Coulson's Reckoning

by McIntyre, Anna J

  “So, what was in the letter?”

  “I have no idea. I never found out.”

  “Russy, that is… well, weird.”

  “At the time, I didn’t realize how inappropriate it was. And later, after the FBI agents interviewed me, I discovered Dad knew about the letter.”

  “The FBI interviewed you? You never told me that.”

  “From what I remember, your brother mentioned something to Ryan about the letter. He was there when Marino approached me. Ryan told his dad. Mr. Keller must have told the FBI because two agents showed up at our house. My father called me into the library. He was there with my grandfather and two men in suits. It was pretty intimidating at the time. I wondered what I had done wrong. Dad said I was to tell them everything I knew about Marino and the letter. This was after he disappeared.”

  “Tommy never said anything about all that.”

  “Back then you were what, five?”

  “True. So, you never found out what was in the letter?”

  “No. My mother never said, other than to confirm it had something to do with a surprise for Dad. She just told me not to tell anyone. So I didn’t.”

  “What did your mother say when the FBI interviewed you?”

  “By that time Mother was gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  “She’d broken her ankle and went away to some clinic for physical therapy.”

  “She went away for physical therapy? You mean out of town? How long was she gone?”

  “Yes. It must have been after Halloween when she fell. Because I remember, my parents had a Halloween party that year. I know she was gone for Thanksgiving. My grandfather invited one of his friends over for dinner, and Garret took off. It was pretty boring. But she was back for Christmas. I think she was gone for over a month.”

  “Russy, do you realize how strange that all sounds? Going away because of a broken ankle?”

  “I know. Funny how things look different from a child’s perspective.”

  “Children often accept what adults tell them.”

  “The FBI showed up again, after you guys found Marino’s body.”

  “God, that was creepy. I remember it was during your first year of college. You’d all come home for Christmas break, and you were being such a butt, giving Tommy and Ryan the brush-off.”

  “I was an ass.” Russell chuckled.

  “I kept asking my brother why you hadn’t come over. I had such a major crush on you.”

  “Damn, I really was an ass.” Russell kissed Katie’s cheek.

  “So, what did the FBI agents ask that time?”

  “They didn’t ask me any questions. But they asked my brother Harrison about Marino. Remember when Dad mentioned tonight about the one time he met Marino? From what I understand, my parents, Harrison, and my grandfather were out to dinner when Marino sent a bottle of champagne to the table. According to my father it was the only time he met the man. They asked Harrison about that night, but he didn’t seem to remember much.

  “The one who surprised them was Garret, who recognized Marino’s picture and told them Marino once bought him beer when Garret was a teenager. They hadn’t interviewed my mother before, but they interviewed her in private that time. I assume they asked her about the letter. But we never had a chance to discuss it. I left for the airport right after the agents left the house.”

  “Russy, you know the first time they interviewed you, why was the FBI involved in a missing person’s investigation? Back then they hadn’t found his car or body yet.”

  “They were looking for Marino because of his criminal activities. I remember at the time Mr. Keller saying he was a hitman.”

  “I wonder what was in that letter, Russy.”

  “I suppose we could ask Dad.”

  “Would you?” Kate asked excitedly.

  “Probably not.” Russell chuckled.

  “Russy, about your mom… how did she hurt her ankle? Do you remember the accident?”

  “They just said she fell. I didn’t get to see her after it happened. I didn’t see her again until she came home, after therapy.”

  “You mean she left immediately after the fall?”

  “Yes and no. I remember the doctor came to the house. Mother was up in her room. They told me she’d hurt her ankle and was sleeping. They wouldn’t let me see her. The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone.”

  “Without saying goodbye?”

  “No goodbyes. She was just gone.”

  “Oh my god, that’s awful! I can’t imagine going away without first saying goodbye to Hannah!”

  “You’re a much better mom than my mother was, thankfully for our daughter. Speaking of which, where did you say she is tonight?”

  “She’s spending the night with Sarah.”

  “I suppose we’re going to have to tell the girls in the morning about Angela’s release.”

  Chapter 9

  Harrison Coulson couldn’t sleep. Getting from his bed to his wheelchair without assistance was challenging yet not impossible. For Christmas, Kim had ordered him a power chair, something he’d been resisting for years. He knew she meant well, but he was terrified that if he relied on a power chair, he would lose what remaining strength he had in his frail body. After the stroke, he had cursed the damn chair, believing it held him prisoner. Yet, it had become part of him, offering Harrison an element of freedom.

  The power chair his eldest granddaughter had given him sat in the far corner of his bedroom. Ignoring it, Harrison maneuvered his manual wheelchair from the room into the hallway and toward the elevator.

  The house was quiet. Kim had moved into the estate with him two years earlier. Yet, she didn’t stay home every night, especially now that she was married. Harrison approved of her husband, Nick Myers, in spite of the fact he was related to Anthony Marino. Harrison was always aware of the connection, even if Nick wasn’t. Yet, Harrison didn’t hold young Nick responsible for the actions of some distant relative, especially considering that all that occurred long before Nick was born.

