by Lis Wiehl
“I’ve been thinking about you and the past. What went wrong …” Stanley felt intoxicated by her.
“Everything went wrong,” she said. “But remember, you left me.”
“I had to. You were …”
“Black?” she said.
That’s when he saw the hatred in her eyes.
Stanley cringed. “We live in a different time now,” he said, though he wasn’t sure what that meant to him, or to her.
He moved closer, even as her body tensed.
“Don’t you understand what you did? You stole everything from me.”
She flinched as he reached for the ivory comb, pulling it from her hair. Strands of salt-and-pepper hair tumbled down her back and over his hand.
He reached to touch her face when he heard the click of a gun’s hammer. It rested on the desk beneath her left hand. The barrel was pointed at him.
“Leave now, please.”
Even after all this time, he knew her expressions.
“You wouldn’t,” he said, but her face said she was stronger now. It made him want her more while knowing he would never have her.
“Go now. I’ve kept your secrets, but they are looking for you.” She kept her hand on the gun. “And, Stanley, don’t ever come back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
For Lisa’s last night in Dallas, Rosalyn cooked a Tex-Mex feast and insisted they all gather at Dad’s house.
“It’ll be fun,” Molly said as if to convince Lisa when picking her up. The scent of a pineapple upside-down cake filled Molly’s car. They stopped by a wine shop, and Lisa found a favorite Sonoma Valley Cabernet. At least the wine would be good, she mused.
Dad’s house was filled with mouth-watering scents, and the table seemed weighted with food. To Lisa’s surprise, it tasted even better than it smelled and looked—Rosalyn was an excellent cook. Score another point for the quirky woman in the Mexican dress with a large plastic flower behind her ear.
“Can I help with anything?” Lisa asked Rosalyn.
“I got it. Relax. Enjoy time with your father.”
Lisa watched Rosalyn flutter around the tiny kitchen where her mother once stood, surprised at her own lack of animosity. Her father’s girlfriend was growing on her. And Lisa knew it would be easier for her to leave knowing her father wasn’t alone.
I don’t want to be alone either. The realization surprised Lisa, and she thought of Drew back in Boston.
Over dinner Molly asked Dad about his years in the FBI, especially the investigation of the JFK assassination. They sat at the table for hours, eating, drinking, and listening to her father’s stories, many of which Lisa had never heard before. Even with Rosalyn chattering over Dad, sometimes telling his stories for him, Lisa savored the time together.
Much later, as she packed her luggage and talked to Drew in her hotel room, Lisa realized how much the night meant to her.
“It was the best night I can remember with my father.”
Drew didn’t respond.
Lisa sat on the bed, pulling her legs up close.
“Go ahead and say I told you so. If you hadn’t pushed me into this, I doubt I would’ve come.”
“Me, push you? Never.” Drew’s tone had I told you so all over it. “But you should trust me. I might know more about making you happy than you realize.”
Lisa stared at her bare toes. “That’s another thing to discuss when I get back. It’s harder to leave after tonight, but I’m ready to be back in Boston.”
“I’m looking forward to it myself,” Drew said.
“Tomorrow night in New Orleans, and then I’m home.”
She heard his groan and the sound of his desk chair creak. “If only I didn’t have that meeting with corporate, we could’ve made it several nights in New Orleans,” Drew said in a gravelly tone that made her wish it as well.
But Lisa needed to remain focused. As she gained the courage to step forward into unchartered possibilities with Drew, she was determined to get the final answers to free Leonard Dubois, and hopefully bring Stanley Blackstone to justice. She needed to rein in the tumult of emotions for just a while longer.
Before saying good night, Drew added with a hint of residual worry, “Promise me you’ll be careful. No risks, just get yourself home.”
Lisa crawled into bed with Casablanca playing over the television, then reached for her cell phone for a quick glance at her e-mail. A name in the in-box brought her sitting straight up in bed. Gwendolyn Hubert.
Lisa opened the e-mail that Stanley Blackstone’s daughter had written her.
