Jack suddenly realized where the story was headed. Agnes took a deep breath and made her point explicit.
“That’s why you never had any brothers or sisters, Jack.”
There it was: the end of the unfinished story. Jack didn’t know how to respond.
“I thought you deserved to know that,” said Agnes. She extended her hand, slowly sliding it toward him atop the comforter. She wanted him to take it.
Jack wondered why she thought it was so important to explain why he was an only child, but he didn’t question it. He held her hand.
“There’s something you should know, too,” he said.
Jack was glad to have something to say, even if it was something he hadn’t known very long. The realization had just come to him on his previous visit to Seaside, when he’d witnessed Harry caring for her so lovingly in a moment of need. A man who, if not for Agnes, couldn’t have managed to get out of the house with his hair combed and tie straight was more attentive than any caregiver could possibly have been, more devoted than any husband Jack had ever known.
The words did not come easy, because Jack knew what they would mean in the greater scheme of things. Jack knew that the gravesite beside Ana Maria Swyteck in St. Hugh’s cemetery would be forever empty—that one of the side-by-side plots Harry had purchased before finding love again would go unused. But Agnes was a good woman. She’d stumbled, probably at a time when Jack had needed her most, but Righley’s entry into the world had given Jack an appreciation of just how hard it was to be a parent even under the best of circumstances. Agnes deserved to hear the truth, and she deserved to be called the special word Jack had never called her.
“You are the love of Harry Swyteck’s life. I hope you know that . . . Mom.”
She squeezed Jack’s hand, however weakly, and a smile creased her lips.
Jack wasn’t sure who had needed this more, her or him. But he knew one thing for certain.
He would remain there at her bedside, holding her hand, as long as Agnes wanted.
Chapter 51
The moonless night was to Amanda’s advantage.
Clyde’s closed at midnight, but Amanda waited until 2:00 a.m., when all the bars in Tallahassee were closed. Then Amanda drove downtown. The sidewalks were empty. The storefronts were dark. Amanda checked her speedometer. She was minding the speed limit, but not driving so slowly that police might mistake her for a drunk on the road in the wee hours of the morning.
Amanda—“Manny”—had been thinking about the visit with her old boss. That Andrew had no memory of Charlotte coming to Clyde’s as a student was not surprising. In a city of eight colleges and universities, no bar manager could keep track of every college-aged patron who walked through the door. At the time, however, Amanda had thought the whole world had noticed when Charlotte stopped coming to Clyde’s. Probably because, to Amanda, it was her whole world.
The first kiss had been on a dare. Not the second. And not what followed. Amanda understood that nice girls born again in the First Baptist Church of Pensacola didn’t bring a girlfriend home from college to meet the parents. So they flew under the radar. Still, it hurt that, to Charlotte’s friends, Amanda was nothing more than “that chick Charlotte kissed on a dare.” Nobody had been more obnoxious about it than the guy who’d put the dare to her. Amanda had forgotten his name—Alberto Perez—until the hearing in Judge Martin’s courtroom brought it all back to life. In hindsight, maybe he was so homophobic because he was in the closet. Or maybe he was simply the jerk she’d always thought he was.
Amanda stopped at the red flashing traffic light, and then turned on Adams Street. Clyde’s was a block away.
Millions of Americans had watched the Charlotte Holmes fitness hearings on livestream over the Internet. None had watched with the interest of Amanda.
Common sense dictated that the disappearance of a murder weapon would make it harder to convict an accused killer. Not until the hearing before Judge Martin, however, did Amanda realize that it wasn’t Charlotte’s handgun that she’d found on the sidewalk outside Clyde’s and that had “gone missing.” That gun belonged to the dead man, and in a classic case of unintended consequences, the missing handgun didn’t make it harder to convict Charlotte; it actually made Charlotte’s defense more difficult to prove. It was human nature to be uneasy about the shooting of an unarmed man. Charlotte’s lawyer had gone to great lengths to suggest that Mr. Meyer was in fact armed, and that police had simply failed to find his gun.
