The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  So the would-be Governor of Illinois had gotten his start with Frank Sullivan, Skelly mused, quickly putting pieces together. Rogowski had been working for the state senator at the time of his demise. And within a half-dozen years, he'd taken over Sullivan's old seat.

  A fact that was definitely of interest.

  On impulse, Skelly grabbed the phone and punched in his father's home number. Currently a U.S. Congressman, Raymond McKenna had been involved in politics since emigrating from the old sod.

  "Top of the morning," came the familiar voice with its slight Irish lilt.

  "Dad, it's Skelly."

  "Ah, boyo – calling about your cousin's wedding?"

  "Actually, I need some help with a story I'm working on."

  Something he'd never before thought of asking of his father. But, as much as he disliked running up against his only parent's disapproval, Skelly knew that his father might have or be able to get an inside track through his political cronies.

  "And what might that be?"

  "What do you know about Frank Sullivan's murder?"

  A short pause was followed by his father's denial. “Probably not as much as you do, I'm guessing. I was barely off the boat from Éire when the man died."

  Then he did know something, Skelly figured. And for some reason was reluctant to get into it.

  "I was born in 1963, the same year Sullivan died. That means you were here for a year, Dad. Weren't you working for the Ward Committeeman?"

  "Aye. Running errands. I didn't have a say in any of the party's doings, especially those outside the city. I never even met Frank Sullivan."

  "But I'm sure you kept your ears open between running errands. Scandals don't die as easily as a man. Being that you hung out with Sullivan's colleagues, I thought you might have picked up on the talk..."

  "You mean rumors? Sensationalism is your business, not mine."

  Skelly's hand clenched around the receiver. He should be used to that critical tone after thirty-three years. Nothing he did ever met his father's exacting standards, but the old man still had the power to wound him.

  "There's usually a basis to rumors," he said more calmly than he was feeling. “I don't report anything that I can't check out."

  "I haven't so much as heard the man's name in decades," his father insisted. “Not until you dragged it out."

  Skelly started. He hadn't been aware his father even watched his show. He'd never admitted as much before.

  "What about Walt Rogowski?"

  An uncomfortable pause was followed by his father's “What does Rogowski have to do with your story?"

  "Maybe nothing. He was working for Sullivan at the time of his death, though. He had to know what the senator was up to...who his enemies were."

  "If he'll tell you."

  "What? You don't think he's honest?"

  "Now you wouldn't be hearing that from me, boyo."

  A round-about confirmation, Skelly realized. “Listen, I know you've got to have party loyalty.”

  "In truth, I can't fathom why the party is supporting Rogowski for governor."

  His father's statement put Skelly on alert. “You don't like him, do you?"

  "A man doesn't need to like everyone he works with."

  "Why? What do you know?"

  "Nothing that has to do with Sullivan's murder. Now, about your cousin's wedding. I've agreed to give her away, and I hear you're to be the best man."

  Frustrated but knowing he wasn't going to get anything more from his father at the moment, Skelly caved in and let him change the subject. Congressman Raymond McKenna was obviously impressed with his niece. More impressed than he was with his own son, Skelly realized bitterly.

  His mind only half on the conversation, he was relieved when a production assistant poked her head in the office and asked him to report to Wardrobe. He promised his father he'd call when he got back to town.

  And wondered if Walt Rogowski still called Galena home.

  Before leaving his office, he called Heidi and asked her to find out.

  ROSALIND HAD TAKEN THIS ROUTE to Galena so many times she could practically drive it blindfolded. All except for the last stretch, that was, when the flat land and boring straight road suddenly exploded into rolling green hills and dangerous curves that engaged all her senses.

  "Almost like we've been transported out of Illinois," Skelly commented.

  "That's the way I feel about this corner of the state. And this is my favorite part of the drive...as long as it's daylight."

  "The dark scares you?"

  "No, but the fog does. And there's plenty of it around here at night."

  Rosalind shifted back to second as her Thunderbird rolled through a big dip and down an incline. Even so, a little thrill shot through her, and she had to keep herself in check so she didn't throw caution to the wind and accelerate as she felt like doing. She sensed it would behoove her to remain cautious in all things while she was around Skelly McKenna.

  "So what does scare you?" he suddenly asked.

  She could feel his gaze on her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that awareness.

  "Getting too complacent." Not wanting to give him an opening to interrogate her as he seemed wont to do at every opportunity, she took the offensive. “So isn't your family going to miss you this weekend?"

  "My sister always moans about our not spending more holiday time together, but she'll be with her mother's people." He clarified, “Aileen is my half-sister."

  "At least you have a sibling. Being an only child isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

  "Two siblings, actually. We have a half-brother, as well. Same father, yet another mother. Donovan never particularly cared for me or Aileen."

  Or Skelly for Donovan – that implication was clear. “What about your parents?"

  "My mother died when I was born. Dad has always suspected it was my fault."

  A revealing statement, Rosalind thought.” Sorry."

  "Not as sorry as I am."

  Always having known she was well-loved by her father, grandfather and great-aunt – even by her mother who was too-often withdrawn – Rosalind really did feel a little sorry for Skelly. He made it sound as if he'd never had a sense of family or the kind of closeness that had prompted her to do something about his Blonde Temptress story. If the day spa had been her only concern, she might have let it alone.

