Spencerville

by Nelson DeMille

  Have you eloped before?

  Keith, I've run away a thousand times in my mind. I wish I'd had the nerve to do it for real, but I'm glad I waited. She looked at him and said, I never thought I'd run off with you, but I always fantasized that I was going to join you somewhere.

  I'm sort of overwhelmed.

  You're overwhelmed? I can't believe this is happening. My head is spinning, my heart is fluttering, and I'm so in love I can't see straight. I feel happier now than I've felt since the day before you got your draft notice. I knew nothing would be the same for me after that.

  I thought it would. You understood it better.

  Darling, we both understood, but we hoped for the best/' She thought a moment, then said, People make stupid mistakes in their twenties, but we can't judge ourselves two decades later. We had a great six years, Keith, and I thank God I had that time with you. God willing, we'll have the rest of our lives together.

  Keith couldn't say anything, but he took her hand and kissed it.

  She took a deep breath. I should go. Do we meet again before next Saturday?

  No, it's not safe, and don't call. I'm concerned about a phone tap.

  She nodded. I can almost guarantee my phone calls are recorded at police headquarters. That's why I called you from a pay phone. Do you think your phone—?

  Maybe. And possibly the Porters'. Will you be all right at home?

  I'll try. Yes, I will. I won't give him any cause for suspicion. She looked at him. You understand?

  He nodded.

  Do you still have Terry's address?

  I think, after twenty years of addressing envelopes, I might remember it.

  You still have a sarcastic streak in you. I'll work on that.

  No, darling, you'll learn to live with it.

  Okay, I get real bitchy that time of the month, and the rest of the month, I have a smart mouth.

  Looking forward to it.

  They stood a moment, then she said, I don't want to walk away.

  Then stay.

  I can't . . . I have errands that should be done before he gets home, or he'll wonder where I've been all day.

  He sure keeps a tight leash.

  He sure does. You never did.

  And I never will.

  You don't have to. She put out her hand, and he took it. She said, You have a good day now, Mr. Landry. I'll see you next Saturday, and we'll run off together.

  He smiled, then made eye contact with her and said, Annie . . . if you change your mind . . .

  No, and neither will you. Be there, Keith. Red brick Victorian. Off County Road 6. She kissed him, turned, and hurried away.

  He watched her walk along the shore. She spoke to a few people as she passed by, then stopped and chatted with the two older men who were fishing. They laughed at something she said, and watched her as she walked away.

  Annie got to her car, opened the door, and looked back at the trees. Although she couldn't see him in the shadows from that distance, she waved, and he waved back. She got into the car, backed up over the rise, and disappeared.

  Keith stood awhile, then walked back upstream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Keith Landry went to St. James for Sunday services, mostly because he'd been specifically invited by Pastor Wilkes, but partly out of curiosity and nostalgia.

  The small church was almost full, and in the tradition of rural people, everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. Pastor Wilkes delivered a nicely pointed sermon on morality in government, specifically mentioning that public officials who break the Ten Commandments and ignore the laws of God are not fit to hold positions of trust in the nation or the community. Keith figured that Wilkes had read a transcript of Thursday's meeting and got right to work on the sermon. Pastor Wilkes didn't mention names, of course, but Keith was pretty sure everyone around him got it. He was also happy that Wilkes hadn't taken the opportunity to give a sermon on the coveting and adultery thing.

  There was only one service at this small rural church, which put some peer pressure on the congregation, who couldn't play hooky and leave it to their neighbors to assume they'd gone to the other service. Keith had found this a problem when he was a teenager, but by his junior year of high school, he'd started going to St. John's in Spencerville and somehow always wound up near the Prentis family. His church attendance improved dramatically, and Mr. and Mrs. Prentis liked to see him there, but he felt guilty about his motives, not to mention the thoughts that ran through his mind during the service.

