Most fox analogies work with Carter, especially the one about the hen house. But he’s also “dumb like a fox,” as they say. He knew that the best way to get Gwen and me on the same page was to have us channel our anger in his direction. It was our best chance to solve this.
So a few more antagonistic and braggadocios comments later, and he had us comparing notes.
Chapter 47
The problem was, neither of our stakeouts garnered much more than we already knew.
During Gwen’s interview with Hastings, he predictably blamed everything on Poca and the Samerauks. Although, he did provide an entertaining off-the-record theory about Chief Vayo and Indian hit-men, which might turn out to be a blockbuster for his movie company one day.
“According to Hastings’ theory, the plan was to frame him for Archibald’s murder. That way, as he put it, the Samerauks were going to kill two birds with one arrowhead. And I think that could be what’s happening here,” Gwen said.
“I only saw one threat enter—Hastings—do you think someone else is in there?”
“No, JP—I think you’re the threat. The reporter who is getting too close to the story. What if she’s planning to kill Hastings and frame you for it?”
“Sounds a little out there for me,” Carter said.
“It would have been, until you gave her the perfect opportunity,” she shot back.
“Which might not be a coincidence—there had to be a reason why she pursued Carter so aggressively,” I said, ganging up on him.
“With me spending time with Hastings on his estate, and accompanying him to the premiere tonight, JP would become jealous of what he believes is an affair. So when they find Hastings dead in JP’s brownstone, with no proof that Poca was ever there, the jealous JP will become the lead suspect—two birds with one arrowhead.”
Carter isn’t big on longevity with his women, but he is on loyalty. And once you’ve entered the bedroom of Jeff Carter—or in this case, my bedroom, which I might never use ever again—he will have your back for life. So having basically accused Poca of a murder that (hopefully) had yet to happen, Gwen had a fight on her hands.
Carter boomed, “Poca is innocent!” He thought the statement through, and amended, “Okay, she’s not really innocent, but she had nothing to do with whatever happened to this Thomas Archibald.”
“No offense, but you’re not exactly thinking with a clear head on this one,” Gwen said.
I decided to take up the risky strategy of exploring the possibility that Carter might be right. And to do that, I would have to shed some doubt on Woodrow Hastings.
Hastings seemed very adept at playing the alibi card. He made sure he had one for the night that Archie went missing. And everyone seems to just assume this as fact. But the Hastings family has been known to buy a few things around Rockfield over the years, and pump a lot of money into the local economy. Who was to say he didn’t buy an alibi?
So I made the case that Poca was the one in danger here, which is why her son begged her not to go—he knew the type of information she had on Hastings, and how dangerous it could be to confront him alone. As for Hastings, he likely had his alibi secured—maybe Claude the driver, or some other staffer. As Gwen said, everything else today had been planned.
Once Gwen finished hammering away on my theory, there were so many holes in it that it looked like Swiss cheese. The fact was, all of this was just conjecture. The only way we’d find out what was said in that meeting would be from the participants themselves.
And we would have our first chance to do so, as the front door opened and Woodrow Hastings stepped out of the brownstone.
Chapter 48
Hastings looked flustered. But not like a man who just murdered his rival. His posture was slightly slumped, and he looked like he was feeling all his seventy-plus years. Whatever he’d learned in that room had temporarily knocked the confidence out of him.
Carter saw it differently—in his world, only the winner walks away from the ring on their own two feet, while the loser lies behind, bloodied and beaten. And it wasn’t like Hastings hadn’t attacked Poca before.
He was about to make a mad dash inside to save the day, when Gwen suggested he call first. If she answered, he would know she was safe, without blowing our cover in the process.
He took her advice, and a look of relief came over his face when he heard Poca’s voice through the phone. He made up a story about being delayed by a long line at the Oyster Club, and then they engaged in some uncomfortable—at least for me—flirty talk. I miss you … no, I miss you more. If only his wrestling fans could see him now.
Carter then went into listening-mode, and a puzzled look appeared on his face. He ended the call with, “Yeah, no problem—I can pick it up on the way back.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“She asked me if I could pick up a few things for her at the pharmacy.”
“Isn’t it a little too early in the relationship for honey-do jobs?”
“She was all hot-to-trot when she arrived, then she sends me away, and now she’s slow-playing me.”
“Maybe she said those things because she’s a liar,” Gwen said.
Carter peered at her. “I told you she didn’t harm this Archibald dude. My instincts are rarely wrong about these things.”
“Maybe you should just put a penis mask on your head, because that’s what’s talking,” Gwen continued to push back.
“Maybe you should think about zipping it, if you know what’s good for you.”
I cringed so hard my face actually hurt.
“What’s good for me? Is that some sort of caveman language?”
Carter has his loyalties, and so do I. Nobody threatens my girl. “Are those the same instincts that got us held hostage in Serbia?”
His head snapped in my direction. “Go ahead and say it … but then you better duck.”
“I think I just did.”