  "So, do you use your job to fill in the blank spaces?"

  "Spaces in what?"

  "Your life."

  "What makes you think there are any?"

  "You don't exactly have a big, loving family. You're not married.” Or so she assumed. “You're not, are you?"

  "Not at present."

  "Divorced?"

  "I've never been so much as tempted."

  But he was staring at her again, in a way that made the delicate skin along her neck bump. She couldn't help but be reminded of the story he'd spun the night before. His telling her about Gary and Cynthia turning negative sparks into positive wasn't reassuring.

  A bit agitated, she said, “So, no serious lady, either. What's left?"

  "Friends."

  "You spend a lot of time with them? Doing what?"

  "Suddenly, you're awfully interested in my personal life. Am I missing something here?"

  "I'm merely trying to have a reasonable conversation."

  "Or maybe you think I'm the most fascinating man you've ever met," he suggested in a low voice that sent her hormones scrambling.

  Rosalind sniffed. “Don't flatter yourself."

  "Challenging, then."

  She didn't disagree.

  Skelly's smothered laughter got to her. Rosalind glanced his way, caught for a second by the sparkle in his blue eyes. His wicked grin sent a flush straight through her. His dimpled cheek invited her to reach out and connect with him. She forced her gaze back to the road just in time to take another switchback curve.

  "I once read a story about a woman who w
as a lot like you," Skelly said.

  "How so?"

  "She was beautiful, smart, talented. Kept herself busy all the time so she didn't have to deal with her real problems."

  Annoyed at the last, Rosalind said, “That doesn't sound like me at all." Did it? Hesitating only a moment, she asked, “What problems?"

  "Distrust. Fear. Loneliness."

  "Definitely not me."

  "You are definitely distrustful," he argued. “And everyone has secret fears."

  She tried turning the tables on him. “So what are yours?"

  But he wasn't biting. “And everyone is lonely at times, some more than others."

  She wondered if he was thinking of her...or of himself. No mother. Distant father. A half-sister whose loyalties were split between two households. She imagined him spending too much time by himself.

  Certain he would never admit to being lonely, she asked, “So how did the woman's story end?"

  "She met a man–“

  "–who solved all her problems?" She should have figured where he was going with this.

  "Who was there for her when she needed him. She grew to trust him, count on him. Her fears grew less important. And as she let herself grow closer to him...become attached...her life felt fuller. More satisfying."

  Now why did this story sound like something Skelly made up? Did he really think she'd see herself in this fictitious woman and open up to him? She wouldn't put it past him to try a head trip on her.

  Rosalind glanced his way, expecting that he would be smirking at her, but, to her surprise, his expression was quite serious. Thoughtful. A strange feeling she couldn't identify shot through her, leaving her a little breathless. She swallowed hard and tried concentrating on the road ahead.

  Skelly McKenna confused her. When she'd stormed into his office, she'd assumed he was arrogant and unscrupulous. Now she suspected he was far more complex than the cliché tabloid reporter she'd expected. She shouldn't like him, didn't want to like him, but it seemed her rational self had no say in the matter. Despite her initial animosity toward him, Skelly was getting to her on a very primal level, something she couldn't seem to control.

  A fact that made Rosalind decidedly edgy.

  GALENA WAS A HILLY TOWN divided by a ribbon of river. At the foot of one of the steepest inclines, Roz turned onto busy Main Street where couples strolled hand-in-hand and parents rushed their children along.

  "Tourists are already out full force for the holiday," Skelly said, noting the decorations – bunting and flags galore.

  "It's pretty much like this every summer weekend. I'm going to stop at the drug store before heading up to the house. Need anything?"

  "Not that I can think of." And so, when she pulled into a parking spot, he said, “I'll stay here to make a call." He fetched his cellular from his briefcase.” Handy little things."

  "Personally, I wouldn't have one. Life is already too rushed and stressful. So you'll be here?"

  "Or browsing shop windows."

  "Don't go too far."

  "I don't think I can get lost."

  "I meant that I'll only be a minute."

  Remembering the exchange in his office, Skelly arched his brows and checked his watch in challenge.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake! Do you have to take things so literally?"

  She left the car, slipped a coin into the meter and hurried toward the drug store. Grinning after her, he realized she turned a few heads, no doubt because of her stunning looks.

  Skelly called his Audix at work. Only one message. Something he could handle next week.

  He decided to browse.

  Strolling down the street, he admired refurbished buildings home to shops selling antiques, art, jewelry and souvenirs. He'd visited Galena before, and so he was acquainted with its history. Galena once had been a major commercial center, fortunes amassed in the 1840's through mining, smelting and steam boating. Ulysses S. Grant and eight other Union Generals of the Civil War had called the area home. Then, with the arrival of the railroad and the Galena River becoming silted in from soil erosion, the town declined. By the turn of the century, Galena suffered complete economic shock. Only over the past few decades had the charming town recovered, renovated and become a popular tourist spot.