  Keith looked around St. James and saw a number of people he knew, including his Aunt Betty, the Muller and Jenkins families, Jenny, without her friend of Thursday evening, but with two young children, and, interestingly, Police Officer Schenley from the high school and church parking lot incidents, with his family. Also there was Sherry Kolarik, of all people, who Keith imagined had returned to the scene of her public confession as a first step toward spiritual health. Like himself, Ms. Kolarik was undoubtedly relieved that Pastor Wilkes wasn't looking at her. However, the pastor did make an oblique reference to her predicament by reminding everyone that women were the weaker vessel, more sinned against than sinners themselves. Keith wondered how that would play in Washington, D.C.

  Keith did not see the Porters and hadn't really expected to, but he had thought, or hoped, that Annie would surprise him by being there. But he guessed that this wasn't possible, that she'd be at St. John's with her sinning husband, and Keith wondered if he should drive into town for the eleven A.M. service there. He mulled this over, but decided it was not a very smart move at this juncture of events.

  The service ended, and Keith walked down the church steps, where Pastor Wilkes shook the hands of everyone there and called them by name. Keith usually managed to avoid this familiarity after church, but this time he stood in line. When he got to Pastor Wilkes, they shook hands, and the old man seemed genuinely happy to see him, saying, Welcome home, Mr. Landry. I'm delighted you could come.

  Thank you for inviting me, sir. I enjoyed your sermon.

  I hope you're able to come next week. Our discussion gave me an idea for a'sermon.

  About the return of the prodigal son?

  I had something else in mind, Mr. Landry.

  I may be out of town next Sunday.

  Wilkes smiled mischievously. Pity. I was going to discuss the role of the church in public affairs.

  'Good topic. Perhaps you could send me a copy of it.

  I will.

  They shook hands again, and Keith moved off. It was a cool, blustery morning, and a north wind blew through the cornfields and the trees, scattering the first leaves of autumn over the grass and through the tombstones of the churchyard. It was a starkly beautiful day, the white church and parsonage, the tall swaying elms, the picket fence of the cemetery, the clouds sailing across a pewter-colored sky. But there was something foreboding about it, Keith thought, something portentous about the autumn wind that blew the summer away and turned the land into hues of red and gold, which were deceptively pleasant harbingers of the dark season. As much as he wanted to stay, he was somehow glad he wouldn't be here much longer.

  Keith ran into his aunt in the parking field, and she told him how pleased she was that he'd come to church, then invited him to Sunday dinner. Unable to think of a polite way to refuse—except to say that he'd rather watch the Redskins game and drink beer, which she wouldn't think was polite—he accepted.

  At the appointed hour, around kickoff time, he arrived at Aunt Betty's with a bottle of French red Burgundy. Aunt Betty studied the label awhile, mouthing the French words, then put the bottle in the refrigerator. It didn't matter, because as it turned out, she didn't own a corkscrew anyway, and Keith sat in the living room with a glass of caffeine-free instant iced tea with too much sugar in it.

  Also invited to dinner were some of the people he'd seen at the Labor Day barbecue—his mother's other cousin, Zack Hoffmann, and Zack's wife, Harriet, and their grown daughter, Lilly, and Li
lly's husband, Fred. With Lilly and Fred were their three young boys, whose names Keith didn't catch and who were too young to demand that the Redskins-Cleveland game be turned on. The boys went outside and played in the yard.

  Keith made small talk, aware that these people were related, and kept the conversation going by playing the family-tree game. Keith actually found it interesting in some essential, tribal way.

  At dinner, which was traditional roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes, peas, and biscuits—the sort of American food that had disappeared from the nation's capital two decades ago—Harriet, still on the family-tree subject, mentioned, My sister, Dorothy, married Luke Prentis. I think you know the Prentis family, Keith.

  He looked at her and remembered why she looked familiar.

  I believe you once went out with my niece, Annie.

  Yes.

  She married one of the Baxter boys. Cliff. He's chief of police.

  Keith wondered if he could open the wine bottle with a screwdriver.

  Zack looked up from his roast beef and said, I heard they had a meeting about Cliff Baxter at St. James. That fella is a . . . He glanced at the boys and said, . . . is a wild one, if you want my opinion.