Ms. Waldren,
I believe you are already aware of who I am, and who my father is. I would like to talk to you privately and off the record as soon as possible. I’m willing to fly to wherever you are. Please be careful and contact me soon.
Sincerely,
Gwen
Lisa studied the e-mail, reading it numerous times, wondering if it was really from Gwendolyn Hubert.
The aspiring politician had an auto-signature at the bottom of her e-mail. When Lisa clicked the link, the Hope in Action! Hubert for Senate campaign website opened. The contact numbers in the e-mail had area codes from Missouri, and one matched the number on her website. It appeared the e-mail might be authentic.
But why would the woman contact her? And what exactly did she want to discuss?
Lisa spent the next few hours reviewing her information on Gwendolyn Hubert and her estranged father, Stanley Blackstone, until she fell asleep in the earliest hours of the morning.
When she woke, Lisa forwarded the e-mail from Gwendolyn to Dad and Drew. She’d be seeing her father later in the day. She didn’t enjoy good-byes and had attempted to be done with them after last night’s dinner. They’d made plans to get together soon either in Dallas or Boston before the days of Leonard’s life clicked away. Then, as she was leaving his house, Dad insisted that he drive her to the airport today, even after she explained how easily she could drop off the rental car before her flight.
“Can you pick me up at three?”
“Three it is,” Dad had said.
Lisa decided to e-mail Gwendolyn from the airport after she’d had more time to discern why the woman had reached out to her. She took the last hours to prepare for her meeting with Madeline Fitzgerald and to organize the pile of papers, police files, and photographs she had accumulated since her arrival. She’d bought an additional piece of luggage in a hotel shop to lug it all home. Tonight she would approach Madeline and try to obtain the truth.
From Lisa’s research she’d found conflicting reports about Madeline Fitzgerald’s presence at the civil rights rally. But what caught Lisa’s attention were two reports of a disturbance the night before, never explored by law enforcement. The altercation was between Benjamin Gray and an unknown man. One report mentioned Madeline’s presence at the hotel where the men were staying.
If Madeline hadn’t attended the rally, she could at least explain about this incident the night before. Lisa suspected it was between Benjamin Gray and Stanley Blackstone. And if the woman had attended the rally, she likely witnessed the shooting.
As Lisa read and jotted down notes, a text from Molly popped up on her phone.
Can you meet me at the church?
Lisa and Molly had said good-bye the night before. She typed back, Is everything okay?
I need to show you something.
Lisa dialed Molly’s number, but it only rang and went to voice mail.
What is it? Lisa typed.
No answer. Lisa stared at her phone, then hopped up from the desk. She sent a quick text to Dad, knowing he might not see it anyway. Then she wrote Molly.
I’m on my way.
Lisa had only a few hours until her father picked her up at the hotel. Molly’s church was a half hour away. She left her luggage in the room and grabbed her bag. The hotel had been more than accommodating to Lisa’s requests after the room breakin. The housekeeper personally apologized and relayed her story
that matched their assumptions about the man convincing her that it was his room and Lisa’s, but Lisa was glad the woman hadn’t been fired. The manager provided Lisa with complimentary room service and knocked off several nights from her bill. Today they gave her a late checkout with no fuss at all.
She hurried downstairs. Molly wasn’t an overly dramatic person, and she wasn’t one to impose upon a friend who had a flight to catch unless it was important.
A late spring storm had rolled in overnight with gusts of wind sending flower blossoms tumbling along the ground and rain pelting the earth. The cool temperature felt more like a Boston spring than Dallas, and Lisa wished she’d brought her jacket.
She drove faster than usual, checking her phone at stoplights with hopes that Molly would call or text her again. Perhaps the battery had gone dead or she had it on silent. Lisa tried to come up with logical reasons for Molly’s cryptic text. Perhaps she’d uncovered something that couldn’t be conveyed over the phone.
Molly’s car was in the parking lot. One of the front doors to the church was open a crack.
