by JP Ratto
Their affair lasted a year. He moved his family to a suburb outside the beltway and rented an apartment in New York City for when he had business there. Janet left DC and took a job on Wall Street at an investment firm. She lived in the city, not far from the senator.
Grayson’s presidential aspirations germinated early in his career. His path was clear. When Janet told him she was pregnant, he panicked, ended the relationship, and sent Cain to deal with the situation. Grayson only saw her once after the breakup. She conned her way into his apartment so she could slap his face and return some jewelry he’d given her. Janet never cried or made a scene. She never begged him to leave his wife and be a father to her child. He thought it strange. It was as if she expected he would make the right decision on his own, and God help him if he didn’t.
An awkward silence passed as Grayson thought how to begin a conversation with a woman he knew must hate him. What do I say? Long time, no see. Hey, you look great. Why the hell are you here? He almost said the last aloud when she spoke.
“For a man who believes he has what it takes to lead the free world, you look positively terrified, Todd.”
She leaned toward him, almost cheek to cheek. “And you should be. You have that ‘caught with your hand in the cookie jar’ look. Your wife is lovely, by the way. She adores you, I can tell. But she doesn’t know you like I do.”
Every muscle in Grayson’s body balled into a knot. Only she could get away with speaking to him that way. Not even Maeve would dare point out his weaknesses. He willed himself not to show his discomfort and hoped he wouldn’t choke on his words. He took a subtle deep breath.
“What should I be afraid of? Whatever game you’re playing, you should consider your chances of winning.”
He knew better than to spar with her, but he couldn’t help it. A server with a tray of filled fluted glasses stopped in front of them and offered champagne. They both accepted the drink. She was as adept as he was at presenting a cool exterior. If one didn’t know better, it would appear they were discussing the wonderful music. Janet sipped the bubbly and then turned to Grayson and smiled.
“Is that what it was to you? A game? Do you think it’s over and you’ve won?”
Grayson gripped the glass in his palm. Don’t respond. Let it go. She’s baiting you. Not heeding his own advice, the words spilled from his mouth.
“What do you want, Janet? What could you possibly want after all this time?”
“Time heals all wounds. Is that what you think, Todd?”
“I think enough time has passed where we can both accept the choices we made.”
“You mean the ones you made for yourself and for me?”
“What are you going to do? Tell me.”
Janet finished her champagne as another server walked by. She deposited the glass on the tray. A gentleman came toward them. Janet waved to him and then cocked her head back at Grayson and raised a brow.
“Now, that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?”
Cain had assured him he had taken care of everything—assured him Janet had moved on when she married a Wall Street trader who started his own investment firm. She’d had a son and until six weeks before, Janet Maxwell was happy in her life and out of his.
Now she was back—and he feared with a vengeance.
Chapter 25
“Todd.”
He heard his name and blinked. Janet Maxwell was no longer at his side. Maeve had finished speaking to the Walshes and moved on to…What’s his name? He knew the man; it was right on the tip of his tongue. Damn. He saw Janet in her blue gown weave through the crowd toward his wife.
A hand touched his back. “Todd, are you all right?”
Grayson kept his eyes on Janet. “Cain, this is your fault.”
“Todd, I’m doing everything I can, but you know what she’s like. We have to tread very carefully.”
The senator spoke through a practiced smile he hoped would disguise the fact his gut churned and his mind swam with thoughts of the havoc Maxwell could wreak on his life.
“I told you I want the problem resolved—gone.”
Cain moved closer, his mouth at the senator’s ear. “Be reasonable, Todd. What do you want me to do, arrange an accident?”
Todd Grayson turned to look at his lawyer, his face taut, his gray eyes steeled with anger. “Don’t ever talk like that to me in public again. How you do your job is your concern. My only concern is that you do it.”
“Douglas, how are you?” Maeve Grayson interrupted the tense moment, extending two arms as she moved toward Cain for a kiss on both cheeks. “You and Roberta should have dinner with us sometime.”
Cain spent a few minutes engaging in small talk with Mrs. Grayson before he left her and the senator to go back to his table. The wait staff laid a salad of fresh mixed greens and colorful vegetables at each place setting. Guests filled the dance floor, not appearing anxious to sit down to a meal.
“Todd, let’s dance.” Maeve took her husband’s hand and led him to the parquet floor. He let her guide him, his attention still on the blue-gowned woman. “You seem lost, dear. Something wrong?”
Grayson broke his surveillance and looked down at Maeve. “How could I be lost when I have you?” He leaned down and kissed her. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. As the orchestra played, a female singer performed a rendition of Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me.”
He stiffened when Janet Maxwell and her dance partner moved into his space. She did not look at him, her attention on the gentleman. Despite the vehemence her presence conjured, he could not stop looking at her. She was a distraction he couldn’t afford. Striking in her ice-blue evening dress, Maxwell had removed the satin shawl to reveal a plunging neckline, which drew Grayson’s stare. Like it or not, it was all coming back to him.
Maeve’s hand touched his cheek, forcing him to turn away but not before he noticed the jewel Janet Maxwell wore around her neck. Its familiarity chilled him to the bone.
