The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  Tabatha pursed her lips. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll stay well out of your hair tonight. The last thing I want to see is a bunch of grown men crying over a football game.” Strolling away casually, she laughed again, leaving the echoes of her heels wafting behind her.

  The musical doorbell interrupted Jack’s fury. He glanced at his watch. It was 6:58. Closing his eyes, he filled his lungs with air then slowly exhaled.

  After composing himself, Jack walked to the front door and opened it. Dave Anderson stood beneath the porch light with a mischievous smile and a twelve pack.

  Jack stood aside and made a sweeping, inward motion with his right arm. “Come on in. The game will be starting any minute.”

  Dave stepped inside. “You want me to put these in the fridge?”

  “Yeah,” Jack replied. “Right after you pull out two of ‘em for us.”

  They strolled down the hallway into the kitchen. Walking past the family room, Jack peered in and saw his two sons lying in the floor, facing the big screen TV. WVU’s players were on the field wearing white jerseys with gold pants, lined up for the opening kick.

  “Let’s move it, Dave!” he yelled. “They’re kicking off!”

  Glass bottles loudly clanged against one another, then the refrigerator door slammed shut and Dave jogged into the family room. He handed Jack a beer. “I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

  “Not yet,” Jack replied, sitting on the couch. Dave followed suit.

  Pitt’s kicker booted the ball. Arcing down, it landed in the outstretched arms of WVU’s return man who sprinted behind his wall of blockers, blowing past defenders until he was tackled violently at the 40 yard line.

  Logan and Brandon cheered loudly, kicking their sock-clad feet against the carpet. Jack uncapped his bottle and extended it to Dave. “Cheers, my friend.”

  Dave clinked bottles with his mentor. “Let’s Go, Mountaineers! Win this one, and it’s on to the championship!”

  Feeling a sense of contentment, Jack nodded. Gazing around the room at his two sons and his former protégée, he felt both nostalgic and optimistic.

  To hell with Tabatha, he thought with a smile. Maybe she’s too bitter to believe dreams can come true. But everyone else here knows better.

  APPALACHIAN POWER PARK

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 8:30 P.M.

  Governor Vincent ambled through the club suite to the restroom. Entering a stall, he was draining his bladder when his cell phone vibrated.

  Flicking twice, he flushed the toilet with his foot and redressed. His phone indicated he had received a new multimedia message.

  Vincent sat on the toilet. WVU had just taken over on downs and he felt confident no one would walk in the john while the Mountaineers’ offense had the ball.

  Tabatha’s message read, “Don’t you miss Pleasants County hospitality?” Sensing danger, he quickly lowered the volume and took a deep breath.

  As the video started, his stomach dropped. Tabatha was outstretched on a bed, wearing a lacy black bra and matching thong panties, while black thigh-high hose covered her long legs. “Why don’t you come here, Mr. Governor?” she playfully asked, motioning sensuously with one finger for him to approach. Her words were almost inaudible, but he could follow along by combining his memories with a little lip-reading.

  Vincent’s image appeared, taking a position by the bed. Recognizing his baby blue golf shirt and khaki pants, he suddenly remembered this tryst: It had occurred the previous summer in a St. Marys motel room, during his trip to the annual Bass Festival.

  He watched Tabatha unbutton his khakis, sliding his pants and underwear down his legs. Prostrating herself on the bed, she took him in her mouth. As the scene unfolded, he felt frozen, unable to tear his eyes away.

  Two minutes later, Vincent watched himself slowly remove Tabatha’s panties and part her legs, positioning himself for entry. She moaned, her long red hair flailing across the sheet as her fingernails dug into his chest. Then he regained control of his senses and shut off the video.

  In a split-second, he had a plan. Tapping a carefully worded response, he put away the phone and walked over to the sink. Washing his hands, he poured cool water on his face and examined himself in the mirror.

  This all will be over very soon.

  CHAPTER 65

  PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 9:40 P.M.