“You left out the part that my instincts also got Byron paralyzed.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, and I certainly wasn’t thinking it.”
“Bullshit—it’s time to get this out in the open and put an end to it once and for all!”
I thought I had a monopoly on guilt when it came to Byron’s injury. But it seemed Carter was carrying around his own share.
Before I could respond, something hit me … and it wasn’t Carter. It was something he said. “Put an end to what? That is the question.”
“You know damn straight what I’m talking about,” Carter fired back.
“No—that’s what Poca told her son at lunch. I’m going to put an end to this once and for all. And while she might have lied to us, she had no reason to lie to her son.”
Gwen grew fidgety. “I need to get back to Renée’s before Hastings does. Can you get to the point?”
“My point is that I know what they discussed in that meeting.”
“Which is?”
“The end of the Cold War.”
“Didn’t that end when we tore down that wall, Mr. Gorbachev?” Carter asked.
“But what did it really end? A ‘war’ that went on for years, decades, but the two main participants never directly fired a shot at each other?”
Gwen’s body language said that if I didn’t hurry up, we were about to start our own Cold War. So I looked to Carter, who was more of a willing participant, and a student of war history. “If it was a war for world supremacy, then what kept the participants from going all out to destroy the other?”
Carter was ready with his answer. “MAD.”
“Exactly—mutually assured destruction. Both countries had nukes pointed at the other that could blow it up fifty times over. So while they had their disagreements, such as the Cuban Missile Crisis, at the end of the day it was still better to be a superpower that shared the world, than a pile of radioactive rubble.”
Carter was putting it together. “So if the Samerauks and the Hastings’ have been the two superpowers of Rockfi
eld, it means that they both must have a nuclear option pointed at the other.”
“If they didn’t, one side would have driven out the other. And if the Samerauks had Thomas Archibald’s body hidden all these years, like Hastings claimed to Gwen, then that would be their version of a nuclear bomb. That means the Hastings’ must have something equivalent pointed back at them.”
I had finally hooked Gwen. “So the fact that neither side launched a counter-attack after the car was discovered, and were willing to meet, tells us that …”
“That neither side is responsible for the return of Thomas Archibald. Which is why Hastings looked so troubled, and Poca needed to buy some time to gather herself. It’s their worst-case scenario.”
“That a rogue country or terrorist group got hold of a nuke,” Carter said with a shake of his head.
“The superpowers would no longer be in control,” Gwen added.
I nodded. “And that’s what Thomas Archibald’s return is—a weapon that can hurt both sides. And neither side knows who launched it. A third party has entered the conflict.”
“Any idea who this third party might be?” Gwen asked, as she took another glance at her watch.
“How about that guy?” said Carter.
We looked to see a man, probably close to Hastings’ age, with gray hair flowing out of the back of his baseball cap. We kept watching as he entered the brownstone.
Part Four —
The Wrath of Grapes
Chapter 49
Rockfield—Sunday night
Lewis Hastings had seen The Godfather enough times to know that, when it came to his family, he was Fredo.
And nothing embodied his position in the pecking order more than the situation tonight. Nap and Louisa were hosting a glitzy movie premiere with their father, while he was left home to mind the farm.
Over time, he’d grown tired of being sent to the back of the line. So with his wife and kids in Martha’s Vineyard for the week, he planned to take a stand. It wouldn’t be a big deal, and might not even be noticed, but it was his first step in standing up for himself.
Over the last couple of weeks Hastings Farm had been the victim of thieves. The invaders would take their horses for a joy ride, only to return them, like this was their own personal equestrian playground. Then last Friday night there was a trespassing at the golf course, and the carts were left out all along the course for Lewis to clean up Saturday morning.
So step-one in the life of the new Lewis Hastings was to catch them. He’d been waiting outside one of the stalls—the same one that had been the subject of the last break-in—and was almost ready to call it a night. That’s when the barn doors flew open, and one of the white Arabians galloped out.
He was briefly startled—how did they get in there without him seeing?—but he was soon following closely behind in his golf cart. He got close enough to see that the rider was wearing a bathrobe, just like in that teenage hoax at the bridge.
The horse was much faster than the cart, and began to pull away. But Lewis was not giving up … not this Lewis. He knew every nook and cranny of this property, and he could use it to his advantage in the darkness.
Even though the horse was no longer in his sights he was able to follow the sound of its rumbling hooves. Until the sound suddenly stopped.
Lewis kept driving until he came to a small clearing where his grandfather, Joseph Hastings Sr., was buried. And he found the horse right next to his tombstone. The rider had abandoned it. The horse looked apprehensive and agitated, similar to how Lewis felt at the moment.
He petted the horse’s snout, and told him not to worry, as the thief had run off, scared. That he had done good, and had a treat waiting for him back at the barn.
“Your family is full of lies, so it’s not surprising that you would even lie to an animal.”
Lewis turned to see a dark figure, wearing a bathrobe, his face hidden by a mask. The scariest part of the costume was the gun that he was holding directly at him.
