"If you want to keep things from the people who support you, Matthew, then you're in the wrong business. You can keep them from anyone else, but not us. We will keep things from you so you aren't culpable if something backfires. Listen, the DA is as afraid of this as we are. From what you tell me he made the deal too sweet to turn down and yet your Ms. Bates did just that. And the scary thing is that Grace went along with it. She's never gone against you before and now she's sitting there as if she didn't have a care in the world, as if she couldn't see what this might mean to you."
"Grace didn't go against me. She just doesn't want to go to jail," Matthew snapped. "She's protecting herself. People do that, you know. They protect themselves first. That may be the only thing Grace and I agree on."
Helen turned in the seat. One knee came up and her hands rested on the gear shift. It was an unseemly pose that spoke of hungrier days.
"Fine, Matthew. She did what she had to, and I do what I have to in order to protect you. If I negotiated a deal and someone finds out, I simply pay them off. If that doesn't work then there are enough degrees of separation between you and me so that any scandal probably wouldn't affect you. Think, Matthew. I want you to really understand what I'm talking about here. I'll be the one to dig for the dirt. You've got to trust me to use what I find the right way at the right time."
Matthew watched Helen Crane intently. Her passion was beyond measure, her belief in her tactics sincere and it was that, coupled with her dedication to him, which made him uneasy. Women had been dedicated to him all his life and that brought nothing but trouble.
"I don't want you to do anything like that again without telling me, Helen."
"But—"
"That is nonnegotiable. Whatever you know, I want to know. If it will affect Grace, you tell me first. Any move. Is that understood?"
"It's wrong," Helen warned.
"It's the way it has to be or I walk."
"You'd ruin me if you walked out now," Helen said coldly.
"No, I wouldn't," Matthew answered. "I'd just cost you some money. I would be ruined. So, if I'm going to be ruined, I'll do it on my own terms. And no matter what you think, I know Grace better than you do. I know the damage she can cause and I know how to stop it before it starts."
"All right, Matthew. All right." Helen righted herself. She opened her purse just to have something to do. She rifled through it as she asked: "Are you still going to dinner tonight, or do you want me to make your excuses?"
"I'll check with Grace and let you know," he fumed.
"Just you, Matthew," Helen said, making it clear there was no wiggle room. Matthew carved some out.
"Not anymore, Helen." He answered crisply, staring at his sister in the other car. "Now it's me and Grace until this is over. Spin it any way you want. Brotherly love. Undying support. You may have found her. You may think you know all about her. You may think Grace wouldn't breathe if she thought it was going to hurt me, but you're wrong. Grace has lost it before. She could lose it again."
"She's older, Matthew. It's different now."
"No, it isn't," Matthew muttered as he got out of Helen Crane's Lexus and slammed the door behind him. He stepped back. They looked at one another briefly and Helen knew she had lost this round. Whatever was between him and his sister was certainly volatile and Helen wasn't going to be able to stabilize it now, so she cut her losses and drove away.
Matthew stuck his hands in his pockets and watched her go. It was late in the afternoon. The parking lot was still full. Grace was waiting in his car but Matthew McCreary needed a minute to himself. He wanted to blame Helen and Grace and Josie for his misery but, in reality, he was to blame. But damn it, he had done penance all his life for Grace. It should have been over by now. It should have been done.
Kicking at a stone, loosening his tie as he went, Matthew McCreary opened the door to his car and tossed his jacket in the back. Grace sat with her hands in her lap. The emerald was back on her finger, an expectant look was on her face. She started to smile then thought better of it. She waited for her brother to say something. When he didn't, when he just sat in the hot box of a car without turning it on, Grace asked:
"Are you angry with me?"
Matthew remained still a moment longer. The queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach radiated and tightened at his groin and pushed into his heart. For a minute he wanted to slap his sister for asking such a question. Instead, he half turned and gathered Grace into his arms. He stroked her hair. He made her feel safe the way he had when they were children, the way he had when he thought he could make their world right again.
"No, Grace. I'm not angry. I'll take care of everything if you'll just trust me. Trust me, Grace."
"I do, Matthew. I always have," she said quietly. A second later she gave him a smile that made her seem almost fragile. Grace sat back. Matthew turned the ignition. Before the car started to move, Grace spoke once more.
"I love you, Matthew,"
"I love you, too, Grace."
He drove away wishing that wasn't true.
CHAPTER 21
The day was blindingly bright. Not a cloud to shade, not a meniscus of haze to cut the glare. It was so bright the world seemed one-dimensional. Blue water and sky, white sand, the buildings and boardwalk shimmied with heat waves. It was so hot Josie smelled asphalt melting, paint liquefying and the scent of coconut oil in the sunscreen that was slathered on everyone within a mile. She was tired of the local media tracking Matthew's campaign, the upcoming preliminary hearing and the bizarre heat wave as if they were the only stories on the planet. Josie got out of the house and walked the two blocks to the Strand to try and shake the feeling that she'd made a bad call for Grace McCreary.