  Jack stared at the TV from the edge of his seat. Dave nervously rubbed his palms together. They were waiting for WVU’s offense to retake the field after using its last timeout.

  “Come on,” Dave softly pleaded, rocking back and forth. “We need six here.”

  A huge bear of a man sitting to Jack’s left cried, “Put the ball in the end zone, damn it!” With a thick, dark brown moustache and bushy beard, he was wearing one of the shiny navy blue jerseys WVU wore for most home games.

  Jack frowned and elbowed the man in the ribs. “Daggone it, Bart! Watch what you’re saying! Your nephews are young and impressionable.”

  “Sorry, brother. You know what Mountaineer games do to me.”

  Jack shook his head sadly. “Yeah, I know.” Then he jammed a finger into the soft side of his brother’s gut. “If I was you, I’d worry more about all those bacon cheeseburgers you’re eating. If you don’t lose some weight, the Mountaineers are gonna give you a coronary.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him!” Bart’s wife exclaimed. “I’m waiting for him to keel over one morning as he’s climbing up on his tractor.”

  “All right, Melinda! All right!” Bart McCallen conceded. “I’ll start taking better care of myself, I swear.” Turning his eyes skyward, the grizzly-looking man declared, “Lord … if You help our boys pull this game out of their keister, I promise I’ll start living better. I swear!”

  Logan hopped up and down. “Come on, Mountaineers!!!”

  WVU’s players began approaching the line of scrimmage at Pitt’s 32 yard line. The defenders scurried around the short side of the field in blue jerseys with gold numbers and blue pants. The graphic at the bottom of the screen read:

  “PITT 28 WVU 24 0:09 4th & 7”

  Two WVU players lined up wide on the left side of the ball with another two spread out near the far hash mark. The quarterback and tailback stood in the backfield, and the quarterback barked out calls, struggling to be heard over the roaring Pittsburgh crowd. Slashing his right hand down toward the ground like a knife, the quarterback tensed, preparing for the snap. Recognizing the signal, the center raised his head and hiked the ball.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  The quarterback rolled to his left, clutching the ball in his reliable left hand, while the tailback sprinted in the opposite direction. The two receivers on the right side ran downfield, breaking off into their respective routes, as did one of the receivers on the left.

  The second player who had lined up on the left sideline, however, had trotted in motion prior to the snap. When the ball was hiked, he swiftly changed his trajectory and swung wide to the right, sprinting into the backfield. As the quarterback and the receiver drew close to one another, the quarterback deftly made a one-handed backwards pitch with his left hand, safely delivering the ball to the receiver as he bolted past him, heading the other way.

  “That’s the backup quarterback!” Dave yelled. Sensing a trick play, everyone screamed.

  Several Pitt defenders froze, trying to react. One receiver ran a flag pattern, breaking toward the right sideline near the 10 yard line, while the other receiver on that side ran a skinny post toward the back of the end zone. After initially running straight downfield, the receiver who had lined up on the left side changed course, running a mirror-image skinny post. In the meantime, the tailback ran to the 5 yard line and curled back toward the line of scrimmage.

  The defensive backs maneuvered swiftly, blanketing the receivers. In the melee, however, no one remembered to cover the starting quarterback, who had sp
rinted down the left sideline on a fly pattern and was frantically motioning for the ball.

  As a linebacker dropped out of coverage and came charging toward the backfield, the backup quarterback came to a dead stop, turned his body 45 degrees toward the left side of the field and uncorked his cannon arm, heaving the ball to the back corner of the end zone. A Pitt cornerback, suddenly recognizing the gap in coverage, tried to race toward the uncovered white jersey flying downfield at the 10 yard line, but it was too late. The backup quarterback’s rocket throw hit the starting quarterback perfectly in stride, right on the numbers.

  “Touchdown West Virginia!” the announcer screamed. Jack hooted and pumped his fist in the air. Logan gave Dave a high five. Brandon was running in place excitedly when Aunt Melinda snatched him, thrust him up in the air and smothered him with kisses. Jack’s teary-eyed brother, Bart, pointed at the ceiling and shouted, “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you!!”