  Lilly and Fred agreed. Aunt Betty was oblivious, and the boys asked permission to be excused, which was granted.

  Zack watched them go, then leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, I heard he fooled around. They had some woman up there in the church, and brazen as can be she told everybody she and Cliff Baxter was up to somethin'.

  Aunt Betty asked, Does anyone want seconds?

  Harriet turned to Keith and asked him, Have you seen Annie since college?

  No.

  Fred said, I hear there was another woman up there, Mary Aries, and she and her husband, Bob, own that gas station on 22, and she told how Cliff Baxter would help himself to things in their convenience store, then make her put the charge on the town gas bill.

  Harriet said, My sister was at that meeting, and what she heard about her son-in-law's fooling around made her sick. She looked at Keith.

  Keith listened to the conversation, noting that Fred and Zack were more concerned about the police chief's financial misdeeds than his marital transgressions, while Lilly and Harriet were fixated on the sanctity of marriage.

  Lilly said, If I heard that my husband was fooling around, I'd kick him out without another thought.

  Fred didn't look like the type who would or could fool around, Keith thought, but having been forewarned, he looked almost chastised.

  Aunt Betty said, There's plenty more in the kitchen.

  Harriet said to Keith, I wouldn't be surprised if she walked out on him.

  Who?

  Annie.

  Oh . . . right. The spouse is usually the last to know.

  My niece is a saint, Harriet said. She raised two fine children and keeps that house like a showcase for him. She deserves better.

  Lilly said to her mother, Someone should let her know, in case she doesn't know. If it was my husband doing that, and no one told me, they wouldn't be my friend, I'll tell you that. She looked at Fred, whom Keith was beginning to suspect of adultery.

  Harriet came to the defense of her son-in-law and said, Fred wouldn't even think of fooling around.

  People liked the topic of adultery, Keith had discovered, here or in Washington, Rome, Paris, Moscow, everywhere. But as interesting as it was in the abstract, or in specific cases at hand, it always got touchy and too close for comfort, and so, though everyone at that table was free of sin—except for himself—the topic was dropped. Harriet said to Keith, I'll tell Annie I saw you. I'm sure she'd tell me to say hello to you.

  Thank you. Please send her my best regards.

  I certainly will. Maybe you'll run into her someday.

  You never know. Keith made a mental note to tell Annie to send Harriet a postcard from Rome.

  Aunt Betty announced, We have lime gelatin with marshmallows for dessert. Does anyone want coffee? I have instant, decaffeinated. I can boil water.

  Keith stood. I hate to eat and run, Aunt Betty, but I promised someone I'd meet them at five.

  It's only a quarter to. Have some dessert first.

  Keith recalled that Aunt Betty always had some problems with chronological reasoning, so he said, I like to drive slow. Thank you, it was a terrific meal. He kissed her and shook hands all around, saying to Fred, Stay out of trouble, and to Harriet, My best regards to your sister and to Mr. Prentis.

  They'll be thrilled.

  I hope so.

  He left, said good-bye to the boys, who were throwing a football around, and got into his car.

  On the way home, he replayed parts of the conversation. What interested him was not what was said about Cliff Baxter, or Annie Baxter, but that good old Harriet was playing Cupid. Keith laughed. There were people, he thought, who, no matter how old they were or how they were raised, had romance in their hearts. Poor Lilly and Fred had no spark of it and probably never did, and neither did Aunt Betty. But old Zack and Harriet still looked at each other with a gleam in their eyes. Lovers, Keith decided, were special people, and all lovers recognized other lovers, so he knew that Harriet heard his heart beat every time she mentioned Annie.

  The next three days, Monday to Wednesday, Keith spent at home. He did not want to risk even one foray away from the farm, not one incident or confrontation with Baxter or his men. He was too close to the goal line, to use football analogy, the clock was ticking, and it was no time for anything fancy or risky. The last play would be a running play.

