But right now, the bit of warmth they drew from the silence and their mutual pain brought some momentary comfort, some little bit of strength, and that would have to suffice.
A third of a box of tissues later, Dina said, "Last night you said that Blythe's death was not an accident. How did she die?"
"It was a hit-and-run on a dark street."
"Like last night?"
"Very much like last night."
"How do you know it wasn't an accident?"
"There was evidence to suggest that she was run over not once, but twice." Jude swallowed hard. "By the same car."
"Mom, that's horrible! Did they ever find the person who ran her over?"
"No."
"You don't think that the same person ... ?"
"I don't know what to think at this point." Jude shook her head. "Maybe it's the same person; maybe the person who drove the car that killed Blythe was working with someone else. I don't know what to think anymore."
"You don't think that Simon had anything to do with this, do you?" Dina asked.
"Someone could have followed him. Maybe someone is afraid that the story will get out after all these years."
"But after all these years, why would it matter?"
"I can think of a number of reasons why it would matter. I imagine Hayward's family would not want this to be made public. Especially if, as they say, Graham's son—he's a congressman from Rhode Island—is thinking about running for the presidency."
"Do they know about me? The Haywards?"
"Mrs. Hayward may have known about Blythe. I don't know if the Hayward kids ever knew."
"How many children did he have?"
"Two. Graham Junior and a daughter. I don't recall her name at the moment."
"I guess it wouldn't help to tell the local police this story."
"How could I do that without telling them everything? And the truth being what it is, who'd believe me?" Jude picked a spent blossom from a pot of early pansies.
"We have to tell someone, Mom. I don't know about you, but I didn't take Conspiracy One-o-one. I don't know how to tell if I'm being followed and I wouldn't know what to do if someone jumped me from behind. I think we're out of our league, especially since we don't know who or what we're dealing with."
"Maybe you're right." Jude nodded. "But first we'd have to convince someone that this is all true."
"Simon Keller already knows it's true. And by now, he might even have an idea of who might be involved."
"I don't know how much I trust him."
"I trust him, Mom."
"Dina, for heaven's sake, the man is a reporter. He's writing a book—and we don't know at this point just what he plans to put into that book, do we?"
"If what you're telling me is true, Simon has known about this for several weeks. I haven't seen anything on the news. There's been no tabloid reporter at my front door. Simon didn't even tell me."
"I suspect that even some reporters have scruples. And besides, it isn't the sort of thing one brings up to someone one doesn't really know. That would be ... tacky."
" 'Tacky' doesn't usually stop reporters from asking questions. I think he was being considerate of me."
"Because he's attracted to you," Jude said flatly.
"I hope so. I sincerely do, 'cause God knows I'm attracted to him. More than I've been attracted to anyone in a very long time. But I also think he likes me, Mom. Which is also a good thing." Dina tossed a ball at Waylon, who sniffed at it, then rolled on it. "Besides, I don't know who else we can turn to."
"There is someone else we should talk to. Would you feel comfortable leaving town for a few days? Could you leave Polly in charge of your business till you get back?"
"Yes, but—"
"Good. Go home and make whatever arrangements you need to make with her. Pack for several days. We're taking a trip, you and I." Jude nodded decisively. "A long-overdue trip ..."
Chapter Sixteen
Simon rang the doorbell of the home that Gray Hayward and his wife, Jen, had built three years earlier. It was the last of the family interviews and had been put off twice by the congressman's schedule. Simon had returned from Henderson the day before yesterday and found the message on his answering machine from Hayward's aide asking if the appointment could be moved to Thursday. Simon was happy to comply.
"Simon Keller." Gray Hayward himself opened the door and extended his hand. He was every bit as tall, dark, and handsome as his photos suggested. "Come on in. Have you had lunch? Jen is just making sandwiches. Did you have a good flight up?"
"Yes ... fine. And no ... that is, no lunch." Simon was taken aback by the welcome he received. He'd heard it said that President Hayward had been a man who could put anyone to ease in thirty seconds or less. It appeared that his son had come by the talent naturally.
"Right on back here to the den..." Gray led the way through a house that was bright and open and filled with green plants. "We'd hoped that the weather would warm up a bit so that we could show off our new patio, but the wind's picked up a bit too much. Great view though, wouldn't you say?"
"Wonderful." Simon nodded, trying to take it all in. The larger-than-life yet friendly young congressman. The house that looked like a sample for a designer who excelled at integrating heirloom antique furniture and primitive art with the large airy and open room. The breathtaking view of the Narragansett Bay. "The setting is awesome."
"Exactly what we thought the first time we drove out here. We stood right out there on that outcropping of rocks—come on; let me show you." Gray Hayward's enthusiasm was infectious, and within seconds Simon was standing next to his host at the top of a rocky point that overlooked the choppy bay.
"When the realtor brought us up here to look over a few plots of ground, he brought us here first. Didn't need to see any of the others. I knew this was it." Gray pointed out into the bay and said, "There's a small island out there. On a foggy morning, you'd swear the Sirens were singing. It's just magic."