  If Harrison were to hold such a grudge against Nick, then couldn’t Kim do the same to him, considering what Harrison Jr. had done to Kim’s mother?

  When he died, Coulson House would go to Kim. Harrison’s father, Randall, had left the estate to his only son, Harrison, yet according to Randall’s wishes, the estate was to go to Harrison’s eldest child, or if that child was deceased, that child’s eldest. Although Harrison knew he had the power to go against his father’s decree, he wouldn’t.

  After Harrison Jr. was killed, everyone assumed Garret would someday inherit the property. If anyone thought Garret would be upset discovering his eldest sibling had an illegitimate child who would usurp his claim on the property, along with a share of the family fortune, then that person didn’t know Garret Coulson very well.

  To Garret and his wife, inheriting the three-storied mansion, which Alex referred to as a mausoleum, was a burden, and they were not only delighted to discover Kim was their niece but also that Kim held a special affection for Coulson House and its grounds. The home Randall had built for his wife, Mary Ellen, was going into good hands.

  Harrison wheeled himself into the elevator and then pushed the button to take him to the first floor. Once downstairs, Harrison made his way to the library. It had been his mother’s library and housed the impressive book collection she’d inherited from his father’s best friend and business partner, William Hunter. Unfortunately, she didn’t have long to enjoy it, dying just months after moving into the estate.

  Kim seemed to love the library as much as his mother had. In many ways, Kim reminded Harrison of his mother, Mary Ellen. Perhaps that is why the girl had become his favorite. He loved his other two granddaughters, Sarah and Hannah, but they weren’t Kim.

  In the library, Harrison flipped on a light, sending a pale glow over the room with its walls lined with books, from floor to high ceiling. Parking his chair next to the small oak table holding his ci
gars, ashtray, and lighter, he just sat there a moment, not moving. After a few minutes, he reached for a cigar, holding it in his right hand. Instead of cutting off its tip so it could be lit, Harrison rolled the tobacco cylinder between his fingers while his mind drifted… back to the day, those many years ago, when Anthony Marino was still alive and a threat to his family.

  * * *

  November 1960

  “I’m going to kill him,” Harrison said angrily. He was alone in the library with his father.

  “And how do you propose to do that?” Randall asked in a calm voice. He sat in one of the leather wingback chairs and watched his son pace the floor.

  “You think I should do nothing?” Harrison stopped and faced his father.

  “I didn’t say that. I simply asked, how do you propose to kill him? For all you know, he might be expecting you to do something. He might be waiting there right now.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t know.” Randall stood. “Considering what he’s done, I think the man’s insane. Unfortunately, that makes him more dangerous. I don’t disagree something needs to be done–and done quickly, before there are other casualties. But I don’t want you charging over there, getting yourself killed. We need someone calm and discrete. Someone who can take him down with one clean shot. No drama. No fireworks. A clean kill.”

  “I can do that,” Harrison insisted.

  “No, you can’t. You’re too damn emotional about this. Let me handle the situation because you have to take care of Vera.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a mess. You need to get her out of this house and somewhere safe where she can be looked after. I know a good sanitarium. When you were upstairs with her, I called in a favor. They’re expecting her in the morning.”

  “You want me to have her committed?”

  “She needs help, Harrison. It doesn’t have to be a permanent situation, but there really is no other way.” Randall walked toward the door and then turned to face his son. “I’ll see to Marino. When you get up in the morning, Marino will be handled, his room at the motel cleaned out, and as far as anyone will know, he simply left town. I’ll have my pilot prepare the plane, so you be ready to leave by 5:00 a.m. to escort Vera to the sanitarium. If everything goes as planned, you should be back before breakfast.”

  “But shouldn’t I go with you now to help you take care of Marino?”

  “No, Harrison. I would prefer you keep your hands clean. I don’t want my only son’s future threatened because of what that bastard did.”

  After clipping off its tip, Harrison put the cigar in his mouth. He rolled it slightly between his fingers as he lit one end. Taking a puff, he thought about his father. Randall had kept his promise. In the morning, that fateful day in November 1960, when Harrison left to take Vera to the sanitarium, Randall assured him the problem had been handled without incident.

  For years, Randall refused to say how the situation had been handled—or who had actually killed Marino, cleaned out the motel room, dumped the car, or disposed of the body. Those details were kept from Harrison.

  Randall wasn’t protecting just Harrison; he was keeping another promise—to the person who’d arranged the assassination. But after that person had died, Randall told Harrison everything. By that time, so many years had passed, and no one seemed interested in what had happened to Anthony Marino, a two-bit, low-life gangster.

  But apparently, someone now cared about Anthony Marino. It would be far easier to ignore the girl if Adam hadn’t so foolishly shared those old stories with her and promised to arrange a meeting with his daughter-in-laws.

  It wasn’t as if Harrison was afraid of being implemented in a fifty-three year old murder case. Only one person, other than himself, was still alive that knew what had really happened back then. He doubted there was any tangible evidence remaining that would support his account—or the other person’s—should either party decide to go public with the story.

