Meant for Her

by Amy Gamet

  She brought her hand to her face and pinched the skin between her eyes, counting to five before trusting herself to speak. “Why not?”

  “There’s a case here in Jacksonville. Barstow insisted I handle it.” He sighed heavily. “I’m so sorry, Ma. I can’t get out of this one.”

  “Did you tell him you’re scheduled for vacation? That’s it’s been on the books for months?”

  “Of course I did. I even told him about the wedding.” Hank cursed under his breath. “He was adamant. I’m so angry I could put my fist through a wall. Any of the investigators could handle this. There’s no reason I have to do it.”

  She could hear the pain in his voice, knew it was genuine.

  “Ma, if there’s any way in hell I can make the ceremony, I will.”

  She nodded, staring at her feet. “We miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  ~~~

  “Hank Jared is here to see you.”

  Julie didn’t recognize the name. It was probably a vendor, though it struck her as odd that a sales rep would be doing cold calls the day before a holiday weekend. “I’ll be right out.”

  As the Vice President of Technology for Systex Corporation, Julie was frequently the target of cold calls from salespeople working for computer companies.

  She rounded the corner to the reception area and got her first look him.

  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

  He was considerably taller than her own five foot ten, with wavy dark brown hair, wide shoulders, and a presence that was totally masculine.

  Julie felt butterflies stirring in her stomach and hoped she didn’t make a fool out of herself. She was always uncomfortable talking to men who were more beautiful than she was. This guy was so far out of her league, she might trip over her own shoes.

  “Mr. Jared. I’m Julie Trueblood. What can I do for you today?” The sweet smile on her face belied the pounding of her heart in her chest. He was even more attractive up close, with honeyed brown eyes and the lightest shadow of a beard on skin that looked tan from the sun.

  “I’d like a few words with you, Ms. Trueblood.”

  “About what, exactly?”

  Hank eyed the receptionist, who stared right back. “It’s a personal matter.”

  She was hoping to skip out a little early today and had no intention of getting stuck with a sales rep for an hour. “What company do you represent?”

  “The U.S. Navy.”

  The world around Julie froze for an instant, with the words hanging between them like the first gunshot of a battle. She remembered to breathe in, then out. She blinked her eyes.

  “Come with me, Mr. Jared.” She led the way from the lobby through a short hallway that connected to a longer corridor, feeling his presence behind her like a shadowy figure stalking her through a maze. Memories of other Navy officers assaulted her, panic rising in her chest with every step.

  Julie motioned for him to enter the room before her, then locked the door and stepped behind her desk. “What can I do for you today?” she asked, her voice flat.

  “I’m not sure.” Hank leaned back in his chair and watched her. “Someone set fire to a motel room in Jacksonville, Florida yesterday morning.”

  Her brows drew together.

  “The room was occupied at the time.”

  She flinched and looked away. “That’s horrible.”

  “I flew up here this morning because I thought you might have some information about the case.”

  “Why would you think that? I don’t even know anyone in Jacksonville.”

  “But you know someone in the Navy.”

  Her eyes slammed into his, and she knew she gave herself away. She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him without humor. “A friend from college is a Navy pilot.”

  “Is he.”

  “Yep. And there’s always Richard Gere.”

  “Zack Mayo.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  “The actor’s name is Richard Gere, the character he played was Zack Mayo.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  “What I know is that you’re messing with me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  Julie leaned forward on her desk. “I’m not messing with you. I don’t know anyone in Jacksonville, and I haven’t known anyone in the Navy in almost ten years.”

  “Who did you know in the Navy?”

  Julie crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll find out eventually, Ms. Trueblood.”

  “But you’ll have to work for it, Mr. Jared. And that will please me immensely.”

  He held up a man’s ring with a flush black stone. “Have you seen this before?”

  Yes. Oh, God, yes. “No.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “I’d like you to leave,” she said, standing and crossing to the door.

  “I’m not done yet.” Hank reached for his briefcase. “There was a key to a safe deposit box inside that motel room. Inside, I found this.”

  He held up a single sheet of white paper, “JULIE X. TRUEBLOOD” scrawled in heavy black ink.

  “Funny thing to include your middle initial. There are hundreds of Julie Truebloods in this country, did you know that?” He put the paper back into his briefcase. “Someone wanted to make sure we found you.”

  “How do I know you didn’t make that yourself?”

  “You don’t. But that wasn’t the only thing in the safe deposit box.”

  Hank handed her a yellow lined page torn from a legal pad. Four lines of scrambled text rushed along, without a nod toward spaces or punctuation. They defied interpretation, which hadn’t stopped Hank from staring at them for the past twenty-four hours.

  Julie lifted the paper between shaking hands.

  “The safe deposit box was registered to John McDowell.” Her eyes finally met his, her face contorting into a horrified frown.

  “Do you know him, Julie?”

  Her eyes filled as silent sobs racked her body. “Go. Please go.”

  Hank stepped forward, opening his arms to her, and she was drawn to the comfort he offered. She leaned against him, too distraught to care that he was a stranger, a Navy officer. She wept, inhaling the heady smell of him, his body heat palpable through the fine cotton of his dress shirt.