  Although he was safely within the confines of his own home, and under the law he was king in his own castle, he had another concern. While he couldn't imagine that Baxter could present a judge with any reason to approve a phone tap, it had occurred to him that Baxter might put a tap on the line anyway. One of the standard gadgets in Keith's briefcase was a bug alert which he'd never thought he'd use again, but he had swept the house with it a few times, discovering nothing. He also checked the inside phone connection in the cellar every time he left the house and returned. There was a device to detect a telephone pole line tap, but he didn't have the device in his bag of tricks. Another possibility was a directional microphone aimed at his house, but he could see for a mile in any direction from his second-floor window, and he never saw a vehicle parked for a long time. He doubted if the Spencerville police had any high-tech eavesdropping devices anyway. But you never knew.

  Keith knew, prior to Saturday, that Baxter had not had a tap, legal or illegal, on his phone, because if he had, then Cliff Baxter would have been at Reeves Pond on Saturday, and one of them would be laid out at Gibbs Funeral Home today. But even if there had been no tap on his phone Saturday, there could be one today, and he'd operate on that assumption. In any case, he didn't think he needed to use his phone to finalize or change any plans.

  Some weeks ago, when Keith thought he was going to stay around, he had considered buying a cellular phone, and he was also going to call his former colleagues in Washington to do a complete electronic check as well as a search of court records to see if anyone had requested a tap. The National Security Council was as interested in his phone security as he was, though in this case for different reasons.

  With that thought in mind, Keith wondered why he hadn't heard a word from anyone in Washington. He didn't care, except that the silence was getting ominous.

  By Wednesday afternoon, his self-imposed seclusion was becoming tedious. He wondered about Annie, worried about her, but satisfied himself with the adage that no news was good news, which was not true regarding Washington, and was absolutely contrary to the lessons of the last twenty years of intelligence work.

  Later in the afternoon, as he was pruning and splinting the raspberry bushes that had been run over, he threw down his pruning hook and kicked a bushel across the yard. Damn it! He didn't like to be confined, self-imposed or otherwise, and he worried about her. He jumped in the Blazer, where his M-16 rifle
sat on the passenger seat, and, with his Clock tucked in his belt, he drove out to the road. He sat there, near the mailbox, and finally got himself under control. He drove back to the house.

  Keith packed the bare essentials, mostly his personal papers, passport, and a few changes of clothes. He couldn't take the weapons on the aircraft, though he'd take his briefcase with the gadgets and gizmos such as a tear-gas pen, microfilm camera, a graphite knife, and, if you were having a bad day, a cyanide capsule, plus other weird things, none of which he'd ever used, but which he felt obligated not to leave in the house.

  He went to the kitchen and realized he was completely out of food, including beer. No one in Spencer County delivered food, as far as he knew, and it was a long time until Saturday morning. He supposed he could impose on Mrs. Jenkins or Mrs. Muller to pick up a few things for him, but he had another idea that would solve three problems at once, and he picked up the phone and dialed the Porters.

  Jeffrey answered, and Keith said, This is the FBI. You're under arrest for advocating the violent overthrow of the United States government.

  I think you want my wife.

  How are you?

  Fine. Meant to call you—

  Are you guys free for dinner tonight?

  Sure. Your place?

  Right. About seven.

  Looking forward to it.

  Do me a favor, Jeffrey.

  Sure.

  I'm completely out of food, and my car won't start. Could you guys bring everything?

  Sure.

  And wine.

  No problem.

  And I need some cash.

  Should we bring the dinnerware, too?

  No, I've got that. Also, can you cash a thousand-dollar check for me?

  Sure. Hey, a friend of yours stopped by—

  Tell me about it later.

  No, you want to hear this now—

  Later. Thanks. He hung up. Annie. It had to be Annie by the tone of Jeffrey's voice. Good. She's all right, everything is fine. Which solved the problem of finding out if she was all right, and the Porters would bring food and money, which solved the other problems of the moment. There was something uniquely satisfying about beating the bad guys at their own game, but if he didn't put himself in these situations in the first place, he wouldn't have to get out of them, and he might discover that he'd be just as happy mastering chess.