by Diane Moody
I knew I had to keep my mouth shut. And in a perverted way of thinking, I realized I could always use the information if Elliot ever crossed me. That may sound rather calloused, but at that point in my life, it was the way my mind worked.
However, I did a little investigation on my own over those next few months. An odd guy named Bo would show up at the country club from time to time when Elliot and Duke were around. Eventually, I began to put two and two together, so I hired a private investigator to check him out. I have in my possession a complete background document on him—along with some rather incriminating evidence—phone records, flight logs, receipts, photographs. This information clearly links Mitch Creason—aka “Beauregard” aka “Bo”—to Elliot Thomas, implicating the congressman in the murder of Christopher Jordan.
Now, the tables have all been turned. It’s time to use my secret files. Elliot isn’t the only one who knows how to use blackmail. I have no other choice. This guy plays in a ballpark that’s way out of my league. He knows no limits whatsoever. I am fully aware of that and always have been since that weekend in the backwoods of Texas.
My whole life is my company now. Elliot may have helped me with the start up, but it was my blood, sweat and tears that made The Sports Page what it is today. I refuse to stand by and watch him steal it from me.
— Michael Dean
Michael hit the return key several times, leaving a short break in the text before adding a final personal note.
Grady,
Elliot gave me 24 hours to give him an answer. The clock is ticking. This is literally a matter of life and death for me. Once I have confronted Elliot with this information, I can only imagine what his reaction will be. I believe it could be deadly.
As I instructed you before, please make sure this document goes to the Attorney General’s office ASAP. Before you make that contact, I need you to go to Houston and pick up the file of evidence. You can find it in Locker 486 in the men’s locker room at The Page. The combination is 21-6-15. Please turn this evidence over to the Attorney General along with this document.
I apologize for having to involve you in this mess, Grady. But with the stakes so high, I knew you were the only one I could trust. You’re the best, Brewster.
—M
Checking once more to make sure the letter was saved, he entered the appropriate commands then saved it to a flash drive which he removed and placed it in a small envelope. He scrawled Grady’s name on the front.
Michael sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He released a long, exhausted sigh. The well-kept secret had taken its toll on him, much to his surprise. Having the sordid details finally off his chest—even if only in writing—proved a remarkable relief.
He leaned his seat back hoping to take a short nap just as the flight attendant announced the plane would be landing in ten minutes. Michael pushed the button, returning his seat to its upright position, but his eyes remained closed.
“Excuse me, sir, but you’ll need to disembark. This is our final destination tonight.” Michael looked up into the kind eyes of the flight attendant before realizing he was the last passenger left on board.
“You’re gonna love this place, Dean. Best Mexican food anywhere. And that includes any of those dives down in Texas.”
Grady eased his spotless black Lexus into the parking space he selected far away from the other cars parked outside of Ricardo’s. Since picking his friend up curbside at the airport, Michael had kept the conversation light and superficial. The usual kidding and reminiscing shared by old friends was apparently all Michael was willing to handle for the time being. Grady knew when his buddy was ready to talk, he would do so and not before.
“Hey, Mr. Brewster. How are you? You want your usual table?” The attractive young waitress grabbed two menus and started down the aisle.
“That would be great, Maria.” Grady and Michael followed her lead through two levels of the crowded restaurant. She seated them in a tall booth of polished dark wood. An upside down copper kettle served as the lampshade hanging over the table between them. It was a comfortable atmosphere brimming with colorful decor from south of the border, cheerful waiters, and happy customers—all against a background of festive Mexican music. A waiter brought two glasses of iced water, a basket of crisp, fresh tortilla chips, and a small bowl of salsa.
“You need some time to look over the menus, Mr. Brewster?” the waiter asked, setting the chips on the table.
“I’ll have the usual. Michael, do you like chili rellenos?”
“Sure—whatever.”
“We’ll have two chili rellenos dinners and two drafts,” Grady ordered, already reaching for a chip and dipping into the bowl of chunky red sauce.
Michael followed Grady’s lead and dug into the chips. “Whoa—I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This was a great idea,” he mumbled over a mouthful of chips.
“Yeah, this place is amazing. We come here all the time. I carry the portfolio for Rick, the guy who owns this place.”
“Grady, I didn’t even think to ask on the phone. How’s Shari? And how are the kids?”
That’s a switch. In their usual encounters, Michael dominated the conversation with his endless list of achievements and name-dropping. For a change, Michael seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.
“Shari’s great. Up to her eyeballs in PTA meetings, team mom for Jason’s soccer team,” Grady answered, ticking off the list on his fingers. “She’s always carting Molly somewhere—back and forth to piano lessons, gymnastics, Girl Scouts—you name it. I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to keep up with all of us and seems to love doing it. We went through some rocky times when we first got married, y’know. I had some tough challenges with the business and almost didn’t make it—financially, that is. But Shari stuck by me through all of it. She was incredible. Still is.”