Objectively, Josie knew she had covered her bases well. To convince herself of that she played devil's advocate, mentally perusing the witness list P.J. had provided and knowing she could not only cut the prosecutor off at every turn but she could throw a few little bombs of her own into the mix. Any one of Michelle McCreary's problems could have led to a flying leap from the eleventh floor.
The daughter of a fragile mother and a larger-than-life father, Michelle McCreary had been born into money and privilege. Her mother was of little consequence. She spied on her husband as he entertained his mistresses in their home and treated her daughter like a barely tolerated acquaintance. Michelle's father had been governor of California, an old-school politico who screwed everything in a skirt. He beat back charges of statutory rape when a school friend of Michelle's succumbed to his charms. During his tenure there had been allegations of graft and fraud, none of which were proven. The man was a first-class pig in private and a hell of a politician in public. He trotted Michelle out like a prized horse when he needed some respectability. The more beautiful his daughter became, the more he thrust her into the spotlight. He was a proud father who loved his daughter. Some thought that poor Michelle had been just a little too loved by her seemingly doting father, but that was a place no one dared go while the old man was alive. Josie would have no problem exploring that premise if Grace was bound over for trial no matter how much the McCreary siblings objected.
Josie kicked at a stone. It careened into the wall and ricocheted back behind her. She passed Burt's at the Beach. It was packed even in the middle of the afternoon on a workday. Scotty's was the same. The Sea Sprite Motel was overflowing with people. A family with triplets lounged on the porch of the pink cottage adjacent to the main building. In-line skaters came at Josie forward and behind and they all shared the space with skateboarders, bicyclists, baby strollers and people who just plain walked. On Pier Plaza the wild parrots had taken off for cooler climes and happy hour was starting early but still Josie thought about Matthew's dead wife.
Michelle couldn't have been dealt a worse hand than having Fred Delacorte for a father. She hated that he was a politician. She hated that he was crass. She hated that she was interesting to the press because she was Big
Fred's daughter.
Psychiatrists, Catholic school counselors, fleeting friends, a boyfriend or two helped Michelle cope, but according to Matthew and Grace it was the Church that kept her sane. Unfortunately, Michelle's priest had gone to Ireland on a retreat. Yet, even without Father Sidney, Josie was positive she could neutralize any of the witnesses P.J. Vega brought to the prelim. She was sure of it. Almost.
Cutting through a break in the wall that separated the Strand from the beach, Josie kicked off her shoes and trudged across the sand, one hand shielding her eyes. A foursome at a far volleyball court was losing a player. Josie knew them by sight and they knew her by reputation. She weighed in with introductions, found out her partner was from Huntington Beach, stripped off her top to the sports bra beneath, dug in and the game began.
Muscles tensing, Josie moved through the deep sand easily, receiving the serves smoothly. Knees bent. Elbows locked. Hands clasped. Thumbs parallel and rigid, she popped the ball to her partner for a setup that she put away. She moved as fast as the game. Point after point, give and take. A bump. A spike. People stopped to watch the tall woman, her body brown and ripped and glistening with sweat. The sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. Her sunglasses slipped down her nose and she whipped them off, tossing them to the ground outside the court boundaries, squinting into the sun, ready to play again.
"You!"
Her partner hollered. Josie ran. She lunged. She hit the sand hard, one fist thrown out in a last-ditch effort to save the point. The ball glanced off her hand and spiraled away from the court. Josie stayed down for a second and watched it roll. Finally, she got up and dusted herself off. She used the back of her arm to wipe the sand away from her mouth. With a "my bad" apology, her partner jogged after the ball. When Josie raised her chin and called out "okay" she caught the scent of something. Standing taller, she drew her arm across her brow, then put both hands on her hips while she scanned the beach. People moved in and out of the bright white light that lasered off the sand and water. They were shimmering shapes and dabs of color, half faces blanked out by the sun spots. Catching her breath, her skin seared and shrinking with the heat, Josie burrowed her feet into the cool sand beneath the surface.
Rotating slowly she searched for anything out of the ordinary. Someone who didn't belong; someone like Kevin O'Connel. But that didn't wash. Josie knew what it felt like to have Kevin O'Connel hating her. Distance wouldn't matter. Her heart wasn't beating faster. She wasn't afraid. Yet Josie knew her instincts were seldom wrong. Someone found her damned interesting and when she figured it out Josie was nothing less than surprised.
Putting on her shoes, she snatched up her shirt and sunglasses, gave her partner a low five and a "thanks" as she passed and bowed out of the game. Josie trudged slowly through the blistering sand, never taking her eyes off the man who watched her. When she was close enough, he took off his sunglasses and there they were—those eyes—the ones that saw everything, including Josie's ambivalence to his presence.
"What are you doing back, Archer?"
