The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  Martha nodded. “What are you going to do?”

  Rikki shrugged. “The Sheriff’s Department is investigating. They’ll call us once the ballistics tests are back.”

  Martha folded her arms across her chest. “And where was Tabatha Saturday morning?”

  Rikki’s face soured. “Bart heard the gunshot go off about 7:30. At that time, Tabatha was cooking breakfast for their two boys and talking on the phone to her friend, Betsy. We may have to send her phone company a subpoena to confirm her story, of course.”

  “Of course,” Martha agreed. “Speaking of which …” She leaned into her office and grabbed a padded envelope from her desk. “This was in the P.O. box at lunch.”

  Addressed to “Jack McCallen c/o Sarika D. Gudivada, Esq,” Rikki noted it came from Tabatha’s email provider. She opened the envelope and extracted a jewel case with a disc, along with two pieces of paper. “This DVD supposedly has all the documents and files we asked for.”

  “Good God!” Martha exclaimed. “How long will it take to go through that stuff?”

  “No idea, but shut the door and hold my calls. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  WEST VIRGINIA ROUTE 2

  BELMONT, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, DECEMBER 8, 4:50 P.M.

  “Thanks for picking me up at the airport, Dad,” Dave said.

  The older man nodded but kept facing forward, both hands on the wheel. “Your mom would have divorced me if I didn’t. And with dinner almost ready, I didn’t want to tick her off.”

  Dave chuckled. “Well, I appreciate it. Traffic was a nightmare between D.C. and the little airport where I house the plane. And I forgot to call and give you my ETA until I was in the air, so I had to wait until I landed in Parkersburg. Sorry.”

  “Save the apologies for your mom, son: She’s the one who was scrambling to get dinner ready on a moment’s notice. If you weren’t flying in for Jack’s funeral, I’m sure I’d be eating something from McDonald’s tonight.”

  “Glad I could help out,” Dave quipped, grinning and shaking his head in amusement.

  As the car motored north on Route 2, they approached the hulking Willow Island Station, a coal-fired power plant on the Ohio River. With the sky darkening behind the plant, white lights blinked atop the plant’s smokestacks and cooling towers.

  “Every time I drive past here, I think about The Accident,” Dave said.

  His father nodded. “51 men died in the blink of an eye when the scaffolding on that cooling tower collapsed. Just goes to show how fleeting and fragile life truly is.”

  “Yeah, and it’s the same thing with Jack. I mean, I just watched the game with him a week ago and now he’s dead. Unbelievable.”

  “Speaking of which,” his dad said. “I got a call from the guys at the Lodge today. They need warm bodies to give Jack a Masonic funeral, and they hoped you and I could help out.”

  Dave grimaced. “It’s been ages since I did one of those. Hell, I can hardly remember the last time I sat in a Blue Lodge meeting.”

  “Well, the Lodge is aging, Dave. There are less Masons around than there used to be. You may be rusty, but you have a good memory. You’ll be fine with a little practice.”

  Dave sighed. “All right. If that’s what Jack wanted, I’ll help send him out right.”

  “He would have appreciated it. Things have been ugly around the McCallen clan the past few days.”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?”

  “Well, take this funeral for instance. Tabatha wanted to have Jack cremated until Bart heard about it and went berserk. He apparently told her there would be two funeral services if Jack wasn’t buried in their family cemetery. She eventually caved, but not graciously.”

  Dave stared at his dad, gape-mouthed. “Dear Lord! That cemetery meant the world to Jack! How could she have even thought about putting him to rest somewhere else?”

  “Well, David,” his dad replied dryly. “It would have been cheaper to have him cremated than interned in a nice coffin, and Tabatha’s a royal bitch. Need I say more?”

  CHAPTER 77

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  TUESDAY DECEMBER 9, 8:15 A.M.

  CHARLESTON, WV (AP) – The fallout from the death of State Senator Jack McCallen (R-Pleasants) continued this morning, when the West Virginia Republican Party appointed his replacement as one of the state’s five presidential electors.