Lisa entered the foyer and called her friend’s name. She strode down to Molly’s office, but it was empty. She glanced at open classrooms on the way back to the sanctuary, calling her name again.
Dialing her number, Lisa heard the ringtone of Molly’s phone coming from a distant room. She followed it back to the main sanctuary. The phone silenced as she entered. Lisa strained to see as the stained-glass windows cast a soft light down upon the sanctuary.
“Molly, are you in here?” she called softly.
“Lisa, run! Get out of here.”
Before Lisa could react, she saw a man at the front and heard someone behind her. Then Lisa saw Molly on the side steps to the altar. Lisa hurried toward her.
“I’m sorry. They took my phone,” Molly said, wrapping her arms around Lisa.
“It’ll be okay,” Lisa said, assessing the situation. The man standing nearest made no move or threat, but his presence and hands in his jacket spoke volumes. Molly appeared unhurt but certainly rattled.
Lisa heard a door open, and she turned toward the sanctuary entrance. A stocky older man walked down the center aisle. There were men on each side of the sanctuary and one sitting on a pew in front, making a total of four.
Her attention returned to the older man walking toward them. From his demeanor, Lisa knew he was the one in control.
“Hello, Lisa Waldren. I’m Stanley Blackstone. I believe you’ve been looking for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
With thoughts of Lisa’s departure on his mind, James forgot that a package was due to arrive until he heard the knock on the door. Through the window he saw a deliveryman scurry through the heavy rain to his brown delivery truck.
The box sat on the doorstep. The return address was from Cole Elliot in Queens, New York. Peter’s nephew.
James carried the package inside, shutting out the gusty wind that blew the rain in sideways patterns.
The storm outside, the old mantel clock ticking from the wall, and the refrigerator humming from the kitchen were the only noises around him as James faced the box. His mind reeled through memories of his old partner. His friend had spent countless hours at this very house, coming over for dinner, playing with Lisa in the backyard, or tinkering with the engine of his Firebird in the garage because his condo didn’t allow room for car repairs.
Peter had been the brother James didn’t have. They’d trusted their lives in each other’s hands more times than James could remember. Then suddenly, they never spoke again … not that Peter hadn’t tried. Now he’d finally hear Peter’s final words to him. How James wished he could say a million words back.
James opened the box on the dining room table. Inside he found a worn and crinkled manila envelope as well as a note from Peter’s nephew apologizing for not sending it along sooner. He wrote that he’d only discovered it after looking through his mother’s belongings after O’Ryan called him.
James recognized Peter’s handwriting on the outside of the thin envelope. The seal hadn’t been broken. Perhaps Peter’s words written across the front had scared his nephew into abiding by his request: For FBI Special Agent James Waldren ONLY. James broke the seal and looked inside.
There was a note folded in thirds. James stared at the other object sitting at the bottom of the envelope. He poured both items out, and an antique brass key clattered onto the table. He picked it up, feeling its weight. He knew exactly what he was holding.
O’Ryan was right. Somehow Peter had obtained the object he’d been looking for—one of the keys to President Kennedy’s historic cabinet. Had he used it to find the secrets he was looking for? James opened the letter.
Jimmy,
My mistakes are big and vast, ol’ buddy. I hope you can forgive me for them. There’s much I wanted to tell you. It was best not to, despite how it seemed. But in protecting you and your family, the only family I’ve been close to, I lost all of you. Know that my intentions have always been for the best. Loyalty and truth can become complicated in our field. But my loyalty has always been with you, despite how it seemed.
Someday please explain it all to Lisa-belle. I wouldn’t want her to think Uncle Peter didn’t love her. She meant the world to me.
I hope the key helps to right the wrongs. Be careful with it. Don’t trust the Bureau with it, or anyone else. Get to the source and unlock it yourself. That’s the only way to be sure. The answers should be there.
You were the brother I never had.
Peter
James read the letter three times, wanting more, much more. He wanted explanations and more clarity in his friend’s last words.
