“Oh? Thank you, I guess. What kind of ‘functions’ are we going to?”
“Dinner with a few friends and a press gathering or two. After your comment about being trailed by reporters, I think it’s best for you to be available to them on a limited basis to answer a few questions. Give them what they want and they’ll give you what you want. Privacy.”
“Don’t forget what you want.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, don’t forget to get what you want out of this little ‘show and tell’ session tonight, too.”
Shea glanced at her with knitted brows. “Right now I’m focused on you. So is everyone else, for that matter.” He brought the car to a stop at a red light and took the opportunity to assess her. He missed the clue of what was going on inside of her.
“Jessica. I know this is hell for you and you wanted this over now. You won’t have a normal life for a while. I’m sorry. It’s just the way it is.”
Jessica took off her gloves and gnawed at the cuticle on her index finger. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Teeth pulled at the skin around her nail. “Shea? I need to become ‘me’ again—Jessica Wyeth. I forgot that people really thought I was dead until I saw my grave today.”
Shea looked over at her and was immediately aware of how spent she looked. “That must be what’s bothering you. Right. There is already a motion filed to have that grave exhumed and for the remains of whomever or whatever is in there to be identified. From what I can tell from what Keenan in Forensics said, it will be pretty hard to get anything clearly from the charred bone fragments. Any DNA testing will take some time.”
“No. Forget about that. I know who’s in my grave.”
“What? Who?”
“Anna, my friend who was at my house that day. She went to find me at our favorite place.”
Shea paused and put the pieces together. “I think you’re right. Jessica, I’m so sorry.”
Jessica wiped away a tear from her cheek. “I forgot about her.”
“It’s been a long, terrible story, Jessica. Now that you’re back from the dead you can start making things right—like remembering Anna appropriately.”
The thought made Jessica shiver. “What do I have to do to become ‘me’ again?”
“It’s straightforward. I’ll use my contacts to help you quickly and without a lot of fuss. There’s no shortage of willing listeners and your paperwork will whiz through the process. It’s one small fringe benefit of being a temporary celebrity. Even the smallest clerk will hurry along in an effort to keep in your good favor. It certainly helps that they may also be currying favor with a future governor.”
“So I’ve heard. When can we do it?”
“That was one of the things we were going to work on today, but tomorrow will be okay, too.”
“Okay. Okay. I didn’t think I had to report to you where I was going.”
“I was just concerned until Abbey straightened me out. She reminded me that in no uncertain terms would Jessica Wyeth be tethered by convention.”
“Good guess. Is that all she said?”
“Well, the fact that I assumed you would be available when I called proved to Abbey that I was clueless as to the type of woman you are. I’m not comfortable with anything I don’t have total control over.”
“Like me?”
“Like you.”
They wound their way back to the hotel. Once Jessica showered, she felt refreshed and realized she did not want to spend any more time alone in a hotel room. She looked at the outfits Abbey and Shea had chosen for her. There were several in different styles and colors. Jessica laughed to herself. Shea might take the credit, but Abbey definitely did the work. There was even a small package of cosmetics attached to one of the dresses. Jessica used it to cover the last of the fading yellow bruises. Putting on a teal silk dress, she declared herself ready for the wolves.
As much as she hated to admit it, the parties arranged for her and Shea were exciting. Well-wishers appeared from out of nowhere and offered words of congratulations and sympathy for her. She hated being the center of attention and was relieved to see people gathering around Shea as well. In spite of herself, Jessica scanned the room for Michael’s distinctive build. She didn’t know if she was happy or sad that he was not at the night’s events. Michael’s words about Shea’s little stint as the Murdering Heiress’ benefactor serving to boost his career rung in her ears and she tried to block them as she watched Shea work the crowd.
Whatever Shea had said about people being focused only on her was wrong, as he was the man of the hour and he knew it. His time was spent judiciously courting the press and painstakingly rebuilding his reputation and putting the required spin on the harboring a fugitive rumors. He need not have worried about that, she soon found out. It seemed that hardly anyone doubted his commitment to fighting crime and his concern for the people and the safety of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
The evening finally ended and Shea brought Jessica back to her room. He did not wait for an invitation and entered. Another bottle of champagne had arrived and sat, chilling on ice.
Shea walked over and popped the cork.
“The next few weeks are going to be just as busy as tonight.” He was talking more to himself than to Jessica.
“Weeks? I thought tomorrow would be it.”
“Well, my research on the money laundering charges against the Charity and Unity Green turned up some unexpected benefits. I uncovered a small fortune in securities and other assets which were being held pending the expiration of the Wyeth Family Trust.”
“What are you saying?”
“During my search in the Registry of Deeds and reviewing the documents recovered from Joseph Tripp’s office I turned up a few things. As I suspected, Tripp was forced to go along with many provisions of the trust documents he felt your family was coerced into executing. Tripp did the minimum to comply with Unity Green.”