  The party’s Executive Committee has appointed McCallen’s widow, Tabatha, to fill that position. At July’s state convention, Mrs. McCallen was one of five Republicans designated as an “alternate” elector. Although typically an honorary title, party leaders felt her appointment was the best way to honor McCallen’s memory following his death.

  Visitation will be from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. this evening at the Sweeney Funeral Home in St. Marys. The funeral service will be held at noon tomorrow at the Pleasants County High School Alumni Center followed by a private burial service at the McCallen Family Cemetery.

  - excerpt from wvgazette.com

  WEST VIRGINIA STATE CAPITOL

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1:30 P.M.

  The name and number on Luke Vincent’s smartphone kept staring back at him. Although his stomach was churning, he knew he had to extend his condolences.

  Tabatha McCallen is a widow and a presidential elector. Dear God, this has gotten messy!

  Vincent raised the phone to his ear and steeled himself.

  “Hello?” the sultry voice answered. Her throat sounded raw.

  “Hi, Tabatha,” he opened softly. “How are you doing?”

  The widow sighed. “It’s been tough. The boys are taking it hard. They miss Jack so much and they just seem so … angry about it all.”

  “It’ll take time, but kids are stronger than people think. They’ll always miss their dad, but I’m sure they’ll go on to lead remarkable lives. Just look at JFK’s kids.”

  “But they had Bobby and Teddy Kennedy and the whole Kennedy clan to look after them. Who do my sons have? Jack’s brother, Bart? He’s a doofus small-town farmer without an iota of ambition! A fat load of good he’ll be.”

  Vincent sighed, looking for positive sentiments. “Everything happens for a reason.”

  “That’s what I keep telling myself. I hope things will get better once the funeral is over and the shock fades.”

  “Well, your family is in our prayers. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks, Luke. Maybe I’ll do that once things settle down. We need to talk anyway.”

  The governor grimaced. Just what I need. She actually took that offer literally. “Okay, then,” he said. “You have my number. Take care and keep your chin up.”

  “Thanks for the call, Luke. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Vincent hung up. Biting his lip, he stared out the window. Jack’s death is liable to make her even crazier. I better treat her with kid gloves until she gets on her feet again.

  CHAPTER 78

  SWEENEY FUNERAL HOME

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  TUESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 7:00 P.M.

  The line of people waiting to pay their last respects stretched down Second Street from the funeral home past city hall. Huddled beneath umbrellas in their winter coats, people quietly chatted while patiently waiting their turn to pass Jack’s coffin and say goodbye.

  Standing in the drizzle near the entrance, Madhani Gudivada said, “It’s nice to see so many people here. It shows you how well-respected Jack was.”

  Rikki propped the door open. “That he was, Mom. That he was.”

  Entering the foyer, Rikki noted the place was totally packed, as expected. Two men around Jack’s age embraced one another by the guest registry, slapping each other on the back. Their tight-lipped wives shook their heads, sympathizing with their husbands’ grief.

  Sheriff ‘Silent’ Doug Vaughn approached Rikki, holding his black broad-brimmed hat
in his hands. “Evening, Rikki. Evening to you, too, Mrs. G.”

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Rikki replied. “How’s everyone holding up?”

  Sheriff Vaughn raised his left eyebrow, accentuating the inch-long scar below his sightless eye socket. “Bart’s holding up, but he has his moments. Tabby, though, I can’t get a fix on. One second she’s sobbing uncontrollably and the next, she’s laughing it up and holding court. Then again, she’s always been crazy, so who’s to say she’s acting any weirder than normal?”

  Rikki clenched her jaw and nodded as the line kept advancing toward the casket. “How about Brandon and Logan?”

  The sheriff snorted. “Your guess is as good as anybody’s. They’ve hardly been seen since the accident. Tabby claims they’re inconsolable and says she didn’t bring them tonight because they couldn’t handle it.”

  “What does Bart think about that?”

  “I’m just glad I haven’t had to lock Bart up for killing his sister-in-law,” Vaughn replied. “He about lost it yesterday when she started talking about cremation.”