Chapter 26
The town of Broome, Pennsylvania stood quaint and quiet in the southeastern part of the keystone state. At last count, population hovered at just over three hundred. Settled in the early eighteen hundreds around two churches built at opposite ends of the main street, the town lay in a valley on the Yough River.
Most of the residents of Broome were direct descendants of the first settlers. The rest were considered outsiders no matter how many decades they lived there. Half the adults worked outside the town and the other half maintained the school, the businesses, and the church ministries. The one doctor, Alex Clancy, was also the medical examiner. Law enforcement consisted of a sheriff and chief deputy.
The loud pounding on the front door of her tiny shed-roofed house roused Sheriff Madeline Grange from a sound sleep. She glanced outside at the darkness, picked up her cellphone, and noticed the missed call. Damn it.
Maddie grabbed a robe, combed splayed fingers through her wild red hair and yanked open the door. She glared at the tall, lanky man who'd disturbed the first decent two hours of sleep she’d had in a week.
“This better be good, Brimmer.”
Deputy Chief Steve Brimmer’s eyes roamed over the disheveled woman. Five foot ten and built in a way men find pleasing, he’d only seen her preened, with her gorgeous hair pulled back in a chignon. His mouth slack, the deputy stood still and silent.
“Brimmer.” Maddie snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Oh, yeah.” He shook off the trance. “Someone found a body.”
***
Sheriff Grange, dressed in her uniform of slacks, shirt, and ankle boots, strode a quarter of a mile along the trail. She stopped at a break in the tree line that wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. The sheriff treaded the narrow path down an incline to where Dr. Alex Clancy knelt next to the body.
“Alex, have we got an identification and cause of death?”
“No ID. All I can tell you for sure is the vic
tim is female Caucasian between fifteen and twenty-one. As you can see, the body has already started to decompose. Probably due to the warm temperatures and the fact it was partially submerged in water.”
Deputy Brimmer trudged over to Maddie. “Sheriff, I checked the area, but so far I don’t see any personal effects. I did notice some fresh breaks in the vegetation along the path we took to get down here.”
“You’re saying she rolled or was rolled down the incline to land in this spot?”
Steve Brimmer nodded. “Looks that way to me.”
“Great, so we’ve trampled all over possible evidence. Check areas along the trail for any sign of where she was walking or carried from.”
Alex Clancy looked up from the body. “She has what appears to be a blow to the back of her head. She was either hit or fell on something.”
Sheriff Grange turned to Brimmer. “Then we should check the area for blood. Maybe a stone or large rock.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover for the two of us, Sheriff.”
“Yeah, I’ll call in some of our auxiliary reserve to help. Make sure we have enough gloves and evidence bags to go around.”
Maddie made a phone call to Peter Delaney, who alerted the other trained reserve deputies. Most of them were local business owners able to take time to assist the sheriff. She returned to the medical examiner.
“How long do you think she’s been there, Alex?”
“I’d say eight to twelve hours.”
“I wonder if she was alone out here. What do you think?”
“Not my area to wonder, Sheriff. I deal with facts.”
Sheriff Grange scanned the length of the body. “Any signs of a struggle?”
Dr. Clancy glanced up toward the trail. “When McIntyre and a few others get here, they can help get the body bagged. I’ll know more when I get her over to the morgue.”
“You mean that nice sterile room you’ve got tucked away at the back of your house? How do you live there?”
Clancy rose from the ground. He stood eye to eye with the sheriff and smiled. “They’re corpses, Maddie, not zombies.”
Sheriff Grange left Clancy to deal with the body and found Deputy Brimmer on the trail talking to a small group of onlookers who had gathered.
“Folks, we’re in the middle of an investigation and you must leave the area. The trail is closed until further notice.”
“Sheriff!” one in the group shouted. “Who is it?”
“Male or female?” another asked. “Was it murder?”
The crowd fell silent at that—murder was nigh on unheard of in Broome. Maddie recognized Sam Gentry, whom she knew had five daughters ranging in age from twelve to twenty-five.
“Sam, are all your girls present and accounted for?”
“Yes, Sheriff. Are you saying it’s a young girl?”
“I’m not saying anything, Sam. We can’t answer any questions until we know more. You all go on home now and let us do our jobs.”
Maddie signaled to Jim Simmons, one of the reserve deputies. “Please escort this group back to the main road.”
She turned to Brimmer. “Steve, I want the area at the main road cordoned off with tape. That should have been done first thing. Tell Simmons to stay down there and keep anyone else from entering this trail. And get me some coffee.”
***
The morning sun broke through the clusters of beeches and yellow birch, eliminating the need for spotlights. The volunteer crew packed up the equipment and scoured the immediate grounds for blood and trace evidence, a nearly impossible job in thick undergrowth.
Maddie Grange watched from the edge of the trail as the reserves canvassed a fifty-yard radius from where the body had lain. Steve Brimmer, back from barricading the entrance to the trail, carried two containers of coffee. He held out one to Maddie. “Light and sweet.”
“Thanks, Steve.” Maddie sipped the hot beverage. “Hmm, this is a good start. I’m going to need at least a gallon more to get through this day.”
