The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

Looking across the clearing, Jack saw the last faint rays of sunlight disappearing in the west. “Okay, guys. Let’s head home. Your mom should have dinner ready when we get there.”

  Brandon and Logan each threw one last pebble at Uncle Frank’s gravestone before running toward him. Shutting the gate, Jack put one hand on each of his two boys’ shoulders and began walking downhill. “But what do you say we take our time getting down there?” he added.

  CHAPTER 73

  PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 4, 11:00 A.M.

  Hurrying to her hair appointment, Tabatha barreled into Jack’s office looking for her earrings. The boys must have been playing with them or Jack put them somewhere stupid!

  Pilfering through Jack’s desk, a shimmering metallic object distracted her. Her curiosity piqued, she picked up the cardboard envelope with the metal strip that caught her eye. Seeing a document inside, she opened it up and read it. Figures! That stupid son-of-a-bitch must have forgotten it. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his body.

  Carrying the TPSA, Tabatha clip-clopped her way into the family room and angrily hit the speed-dial number for Jack’s cell phone.

  “Hey,” Jack greeted. “Good morning. How are you?”

  “Did you forget something when you left this morning?” she asked accusingly.

  Five seconds of silence ensued. “I don’t think so. Why? Did you find something?”

  “Just this paper you need to sign so Petromica will send us 25 million dollars.”

  “Ohhhh,” Jack said slowly. “That. Well, honey … You see … There’s a problem with that document and it looks like the deal is off. I told Petromica an hour ago.”

  “What?! Why did you do that?”

  “Look at section seven on the last page.”

  Tabatha quickly flipped to it. “The one that says, ‘Additional Services?’”

  “That’s the one.”

  Tabatha mouthed the words to herself as she read. Raising an eyebrow, she smirked. “So? What’s the problem? You can cast that electoral ballot for whoever you want!”

  Jack stuttered. “Are you kidding? I’ve been a Republican my whole life! I was elected to the State Senate three times because people know who I am and what I stand for. How could you suggest I forget all that and vote for the Democrats in the Electoral College!?”

  Tabatha scoffed. “Uh … Because Petromica will give you 25 million dollars to do it. And besides: Senator Wilson carried Pleasants County on Election Day! For all you know, the only reason she didn’t win West Virginia outright is because of some stuffed ballot boxes in Berkeley County.”

  When Jack remained silent, Tabatha sensed an opening. “Come on, baby. Think how that investment will help our company. We can drill into the Marcellus Shale! Think of the financial security we could give Logan and Brandon.”

  Jack sighed deeply. “I know, Tabby. I’ve agonized over it. But I can’t do it. That money is dirty, and I know it. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I’ll just have to find another way to hold things together until the Schoolcraft suit is resolved.”

  “And how do you plan to do that, Jack?” she screamed. “Nobody will loan you any money, and we can’t keep throwing money down a rat-hole to that towel-head lawyer of yours! You don’t have any other options! You have to do this!”

  “No, I don’t. We’ll have to tighten our belt and put our faith in God. With a little more work, we can always make a little more money.”

  “And by ‘tightening our belt,’ you mean cutting the money you give me each month.”

  “We’ll all need to be a little more frugal,” Jack said.

  “Well, fuck that!” she yelled. “I’m already pissed I have to sit around and watch Betsy and all the other girls go to the spa when they want and take off to New York for weekend trips because you say we don’t have enough money for me to join them. I’ve had it, Jack! This isn’t the life I signed up for when I agreed to marry your ass, and something has to give!”

  “You’re damn straight something has to give!” Jack screamed. “You think you’ve had it? You’re lucky I haven’t strangled the life out of you yet! I bust my ass to keep this company afloat, and all you do is sit around and bitch that your life isn’t easy enough.”

  Tabatha rolled her eyes. They had been through this a thousand times. If Jack had wanted his wife to work outside the home and bring in additional money, he should have married another woman. She was sure there were plenty of homely girls who would have jumped at the chance to spend the rest of their lives married to Jack McCallen under those circumstances.

  As it was, however, he married Tabatha Pettigrew, the hottest woman in the entire Mid-Ohio Valley. And a wife like that came with a price tag.

  “As I’ve told you before, Jack, that’s not my problem,” she said coldly. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me. If you wanted low maintenance, you should have married someone else. I take pride in looking good for you. Looking good for you is my job. I work hard at it. So don’t cry to me because you’re working hard to live up to your end of the bargain and provide me with the lifestyle I deserve. You made this bed … You have to lie in it.”

  “The hell I do,” Jack shot back. “Not any more. I’ve put up with your shit long enough and I’m out of here.”

  Tabatha’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  Jack let out a deep breath. “It’s over, Tabatha. Our marriage is over. I’ve given and I’ve given, and it’s never enough for you. I can’t take this shit any more. I want a divorce.”

  Her knees weakened and she gingerly sat on the couch. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. I’ll swing by this afternoon and pack a few things. I was going hunting with Bart on his farm on Saturday anyway, so I’ll just take some clothes and stay there all weekend. You keep the boys the next few nights. We’ll sit down and discuss things on Monday.”