“Did any of the fifty-plus people caught in this stampede accidentally kick a handgun into the storm drain?”
“I doubt it.”
“Did you look in the storm drain?”
“No.”
Amanda slowed her car as she approached Clyde’s. It was important that there be no witness. The street was empty. No cars were ahead of her, and a quick check of the rearview mirror confirmed none behind. She reached into her purse and grabbed the gun. The driving gloves would ensure no fingerprints. She stopped the car, but only for a second, and opened her door a foot or so. She pitched the gun into the storm drain, quickly closed the door, and drove away.
Problem solved.
When the police followed up on the soon-to-arrive anonymous tip, they’d find the dead man’s gun. They’d know that the man Charlotte had shot was not unarmed.
Jack called Andie to tell her that Agnes had passed. They agreed that Righley should stay home with Abuela.
Morning flights from Miami were booked, so Theo and Andie shared the ten-hour drive through the night, arriving in Seaside just around 9:00 a.m. Harry trusted his former campaign manager to notify the long list of friends who should know, and word spread quickly on social media. Condolences poured in all morning, and by noon they had more flower arrangements than places to put them.
Senator Stahl and his wife arrived after lunchtime, which was a surprise. Jack had overheard his father’s end of their phone conversation earlier that morning. Harry had been clear that it really wasn’t necessary for the senator to stop by the house. Apparently, Harry should have just come right out and said that he didn’t want the senator turning Agnes’s death into a diversion from the roiling political scandal of a same-sex affair.
“Can I speak to you in private, Jack?” the senator’s wife asked.
Harry and Senator Stahl were in the Florida room with several Seaside neighbors who had stopped by the cottage. Jack led Gwen out the back door for a walk toward the beach. They followed a wooden-plank path that meandered through sand dunes and sea oats. Seagulls hovered in a cloudless blue sky. They seemed almost stationary, like nature’s helicopters, their white wings spread at the perfect angle to let the breeze do all the work.
“I’m so sorry to intrude on your family,” said Gwen. “I told Evan this was not our place.”
“It’s fine,” said Jack.
A sea crab scurried across the path. Gwen paused to avoid stepping on it, then continued.
“I wanted to ask you about the rest of Charlotte’s court hearing. Is it possible I could be called as a witness again?”
“Do you want to be?”
“No,” she said with a nervous chuckle, and then more firmly: “No.”
“I have no plans to put you back on the stand.”
“What about the attorney general? Might she?”
“I wish I could tell you one way or the other. Unfortunately, General Barrow seems to change the theory of her case every time we step into the courthouse.”
Gwen stopped. The sound of the surf grew louder. The beach was just on the other side of the last line of sea oats.
“How do you think I did on the witness stand?”
“You did fine,” said Jack.
“I’m serious. Give me a letter grade.”
“When I questioned you, I give you an A.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking. What grade do you give me under fire from General Barrow? Be honest.”
“I don’t know. A solid B,
I’d say.”
“And I’d say you’re wrong.” She started walking again. Jack went with her.
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Gwen.”
She flashed a clever smile. “You misunderstand. I give myself an A-plus for the way I matched up against the attorney general. Things could have gone so much worse.”
“I hear you. Things can always go worse.”
They stopped where the dunes ended and the endless white strip of sugar-like beachfront began. “I mean so much worse.”
Her expression alone was enough to pique Jack’s concern. “Worse for whom?”
“Everybody. General Barrow didn’t really ask the right questions the first time she had me. I’m afraid she will, if she gets a second chance.”
“Is there something specific I should know about?”
“No,” she said. “This is something no one should know about.”
“Exactly what are you telling me, Gwen?”
Her expression turned very serious. “I’m giving you a little advice: do whatever it takes to keep me out of that courtroom.”
She let her words settle on Jack, but her expression invited no follow-up question from him. Then she turned and started back down the path toward the cottage.