Michael smiled. “Who would ever think you and Shari would be the all-American family? Geez, Grady, you guys sound like June and Ward Cleaver.”
Grady laughed. “So squeaky clean, it makes you sick, right? But I can’t complain. How about you? How’s Amelia?”
The waiter returned with their beer then slipped away. Michael took a thirsty swallow, then set the glass back down. Seconds passed in silence.
“Michael, what’s going on? I mean, it’s great to see you, but flying up to see me at a moment’s notice? After all these years? I seriously doubt you came all this way just to hear about my family.”
Michael looked down his glass as he pulled another long, slow swallow. Grady noticed a palpable hesitance floating across the table. His friend started to reach into his jacket pocket, then stopped, as he tucked something back into the pocket.
“Michael?”
It was obvious he was stalling, thinking. Some kind of debate going on inside his head. Suddenly, he blew out a heavy sigh. “Grady, I—” He paused. He threw back the rest of his beer and set the empty glass gently back on the table. “I need your help,” he began quietly. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m in some trouble. Nothing I can’t handle, but I—well, I just need a little security to fall back on.”
“You? Michael Dean needs a loan? Get outta here!”
“Not money. It isn’t anything like that. I . . . I just need to know if I get into a bind, if I find myself in danger, that I can count on you. That’s all.” He sighed again, apparently relieved to get it off his chest. Whatever it was.
A silent alarm sounded somewhere in Grady’s mind. He blinked rapidly, hoping to downplay his concern. “What kind of danger? Don’t you think you ought to tell me a little more about this? Whatever this ‘trouble’ is you’ve gotten into, don’t you think you should tell me what’s going on?”
Michael sat back, tapping his fork on the table. “It’s Elliot.”
The conversation stopped as the waiter set two platters of steaming food before them. “The plates are hot, so
be careful. Can I get you a refill on your drafts?”
Grady spoke up, “Tell you what, just bring us a pitcher then you won’t have to make so many trips.”
Michael held up his hand. “Mind if we make it a pitcher of Coke? I’ve got to keep my head straight tonight.”
“Sure—no problem.” Grady nodded to the waiter.
The waiter returned shortly setting a bubbly pitcher between them. As he turned to leave, Michael and Grady hungrily attacked the plates loaded with rice, beans, and deep-fried chili rellenos smothered with a white cheese sauce.
Grady grew increasingly uncomfortable with the silence. “Now you’ve really got me worried. I’ve never known Michael Dean to pass up a pitcher of beer. So out with it. The suspense is killing me. What’s Elliot done this time?”
Michael cleared his mouth and wiped it slowly with the red cloth napkin. He leaned forward over the table and spoke as softly as he could. “Grady, surely you’ve run into Elliot somewhere along the line in your business?”
“Yeah, I hear a lot about him. He’s got a reputation for being obnoxious. He’s a jerk—so what? Aren’t most politicians?” He concentrated on the food before him, stabbing another bite.
“He’s making my life miserable right now. In ways you could never imagine.” Michael’s eyes locked on Grady’s. “Bottom line is I can’t talk about this. I just need to know you’ll be there for me if things take a turn for the worse.”
“What’s in your pocket? What were you reaching for?”
Michael blinked, patting his hand over his jacket. “It’s nothing. Really.”
Grady stared into his friend’s eyes, uneasy with the ominous pleading he saw there. “So that’s it? You’re in some kind of trouble with Elliot but you don’t trust me enough to tell me about it? C’mon, Michael!” he snapped. “Who do you think I’m going to tell? You think I’m going to call up the New York Times and give them some kind of scoop on a—a domestic problem a friend of mine is having with his father-in-law? Give me a little credit here!” He dropped his fork on his plate and pushed it away.
Michael leaned forward, his voice strained. “Grady, will you stop and just hear me out? It isn’t a matter of whether or not I trust you! Geez, if I didn’t trust you, do you honestly think I’d hop on a plane and come all the way up here to see you about this? I trust you completely.” He paused then quietly continued. “But it finally dawned on me that I might be putting your life in jeopardy and I can’t do that. I won’t do that. You’ve got a family to think about. No, I’ve got to do this thing my way. You’ll have to accept it on my terms or we drop this. Right here, right now. That’s the best I can do.”
Michael slowly shoved his half-eaten plate aside and dropped his napkin on top of it. “Take it or leave it.” He looked up, his eyes determined.
Grady fought his temper. He broke eye contact, staring instead at nothing in particular. Then finally, with a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, Michael. I had no right to demand anything from you. It’s obvious you have your reasons for keeping this to yourself. I suppose I can respect that.”
He rolled his neck. “You need a friend—you’ve got one.” He extended his hand across the table. Michael responded with a firm handshake. Their eyes met only briefly.
“So what do you need me to do?” Grady asked, trying to mask his irritation with nonchalance.
“Just be available. That’s all. In the next twenty-four hours or so, I may need to call you. I’ll be okay as long as I know I can reach you.”