  Harrison’s primary concern was for his sons. There where questions they had never asked over the years. Questions, that for whatever reason, they didn’t think to ask. He didn’t know why, but he was grateful. Should they decide to start seeking the truth about those long-ago events, he didn’t think he had it in him to lie. It would probably be easier to tell the truth. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain he had the energy to tell the truth—to face the additional questions that would ultimately follow—to look back at his life and see clearly the mistakes he’d made along the way.

  “Mr. Coulson, you’re up late.”

  Harrison turned in his chair and faced Helen Carpenter, who stood in the doorway, wearing a floor length robe.

  “Helen, you’re up late yourself.” Harrison took a final puff off his cigar and then smashed it in the ashtray.

  “I have a headache and was going to the kitchen to get a glass of milk so I can take my aspirin. I noticed the light on in here and thought perhaps the staff had forgotten to turn it off. Is everything okay, sir?”

  “Yes, Helen. I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “Maybe you’re just hungry. You didn’t finish your dinner.”

  Harrison chuckled. “You’re sounding like Kim.”

  “Well, I did promise her I’d keep an eye on you when she wasn’t here.” Mrs. Carpenter was only half teasing.

  “Oh, malarkey. I’ve been taking care of myself for almost a century now.”

  “Would you like to go in the kitchen with me? I could make you a nice sandwich.”

  Harrison considered the invitation for a moment, and then he smiled and turned the wheelchair in the direction of the door.

  “I could use a sandwich. Do you have any of that good potato salad you make?”

  Mrs. Carpenter smiled, then walked into the room and took hold of the back of Harrison’s wheelchair, pushing him toward the kitchen. Instead of complaining and insisting he do it himself, Harrison allowed her to help him.

  “Yes, I do. I also have some of that chocolate cake you love,” she said cheerfully.

  “Oh, but that needs ice cream.” Harrison was almost salivating.

  “We have ice cream.”

  “You can’t tell my granddaughter. You know how she’s always trying to get me to cut down on sugar.”

  “Oh, poo, a little sugar never hurt anyone. I won’t tell her. It will be our secret.”

  “Sounds good, Helen. I’m fairly good when it comes to keeping secrets.”

  Chapter 10

  Sophie followed Kim up the stairs leading to the attic. Nick remained in the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  “The morning sun comes in the back window and lights up the attic this time of year, so morning is the best time to look through those pictures,” Kim explained as she made her way up the back staircase. “Pop has some great photo albums in his study.

  Kim opened the door to the attic room.

  “But they’re mostly of Nick growing up. Anything from your side of the family is probably up here.” Kim walked into the room, flipped on the light, and opened the blinds to the back window. Bright sunlight flooded the attic room.

  “I expected cobwebs, dust, and old boxes stacked all over the place.” Sophie chuckled, looking around the tidy room. There were a few boxes and a trunk stored in the corner, but the area was used for more than simply storage. In the center of the room, a folding table was set up, covered with stacks of photographs.

  “These are the pictures?” Sophie asked, walking directly to the folding table. She picked up one stack of photographs and began flipping through them. Instead of snapshots, as were the other photographs stacked in neat piles on the table, these were wedding photographs, obviously taken by a professional photographer.

  “No, those are mine. The ones I was talking about are in that trunk.” Kim pointed to the trunk in the corner of the room.

  “Oh, I see what you mean. These are adorable of you and Nick. I love the vintage look.”

  “Umm, that�
�s not me. It’s my mother,” Kim walked to the folding table and watched Sophie, who looked from the photographs to Kim as if she couldn’t believe what she was being told.

  “But it looks just like you… and Nick.”

  “That’s Pop and my mom. Pop’s first wife was my mother. Those are their wedding pictures.”

  “Oh my…” Somewhat embarrassed and unsure as to how to respond, Sophie set the stack back on the table.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I know it sounds strange.” Kim laughed, then sat down at the table and nudged an empty folding chair in her guest’s direction. Sophie sat down.

  “Hey, you are family. You might as well know the strange family you’re related to,” Kim said with a grin. “Like I said, my mother was married to Nick’s dad. After they got a divorce, he married Nick’s mother. I grew up believing Pop was my father—although I had never met him—not until a couple years ago. I grew up as Kim Myers.”

  “You mean you and Nick had the same last name?”

  “Yep. Makes for an interesting discussion when ordering wedding invitations. When I found out my real father was Senator Coulson, I could have changed my surname, but I didn’t want to.

  “I didn’t even know those wedding photos existed. I thought she’d destroyed them after the divorce—all but one of Pop. I found them and others when going through her things. Most of the pictures weren’t labeled, so I didn’t know who the people were. I figured Pop might know, and he did. We’ve gone through all of them, labeled the ones he recognized. I’m now working on putting them in albums, but with the wedding and all, I haven’t done much.”

  “It is quite eerie how much you both look like your parents back then,” Sophie said, picking up one of the wedding photographs again and looking at it.

  “I agree. Kinda creepy.” Kim laughed again. “So, how about we look through the trunk?”