  Remain calm, Tabatha told herself. The pressure from this change in the Petromica deal has him teetering on the edge. You know every button he has and how to push them. Buy some time and think of something.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered, remembering to sniffle. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Just take a few days and don’t make any rash decisions. We’ll sit down on Monday and try to work things out. Okay?”

  Jack exhaled. “All right. I’ll come by around two this afternoon to pick up my stuff before the boys get home from school. Make sure you’re not around when I get there.”

  “I won’t be. And Jack …”

  “Yes?”

  “I really do love you.”

  Jack paused a moment, then responded, “I’ll talk to you on Monday.”

  The line went dead.

  Tabatha sank into the couch, clutching her phone in one hand and the TSPA in the other. This can’t be happening! There must be something I can do to turn this around!

  Sitting on the sofa, her blue eyes danced back and forth as she pondered her dilemma. Moments later, a faint smile etched itself on her face.

  Glancing down at the letter from Petromica, Tabatha punched numbers on her phone, took a deep breath and composed herself.

  “Mr. Beria? This is Jack McCallen’s wife, Tabatha. I think my husband has made a foolish decision to reject your company’s offer, but we may be able to salvage the deal …”

  CHAPTER 74

  WEST VIRGINIA STATE CAPITOL

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, DECEMBER 4, 8:00 P.M.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Tyson Vasquez asked.

  Bowen stood alone on the State Capitol’s steps, facing the Kanawha River. Clutching his phone to his ear, he puffed on a cigarette. “Down for the count. Despite threats, promises, horse-trading and ass-kissing, there will be no special session.”

  Vasquez swore. “You predicted that, but I hoped you’d find a way to ram it through.”

  “I gave it hell. Governor Vincent will issue a statement tomor
row at ten, thanking the legislators who supported the idea but admitting we’ll have to wait and deal with it in January.”

  “Do me a favor and have Luke call Senator Wilson tonight to personally advise her of this decision. She’ll appreciate hearing it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

  Bowen threw his cigarette butt down and stomped it with his shoe. “Consider it done. And unless you have something up your sleeve I don’t know about, we’re about out of cards.”

  Vasquez paused. “We’re exploring some options. Nothing you need to worry about right now, plus things are changing by the hour. If I think you can help, I’ll let you know.”

  Bowen gritted his teeth. He hated not being in the loop, but that was politics: In one day, out the next. “Well, give me a ring if you need anything. The thought of coming this far only to fall short makes me want to scream. Or puke. Or get shit-faced beyond recognition.”

  “That feeling is pretty widespread around here.”

  SUNNYVALE, CALIFORNIA

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2:00 P.M.

  Well, this is unusual. And where in the hell is St. Marys, West Virginia, anyway?

  He plugged in the woman’s name and noted she had an account with the Internet service provider who employed him. So his first means to disregard such requests was unavailable.

  Next, he examined the language describing what types of information were requested. One look caused him to scowl:

  Please provide me with copies of all “documents” pertaining or related to this account. “Document” means every writing or record of every type and description that is or has been in your possession, custody, or control or of which you have knowledge, including but not limited to correspondence, memoranda, tapes, computer files, facsimiles, voice recordings, or any other reported or graphic material in whatever form, including copies, drafts, and reproductions. “Document” also refers to any other data compilations from which information can be obtained, and translated, if necessary, by you through computers or detection devices into reasonably usable form.

  Finally, he pored over the authorizing document enclosed with the request to see if there were any limitations that might justify rejecting the request for information:

  That I, Tabatha McCallen, do hereby make, constitute and appoint my husband, Jackson P. “Jack” McCallen as my true and lawful attorney-in-fact, for me and in my name and stead, to…

  14. Generally act as my attorney or agent in relation to all the foregoing and as to any and all other matters in which I may be interested or concerned; on my behalf execute all such instruments, and do all such acts and things as fully and effectually in all respects as I myself could do if personally present…

  Rats!

  Begrudgingly, he burned a DVD copy of all the requested files currently stored on the company’s servers. With a click of the mouse, he generated a ‘please find enclosed’ letter and dropped it into an envelope with the DVD. Clicking the mouse again, he printed one of the ISP’s standard “verifications of authenticity.”

  With a sigh, he walked across the hall and handed the verification to a secretary. “I need you to notarize this for me.”

  “Wow,” she said, with raised eyebrows. “Somebody found a golden ticket, huh?”

  He grimaced. “Sometimes, you can’t find a reason to tell them to go away.”

  The woman signed and stamped the verification. “Oh, well. Better luck next time.”

  CHAPTER 75

  PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 4:45 A.M.

  Jack sat at his brother’s kitchen table with a plate of scrambled eggs and a cup of black coffee. “The one thing I hate about hunting is you have to wake up so damn early.”

  His brother, Bart, grinned at him. “It’s worth it, though.”

  Jack smiled back. “I can’t deny that. Between everything at work and the election crap, I didn’t think I’d get out in the woods at all this year.”

  Bart shook his head in amazement. “That’s why I said you could keep that damn oil company. I’ll stick with farmin’. There’s no way some job would keep me from deer hunting.”