  “Who is John McDowell?” he asked quietly. “Is that his ring?”

  The pointed question turned the man from comforter to interrogator. She flew out of his arms, ashamed that she had let herself seek solace there.

  “Get out of my office.”

  “Ms. Trueblood…”

  “Get out of here right now or I’ll call security and have you removed!”

  He nodded and raised his hands in surrender, reaching into the pocket of his coat.

  “Call me if you want to talk, or if you need help. Whoever hurt this man is still out there.” He pulled out a business card and pointedly placed it on her desk. “I just want to help you, Julie.”

  Then he was gone.

  Chapter 2

  The evening landscape glowed blue in the moonlight, as a silent rush of flurries fell in a continuous swirl onto the blanket of white below.

  Inside, a freshly cut pine tree glowed with a single strand of white Christmas lights, its illuminated branches bare of ornamentation. Two dogs slept in front of a crackling fire, one small and gray, the other big and yellow and loudly snoring. Neither was disturbed by the low howling of the wind nor the clink of tools from the kitchen table.

  Gwen Trueblood’s art studio was pristine, with neatly kept wooden drawers and rows of labeled plastic containers. But it was a glorified closet, a staging area where she stored her supplies and prepared her materials. The kitchen was where she engaged her art, whether it be a bold pair of fused glass earrings or a loaf of fresh, crusty artisan bread.

  Granite countertops mixed rich hues of gold with rusty reds and oranges in bold waves and specks. The cupboards were handcrafted of warm cherry with strong l
ines and careful moldings, their hardware a unique mixture of colored glass and sparkling metal that coordinated with the sunset colors of the granite around them.

  A hefty island was surrounded on three sides by generous work areas, industrial appliances, and two oversized sinks. Pendant lights hung like jewelry, glittering in their display of brightly colored glass and dazzling metal. In the daytime the room would sparkle from the sunshine pouring in from the tall south-facing windows.

  An impressive coffee maker and a craft kiln were displayed with equal prominence on the counters, along with a hand-woven basket filled with fresh fruit, an irregular loaf of golden-crusted bread, and a half-full bottle of red wine. Gwen was expecting company despite the weather, so she worked on a glass mobile and a rich pot roast at the same time. Both were for her niece.

  She selected a deep purple from the stack of glass sheets before her, and worked to score it carefully before snapping the sheet into perfectly formed pieces. Beneath her hands, the glass became a series of graceful triangles that longed to twirl on metal strings.

  In her mind’s eye, Gwen could see Julie driving through the snow, though the treacherous travel was not what concerned Gwen. Far more worrisome was the heavy heart she sensed in the woman at the wheel, and the simple reality of her destination. She knew that Julie would not come to Vermont unless something was terribly wrong.

  She had invited Julie here, as she did every Christmas, hoping that her sister’s daughter would come for a visit. But she understood more than anyone that Julie had her demons, and her reasons for staying away were not likely to change.

  Pulling the pile of glass sheets onto her lap, Gwen sifted through them as she thought about Julie. Purple was the dominant color, but she could also feel red and sharp bits of yellow. She took the colors out of the pile and began to score the sheets into small shapes and skinny lines. Relying on her natural sense of balance and proportion, Gwen worked to create shapes that represented the emotions clamoring around her niece, then set them on top of the purple triangles in pleasing asymmetry.

  As she completed each piece, she added a metal hook between the layers of glass and arranged them on the rack for firing. The pieces would fuse together in the kiln, creating one smooth surface that retained the separate colors. Then Gwen would combine the fused glass pieces with hammered brass and mirrors to create a mobile for her niece.

  Gwen set the rack into the kiln and fired it up. The pieces of glass would slowly be transformed into their new shapes—reminiscent of the old, but stunning in their combinations. The high temperatures required for the metamorphosis meant that the pieces would not be cool enough to touch until morning. Gwen reflected that the process of change was often an arduous one, both in art and in life.

  Turning her attention to the large copper pot simmering on the stove, she removed the lid and bent her head close to the soup to inhale its rich scent. It was not a fatted calf, but the intent was the same. Gwen was celebrating the arrival of her long lost niece, and she wanted everything to be special for her. Mentally she imagined that Julie was getting close, so she began to chop up the parsley and basil on a thick bamboo board. They would be added to the pot just before serving.

  The ringing of the doorbell woke the dogs and set them to barking. Gwen smiled and rushed to answer the door, her joy at Julie’s arrival somewhat tempered by her concern. She opened the door and a dense gust of icy wind entered the cozy house.

  Upon seeing her aunt, Julie’s half smile collapsed into a grimace. Gwen pulled her into the house as she shut the heavy door against the arctic air, bringing Julie straight into her arms for a tight squeeze. A stranger might have thought they were sisters rather than aunt and niece, separated by only ten years or so and equal in height and build.

  “What’s wrong, Julie?”