“Doc Clancy said he’ll get started on the preliminaries to ascertain cause of death.”
The sheriff nodded. “I’d like to be able to identify her as soon as possible.”
“Well, news of the discovery is spreading like wildfire. I imagine someone will come forward with some information. Everybody knows everything that goes on in this town.”
“That’s what I thought, but the victim could be an outsider.” Sheriff Grange took a large gulp of her drink. “I’m heading back to the office. Keep me posted.”
Maddie returned to the trailhead where she had parked her car. Moose Horn was a popular walking and biking trail during the summer months. Broome counted on the tourist trade from an influx of hikers. They were enamored with the town’s quaint main street and shops adorned with flowerboxes and pots of vibrant summer blooms. The sheriff groaned in anticipation of the Mayor’s reaction to a possible homicide discouraging summer trade. Her cellphone rang.
“Sheriff Grange.”
“Maddie, it’s me.”
She recognized Clancy’s voice. “You have something already?”
“In addition to a subdural hematoma, there are bruises on her arms and wrists. This is just a preliminary, but it looks like she may have struggled with someone. I’d say she was pushed or restrained in some way and fell after freeing herself.”
“You’re saying, either way, another person was involved.”
“That’s how it appears.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
Maddie closed her eyes and sighed. I was really hoping it was an accident. She reached her late model Ford Explorer, slid in behind the wheel, and started the truck. Backing out of a parking space, she glanced in her rearview and slammed on the brakes.
Steve Brimmer ran from the trail, shouting her name and waving one arm for her to stop the car. The sheriff rolled down her window.
“Sheriff, Sheriff! We found something.” Brimmer held up a teal blue backpack, caked with mud and leaves. “We found this bag and think it belonged to the victim. There’s an ID.” He handed her a small quilted, floral card case, a plastic cover protecting the driver’s license it held. The photo was of a young woman. The date of birth put her age at seventeen.
Her name was Karen Martin.
Chapter 27
What a difference a half hour makes. Where Smoulder exemplified decay and decline, Broome bristled with life and exuberance.
People crowded the tree-lined main street, shopping, strolling, or eating outside the few restaurants and cafes. I drove straight through the town. Gypsy indicated I make a right turn before Moose Horn Trailhead on Castle Road and another on Adams Street. A group of hikers, who I recognized by their attire and walking sticks, engaged in animated conversation with the local law enforcement. Yellow tape blocked the entrance to the trail.
I continued to Adams, found number twenty-six, and parked across the street. The Martin’s small gray saltbox backed up to woods. Red maples shaded the front and sides. The nearest house stood a half a block away. One car sat in the driveway—a red sedan, which looked to be about fifteen years old. The house appeared quiet. It had rained the night before and the driveway was still damp except for a bone-dry section under the car. Either someone was still home or they left to go somewhere on foot.
Still on my guard after my run in with Glick and company, I climbed two steps to the front door and rang the bell. I heard the chime and waited a full minute before I rang it again. Turning from the door, I noticed fuzzy red and white dice hanging from the rearview mirror of the car. I walked over to take a closer look. A Temple University cap lay on the shelf behind the back seat. Half-empty bottles of water sat on the passenger front seat and a balled-up pink sweatshirt on the center console. I surmised the car belonged to Karen Martin.
Since no one appeared to be home, I walked the half block to a neighbor and rang the bell. A woman immediately yanked open the door, giving me the impression she’d been standing on the other side waiting fo
r someone to call. At a guess, I’d say she was about seventy and dressed in a voluminous muumuu. She eyed me from behind thick white-rimmed glasses. I pulled out my ID.
“Hello, I’m Lucas Holt. I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for the Martins. Karen in particular.”
I took a step back when she pushed past me to go outside. She craned her head and looked toward the Martin house.
“Car’s in the driveway. Why don’t you ring their bell?”
“I did that, ma’am. No one is answering. Do you know the Martins?”
“Sure, I know everybody, though I don’t make it my business to know everything they do. I’m not a busybody.”
“Of course not.” I showed her the picture Barbara Hansen gave me. “Is this Karen?”
“Yes, it is. That looks like Overlook Rock she’s sitting on. Can’t see it in the picture, but there’s a nice view of a ravine along the trail.”
“So she likes to hike.”
“Sure, lots of folks here do. If she’s not home, maybe she’s gone hiking.”
“What about her parents? Do they work? I realize its Sunday, perhaps they work weekends too.”
“Don’t know about that. It’s Sunday already? Goodness, seems like it was just yesterday when I went to church. I’d better go. Have to do my hair.”
Without another word, she turned and went inside, shutting the door behind her.
I drove back into the town and found a spot near one of the cafes.
Settling into a seat outside, I scanned the menu and ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and an iced tea. No beer as my head was still a bit foggy. I wore a ball cap and sunglasses, first to keep the sun from adding to my pulsing headache, and second so people wouldn’t know I was looking at them. Facing the street, I kept an eye out for Glick. If he’d come as far as Smoulder, chances were he knew the Martins lived in Broome—and that meant whomever he worked for knew it too.