"It must be hard for you to leave it behind all the time you spend in Washington," Simon noted.
"It is hard, but you know, Simon, I love my job. I love the people of Rhode Island. Love that they've put such trust in me."
Had anyone else made such a statement, Simon would have fought an urge to roll his eyes. But there was something about Hayward that was so earnest, something that made you believe that he believed every word he said. Another legacy from his father?
"And besides"—Gray continued to look out over the dark water—"I know that this place is always waiting for me. It's a great family home, but it'll make a great retirement home, too, when that day comes. Now, let's run on back to the kitchen and see what Jen has for us. I'm starving, myself. How 'bout you?"
"A sandwich would be great."
The sandwich was great—honey maple ham on pumpernickel with lettuce and tomato—served with a steaming bowl of New England clam chowder.
"I hope you like our local quahog chowder," Jen Hayward, a pretty strawberry blonde with a trim athletic build, told Simon as she set the tray down on the round wooden table in the den.
"It smells delicious."
"Well, enjoy it." The congressman's wife smiled and stretched out a hand to Simon. "I'm sorry I won't be able to stay and chat. Our son is in a play at school and I have to be there."
"I'm sorry, too." Simon pushed back his chair, preparing to stand.
"No, no, don't get up. I appreciate the gesture, though." She leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek before bustling out of the room.
"You know, we could have rescheduled this interview so that you could have attended your son's play," Simon said.
"I went last night." Gray grinned. "Today is Jen's turn. We do try to attend as many of the children's activities as possible—preferably together—but when our schedules conflict we take turns."
"That's admirable, to be so involved with your children's lives."
Gray shrugged. "Family has always been a prio
rity for us. We figure the kids will be around long after I've left Congress."
"Or the White House."
"That, too, if it's in the cards." Gray's laugh was rich and easy.
"Your children are ..."
"Twelve, nine, and seven."
"Wouldn't living in the White House be tough on children so young?"
"Living in the White House is tough on everyone."
"Any thoughts on having grown up there yourself?" Simon slipped his notebook out of his pocket.
"I didn't, really. I was already in college by the time my father was elected, so I was away from home by then. I think it may have been tougher on Sarah."
"In what way?"
"Sarah was the baby, and of course, being the only girl, she was the apple of Dad's eye. Before the election, she'd been accustomed to pretty much having her own way and a lot more of his time. It was hard for her to accept that she couldn't call all of the shots anymore."
"She mentioned that she was permitted to continue on at the boarding school she had been attending," Simon said, "so it seems that she didn't have to give up all that much."
"Oh, in reality, she gave up very little." Gray grinned again. "Sarah wasn't one to let much get in her way. When she wanted to come home, she came home. When she wanted to stay at school, she stayed at school. She pretty much had everyone wrapped around her fingers, including the Secret Service."
"You sound envious."
"I guess there were times back then when I was. The baby of the family always gets special treatment."
"Were you able to do any traveling with your parents while your father was President?"
"No, no. So many of their trips were during the school year, I couldn't take the time off."
"Ah, now from that should I assume that you were a more dedicated student than your sister?"
Graham tilted his head, as if poised to ask a question. When he did not, Simon said, "Your sister mentioned that she'd taken a year off from school—her senior year, I think she said—so that she could accompany your parents on several trips."
"Oh." Graham nodded slowly, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Of course. Her senior year. I'd forgotten about that. No, I never had the opportunity to travel with my parents."
"What are your favorite memories of those days?"
Gray put his sandwich down on the plate and appeared to be deep in thought. "I guess just being so proud of my dad. He was such a great man. A truly great man."
"And a great President?"
"Others will have to be the judge of that," Gray said softly. "I can only speak of what he was like as a father."
"How was he?"
"Loving. Interested. Always concerned, always caring. Never too busy to listen. Oh, at that precise moment when you wanted to talk he might have had someone else on the line, but he'd always find time. I can't remember a time when he brushed me off or made me feel that my problems were insignificant."
"It seems that he and your mother were very close."
"I think they were. I think they loved each other deeply."
Simon pretended to write longer than he really needed to, not daring to look up lest Gray sense that touch of doubt that had been nagging all day.
"Of course, we never really know what goes on between two people, do we?" Gray flashed that million-watt smile again, and Simon knew he didn't mean it. Of course, Gray believed that he did in fact know what was between his father and his mother. They loved each other. Were devoted to each other. Who could doubt it?
Gray nodded toward Simon's notebook as if in a hurry to conclude. "What else do you have there?"
"What was the defining moment of your father's tenure, for you, personally? The moment when you felt your father's power?"
"That's easy. Meeting Elvis. Without a doubt, nothing impressed me more than knowing that Elvis had come to the White House because my father had asked him to. I got to shake the hand of the King. I guess you were hoping for someone a bit more important in the grand scheme of things, but meeting Elvis was the really big moment for me." Gray laughed.