  In the time it had taken the play to develop, the game clock had run down to triple zeros, and white-jerseyed Mountaineers were hugging one another, rolling around on the turf. As the cameras focused on the dejected faces of two stunned Pitt players, everyone in Jack’s family room began to chant, “We want Florida! We want Florida! We want Florida!”

  Jack slipped out to fetch another round of beers for himself, Dave and Bart. As he approached the kitchen, the sound of Tabatha’s voice stopped him cold.

  “Yes! He wants to see me next week! I don’t know how I’ll arrange it, though. I’ll have to start plotting now.”

  His head started to spin. Someone wants my wife to sneak off and meet him? As he shifted his weight from one foot to another, the hardwood planks beneath him creaked.

  “Hold on just a second, Betsy. From all the screaming going on, something big must have happened. Plus, I think someone might be coming.”

  Jack placed his hand on the wall, steadying himself. Think quick! Act like you heard nothing.

  As the footsteps grew closer, Jack pulled himself erect and smiled. There is a time and a place for everything. Once you get to the bottom of things, then you can confront her.

  Rounding the corner, Tabatha almost crashed right into him and she jumped backwards. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Celebrating because those so-called losers from WVU just beat Pitt, and I’m grabbing some beers to help us celebrate.”

  Tabatha scowled, silently studying him. “Well, you guys need to settle down. I can hardly hear what Betsy’s saying.”

  Jack smiled thinly and slid past her. “I’ll snag these beers and get right on it.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  Jack shut the fridge. “Not at all,” he said, taking a sip of the beer.

  As he moved back toward the happy ruckus in the family room, Jack subtly brushed against her. “Tell Betsy I said, ‘Hi.’”

  CHAPTER 66

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 9:45 A.M.

  “So you made it back to D.C. in one piece?” Jack asked, speaking into his phone.

  “Yeah,” Dave replied. “I got home just in time to watch WVU get screwed over.”

  Jack sighed. “I can’t believe Oregon slid around us in the polls.”

  “It hurts, but Oregon stomped USC in the Pac-12 championship while we didn’t even cover the spread on Pitt. As much as it hurts, we have no one to blame but ourselves.”

  Jack sighed again, heavier. “Well, that’s enough about football. Do ya think Royal is gonna pull it out in Charleston tomorrow?”

  “I think the law’s on our side, but it’s gray enough for four Democrat justices to rule against us. We’re hammering out an appeal to the Supreme Court in D.C. just in case.”

  Jack smiled wanly. “I know what you mean. That’s how I’m viewing my personal life.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Jack shook his head mournfully. “I’m pretty sure Tabatha is screwing around on me. I’m meeting with Rikki to figure out how to get her phone records.” Prolonged silence ensued. “Dave? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here. I guess I didn’t realize Rikki was your lawyer. You’ve never mentioned that, and it just took me aback.”

  “Democrat or not, she’s the best oil and gas lawyer around. Plus, it always helps to be on good terms with the county’s prosecutor.”

  “Oh, I know,” Dave said quickly. “She’s brilliant and persuasive, not to mention stubborn. Those are traits you look for in a lawyer; I just didn’t realize she was your lawyer.”

  Jack paused. “It’s strange, but Rikki and I were just talking about you not long ago.”

  “Why? How’d my name come up?”

  “I don’t remember. But I told her I thought it was a shame you guys drifted apart. You were such good friends growing up and all.”

  “Did I mention she was stubborn?” Dave asked dryly.

  “We both know that. But for some reason, I think she might be softening a bit with age. Call me crazy, but I think she might actually be cordial if you run into her again.”

  Dave chortled. “She’s always been cordial towards me, Jack. But her cordiality is always packed inside a big blast of cold.”

  Jack mulled it over. “Maybe that’s not the right word. I think she might be receptive to burying the hatchet with you.”