Jack’s gaze shifted offshore, where surfers in wet suits negotiated the whitecaps. Pundits the world over had their opinions as to why Gwen Stahl had left her husband and gone to Singapore, and Jack had wondered what was really behind her decision to yank her daughter out of school and go into seclusion halfway around the world. A wife angered and embarrassed by an unfaithful husband? A mother trying to protect her preteen daughter from salacious media coverage? Or something else?
Jack let the senator’s wife go on ahead of him before starting back to the cottage, alone.
Chapter 52
Nonstop visitors and the parade of consolation continued throughout the day. Jack wasn’t looking for an excuse to leave the beach house, but late that afternoon one landed in his ear. Bonnie called from his office in Miami. His reliable assistant had been searching government records online for two days and had a breakthrough.
“I found a name for you,” said Bonnie.
Jack was relaxing on the front porch in a white wicker love seat, with Andie in his arms. He really didn’t want to get up, but Bonnie had a voice like a bugle when she was bursting with pride from a “mission accomplished,” and Andie had the ears of an FBI agent even when she wasn’t on duty. He went to the other side of the porch. “Tell me,” he said into the phone.
“All lobbyists have to include a list of clients on their registration forms,” said Bonnie. “I checked every registration filed this year. Not a single one lists Alberto Perez, M.D., as a client.”
Jack had hoped otherwise. The idea had come to him after listening to the audio recording of Charlotte’s conversation with Dr. Perez. Right before offering her the flash drive, the doctor had suggested that Charlotte could have a future as a lobbyist in the health care field. Jack wondered if Dr. Perez was already working with another lobbyist.
“Now for the good news,” said Bonnie. “I focused on lobbyists who work in the health care field and made a list of all their corporate clients. Then I went through the secretary of state’s business records and got the names of all the corporate officers. And, voilà.”
“Voilà, what?”
“I found a lobbyist named George Carpenter who lists a certain limited liability company as a client. And the managing director of that certain LLC is Dr. Alberto Perez.”
“That’s fabulous work, Bonnie.”
“That’s not the best part. Wait till you hear the name of the LLC that Dr. Perez manages.”
“What is it?”
“Guess.”
“Bonnie, I can’t possibly guess.”
“It starts with the letter ‘C,’ and you smoke it.”
“I don’t know. Crawfish?”
“Not that kind of smoking. It’s cannabis.”
“What?”
“Cannabis Solutions of Florida, LLC. That’s the name of Dr. Perez’s company.”
Jack was glad he’d stepped away from Andie to take the call. He asked Bonnie to set up a meeting with Carpenter that afternoon, thanked her for the good work, and ended the call. Then he walked back to the love seat. Andie knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can look after your dad.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. Just take Theo with you. He’s like a crawfish out of water here.”
Sometimes Jack wondered if she had bionic ears. He gave her a kiss, and ten minutes later Jack was on the road with Theo. Carpenter had agreed to meet, which was no surprise to Jack, as it was another of Bonnie’s gifts that no one ever said no to her. Even better, Jack didn’t have to go all the way to Tallahassee. Carpenter’s son played varsity basketball, and his first away game of the season was that afternoon at Wewahitchka High School, midway between Seaside and Tallahassee, somewhere between Dead Lakes Recreation Area and Tate’s Hell State Forest.
“What’s up with these names?” asked Theo.
“Wewahitchka is Native American.”
“I’m talking about the ones you can pronounce. Tate’s Hell. Dead Lake. Why don’t they just call it ‘Don’t-fucking-come-here-ville’?”
“A cannabis plant by any other name . . . ,” he said, though he was pretty sure the literary allusion was lost on his friend.
It was late in the fourth quarter when they reached the high school gymnasium. The Wewahitchka Gators lost on a buzzer beater, which made the home team sad, but it was Carpenter’s son who’d hit the game winner, so Dad was in a particularly good mood. Jack gave him a few minutes for hugs and pictures with his son, and then they found a concrete patio table in the courtyard outside the gym where they could talk in private.
