Chapter Thirty-three
The next day, Maggie parked Bess in front of Senator Boyd Herrington’s ranch house. I’d made an appointment, and we’d driven past a gauntlet of media at the entrance to his property. We got out, and she shot me a nervous smile then wiped her hands on her thighs, hitching her skirt up a little bit when she did. I took her arm as we walked up the flagstone path to the blue front door.
The restored old ranch house was white with a wraparound porch and a multitude of roof lines on its second story. It was a second home to the senator and his wife, whose primary residence was in Austin. They’d taken great pains to restore the wooden structure to its former glory, while enlarging it tastefully and with architectural integrity.
Maggie stood in front of the door and started whispering something to herself.
I jerked on her arm. “What are you saying?”
“Trying to get my courage up.”
“Want me to do it?”
“Yes!” But she laughed, and I knew she was kidding. “My head hurts. I don’t want to do this.”
“Yes, you do.” I rang the doorbell.
The senator opened the door. “Ms. Hanson. Maggie. It’s nice to see you. Won’t you come in?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Oh?” One of his eyebrows rose higher than the other, like a set of mismatched parentheses.
“We came to give you some information,” I said, trying to prompt Maggie.
She turned to me, her eyes wide with unshed tears.
“And what might that be?” he asked, looking back and forth between us.
I took pity on her. “Maggie’s your daughter.”
His eyebrows reversed course, down with a furrowed brow. “Come again.”
“Yours and Anna Becker’s. Your sister and your father bribed Anna not to tell you. That’s the information Julie was trying to cover up when she tried to kill us, the information the whole world is about to find out.”
“Slow down. My father, my sister, oh my God.” He put a hand to his forehead. “Wait, Anna had a baby?”
Maggie waggled her fingers at him. “Me.”
He looked between her and me. “I knew we bought Anna a share in Lester’s gallery, but I thought it was just—”
“A break-up present,” I said.
His face flushed. “That sounds pretty terrible doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “’Fraid so.”
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “My wife’s in bed with a migraine. As you can imagine, this has been a very tough time for our family, with Julie and all.” He shook his head. “I never told my wife about Anna. I want to tell her myself, not have her overhear it. So, start from the beginning.”
I drew in a deep breath. “Julie invited Greyhound to visit her at the hospital this morning. Did you know they had an affair before she married Lester?”
He looked puzzled. “I didn’t.”
“After Gidget died, Julie went to see him. Greyhound. She blackmailed him into helping her. Which he did. He entered into an agreement in chambers to squash the book about Gidget for her.”
“Oh no,” he said.
I kept going. “So today she called for Greyhound and asked him to defend her in all of this. He said no, but he said she poured the whole story out anyway. Afterwards, he came straight to me. I’m sure he only told me all of this to keep me from reporting him to the bar association—or worse—but he said a reporter had called him. He didn’t talk to them, but the media is going to figure it all out. About Julie. You and Anna.”
Sitting in Gidget’s living room across from Greyhound earlier, I’d clasped my hands in my lap to keep from throttling him, at least until he’d told the story. I’d already figured a lot of it out, but he was able to confirm details and pull the rest of it together for me. It was going to make one hell of a book, at least, and I’m sure that would have made Gidget very happy.
The senator nodded. “We’ve got to get out in front of it with our story, whatever it’s going to be. Go on.”
The sprinklers came on in the flower beds in front of the porch. The senator motioned us to the other side.
I walked in front of him, talking over my shoulder. “Greyhound said you and Julie were with your father when you all first met Anna at a diner in Brenham. That your father wooed her to Houston, where she worked for him. That he paid her generously so she could study art and art history at U of H.”
He nodded. “That was a long time ago. But yes, that’s right.”
“Julie was jealous of Anna. Anna was gorgeous. Julie was only rich. They partied together—Julie providing Anna’s entrée to the Houston social scene—until the day Anna confided she was pregnant, and that the baby was yours.”
The senator leaned against the porch railing. “Why didn’t she just tell me?” His eyes were bleak.
I didn’t have an answer to that, so I launched back into my tale, nearly to the climactic events. “Julie went straight to your father, and they came up with a solution that wouldn’t end your engagement to the perfect woman for the political future Daddy Buck envisioned for you. In their eyes, at least, everyone would get what they wanted. Lester would get money for his struggling art gallery, Anna would get her dream career in the art world, and Buck would get to set you up to make a run for the Presidency. All Anna had to do was say yes, agree not to tell you or anyone, and abort the baby.”
He propelled himself off the railing, landing in an almost pugilistic stance. “They made her promise to get rid of my baby?”