"Your family called the White House home for eight years. Did you have a sense of being part of history, back then?"
"Yes. Definitely." Gray's face sobered. "I felt that sense of greatness about my dad. I know I said it earlier and I know that everyone says it—that Graham Hay-ward was a great man—but he was. I always knew it.
And if you'd ever walked into the Oval Office when he was seated at that desk ... well, you'd have known it, too. He had such an air about him."
"Power?" Simon suggested.
"Certainly that. But it went well beyond that. Because you knew that he would never abuse his power, that he'd always use it to do what was right." Gray Hayward looked Simon straight in the eyes and said, "My father really was as moral as everyone says he was. He always did what was right. Not in a self-righteous way. Just... right. He always stressed the importance of living up to your responsibilities, of being honest. Of earning your good name and working hard to keep it untarnished."
Hayward stood and walked to the window. Simon was grateful for the fact that he did not have to look the man in the eye at that particular moment, the late President's morality clearly being more of an issue to him than it was to his son.
"I was twenty-two the summer General Andrew Fielding was forced to resign. Remember the incident?" Gray smiled. "Of course you'd have been too young to have had a firsthand recollection, but you might have read about it."
"I did."
"Then you probably remember that General Fielding was a five-star general who'd earned his reputation in Vietnam. He was an exemplary soldier, from all accounts, and my father's most trusted military adviser. Unfortunately, in the years following the war he'd been part of a network that made a great deal of money supplying very young girls for the brothels in Thailand."
"I remember." Simon nodded.
"When the story surfaced, they wanted my dad to bury it. Wanted him to say that Fielding was retiring because his wife was ill. Let him retire from the public eye for a while before the story leaked out."
Gray blew out a long breath.
"My dad believed very strongly that the American people must always be able to believe that what their President told them was the truth. They might not always like it, but they always had to know that he would only tell them the truth. And he did. There are some in the military who never forgave him for that." Gray turned back to face Simon. "Whatever else history will say about my father, it will say that he never lied to the people."
"A novel approach to government."
"It's a legacy 1 hope to live up to."
"As President?"
"If it works out that way, yes, I would hope to follow in my father's footsteps. And if I'm lucky enough to follow him to the White House, I hope I can follow his example in the way he conducted himself there. But as a member of Congress I do try to live up to the standard he set." Gray walked back to the table and stood near his chair, as if debating whether or not he wanted to seat himself again. "Is that what you're looking for, for your book?"
"You've given me some great quotes, and I'm sure I'll use every one of them. My plan had been to focus the book's energy on reminiscences of your father as a man as much as a President. I've already compiled a number of personal remembrances that I think will make a great portrait of your father."
"Have you contacted Mrs. Williams at Dad's library?"
"Yes. She's been very helpful." Simon found it hard to meet the man's direct gaze. All that talk about honesty and never telling lies had made him a little antsy.
The rest of the afternoon was spent jotting down the congressman's recollections and impressions of his father's cabinet members, foreign dignitaries, and various crises, both foreign and domestic.
When Jen appeared in the doorway late in the afternoon to advise Gray of an important phone call, Simon took the hint and closed his notebook.
"Congressman, I can't thank you enough
for the time you've given me this afternoon."
"Hey, it's I who should be thanking you. Philip feels that this book will introduce a whole new generation to my father."
"I'm doing my best." Simon picked up his briefcase and moved toward the door.
"As my dad always said, no one can ask more than that." Hayward followed Simon out into the hallway. "Now, we'll be looking for an advance copy, you know."
"Well, truthfully, I'm not sure when that will be available."
"Oh." Gray looked slightly disappointed. "I was hoping that the book could be out by the end of December, so that we'd have a shot at keeping the buzz going into the new year. Then just as it starts to die down—"
"Your candidacy will be announced." Simon paused at the front door.
"That was the plan."
"I'll do my best." Simon seriously doubted there would be a book by the end of the year but didn't feel it was his place to discuss that with the congressman. If Norton had led him to believe the book would be available by then, he'd let Norton break the news.
"You'll let me know if you need anything else, of course. From anyone." Graham Hayward stood in the doorway and nearly filled it. "I'll work on those questions you left for me and I'll fax my responses to you as soon as I can."
"That's great. Thank you. Thanks for your time."
Simon stood on the porch, adjusting his collar against the breeze. He'd been touched by the obvious pride and love that Gray Hayward had for his father and couldn't help but wonder how those feelings might change once the congressman discovered that he had a half sister.
Pausing as he reached the bottom step, Simon stopped to consider, for the first time, whether perhaps Graham already knew.
Chapter Seventeen
Betsy Pierce had parked her wheelchair at the front window and hadn't moved in over an hour. There was little traffic at this time of the day, and any car approaching from the east would have to crest that hill oft" to the right. Her eyes never left that point, despite the fact that it was only nine-thirty in the morning and Jude had said to expect them around eleven.
After having waited so long to see her niece again, Betsy would just have to wait a little longer.
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