a little squeeze. “You’re single handedly trying to keep us all out of harm’s way and you know it can’t be done. It’s driving you crazy. Ask me how I know that.”

  “Because you lived it too,” said Wallis. She took in a deep breath.

  “Still live it. My brother is the Keeper,” he whispered, “and the other one is off the ranch, which brings me to tonight’s things I have to tell you that you won’t like.”

  “What?” asked Wallis, pulling her hands out of his grasp and sitting back in her chair. “Is it bad? Is someone dead?”

  “Whoa, whoa, come on. Not dead bad but close,” said Norman, giving a soft, pat pat to the back of his head. “Someone broke Harry out of his expensive, cushy prison of one.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “There are ideas floating around but that’s all it is. I got hoodwinked into a surprise meeting with Father Donald, Helmut and Esther this afternoon.”

  “That can’t be good. The posse was rounded up,” said Wallis.

  “And, there’s more.”

  Norman got up and started pacing the kitchen. “Apparently, a war has been let loose by Management. Not a typical war, although I’m not sure I know what a typical war is supposed to look like. No actual declaration.” He stopped pacing and sat back down. “Did you realize there was some kind of war happening?”

  “I knew there was a lot more people with guns randomly shooting up things but I thought it was some kind of trend. I don’t know, when I say it out loud that doesn’t make sense. Who said it was a war? Who is fighting who?”

  “You always do ask the best questions. Apparently, the Circle is fighting a super cell within Management that has managed to get us to shoot back. There are even uniforms and regiments and ranks. I missed it all, which is a blessing in a lot of ways.”

  “Tom knew, didn’t he?”

  Norman let out a snort. “You are smarter than I am. I thought at first I’d have to tell Tom, till Esther reminded me that he would have to be the one to start the whole thing. My brother started a war. While sitting in Wisconsin. My hippie brother.”

  “Fortunately, I’m in on the whole conspiracy juggernaut or I’d be wondering right about now,” said Wallis. “But why start a war? Surely, Management can’t think they can just take over the country even if they can’t win an election.”

  “How did you manage to catch onto all of this so quickly? I had to have it explained,” said Norman.

  Wallis laughed and folded her arms in so that she could lean into the curve of Norman’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled Wallis into his lap. “How do you go grocery shopping for Cocoa Puffs and look out for your crazy brother who may be part of a plot to take over the country, all at the same time?” asked Norman.

  “Apparently, you just do,” said Wallis.

  Chapter Eleven

 
Forty-five steps from the last tunnel till he reached the small, side room. Heel, toe, heel, toe. Nothing in the protocol to attend a meeting at the White House had changed in the three years he had been carrying out his orders except the meeting room. Fred Bowers still had to take the same precautions to hide his real initiative within the Circle. He was crossing through one of the oldest and largest underground tunnels lined with large clay bricks that cut from the Hay-Adams hotel toward the White House. They had originally been constructed for different purposes but now served as a useful way for people who didn’t care to have their movements tracked, move around nearly two square miles of Washington, all underground and out of sight.

  Both Management and the Circle were aware of the existence of the system of tunnels. Most of Washington not only knew of their existence but had seen parts of some of them. It was a mark of how important a Congressman was if he’d been able to take a few friends at least part of the way down the tunnel whose entrance lay the closest to the old swimming pool that was now covered over and was being used as a drafty holding pen for the press corps.

  The Secret Service took naps on cots in the tunnel that was closest to the East Wing during State dinners. Usually, it was the large rats who also lived down there that would wake them up in time for their shift by running across the cot. But there was another tunnel.

  Often, the underdog in any fight will look for ways to get around the more massive, violent machinery. The Circle had done the same and quietly created another tunnel that had proved useful many times. Halfway between what was known as the Hay-Adams tunnel and the White House, there was a smaller side tunnel that led to St. John’s Episcopal Church. The church was a sanctuary, like most of the Episcopal Church, for the Circle as a means to keep Management’s power in check and to act as a spiritual sounding board for Circle operatives.