“I remember something my aunt said about annual payments. I hated that then. She wanted to keep strings attached to the money to make sure I didn’t blow it. Even though she set up those secret accounts I told you about, she also wanted to make sure I would visit her now and then. ”
“Right. Well those payments became the bane of Tripp’s existence. Magnus’ men seized on the payment provision and forced Tripp to make them to Charity. He paid only as much as was necessary to keep the thugs off of his doorstep, but even those payments drained the bulk of the corpus of the trust.”
“Corpus? You make it sound like a body.”
“In a way. The corpus is the complete body of cash that funds the trust. Anyway, the amount of the trust is no longer the multimillion-dollar pot it once was. I expect to transfer over three and a half million dollars to you. Not bad for coming back from the dead.”
“My God! That’s incredible!”
Shea sat back and smiled. “What do you expect to do with it?”
“I’m not sure. At least I can pay back the people that helped me after the break-in and fire and buy some decent animals! What about Tripp? Doesn’t he get paid, too?”
“It seems that the stress of keeping the Charity away from that cash was too much for the old man. He slid into alcoholism and lost his wife, family, and all but one or two of his clients as a result. The financial ruin he faced blurred his ethics to a point where he felt entitled to dip into the trust once in a while for more than executor fees. Tripp will be more than happy to assist me in transferring the vested assets of the trust into your name. Doing so will be Tripp’s own way of exorcising the ghosts of his past and purging his mind of the guilt of raiding your trust as much as he did.”
“Maybe I can get my family’s belongings, too.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I was able to find some boxes and furniture in prepaid storage, but the great bulk of the items were sold at the time the es
tate was liquidated. It’s a disappointment. I can arrange to ship the recovered boxes down to Perc.”
“I need to get out of Boston, Owen. I hate being under a microscope. I don’t know how you can tolerate the press in your face like that.” She accepted the glass and raised it in a silent toast. “I have to say you handle them beautifully.”
“Right. Thanks.” Shea moved toward the window and sat down in one of the wingback chairs in the corner of the room. He motioned for Jessica to sit in the other. Instead, she stood by the window, peeking out at the traffic below.
“Will you go back to Perc?”
Jessica fingered the stem of the fluted glass. “Yes. For now. There is nothing for me here in Massachusetts. My family is gone. Worldwind Farm is a housing development for the aspiring rich.” She took a long pull of champagne and let the liquid settle on her tongue while she thought. “I have a farm in Perc. I started to build a life there.”
“As ‘Tess White.’ How do you think they are going to react to you coming back with a different name? A whole new past?”
She thought about what he said. He was right. It was not going to be easy. “I don’t know. What I do know is that I started to make a fresh life for myself there. It’s the first place I’ve had roots in a long, long time. Even at the parties you’ve taken me to around here, the children cower and whisper in corners about me. My aunt used to say, ‘what the children act out is what the parents talk about.’”
“It’s a small southern town. Be aware that people may feel deceived and lied to. It could be tough for you just to step back into Tess White’s shoes.”
Jessica pursed her lips and shrugged. “I know. I know you have a point. But you must know that I have to try. What else am I supposed to do?”
Shea did not like the idea of Jessica returning to Perc. He walked across the room, placed his glass on the table and brushed the hair away from her face. “You know, once the hoopla dies down, Boston is a great place to live. There is still a lot of work we have to do. You might grow to like it here.” He looked at her. “I wish this was over for you, Jessica.”
The tight, preoccupied lines that normally crossed his face softened. She sensed the change in him and felt him trace the curve of her chin. She had seen that expression on him only once before.
For a few seconds, she let herself feel the movement of his hand, understanding his meaning. She felt his arm wrap around her waist and pull her closer. The motion was not totally gentle and held an element of possessiveness in it that she did not like. He brought his face down to hers and kissed her.
Jessica’s initial response was automatic and she let herself be pulled closer, accepting his embrace and his kisses. She closed her eyes, allowing—almost willing—herself to warm to his presence. She remembered the feeling of his closeness from the night at his cottage. She wanted the feeling of connection—needed the closeness. Again, it was Michael she saw and wanted. Silently cursing herself, she lowered her head and pushed away.
“Owen. Please,” her voice trailed. “Don’t.”
He did not want to let her go and pulled her closer still.
“Owen. I mean it. Don’t.”
He loosened his grip and leaned back against the window frame.
Jessica stepped away and looked up at him. “You said we still have a lot of work to do and my head is still reeling from everything that’s gone on.” She swiped a long strand of hair out of her face. “I need to focus on business. We can’t complicate things any more than they already are.”
“Is that it? You’re concerned with ‘complications’?” His voice was neutral.
“I wish this was all over for me too, but I guess it’s not.” She downed another glass of champagne. “We can’t get involved.”
“What about the sheriff?”
Without moving her eyes or her head, she could tell that Shea had now directed his gaze squarely at her. She played for time. “What about him?”