“No problem.” Grady removed his wallet from his coat pocket and pulled out his business card. He scribbled a number on it and slid it across to Michael. “This is my private cell phone number. It’s with me wherever I go.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Thanks for what?” Grady laughed. “I haven’t done anything. Just do me a favor and take care of yourself, okay? I don’t like the sound of this thing at all. What little you’ve told me, anyway. Although, I don’t know why I’m not surprised. You always were the one in the middle of every barroom brawl in town while I was back at the dorm with my nose in the books.”
“Some things never change, do they, Brewster?” Michael smiled weakly.
“Evidently not, Dean. Evidently not.”
CHAPTER 7
Eagle’s Nest, near Weber Creek, Colorado
The inside windshield of her Jeep Cherokee rental kept fogging up, no matter how many times Annie wiped it with her mittened hand. The snow was falling much heavier now. She scolded herself for continuing up the treacherous road in such bad weather.
David, what am I doing? You would never have let me drive in this kind of weather.
The wipers beat back a nervous rhythm, adding to her tension. She knew she must be getting close to Christine’s cabin. It had been over half an hour since she left the Williamson’s store.
I wonder if I took a wrong turn? She tried to squelch the knot of fear in her stomach. The Jeep was creeping so slowly, she was afraid she might slip backwards at any moment. Thank goodness for the gravel road. I’d be slipping all over the place if it were regular pavement. Oh God, help me. I’m lost and I don’t know what to do! I feel so all alone—please show me what to do!
At that moment Annie felt a strange grinding of the tires against the gravel road. She anxiously tapped the brakes, attempting to stop the vehicle. The window had steamed up again, blurring her vision and filling her with panic. As she wiped it again, she gasped as a huge evergreen appeared suddenly out of nowhere. Jerking the steering wheel to the left, she felt the wheels skid then lose traction. The Jeep sailed, airborne off the side of the snow-covered mountain, suspended in mid-air—
Ring . . .
Ring . . .
Annie bolted straight up off the sofa as the phone rattled her back to reality.
Ring . . .
Her heart raced as she gulped for air. Slowly gathering her bearings, she realized she wasn’t falling off a cliff. She found herself standing in front of the oversized sofa. Putting a hand to her head, she felt drenched in perspiration despite the chill that gripped her.
Ring . . .
Annie tried to pace her breathing as she reached for the relentless phone on the table. She stammered, trying to speak. “Uh . . . hello?”
“Annie, is that you?”
She paused, still trying to regulate her heart rate. “Yes . . . uh . . . yes, who’s this?”
“This is Mary Jean Williamson down at the store. Are you all right? Bob and I were concerned about you, what with this storm hitting so hard.”
Annie began to look around. The light from the lamp shone softly in spite of a bright glow from the windows, illuminating the entire room. I must have fallen asleep last night on the sofa.
“Yes, Mary Jean, I . . . I’m fine. I must have dozed off.”
“Oh goodness, I apologize. I didn’t think about waking you up. Bob and I just wanted to make sure you still had electricity and your phone lines were still working.”
“Everything seems to be working. I’ll take a look around and call you back if there’s a problem.” She paused to take a deep breath, finally relaxing. “I really appreciate knowing you’re there in case of an emergency.”
Mary Jean laughed. “Oh don’t you worry. We want you to have a nice visit, but we don’t want to interfere with your peace and quiet. Just let us know if you need anything, okay?”
Annie rubbed her foot on the inside of her other leg. The heavy socks felt good, but they weren’t enough in this kind of cold. “Thanks, Mary Jean. I’ll be in touch.”
She wrapped the colorful quilt around her and tip-toed to the bedroom to find her slippers. Upon her arrival last night, she had slung her suitcase on the pine love chest at the foot of the queen-sized brass bed. She’d intended to unpack, but fatigue had quickly overcome her. She dug through her bag and found the fleece-lined slippers, then quickly put them on.
She was drawn to the huge window cut int
o the rustic logs of the cabin wall. The brightness made her squint before wiping the condensation off the glass panes. She used a corner of the hand-stitched quilt to rub the pane in a circular motion, then stopped. Her hand still poised on the glass before her, she shuddered, remembering the deadly dream. It seemed so real! She could still feel the car soaring through the frigid air. Another shudder swept over her.
Now that she thought of it, there had been many nights over the last few months when she was awakened by dreams. Usually, they made no sense at all, but the nightmares like the one she had just experienced were happening more often. She remembered reading once that dreams often dealt with unresolved conflicts. If that was the case, what was the significance of falling off the side of a mountain?
But, of course. Her life was out of control, and just like the Jeep Cherokee in her dream, she felt powerless to do anything to stop it.
Annie stomped her feet to get the blood circulating and pulled the quilt more tightly around her. Cautiously, she reached toward the window again, this time clearing it enough to see the panoramic view before her. She sighed, taking in the majesty of the mountains surrounding her. The snow blew hard, but she was able to make out the breathtaking landscape. Doc had been right. It was an incredible view.