The President's Daughter

by Mariah Stewart

  Interesting reaction.

  "I understand you had a mutual friend."

  "You've been given bad information." She recovered, stepped back, and attempted to close the door.

  Simon's foot, wedged into the narrow opening, stopped her.

  "Please go away, Mr.. .. whatever you said your name was. I know nothing about Graham Hayward." She pushed against the door, but Simon would not budge.

  "Betsy Pierce told me otherwise," he said softly.

  The words hit the woman much like a quick blow to the abdomen. She all but doubled over with the force. Her eyes were wide with what could only be described as terror.

  "What exactly did Betsy tell you?"

  "She said that you and her sister, Blythe, were best friends. That you might have known who Blythe's friends were, who she dated, while she lived in Washington."

  "I never visited Blythe in Washington." Jude raised a hand to her forehead, as if confused. "What is the purpose of this?"

  "I'm sorry, I suppose I wasn't very clear." Simon gave her his gentlest smile, hoping to put her at ease, though fearing he was already too late. "I'm writing a biography of the late President. In doing some research, I've come across some old White House social records. I thought it might be interesting to include in my book something about some of the people who were frequent guests at the White House during the Hayward administration. Blythe Pierce's name occurred frequently. I thought I'd find out a little about her, along with some others, as little anecdotes for the book."

  "Oh-----" Still leery, still flustered, Jude appeared to be trying to decide on her best course of action.

  "Look, I've upset you. I sure didn't mean to. I know that you and Blythe were friends, so I can understand how someone showing up on your doorstep asking about her so long after her death could be upsetting. Would another time be more convenient?"

  "No, no...."

  "Because if you'd rather I came back, that would be fine. I just had a few questions I wanted to ask about her."

  "Ask them now. I'll see if I can answer them," Jude responded at length, not moving from her place at the door.

  "I was wondering what you knew about her relationship with Miles Kendall."

  "I think I may have met him once. I understand he had a thing for Blythe."

  "Where did you meet him?"

  "What?"

  "You said you never visited Blythe in Washington, but that you'd met Kendall once." Simon shoved his hands in his pants pockets and tried not to look threatening. He wished he'd brought his little tape recorder with him. "I was just curious where you met him."

  "I... don't remember." Jude averted her eyes.

  "You've met so many important people in your life that you don't recall where you met a White House Chief of Staff who was in love with your best friend?"

  "I don't think I want to talk to you after all, Mr...." She waved an impatient hand. "Blythe has been dead for almost thirty years. Let's permit her to rest in peace, shall we?"

  "Do you suppose that the victim of an unsolved murder can ever rest in peace, Mrs. McDermott?"

  "I suppose hit-and-run constitutes murder," she countered.

  "It does when the victim was run over twice by the same vehicle."

  "Who told you that?" Her eyes bore into him.

  Jude's focus on Simon had been so complete that she'd neglected to notice that Dina was heading up the walk with the dog until they were a mere ten feet away. Simon sensed the sudden alarm—the panic—in Jude's eyes and turned.

  "Hey, you did come back." Dina smiled up at him, clearly pleased. "I thought that was you at the park. I looked for you after we finished with the photos, but you'd gone. Then I wasn't sure that you'd been there at all."

  "You appeared to be busy with all your admirers. I didn't want to be in your way." The buzzing was back. It filled his head and clouded his vision.

  "You wouldn't have been in the way." Dina turned to her mother. "Mom, shame on you, holding court on the front porch. What will the neighbors say?"

  The gentle beauty of her face took his breath away. He tried really hard to come up with something clever to say but could not.

  Jude, too, appeared to have been struck dumb.

  "What's up, you two?" Dina's eyes narrowed. "Mom, is something wrong?"

  "No, no, sweetheart. 1 was just chatting with Mr...."

  "Keller. Simon Keller." He reached a hand to Dina instinctively, grasped her smaller hand with his own.

  "I'm Dina McDermott."