  Rikki’s eyes flared. “Thank God I kept a copy of Jack’s will. When Bart told me what she planned to do, I almost cried. It boggles the mind she could be so heartless and spiteful.”

  “That’s Tabby for ya. Speaking of Jack’s will, I took a gander at it after Tabby brought it in to be probated. I noticed he named you the executor of his estate and trustee over everything he left for the boys. That must have pissed the little widow off.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Rikki answered. “She didn’t care for that at all.” Glancing around furtively, her voice almost dropped to a whisper. “Jack couldn’t totally disinherit her under the law, but by putting his company’s stock in a trust, he kept her from getting her gritty hands on it. If Tabatha could sell that stock now, do you think Jack’s sons would ever see a dime of that money?”

  The sheriff’s face ticked. “Not now that you’ve spelled it out for me. Glad to hear Jack had his head screwed on straight.”

  Passing through the doorway, they entered the parlor where Jack’s coffin lay. Glancing ahead, positioned squarely where the line turned at a right angle to walk the final 40 feet toward the coffin, Rikki saw Dave Anderson and her stomach fell through the floor.

  Oh, God. I’ve managed to avoid him for all these years. How could I have not realized he would come home for Jack’s funeral?

  Dave wore a sharply-tailored black pinstriped suit over a white dress shirt and black silk tie with white and gold diagonal stripes. Facing the front of the room, he stood to the side of the coffin-bound traffic, chatting amiably with the school board president.

  “David!” Madhani exclaimed. Turning her head to the right, Rikki watched in horror as her mother began waving like a madwoman at her childhood sweetheart. Hearing his name, Dave glanced toward them and broke into a big smile.

  “Momma G!” he responded, opening his arms wide. “How have you been?”

  Madhani bounced out of line and headed toward Dave before Rikki could get a word in edgewise. She watched helplessly as her mother bounded over and threw her arms around his broad shoulders.

  Grinning from ear-to-ear, Dave hugged her tightly. As Rikki watched them embrace, the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion. Still clasping his arms around Madhani, Dave opened his eyes and trained them directly on Rikki.

  Staring into Dave’s green eyes, she could not breathe. Transfixed in his gaze, she saw no animosity or resentment. His eyes seemed warm, yet filled with sadness.

  You can’t avoid this moment any more. Just walk over, be cordial and say, ‘Hello.’ It will be over in no time, and you can go about your business. He’ll be back in D.C. tomorrow.

  “Go on over there, Rikki.” She glanced up and saw Sheriff Vaughn looking down at her. “I’ll hold your place in line.”

  Rikki nodded and walked slowly across the room. As she closed to a distance of about five feet, she felt her right hand extend toward Dave. “Hi there,” she said simply.

  Hearing her daughter’s voice, Madhani spun out of the embrace and stared at Rikki wide-eyed. Dave glanced down at the proffered handshake and then looked into her eyes.

  “After not seeing you for 15 years,” he said very softly. “I hope you’ll at least let me give you a hug.”

  Rikki bit her lower lip and silently nodded twice. Dave drew closer and wrapped her in his arms; his right arm draping down her left shoulder, enveloping the side of her neck, while his left arm curled around her rib cage.

  Feeling his arms wrap around her, Rikki struggled to control her emotions. The rage and heartache she had carried for so long pounded in her chest, demanding to be given voice. How could you leave me to face Daddy’s death alone? When I needed you the most, you were so far away! Of all people, David, how could you have done that to me?

  With her face perched so closely to his neck, Rikki caught a whiff of his aftershave. As quickly as it had flared, her rage subsided. In its wake came a cascade of long-buried memories:

  A fiercely competitive debate they had waged in high school civics class, each asserting their respective political philosophies. She lauded the universal tolerance preached by Dr. Martin Luther King, while he passionately defended the doctrines of self-reliance and individual property rights championed by Ronald Reagan.

  The tingling sensation she had experienced when the two of them sat together in the school library one day, studying for a chemistry exam.

  Lying in bed talking on the phone with him for hours on end, struggling to keep from laughing so loudly because she knew it would wake her parents and evoke her father’s wrath.