“That’s what Julie told Greyhound. And they thought Anna’d done it, until she met me and I agreed to write her biography. She mailed you a letter to let you know you have a daughter. Julie intercepted the letter.” I paused, remembering my conversation with Greyhound. That had been the end of his tale. He’d begged me to forgive him. It took everything I had to defy good manners and ignore his apology, but I did it. I think my mother would have approved. I shook the memory off and continued. “I don’t have proof she killed Gidget, but I believe she did, to keep her quiet.”
The senator’s fists balled. “If she did, it wasn’t for me. It was for her, and for my father. I mean, Julie’s my sister, and I love her, but I can’t believe what they did to me. What they did to Anna. And to you, Maggie.” He turned to my friend and put a hand on her arm briefly. “It’s unforgivable.”
Maggie’s cheeks colored.
I told the senator the rest of what I knew. About Gidget’s correspondence with Warhol, and his painting of the senator and Anna. About Darlene, what she’d told me and what she hadn’t. How she died. About all of it. He asked a few more questions, but mostly he just listened, his face pale and grave. Maggie watched him taking it in, while pretending not to.
When I was done, he said, “Forty years of my life has been replaced in an instant with a new version.” He crossed his arms over his chest like he was cold. When he spoke, his voice was careful. “I’m horrified about what Julie’s done. But that’s about her. Part of what you came to tell me is good news. Maggie, I wish I’d known you were my daughter from the beginning.”
She looked lost and young. Uncertain.
The senator smiled. A small one, but a smile. “Welcome to the family. They’ll all love you, once they get used to the idea.”
My jaw nearly dropped. From Julie’s extreme decisions and actions, I would have expected that the senator would have treated the news that he had a daughter like the end of the world. Except that Julie was protecting herself and her father from their bad choices. None of this had ever been about whether Boyd Herrington would have welcomed a child with Anna.
Maggie’s lower lip quivered, and she almost got emotional. Then she rallied. With sparks in her eyes, she took a shot at him. “Now that I know you’re my father, all I can say is thank God I never slept with you. Not that you didn’t try.”
“Whoo, yeah, thank God for that.” He laughed, but it was a ne
rvous sound. “Listen.” He reached out and put an arm around her. “I may not be a great husband, but I’m not a completely amoral human being.”
I had planned to let this be Maggie’s moment, but I blurted it out anyway: “I heard you hit on my daughter.”
“What?”
I put my hands on my hips. “I heard you made a pass at my not-yet-nineteen-year-old stepdaughter, Belle Hanson.”
He opened his mouth, closed it, then said, “Ms. Hanson, I’m really sorry. I think that was all just a misunder—”
I didn’t want to hear it. “Julie fired her when she reported it.”
His eyebrows did the mismatched parentheses again. “I hate to hear that. I’ll make it right. I promise.”
“How?”
“Well, I’ve suspended my campaign, so I can’t offer her a job—”
“I wouldn’t let her come back to work with you.”
“—so how about a scholarship instead?”
I nodded. “It also would be nice if you quit hitting on women young enough to be your granddaughters.”
He sighed. “Does it help any to know that my therapist says the same thing?”
***
The view out my front window was pretty wonderful. Sam’s 4Runner—Adrian’s old car—was coming up the drive. Gertrude must have thought so, too, because she stood with her feet in the window frame, barking and wagging her tail. Jimmy had put glass back in the window for us, and it had nose prints all over it already, but I didn’t mind. Smudges were small stuff. Right now I was much more concerned about whether law enforcement would be able to prove that Julie killed Gidget and Darlene. I was praying that Reggie, the guy I’d shot, would rat her out.
I put the paint roller down. Between a few intense makeup workouts and my traitorous body, I hurt. A lot. I folded forward, grabbed my elbows, and swung side to side. I’d just have to do the best I could with what I had. I stood back up. Sunny yellow paint droplets covered Gertrude and me from head to toe. I had gotten permission for a few updates to the place from my new landlord, Maggie. I had declined Gidget’s bequest now that she had an heir. Maggie would get everything, which made me very happy. I had a feeling my book on Gidget’s life would do just fine—the story was sexy and had celebrities and politicians in it, after all, and my blog following was growing exponentially every day—and I was working on it around the clock now. Except for redecorating breaks.
My phone chimed with a text. I found a dry spot on my shorts and wiped my hands. It was from Rashidi. I hadn’t talked to him since he’d gone back to College Station that crazy night when Julie Sloane had almost killed Maggie, Annabelle, and me.
“Congratulate me on my new job.”
Dark spots danced in front of my eyes. Rashidi living an hour away terrified me. Was I ready for a relationship? With him or anyone? I wanted Adrian back, not someone new. But Adrian wasn’t coming back. With my only paint-free finger, I touched the warm butterfly hanging from my neck, then texted him a thumbs-up and typed “Tell me more,” then added “Congratulations.”
I opened the door to Sam, who was carrying my groceries on each hip.
“Whoa!” he said. “It’s bright in here.”