  “All I can say is, ‘Thank God for small miracles,’” Jack said. “Today’s the last day of rifle season, and with any luck, I’ll finally break my dry spell.”

  “What’s it been now … three years?”

  Jack scowled. “Four.”

  Bart leaned back and stroked his beard. “Well, brother, I think today’s your lucky day. You’re due for some luck, and now that you’re finally getting rid of that anchor you’ve been married to all these years, I think your luck’s about to change.”

  Jack tensed. “Now, Bart. I haven’t made up my mind about that just yet.”

  “Ha! Tell that to somebody who didn’t grow up with you! You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. Hell, you may even believe it. But once you’re in the woods, surrounded by silence and at peace with the world, you’ll see divorcing her ass is the right thing to do.”

  Jack’s gaze narrowed. “Ya think?”

  Bart nodded with certainty. “Trust me.”

  Jack sipped his coffee, glancing at the clock. “All right, Ann Landers. We need to head out so we’re in our tree stands before daylight.”

  Bart stood and stretched. “Since I’ve already got two this year, Jack, I’m gonna help you break your dry spell. I’ll circle around the back side of the ridge and run a few bucks towards you from that pine thicket they like to bed down in.”

  Jack smiled widely. “You’re a hell of a man, Bart.”

  “What are brothers for?”

  Fifteen minutes later, wearing their cold weather gear and blaze orange, their rifles were slung over their shoulders and they were walking downhill from Bart’s farmhouse toward the open field where they hunted as boys with their dad. Bart tapped Jack on the shoulder and silently motioned he was breaking away to circle widely around the deer’s typical sleeping area.

  Jack waved and continued easing downhill toward his tree stand. A thin layer of snow that fell the afternoon before had frozen overnight and crunched softly beneath his footsteps. The crisp morning air filled his lungs and he found himself energized with growing anticipation.

  Deer were drawn to a small creek that ran along the back side of Bart’s meadow, and the acorns that fell from old oak trees lining the field’s perimeter offered the animals plentiful food. Fresh tracks Bart spotted in the wet ground the previous evening told them deer had crossed here recently, further heightening their confidence.

  Reaching the same oak tree at the far right corner of the field where he had hunted for forty years, Jack smiled and nodded contentedly. He quietly ascended the old tree, using two-by-four boards nailed into the trunk as rungs, until he finally climbed into his portable tree stand about 15 feet above the ground. Unlimbering his rifle, Jack tried to get comfortable and settled in to await the break of dawn.

  Over the course of the next hour, stars slowly faded from the pitch black sky and the first faint whispers of light began filtering into the woods, allowing Jack to be on guard for signs of motion around him. Against the white backdrop of the fresh snow, Jack knew he soon should be able to pick up movement of deer from several hundred yards away, once the sky grew brighter. Remaining as motionless as possible, Jack was enveloped by silence and smiled peacefully.

  Everything will be okay, he thought with a smile. Finally.

  As much as he loved Tabatha, Jack knew he could not spend another night under the same roof with her. She had borne him two wonderful sons, and he would always love her for that. But if I don’t walk away now, I’ll end up killing her. And I can’t let my boys go through something that horrible. As hard as a divorce will be for them, it will be better in the long run if Tabatha and I go our separate ways.

  As the darkness continued to fade, Jack saw the first signs of life emerging around him: The swaying shadows of trees and brief glimpses of squirrels hopping playfully along the ground
beneath him. With every passing minute, Jack’s view of the meadow grew clearer, though it remained partially obscured by intermittent banks of fog floating above the ground.

  Just as the world around him was almost fully lit, Jack heard something rustling in the trees lining the far side of the meadow. If Bart had driven the deer from their thicket, they would be expected to emerge in that area. Steeling his body, he focused on the trees. Then a muscular ten-point buck ambled his way through the ghostly wisps of fog and into the meadow.

  Filling his lungs with the crisp morning air, Jack eased his rifle onto his right shoulder and smiled from ear-to-ear. Peering through the scope, he watched the buck slowly stride toward the middle of the fog-shrouded field about a hundred yards away.

  Steady. Just a few more feet and this dry spell will be history.

  As Jack disengaged the safety switch and prepared to pull the trigger, serenity washed over him. After four years without bagging a buck, he had no doubt his luck had changed.

  The laws of physics are immutable and uncaring. The muzzle velocity of a bullet fired from a typical hunting rifle is about 2,800 feet per second. By comparison, sound waves creep along at 1,129 feet per second. The difference between the two speeds explains why State Senator Jack McCallen never heard the gunshot that propelled a bullet through his skull, scrambled his brains and ended his life.

  CHAPTER 76

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 8, 1:05 P.M.

  “They say it was probably an accident,” Martha said softly.

  Rikki silently stared at her secretary. A bottle of Visine and a box of tissues sat nearby. “Well, we haven’t had a murder here in thirty years, so that would make sense. But still …”

  “I know. Jack calls you on Friday saying his deal with that company had fallen through and he was meeting with a lawyer in Parkersburg to get divorce papers drafted …”

  “And the next day he’s dead,” Rikki added. “What are the odds of that happening?”