  The pride she had felt when she strolled into the prom on his arm. And the time Dave had threatened to deliver an ass-kicking to a blowhard at the mall who loudly questioned the propriety of their romantic relationship due to her dark skin and allegedly “mongrel” ethnicity.

  The hunger and passion that churned when they ripped off their clothes in the backseat of his Camaro, clumsily exploring their sexuality for the first time.

  The comfort she felt holding his hand, sharing her dreams and fears as they lie awake at night in his college bed before making love yet again.

  The complete, unabashed confidence she felt at the age of 22, when the world was an unpainted canvass, merely awaiting the colorful barrage of their brushes. Nothing was impossible. Nothing was out of their reach.

  The look on Daddy’s face the morning he died. How I felt when he asked me, “Where’s David?” and I had to tell him, “He’s in Charlottesville, finishing his finals.”

  The ashen look on Dave’s face, after he had rushed into her father’s hospital room in Morgantown only to learn he had arrived too late to say goodbye. The tears he had shed while literally on his knees, pleading for forgiveness, as she turned her back and walked away from him, vowing never to speak to him again.

  Then, as Dave relinquished his embrace and stepped back, Rikki suddenly heard Jack’s voice drift through her mind: “It’s a damn shame that a good man like Dave could spend his entire life paying for one bad decision, and that a good woman like you might never be able to find it in her heart to forgive him for being less than perfect.”

  Rikki closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose.

  Okay, Jack. I give up. You’re right. You win.

  “It’s good to see you, Dave,” she said, and was surprised by how honest the words sounded. “It’s been a long time.”

  ***

  No screaming, no cussing, no crying, Dave noted cautiously. And unless I was hallucinating, she actually said she was happy to see me.

  Satan must be strapping on ice skates because Hell has frozen over.

  Still shaking off shock, Dave smiled. “Yes it has been. Better late than never, I say.”

  Rikki giggled. “Leave it to you to put a positive spin on things.” Her voice sounded wry yet cheerful. “How have you been?”

  “Busier than a one-armed man hanging wallpaper. But other than that, I can�
�t complain.”

  Rikki rolled her eyes. “Good Lord! I accused Jack of channeling you recently. Now I think it’s a two-way street.”

  Dave guffawed. “Jack was a damn good man with a great outlook on life and a great sense of humor. I’m gonna miss the hell out of him.”

  Rikki nodded, a sad look in her pale green eyes. “Me, too. It seems so unfair, you know? Just when he seemed on the verge of hitting some big new wells, something like this happens.”

  Dave quickly glanced around the room. “And from what I understand, he was kicking Tabatha to the curb, too.”

  Rikki gasped. “Where did you hear that?”

  From the look on her face, Dave knew she still couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. “Jack and I were pretty close. We watched the game at his house last Saturday, and the tension was so thick you needed a chainsaw to cut it.” He chuckled loudly. “I didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out.”

  Rikki pursed her lips and shook her head in a gesture Dave knew was intended to feign disgust. “Some things never change. Even after all these years, you’re still a smart ass.”

  Dave grinned proudly. “Guilty as charged, Madam Prosecutor.”

  At that moment, Dave saw Sheriff Doug Vaughn staring at him with an amused look. “Hey, Sheriff!” he exclaimed with a wave. “Glad to see Pleasants County has someone on the job keeping a good eye on things.” He winked and cracked a devilish grin.

  The sheriff barked a quick, hearty laugh. “Rikki’s right. You are still a smart ass. I’ll never understand why your daddy never beat that out of you.”

  Dave shrugged. “He probably figured it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  Silent Doug grinned. “He was probably right, too. How’s D.C.?”

  “Like I told Rikki, I’ve been so busy lately I can barely remember what it looks like. But I can’t complain.”

  Dave deftly positioned himself between Rikki and the sheriff, as the line crept toward Jack’s coffin. Leaning his face between the two, he assumed a more serious tone of voice. “So tell me something, guys. What do you really think happened to Jack?”