  Skelly stopped before a window display that attracted him, Yesterday's Treasures being one of Galena's many antique stores. Intricately designed old jewelry and other accessories – painted fans, beaded bags, lace gloves – were laid out in charming disarray across the top of a mirrored vanity of inlaid wood. Wondering if Roz ever wore such trinkets, he realized he was being scrutinized. He looked up.

  Several yards behind the plate glass window, a rugged man with craggy features crowned by a too-obvious toupee stared at him intently. But the moment their gazes meshed, the other man turned his attention back to his clipboard. Skelly assumed he was the owner in search of a potential customer.

  "There you are," Roz said, sounding breathless. “You lose."

  "It's been more than a minute."

  "That's because I had to come looking for you." She was stuffing a small paper bag in her purse. “Ready to go?"

  Though he could stand there indefinitely fencing with her, Skelly nodded. And as they walked off, he glanced back into the antique shop. The owner was staring again as if he recognized them.

  Once back in the car, he asked Roz, “How much time do you spend in Galena?"

  "Not all that much. I haven't had the time since I was a kid. I always manage a weekend here and there, though. I know the town pretty well, if not many of the people."

  A few minutes later, they were overlooking Main Street from the intersection of Hill and High Streets. Below rose several church steeples and dozens of homes in a variety of old styles, including Greek Revival, Federal and Italianate.

  "We're here," Roz said, turning into a diagonal parking space at the foot of another incline below Lang House.

  Skelly alighted from the Thunderbird, beating her to the open trunk. He scooped up both their bags and started up the stepped walkway, Roz quickly catching up. He admired the mansion's Queen Anne architecture, the cream, rose and federal blue trim of the wrap-around porch, windows and turret, as well as the stained-glass and beveled windows. Even though the structure was mostly brick rather than wood, Skelly thought the finishing touches made Lang House a painted lady in the very best tradition.

  As his foot hit the first step, Skelly said, “You're certain I'm welcome to stay here."

  "Grandfather and Aunt Hilary are expecting you."

  Which sounded like an evasion. He figured the elderly brother and sister had agreed only under pressure from Roz. That made him uncomfortable, but he knew he didn't have much choice of where to bunk, considering this was a holiday weekend. Roz had said something about the town's tourist facilities being maxed out.

  Before they could cross the porch, the front door swung open to reveal a short, generously rounded woman who squealed in delight as she flew to greet them. “Rosalind!" She threw her arms around her much taller grand-niece for a big hug.

  Skelly could hardly believe Hilary Lang was in her late sixties. Her warm brown hair scattered with only a few threads of gray was pulled back in a modern twist from a barely-lined, still-pretty face. He found no clouding in the alert blue eyes that turned to inspect him.

  Her arm slipping possessively around the older woman's shoulders, Roz said, “Aunt Hilary, this is Skelly McKenna. Skelly, my Aunt Hilary."

  "How nice to meet you. What a fine looking young man." Hilary gave Roz an arch look. “About time you got some sense into that hard head of yours and found an interesting man to keep you stimulated."

  "Aunt Hilary, I told you–“

  "I know. I know. You're here to do research." Her forehead creased. “Well, what are we doing standing out on the porch when I've put the kettle on for some tea?"

  Hilary scurried inside, Roz following, Skelly bringing up the rear. He left their bags at the foot of the s
tairs and followed the women through the antique-filled foyer and dining room. As he went, he glanced into both front and back parlors, wondering which had been the crime scene.

  "What would you like with your tea?" Hilary asked Skelly when he entered the modernized kitchen. She was already pulling mugs from a wooden tree. “Cookies or scones?"

  "You don't need to go to any trouble."

  "Pish-tosh. I enjoy doing for others."

  "A scone sounds great, then." In truth, Skelly's stomach was growling since Roz had shown up before he had a chance to grab lunch.

  "Rosalind?"

  "Have I ever turned down your homemade scones?"

  Hilary put three in the toaster oven to warm.

  "Where's grandfather?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine, honey. We watched The Whole Story after lunch." Hilary turned her bright-eyed gaze on Skelly. “After you divulged that you were following up on the murder and that you would share whatever information you found with your viewers, Noah was seething."

  Skelly noticed Hilary herself didn't appear any too happy.

  "Skelly, you didn't!"

  He turned to find Roz glaring at him. “That's what you wanted from me, to do a follow-up piece on your grandmother. Isn't it?"

  "You didn't have to make some big announcement that'll have people salivating for the details beforehand." She sucked in her breath. “Not to mention the press. We don't need them descending on us and interfering."

  Suspecting her problem really was that, if what they found wasn't to her liking, Roz might not want him doing a follow-up after all, he said, “I doubt you have anything to worry about with the press at this point."

  "Really. I was worried about you after I turned down your assistant's request for an interview. And I was right...wasn't I?"

  Unable to argue with her logic, Skelly didn't try.

  "Grandfather is all right, isn't he?" Roz asked, forehead furrowed.

  "I'm certain he is," her aunt reassured her. “But he's in one of his moods. He raced out of here, mumbling to himself. Hasn't even called to tell me what time he'll be home for supper."

  Hilary set the mugs, small plates and a pot of tea in the center of the table. “So how long have you two kids known each other?"