  Of Blythe Pierce, Miles Kendall had said, she could light up a room just by walking into it. The same could be said of the young woman who stood before Simon at that moment.

  She dazzled the eye. It was as simple as that.

  "It's good to put a name with the face." Dina unhooked the leash from the dog's collar, and the dog immediately climbed the steps to sniff at Simon's leg. "1 didn't know you knew my mom."

  "Actually, I'm writing a book and happened to come across the name of someone who, it turns out, was an old friend of your mother's."

  "What's the book about?"

  "Former President Hayward."

  "Mom, you had a friend who knew a President? You've been holding out on me! Who was this friend?"

  "Her name was Blythe Pierce," Jude said tersely.

  "What was her relationship with the former President?" Dina asked as she stepped past Simon to enter the house. A soft wake of fragrance trailed behind her, just enough to tease Simon's senses and send a wave of tension running through him.

  "She had no relationship with him." Jude's response came just a few beats too quickly. "She dated his Chief of Staff for a time, that's all."

  "She apparently attended a lot of events at the White House with Hayward's Chief of Staff," Simon added, sensing Jude's unease. "Her name came up on a lot of White House records—dinner parties, dances, special events—and I just became a bit curious about her."

  "Wow, I'll bet she has some stories to tell." Dina raised an eyebrow. "Mom, are you going to make Mr. Keller conduct his entire interview on the front porch?"

  "Well, I thought he was almost—"

  "Simon." He looked past the mother to the daughter. "Please call me Simon."

  "Simon, can I offer you an iced tea, since my mother appears to have forgotten her manners?"

  "That would be very nice." Simon smiled. "Thank you."

  "Mom, you take Simon into the living room and I'll get his drink. What can I get for you?"

  "Nothing," Jude replied roughly.

  The younger woman held the door open for Simon while the older woman stood as if rooted to her spot.

  "Mom, are you all right?" Dina asked.

  "Yes, yes. I'm fine. I have a bit of a headache...."

  "Then I won't take much more of your time," Simon promised.

  "I'll bring you some aspirin," Dina told her, then to Simon said, "Please. Sit and chat with my mother. I'll be right back."

  Simon stood in the doorway of the living room, waiting for Jude to react.

  Finally, he reached out to take her arm. "Mrs. McDermott, would you like to sit down?"

  "I'd really like you to leave," she whispered, shaking off his hand.

  "I promise I won't stay long. There are just a few questions I need to ask." Simon went to the sofa and sat down. The basset followed. Simon dropped a hand down to rub behind the dog's ears, and the dog fell at his feet, contented and unaware of his mistress's inner turmoil.

  The phone rang and was answered somewhere in the house on the second ring. A minute later, Dina came into the living room carrying a tray with two glasses and set it on the table that stood between her mother's chair and the sofa. She offered Simon his glass, then handed her mother a glass of water.

  "Here, Mom, here's some aspirin." Dina dropped two white tablets in the palm of her mother's hand. "That was Polly on the phone. She's locked herself out of the greenhouse. I'm going to have to run."

  Simon started to stand up, his good manne
rs inbred.

  "No, please, stay seated," Dina said, then turned to her mother. "I'll call you later. I want to hear all about this mysterious friend of yours."

  "I'm sorry you have to leave." Simon found himself standing anyway.

  "I'm sorry, too." She looked as if she meant it. "Make sure we know when your book comes out, so Mom can get lots of copies for the library. I'll definitely want to read it. Maybe I could get an autographed copy."

  "I'll be happy to personally bring you one."

  "Can I count on that?" She smiled, and her eyes held him spellbound.

  "You betcha."

  She turned and disappeared through the front door before Simon could react.

  "She's beautiful, Mrs. McDermott," Simon said softly.

  "Leave her alone," Jude growled, obviously not pleased by the interplay between her daughter and her visitor.

  "I was asking about Blythe," Simon reminded her.

  "What is it you want to know?" she asked coolly.