He sat down in a chair. Peter had died in 1971. He’d wanted James to get this back then, not all these decades later. James looked inside the envelope once more and saw an address written inside. Peter knew the address—it was in Washington, DC, and most likely where the Kennedy cabinet was stored.
James found his phone and called Lisa. She didn’t answer, and he didn’t leave a voice mail. But his mind raced with ideas. They could go together to DC and get to the bottom of this once and for all.
Glancing at the clock, he realized it was nearly time to pick Lisa up at her hotel. He wondered what to do with the key and letter. For too long it had been floating out in the world. He stuffed it into a small safe in his bedroom and tried calling Lisa again. Again, no answer.
James drove to her hotel more excited to see her by the minute. He had the key. The fact was settling in slowly; James could barely believe it. For decades he’d wondered if it even existed, and now it had arrived on his doorstep. His gut said that this was more than just a key to a cabinet—it was the key to saving Leonard Dubois.
Lisa wasn’t in the lobby yet. He was twenty minutes early. He called her again, then called her room from a hotel phone. No answer either time.
He wandered by a large fountain to one of the attached restaurants, peering in at the mostly empty tables. Then he walked back and sat beside a marble statue. He glanced up at the statue, shaking his head. He’d never feel comfortable in a place like this.
“Has Lisa Waldren checked out yet?” James asked the woman at the front desk.
She studied him and said, “Uh, I’m not able to give out guest information.”
“Never mind, I’ll go up to her room.”
“Is she expecting you?” the woman asked, standing from the stool.
“Yes. I’m her father.”
“I was told to get my manager if anyone asked for Ms. Waldren. One moment, please.”
James waited, drumming his fingers on the polished wood and scanning the lobby for his daughter. He dialed Rosalyn’s number while he waited.
“Didn’t Lisa say for me to get her at three?” he asked.
“Um, I think so,” Rosalyn said, and James wondered why he was asking the woman who was notoriously late.
He hung up with Rosalyn as the hotel manager arrived.
“If I can’t go up to her room, will you send someone? I’m getting concerned.” James showed the manager his retired FBI credentials.
“Oh, sorry, sir. Please come with me, and we’ll see if she’s there.”
The hotel manager unlocked the door to Lisa’s room. As they walked inside, James was struck by that old instinct that something was terribly wrong.
Lisa’s suitcase was still open. Several of her belongings were on the desk and her toiletry bag hung in the bathroom. He found the car rental agency papers on her bedside table. But no one was there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Uncle Stanley, we can’t do this. We can’t … you know …”
The man on the front pew appeared nervous. Lisa sat with Molly on the steps to the altar assessing each person and trying to formulate a plan.
“We can’t do what?” Blackstone asked pointedly.
“They’re … women. That one’s a minister.”
Blackstone burst into a loud laugh. “Marcus, my boy, I never suspected you for such a superstitious old lady. We are in a church, she’s a minister. What does any of that matter?”
“It matters,” Molly said without a trace of fear in her voice. “Not the part about me, but you’re in God’s house.”
“God’s house?” Blackstone scoffed.
“It also matters that I’m a federal prosecutor,” Lisa said, more to rattle the man named Marcus and perhaps Blackstone’s men on the sidelines. “You’ll all get the needle, every one of you, if something happens to us. You are already holding us here against our will. That is aggravated kidnapping.”
Lisa had prosecuted men like Stanley Blackstone in federal court. They sat confidently in the defendant chair, and even with the evidence piled against them, they were stunned to be found guilty. Blackstone’s charm, arrogance, and pride were a dangerous combination when matched with power and a twisted morality. He’d gotten away with so much for so long that he had a subconscious belief in his own invincibility. While this made him deadly, it also made him prone to mistakes.
Lisa knew it was essential to create value for her and Molly, or they wouldn’t be alive for long. Next she needed either instability in his core group or a way for Blackstone to exit this situation gracefully. Other than Marcus, Blackstone’s men acted unwaveringly loyal.