  Suddenly, static erupted. “I’m going through a dead zone on my way to Martinsburg!” Dave yelled. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay! Talk to you later!” The line went dead.

  Jack climbed out of his truck and, taking care to avoid rain puddles in the parking lot, he walked into the courthouse and climbed the stairs to Rikki’s office.

  “Hi, Jack!” Martha cheerfully greeted him. “She’s waiting for you.”

  He nodded and walked back to Rikki’s private office. “Hey, counselor! Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  Rikki laughed loudly. “I’m always seeing you on short notice. At least this time you had the good manners to call first. What’s up?”

  Jack shut the door and sat down. “It’s Tabatha. I’m at the end of my rope. I’m sure she’s cheating on me.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “I overheard her telling a friend that some guy sent her a text message, wanting to see her this week,” he replied. “She sounded like some boy-crazy seventh grader and I’d like to check out her phone records to see who she’s screwing around with. How can we do that?”

  Rikki pursed her lips and reclined her chair. “What cell phone company does she use?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack answered. “There’s the phone I gave her through my company, and then there’s another one she guards with her life. No clue where that came from.”

  Rikki nodded. “Do you still have that power of attorney she signed last year?”

  “The one authorizing me to sign her name on documents at our real estate closing?”

  “Yes. But she actually signed a general power of attorney authorizing you to basically stand in her place and exercise any right or power on her behalf. Execute contracts, sign deeds, borrow money, communicate with third parties, etc.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Really? I could use that to get her cell phone records?”

  “Phone records, emails, you name it. When you request copies of her documents with that POA, the recipients are required to turn them over as if she had requested them herself.”

  He smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  “You don’t need me to do anything,” she replied. “You’re the one she appointed as her attorney-in-fact. You can do it yourself.”

  “But you know the legalese to make sure they actually turn them over. Plus, I don’t want them to mail those records to me … Tabatha might get to them before I do, and that would alert her to what I was doing. I’d rather have those companies mail everything to you.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” Rikki acknowledged. “In that
case, bring me that POA. I’ll whip up some cover letters requesting her records. You’ll sign the letters, but they’ll direct that the records be returned to me as your lawyer. Sound good?”

  Jack nodded and stood up. “Sounds great. I’ll bring it in this afternoon.” He walked out of the courthouse wearing a twisted smile.

  So Tabatha thinks she can sleep around behind my back and get away with it? She’s in for a rude awakening.

  MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY DECEMBER 1, 11:55 A.M.

  Dave inhaled a spoonful of pasta e fagioli. “I’m impressed. This place is great.”

  Monica Boley smiled, softly stabbing her Caesar salad. “The chef who owns it is from Florence. The food here is as good as anything you’ll find in D.C. or New York.”

  Studying her face, Dave was struck by how attractive she was. Her thin nose and rounded cheekbones, combined with lush lips and imperfect-but-straight teeth, gave her a unique and appealing look. Her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her wit was unmistakable. For a woman so relatively young, she seemed exceptionally mature and well-grounded.

  Maybe Gil was right. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge the contents of this book just because it has Margaret Thatcher’s name on the cover.

  “Speaking of D.C.,” Dave segued. “Would you be interested in working for the new administration? Assuming we hold on and win this thing, someone with your problem-solving talents would be very useful in Washington.”

  Monica’s smile widened and a mischievous glint flared in her eyes. “I’m very interested in discussing positions you think might be suited for me. I agree I’d be useful, and problem-solving is just one of my many talents.”

  Dave’s face flushed and he nearly spit out his soup laughing. “I have no doubt. Are there any areas of the government you find particularly interesting?”

  “The White House itself,” she immediately replied. “Surrounded by all that history and working in the Executive Branch’s nerve center. That would be amazing. But if you want to shove me away in the Department of Agriculture or something, I’d respectfully decline. No offense, but I’d rather work as a drug rep in Martinsburg than die of boredom.”