The man looked around the room. He had this hotel and room covered with surveillance. The champagne in the room was a signal that it was still swept clean. No electronic listening devices had been planted. Knowing it was safe to talk did not make this conversation any easier.
“Why would he bargain with two patrol cops to get some time alone with you before he arrested you?”
“What’s your point?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the ‘friendship’ the two of you had before your identity became known?”
“I don’t know what you’re driving at.”
“How much do you know about your Southern sheriff?”
“Look, Shea,” Jessica moved away from the window and leaned up against the bureau on the far side of the room, “I don’t know much about him at all. I didn’t even find out he was the sheriff until after I got to know him a little.”
“Michael Conant is not who he says he is.”
“Oh?”
“He was born Michael Magnus Connaught.”
Jessica felt her chest muscles tighten around her heart. “What! How do you know that?”
Shea told her about the night they arrested Magnus and of the photographs he found in the house.
“Michael is Magnus’ son?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s impossible. He told me his family was dead. Why would he lie?”
He shifted his weight and loosened his fine silk tie. “I really don’t know how he fits into the equation here. What I do know is this. From what I’ve learned in the past few days, there seems to be a great deal of repositioning among the members of the Charity. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Michael hung around town even after your capture. A police officer assigned to Magnus saw him at Magnus’ mansion shortly before the hearing.” Words were not coming easily. He tried to voice his concern more concisely. “Jessica, I don’t know what is going on with him. What I do know is that they are keeping his identity and involvement in the Charity very quiet. Don’t mention what I have said tonight to anyone. And,” his voice hardened, “stay away from him.”
Her conversation with Michael in the alley became clear. “Sarge said Magnus only wanted a son to assume the mantle of leadership when he stepped down. He said something about blood ties being stronger than anything else.” The thought sent a shiver down her spine. “Why are you telling me all of this? There is nothing between me and Michael.” She paused, confused at why she felt compelled to deny a connection between herself and Michael. Impatience edged her words. “What are you trying to say? Don’t go back to Perc?”
“No one would blame you if you didn’t. It might be better that way.”
“For you or me?” She made no attempt to hide her anger. “You’re really confusing me, Shea. If he is Magnus’ son, then why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance? God knows he had enough of them.”
“I don’t know. This gets more complicated as we go on. You are the key witness to a crime his father committed. The partner to that crime, John Doe, is still at large. Right now, the limelight is too hot on you for them to make a move.” Shea squinted his eyes shut and tried to concentrate against his concern. “I don’t know. I just don’t know how to keep you safe.”
The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the heater. A hard chink! was heard as ice melted and shifted in the bucket. Minutes passed.
Jessica stood up straight and clasped her hands in front of her mouth. “That tape I made in the hotel room when we first met about what I witnessed the night Gus was murdered, is it good enough?”
Shea looked puzzled. He was to blame for increasing the tension between them and was happy to focus on an issue that would eliminate the undercurrents that rippled in the room. “What do you mean ‘good enough’?”
“We made that tape in case something happened to me before I had a chance to tell my story in court. It was good enough to shift the blame off of me and onto
Magnus and to get an indictment, but is it good enough to get a conviction if you had to go to trial without me?”
“It’s not perfect. Even though it was more than adequate for the grand jury proceedings, a good defensive team and a hard look at it could discredit portions of it during a dog-eat-dog trial—which is just what we are heading to. What are you getting at?”
Jessica kicked off her shoes and paced the room. “Well, if we sharpen that tape, make it perfect from a legal and testimonial standpoint and if we let the word out that the tape exists, wouldn’t that make killing me irrelevant? My testimony would survive my death. I mean, if I have already done what they are afraid I might do, then what’s the point in killing me?”
A crooked smile broke out on Shea’s face. “Right. I see what you’re saying.” He paused as he clicked off the legal issues and practical considerations in his head. “It would be easy to redo your taped testimony in a sworn affidavit format with a little drama thrown in. That would seal the legal holes. But it’s not airtight.”
“Drama?”
“Yeah. We’ll tape it in a courtroom. The backdrop will help create an image of solemnity and honesty. A judge and jury reviewing the tape in the event of your death would be compelled by the sight of a lone woman giving her testimony, sitting in a witness box, flanked by a judge, bailiff and attorney, fearing for her life.”
“Okay, but what about the legality of it.”
“No problem. I’ll impose a strict structure over the taped affidavit. A court reporter will transcribe the proceedings and a notary will place her seal on it. But that doesn’t guarantee your survival.” The thought of anything happening to Jessica placed a pit in his stomach, but at least nothing would happen to his case.
“No? Why not?”
“People kill out of revenge, too.”
Jessica exploded. “Damn you! Damn it all! What am I supposed to do? Enter a witness protection program and pretend to be someone else for the rest of my life?”
The sarcasm in her tone was biting. The meaning was clear. Shea knew there was no way she would do such a thing. Abbey was right, again. Jessica would not enter such a protection program and give up all that she had fought for. He felt foolish for suggesting it to her. At least, not now. Not yet.
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