  "I want to know about her relationship with President Hayward."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "I think you do. I think you know everything about it."

  The silence between them stretched wide before being filled by the sound of the dog scratching behind his ear and a clock on the mantel ticking.

  "I think I would like you to leave." Jude stood up, her back ramrod straight, her face grimly resolved.

  "Mrs. McDermott, I found you. Very easily, I might add, once I knew who to look for." Simon remained seated. "How long before someone else finds you, too?"

  "I can't imagine what Betsy was thinking." Jude's eyes filled with tears.

  "I've been asking myself the same thing." Simon removed the envelope from his pocket and took out the photograph of Blythe that he'd taken from the Pierce home, then placed it on the table between them.

  Jude turned from it as if she could not bear to look upon the face. "Please leave, Mr. Keller."

  "Mrs. McDermott, how do you explain the fact that your 'daughter' looks like a clone of your best friend? Your friend who has been dead for almost thirty years. And your daughter is how old?"

  Jude went to the front door and opened it. "Please leave now."

  Simon stood and leaned over to pick up the photograph but made no move to the door.

  "What is it that you want from me?" Her eyes pleaded in a way that words could not, her fear strong enough that it reached toward Simon from across the room. "Are you blackmailing me?"

  "No, no, of course not," he tried to reassure her. "I just want the truth, Mrs. McDermott. I'm only looking for the truth."

  She merely shook her head and gestured for him to leave.

  "Does she know?" Simon asked. He took a card bearing his name and phone number and placed it on a table near the door.

  Jude turned her head away.

  "Please ..." Jude pleaded as she opened the door.

  "Does she know that her birth mother died when she was just a baby?" Simon whispered, sympathy welling in him for the woman in spite of his compulsion to search out the story. "That she was deliberately run down on a city street and that the police made little more than a cursory effort to find the car that killed her?"

  Jude stood silent.

  "Or that her father was a former President of the United States?" The random, impossible thought that had been lurking in the far recesses of his mind slid from his lips before he even had time to examine it.

  The stricken look of sheer terror on Jude's face told Simon all he needed to know.

  Simon stepped through the open door and paused on the top step. "Who does she think her father is, Mrs. McDermott?"

  Jude reached out and with one hand slammed the door in his face.

  Chapter Eleven

  Simon watched Miles Kendall take bites out of the small chocolate-covered mint patty, one of several Simon had stopped to pick up on his way to St. Margaret's. When the chewing had ceased, Simon settled against the hard wooden back of the chair and studied the face of the old man before him. He seemed quite cheerful and alert. His eyes were clear and bright. It looked like he might have found Miles on a good day. He could only hope.

  "Miles, can we talk about Blythe?" Simon asked. "Do you remember Blythe?"

  Kendall nodded slowly. "She had lavender eyes."

  "Yes, I know." Simon nodded and thought of Dina.

  Simon's hand slipped into his pocket and switched on the recorder. "Miles, can we talk about Blythe's death? Do you remember when she died?"

  Kendall stared straight ahead, and for a moment Simon thought he'd lost him.

  Then the old man spoke, his voice barely a whisper: "She'd only been back for a few days. Less than a week."

  "Where had she been, Miles? Do you remember?"

  "Where her friend was."

  "Who was her friend?"

  "Jude. BIythe left the baby with her, and came back."

  "Blythe left the baby with Jude?"

  Miles nodded.

  "How do you know about the baby, Miles?"

  "I saw her." Kendall looked up, a tiny smile on his lips.

  "You saw Blythe after she had the baby?"

  "I saw the baby. She was just... perfect. Perfect, just like her mother. Dark straight hair, big round eyes. Just as beautiful as her mother. He wept when I told him about her."

  "By 'he' who do you mean, Miles? Who wept when you told him that you saw Blythe's baby?" Supposition wasn't enough. Miles had to say the name.

  "Graham."

  "Was it Graham's baby, Miles?"

  "Oh, yes. Graham's and Blythe's."

  Bingo.