Jack already knew a thing or two about growing pot, and not just because he’d gone to college in Gainesville. Four years had passed since the previous general election when, in addition to sending MacLeod to Washington for his first term, Florida voters approved an amendment to the State Constitution to legalize medical marijuana. The fact that Florida’s tropical climate was ideal for cultivation of marijuana had many an entrepreneur envisioning fields of cannabis as endless as the amber waves of grain and piles of cash as high as the purple mountains’ majesty. But the movement hit a roadblock.
“Cannabis is Florida’s next multibillion-dollar industry,” said Carpenter. “If we can get Tallahassee to move on it.”
“There’s already a constitutional amendment,” said Jack.
“Words on paper,” said Carpenter. “Medical marijuana is legal in Florida if it is grown, processed, and sold in the state. Since the amendment passed, the Department of Health has issued, on average, two or three licenses a year. You know how many facilities are up and running? Less than half that many. That’s supposed to serve the needs of over twenty million people.”
“So if I want a license in Florida, what do I do?”
“Two options. First, you can buy it from one of the lucky guys who got one. That’ll set you back about a hundred million.”
“Just for the license?”
“Right.”
“What’s my other option?”
“Lobbying works. Hire me.”
“Is that what Dr. Perez did?”
“He’s one of many, but he was among the first. Dr. Perez is a pain management specialist. He saw firsthand how addiction to opioids ruined people’s lives. He’s also a smart businessman who recognized the profit potential a lot sooner than the Johnny-come-latelies.”
“Do you know why he was talking to Charlotte Holmes?”
“Not specifically. But it’s not unusual for clients to have more than one lobbyist.”
“Why would Dr. Perez want to hire Charlotte Holmes?”
“My understanding is that he and Charlotte Holmes are old friends. She also just got cut loose from
Madeline Chisel. Maybe Dr. Perez thought she could do for legalized marijuana what she and Madeline did for the NRA.”
Carpenter’s son caught his father’s attention from across the courtyard. “I think LeBron James is ready to go home,” said Carpenter, rising.
Jack thanked him as they shook hands, and Carpenter offered to talk again if they wanted to visit his office in Tallahassee. Jack and Theo stood and watched as Carpenter walked away with his arm around his son.
“Nice enough guy,” said Theo. “Pretty helpful.”
“Not that helpful,” said Jack. “He skated right over the biggest bump in the road to legalized marijuana: Malcolm MacLeod.”
“Isn’t this up to the state governments?”
“The MacLeod administration took a firm stand against legalization and vowed to enforce federal narcotics laws even in states that have legalized marijuana. Legalized pot on a state level is meaningless if the Justice Department still prosecutes growers and distributors under federal law.”
“So when Mr. Carpenter said that Dr. Perez approached Charlotte Holmes because he needed another state lobbyist in Tallahassee, that’s bullshit?”
“Totally,” said Jack. “What legalized pot needs is a president who is friendly to legalized pot.”
“What’s Senator Stahl’s position on legalized marijuana?”
“What do you think?” asked Jack.
“So when Perez pulled out the flash drive and put the bitcoin key on the table, that wasn’t a lobbyist’s retainer fee.”
“Nope,” said Jack. “More like a down payment on her electoral vote.”
Chapter 53
Charlotte drove two hundred miles to Pensacola to see Megan.
A good sister-to-sister conversation had been in order since her snarky “doesn’t like men” testimony at the hearing. After considerable persistence on Charlotte’s part, Megan had finally agreed to a lunch meeting. Charlotte chose the Oar House, because she wanted to be near the water, and the Oar House had outdoor tables for dockside dining. Charlotte was already seated and drinking her second sweet tea, waiting for Megan to arrive, when the text message popped up on her cell.
The Big Lie Page 27