  She choked on the words as they came out of her mouth. “My dad died.”

  ~~~

  There are a lot of freakin’ Julie Truebloods.

  This time, the X wasn’t helping, either. Hank was sitting in a dark hotel room in downtown Boston, a laptop and a beer on the desk in front of him, trying to find the connection between the dead guy in the motel fire and his Julie Trueblood.

  Well, not his exactly.

  “She wanted me to work for it,” he said to himself, trying various combinations of her name and the few facts he had in this case. It wasn’t until he typed “Julie Trueblood Navy” that he was rewarded for his efforts.

  NAVY COMMANDER JOHN MCDOWELL ACCUSED OF ESPIONAGE, VANISHES.

  “Holy shit.”

  Hank’s brow creased as he frantically scrolled down the screen, searching for Julie’s name. What did she have to do with an infamous traitor?

  “Gwen Trueblood, McDowell’s sister-in-law, has been granted temporary guardianship of McDowell’s minor daughter, Julie. The commander’s wife, Mary McDowell, died of cancer ten months ago.”

  Julie Trueblood was Julie McDowell.

  Hank had seen a 60 Minutes piece on the case years ago, though he never would have recognized the woman she had become. John McDowell was a cryptographer for the Navy, who passed the contents of secret messages on to Uzkapostan. He was single-handedly responsible for the sinking of the U.S.S. Dermody that killed eighty-eight soldiers.

  If Systex knew about her background, she’d be fired faster than an arsonist at a fire station. Systex was a major manufacturer of information systems, with several substantial government contracts. No wonder she went by Trueblood.

  He searched for “Julie McDowell Navy” and was rewarded with thousands of hits. Clicking on images, Hank’s screen was transformed into a collage of photos taken around the time of the scandal. One black and white in particular caught his eye, a young Julie trying to get through a mob of reporters, her eyes wet, a backpack strap on her shoulder.

  Hank wanted to throttle that photographer.

  His cell phone rang and he checked the caller ID.

  “Merry Christmas, man.”

  Chip Vandermead had been Hank’s roommate in college. Hank called him occasionally when the Islanders played the Penguins, but Chip’s position as an analyst with the NSA is what kept him on Hank’s speed dial.

  “How’s Melody?”

  “Pregnant.”

  “So you said. That’s great.”

  “Twins.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “We’re going more with the, ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ approach, but ‘Oh, crap’ has crossed my mind.”

  “Sorry, man. That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

  “She’s due on Valentine’s Day, but she’s never going to make it. She’s as big as a house.” Hank heard a woman yelling in the background. “What? I’m not talking about you.” He chuckled. “So, what’s up? I know you didn’t call just to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I have an encrypted message, and I need to know what it says.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Four lines of text, Seventy-nine characters all together.”

  “Can’t help you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s too short. Unless someone wanted you to be able to read it, and used a known cipher that’s able to be read with a computer algorithm or something. Who wrote it?”

  “Commander John McDowell.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Not kidding.”

  “The man’s a legend. Personally, I thought he was dead.”

  “He is now.”

  “What happened?”

  “Somebody shot him, then set a fire to cover it up.”

  Chip whistled. “Where’d the message come from?”

  “A safe deposit box. The key was at the scene.” Hank looked at the hundreds of pictures of Julie on his computer screen as he talked. “I need to know what that message says, Chip.”

  “I can run it through the computer, but don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Thanks.
I owe you one.”

  “You owe me a hell of a lot more than one, Jared. Do you know anything else about this message? Sometimes it’s the littlest thing that helps break a code.”

  Hank thought for a minute, wondering what might be relevant. “The only other thing in the safe deposit box was a sheet of paper that said Julie X. Trueblood. I already tracked her down. Looks like she’s his daughter, going by her mother’s maiden name.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  ~~~

  Julie wrapped the sky blue terry bathrobe around her warm, damp body and walked out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her into the much cooler bedroom. Her wet hair was piled on her head and wrapped in a pale yellow towel, just like the one she used to dry herself off out of the shower. Gwen had a masterful understanding of creature comforts, and Julie smelled of mint and rosemary from the decadent shampoo, soap and lotions her aunt provided.

  Warm hardwood floors gave way to plush carpeting beneath her feet as Julie made her way to the window seat and sat down on its edge. She took in the familiar view below, the landscape’s pristine blanket of snow shining bright in the late morning sunshine. A gently sloping yard bowed before rolling hills in the distance, and the horizon spoke of mountains tinted purple by the tilt of the earth itself.

  Julie leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the cold glass, allowing her eyes to close in recognition of the peace she felt in this place.

  This room had been hers when she lived with Gwen, and she acknowledged it for the haven that it was both then and now. It was ironic to be comforted by these walls after years of avoiding the solace they so freely afforded. Julie had not been here once in the time since college.

  Vermont reminded Julie of the darkest time in her life—her own despair over her father’s disappearance. Here lay the ashes from which she had risen like a phoenix, and only another fire could have brought her back again. In this place she was the daughter of a traitor, stalked by the media and villainized by the Navy officers who continued to interrogate Julie long after her father escaped their influence.

  Her return to Vermont had been determined the moment Hark Jared set foot in her office. Last night, Gwen listened intently as Julie told her about the fire that killed her father. She thought of it now, picturing the scene as if she witnessed its deadly fingers reaching to destroy her ultimate hope—that her father would some day return to her and to his rightful place in her life.