  "And did Graham go to see the baby with you?" Simon willed his pulse to remain steady. There was much more ground to be covered. The story was far from complete.

  "No, no, he couldn't do that. That's why I went. To make sure she was all right. That everything was all right."

  "And was everything all right?"

  "As long as she stayed there, it was. But as soon as she came back.. ." Kendall's eyes closed tightly and his hands began to shake. "She wasn't supposed to come back. I never counted on her ever coming back. I never thought she would be in such danger. .. ."

  "What happened when she came back? Who was the danger, Miles?"

  "She begged me to bring her to the party. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want her there. It was not a good idea. I told her, 'Blythe, you don't understand how it is now.' But she was insistent. She promised she would never ask me again. 'Just this one last time, and then I'm leaving and I won't be back,' she said. 'Just this one last time.'"

  Miles was openly weeping. "He talked about get' ting a divorce, about divorcing Celeste and marrying Blythe. About not running for a second term—"

  "What?!" Simon exclaimed. "What did you say?"

  "—but she wanted him to. Thought it was his duty. She could take care of the baby, raise her, until he was finished. He was too good a President, she said. The country needed him. But then he would marry her."

  "Graham Hayward considered not running for a second term?" Simon whispered the words aloud, incredulous. This sure hadn't shown up in any of the material provided by Philip Norton.

  Simon wondered if Norton knew....

  "She had orchids in her hair that night." Miles was rambling now. "And she wore her lavender gown."

  Oblivious to his tears, Miles shook his head slowly. "I took her home that night. It shouldn't have happened. I never thought anything like that would happen. It wasn't supposed to be like that...."

  "Miles, this is important." Simon leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Who else knew about the baby?"

  "I didn't tell about the baby. Not ever," Miles protested. "I never told...."

  "Who else might have known? Who else would Hayward have confided in?" Simon wondered aloud. "Who else knew about Blythe? Who knew about the baby?"

  But the veil was descending, and Miles Kendall began to slip back into a place where no one could follow
.

  "Just like that." Kendall turned slowly to the window, a look of bewilderment crossing his face. "Just like that, she was gone. It shouldn't have happened like that. It wasn't supposed to happen like that...."

  All the way back to Arlington, Simon tried to digest the dramatic information that Miles Kendall had shared, wondering how much the man's memory could be trusted.

  If what Kendall had said was true, Graham Hayward might have served only one term, not two. He'd have left Celeste for Blythe. He'd have acknowledged his child.

  Someone very obviously had not wanted any of that to happen. And Miles, Simon was beginning to realize, knew who that someone was.

  Had Miles kept that secret all these years?

  And who else, Simon wondered, had Graham told about the child he had had with his would-be bride, about his plans for a happily ever after that had nothing to do with the wife and children he already had?

  The orderly took his time walking from the bus stop to the dirt path that led down to the parking lot. It wouldn't be long, he figured, before he had the keys to that sweet Camaro in his pocket, so every day now he scouted the lot for the primo parking spots. Not too close to the trees, lest a storm bring down a branch, but not too far out into the open, either. The hot sun could do a number on that excellent paint job.

  He passed through the front door and into the lobby, as usual, smiling at the new nurse's aide who worked the second shift, the redhead with the long legs and tight sweater under the jacket of her uniform. And as usual, she pretended not to notice him. Today it didn't bother him so much, though. He figured she'd be smiling back soon enough, once she got a look at what he'd be driving before the month was out.

  He stopped to take a glance at the visitors' log, as he'd gotten into the habit of doing. There'd been no activity in a while, but since he was being paid to look—and since he didn't want to be reminded again that he was being paid to look—he looked. He almost missed it, because there'd been that one hundredth birthday party for Mr. Harris today and all of his children and grandchildren—all thirty-two of them—had shown up for the luncheon and signed in. But there it was, right after the last of the Harrises.

  S. Keller to see Mr. Kendall. In at 1:25. Out at 3:00 on the nose.