“It’s time for your family to pay for their sins,” he said calmly. Lewis recognized the voice from somewhere, but couldn’t place it. His mind was still frazzled from the chase.
“Please don’t shoot me—I’ll give you whatever you want.” The old Lewis had returned.
“I’m not going to shoot you,” the faceless man said, and gestured toward a shovel that was leaning next to his grandfather’s tombstone. “Now dig.”
“You want me to dig up my grandfather?”
His voice grew irritated, “We both know that there’s much more under this ground than your grandfather’s rotting bones!”
Lewis had no idea what the man was talking about, but knew it was not best to further agitate him. Do what you’re told—that’s how people make it through these types of situations.
He took hold of the shovel and dug it into the ground next to the stone. The ground was hard from the lack of rain, and the shovel barely made a dent.
The man grew impatient. He pointed a few feet away, to the plot of land next to his grandfather’s grave. “Over there—that’s where the treasure is buried.”
Lewis put down the shovel. Even though he lived like a coward, he refused to die like one. “I will not dig my own grave. If you’re going to kill me, you’re going to have to do the work yourself.”
A shot rang out, ricocheting off the headstone, and scaring the crap out of Lewis. There went his gallantry.
The man lowered his gun, having made his point. “You aren’t digging a grave for yourself—you’re digging one for your father.”
Chapter 50
Cinderella was ready for the ball … without a second to spare.
Gwen viewed her transformation in the full-length mirror. Her first thought was that Renée was a liar—she was a miracle worker! The initial plan was to do her hair in wave curls, but with no time for that, to use Renée’s words, she “microwaved” it. What came out was a retro looking updo with a fishtail braid in the back, straight out of old Hollywood. All done in less than five minutes! And combined with her strapless, red frock dress, and a fresher aroma, Gwen was beginning to think she could actually pull this off.
Hastings arrived five minutes later. The post-meeting distracted look was gone, and he had returned to his usual persona—Gwen thought it was a little scary how easily he could turn it on and off.
She didn’t know what to make of his meeting with Poca, and whether to buy into JP’s “rogue nuke” theory. But he was up to something, no doubt. And the most pressing question was: why did he insist on taking her tonight?
Most likely, he wanted to continue his charm assault, trying to influence the story. He knew that the discovery of Thomas Archibald was going to revitalize those old rumors about his family’s connection, and he wanted to get out in front of it.
Or:
He was attempting to find out what she knew. She was the lead local reporter, and her sources had helped break the hoax story. She had knowledge of things about the case that he wasn’t aware of, and that worried him.
Or:
He was just living up to his reputation as a serial womanizer, and saw her as another potential conquest.
But Gwen didn’t have the time to delve into the theories. She was whisked into the Rolls, and before she knew it they had arrived at the Ziegfeld Theater on West 54th Street. She nervously walked the red carpet with Woodrow Hastings by her side—the crowd was abuzz, and flashbulbs blinded her. She never saw fame as something worth pursuing, and this confirmed those thoughts, but she did see how it could be intoxicating to many.
They would stop every few feet, and Woodrow would be interviewed by one of the numerous entertainment reporters covering the event. He seemed completely at ease in this environment. And with a proud grin, he would introduce her at each stop as the “beautiful and talented” Gwen Delaney. He left out skeptical and suspicious.
The questions were similar to the ones she’d seen watching the Oscars or Golden Globes on TV. Who are
you wearing? Are you excited to see the movie?
Luckily the interviews were brief, as nobody wanted to hear from the guy who owned the production company that made the movie. They craved the stars of the film, like Brett Modino, who played the lead role.
When they reached the end of the red carpet, they were herded into a large room. They were greeted by a waiter dressed in a tuxedo, who handed each of them a flute of champagne.
As they waited to enter the theater, Hastings introduced her to a few movers and shakers in the industry, and then to the stars of the movie. She was never one to be starstruck, but she did stumble over her words when talking to Brett Modino. She rationalized that it was the champagne, and not that Modino somehow was able to look better in person than onscreen. Quite an accomplishment.
Hastings saved her last introduction for his children—Nap and Louisa—who ran the day-to-day operations of the production company. They drew their looks from their mother, Monique Diaw, and had inherited her famous dark eyes. And Gwen felt the wrath of those eyes, as they glared at her like she’d broken into their home with intent to steal their inheritance. She was going to explain that this was just a business date with their father, but realized how that would sound, and decided to stick to a simple hello, it’s nice to meet you.
Nap and Louisa went on-and-on about what a dump they thought New York was, which didn’t compare to Paris, where they grew up with their mother, or Malibu, where they would be returning to on the red-eye as soon as the premiere was over. For Gwen, they couldn’t leave soon enough. And once they moved on to more preferred company, she finally had a chance to talk to her date.
“I love what Renée did with your hair,” Woodrow said, the creepy grin returning.
“She said that simplicity is in this year,” Gwen replied. “Did you get all your preparations done while you were gone?”
He waved his hand around the room as if he were a game show host. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”
Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3) Page 20