“You mean, hey, Mom, it looks good and you’ve been working so hard!” I pointed to the kitchen counter tops. “Put them in there, and thank you.”
He laughed. “It does look good. It’s just mostly on you, not the walls.” Gertrude escorted him to the kitchen.
Sam set the groceries down and started putting them away. Doing more than he was asked to do?
I smirked and picked up a paintbrush. Time for a little cutting in. “So, do you want to talk to me about something?”
“Huh?” He dropped a soup can, and it rolled across the floor with Gertrude giving chase.
I stifled a laugh. Kids never realize how transparent they are. “So, what is it, son?”
Sam galloped after the can and took it back to the pantry. He planted himself in front of me, swung his floppy bangs off his face, and put his hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. “About . . . you know . . .”
“Your job?” I squatted and painted carefully above floorboards.
“Yeah, about my job.”
“Have they fired you? You’ve been gone over a week. Nearly two weeks, in fact.” I dipped my paintbrush.
“Um, yeah. I just wanted you to know it’s official, but that I have another job offer.”
“You do, huh?” I stood and looked him in the eye.
“Yeah, uh, the pool here needs a lifeguard.”
I crouched and painted a little more, but it dripped. I lapped the extra paint up with my brush and redistributed it. “So, what are you saying?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull his hands out of his pockets then jam them back in. “Well, I was wondering if you could talk to Dad and maybe I could live with you and work here for the rest of the summer.”
I put the paintbrush in the tray with the roller. “I don’t think Dad’s going to have a problem with you living with me.”
“I know. I just mean so he won’t be mad at me about the baseball camp job.”
Maggie poked her head in the back door. “Anybody home?”
“Hey, Maggie,” I said.
“I’ve got something I want to show you guys. Can you come outside?”
“Uh, sure, but, Mom, about what I said?”
“I think that’ll probably be all right.” I breezed past him. Inside, my heart was doing cartwheels.
We stepped out into the midday sunshine and followed Maggie to Bess. “I was doing some picking at an estate sale near here. The owners had died.” She grinned and gestured in the open back door to two curly-haired baby goats on a red-and-blue plaid blanket.
Sam’s eyes popped wide. “Are those goats?”
“Listen to you, city boy. Of course they’re goats.” I dove in the back seat, filling my arms with tiny, soft bodies. “This is what you picked?” I held the black one out to Sam, and he took it awkwardly, then grinned.
“Not really. The mama goat gave birth in front of me, then just keeled over and died. There was nothing to do but pop them in the truck and run for supplies.”
I looked in the floorboard. Baby bottles with thick rubber nipples. A bag of something called Doe’s Match. “Don’t they have an owner?”
“I’m not sure. There was no one around. If I’d left them, they would’ve died. I’ve been calling everyone I can think of, but they just tell me to keep them.” She laughed, shaking her head. “What am I going to do with two baby goats?”
Sam was carrying the black one around whispering to it. Gertrude ran in circles around his feet. “They’re so cool. I can help you if you want. You should name them. Biggio and Bagwell. You know, the Killer Bs from the Houston Astros.”
“Baseball players? I don’t think so.” She leaned her head to the side and stroked the head of the one in his arms. “Omaha and Nebraska. The town I was gigging when I first heard one of my songs on the radio.”
A horn honked. It was Papa. He’d moved into the Quacker and was commuting a day or two each week to help his old partner out with the practice until the new vet arrived to take his place.
“You’ll only be here for another six weeks or so to help out, Sam.” I pressed a finger against the curls on the red goat. They bounced back like they were spring-loaded.
“About that. I was thinking, Giddings may go to State this year, and Bellaire, well, they basically suck, and the baseball coach here said they need a pitcher.”
Papa joined us, and we exchanged hugs and greetings. He and Maggie chatted goats while I turned my attention back to my son. “You want to move here for the rest of high school?”
“I like it here, Mom. I kinda think we’ve found our place, don’t you?”
I thought about the book I was writing, of how I would start with the Wends who exiled themselves in the name of freedom of religion only to watch their culture and values all but slip aw
ay in a few generations, and move on to Anna/Gidget, whose pursuit of freedom from her religion led her back to it. I thought about the woman herself, this farm, and the daughter she left behind, and marveled that she had basically, without even knowing it, bequeathed me an entire life. I may not have found my brother yet, which hurt, a lot, but I had found a sister in Maggie. And I had a brother, so I wouldn’t give up until I found him. I lifted my face to the sun and breathed in deeply. The scent of goat formula, baby animal, and sweaty boy eased my disappointment and made room for the happiness of now.
For the first time in many, many months, I felt as if my husband slipped his arms around me. The sensation was so real I could feel his chin on my shoulder.
I let myself smile. “Yes. I think we’ve found our place.”
The End
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Excerpt from Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery
Chapter One
Fighting for Anna Page 35