***
"Father Frank. From St. Mary's by the Sea? I've been waiting for a very long time and I have to get back in time for prayers at three. Do you think Mr. McCreary could see me for just a moment? Please?" The bespectacled priest seemed to hop from one foot to another. The noise and commotion in this place made him nervous but the letter in his breast pocket made him truly uneasy.
"Father, I appreciate that you've been waiting, but Matthew has back-to-back appointments today, and I just don't see how we're going to squeeze you in. Maybe you'd like to leave a message ..."
Tim dodged a volunteer as he tried to steer the young priest with the big glasses out the door. Phones were ringing off the hook. Matthew had already met with the mayors of Los Angeles, Long Beach, Riverside and Van Nuys. He had a photo op with a Boy Scout troop and had to get a draft of his speech to the League of Women Voters on Tim's desk tonight for the rewrite. This priest from Michelle's church was the last thing anyone needed but he was damned persistent.
"No, I can't leave a message and this is very, very important," he insisted. "If I don't see Mr. McCreary I'm afraid I'm going to have to go to the authorities. I don't know if it's really a matter for them, but I feel very strongly that someone must take a look at this."
He patted his black coat and Tim stopped what he was doing. Frances stopped stuffing envelopes and looked up. Even the ringing phones seemed to pause as if they were waiting for Father Frank to say something more. It was all the time Tim Douglas needed to smile.
"I can't imagine anything could be that bad," Tim said jovially.
"Neither can I," Father Frank admitted, "but you never know. I mean I don't know about these things but . . . well ... I should talk to Mr. McCreary, I think."
"Let me see what I can do. Wait here a minute."
Tim disappeared, leaving Father Frank to pretend he didn't notice Frances eyeing him with a great deal of interest. He was visibly relieved when Tim came back.
"Matthew has a minute, Father," Tim said affably. "Come with me."
"Thank you. I appreciate it. I just didn't want to have this on my conscience. I am so sorry to bother all of you. I really am."
Tim was gracious to the little man of God even though his heart was beating fast. He opened the door to Matthew's office. The candidate, forewarned, rose with an expansive smile and a hearty handshake.
"Father Frank. It's good of you to come. I never got to thank you for conducting such a lovely service for Michelle." Matthew drew the priest into the office, taking a calculated guess that this was the one who had said the Mass. He wasn't, but he had assisted. Close enough.
"It's nice to see you again, too, Mr. McCreary. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances." He looked over his shoulder at Tim, then back at Matthew. "It is rather private Mr. McCreary."
"Tim?" Matthew smiled and looked at his chief of staff. "Could you possibly call John Schroeder and tell him not to hurry. I'll be about ten minutes late."
"Sure. No problem."
Tim hesitated. He was supposed to know everything about this campaign, he was supposed to be running it and lately Matthew was treating him like a third wheel. They would have to come to some understanding before the general election but for now he acquiesced. When the door was closed Matthew looked the priest right in the eye.
"The floor is yours, Father. What can I do for you?"
"It's more what can I do for you," Father Frank said and withdrew an ecru-colored envelope from his breast pocket. He looked at it for a minute, and then handed it to Matthew. "I've brought you a message from the grave, Mr. McCreary."
CHAPTER 22
Fat Face Fenner's Fishack was right there, so Josie and Archer climbed the steep, narrow steps to the second floor, scoped out the bar where the ceiling fans rotated lazily, then headed to the tables on the breezeway overlooking Pier Plaza. The chairs were high, the tables higher and everything was naked to the sun, which meant the bridge was deserted. That suited Archer and Josie just fine. They sat in silence, sunning like lizards, checking out the action below. Sangria's was busy and so was Molloy's. Sharkeez would pick up after dark. Two guys with a pit bull on a choke chain were taking a rest on the bench and watching the scantily clad women promenade to and from the beach. A flock of kids on skateboards zoomed by in a torrent of laughter and wheel clacking.
Josie rested her elbow on the railing and checked out her man. They'd been together a while now, meeting when he took a picture of her at a pro-am volleyball tournament. She lost the game but gained a whole lot more. Archer liked her look, her competitiveness, the fact that she worked harder after she screwed up. Josie admired his quiet persistence, his experience. They liked each other before they loved and never talked about either. Archer stayed clear of her business until he was asked in and always the man was honest. His presence. Josie had forgotten how potent his presence was despite the days-old beard and exhausted eyes. Th
e plate of calamari remained untouched in favor of the beer. He was on his second.
"So." Josie's foot nudged his leg under the table "You and Hannah must have something going on I don't know about. I thought you two could barely tolerate each other and still she called you all the way in Mexico."
"I wouldn't exactly say we're best buddies," Archer admitted. "But she's smart enough to know when she needs help."
"She's still worried about O'Connel." Josie murmured. "He called her school and told them I'd been in a car accident. It was a bad trick but I thought she handled it well. It's been a while since he's done anything so I'm surprised she's still worried."
"She can handle O'Connel. It's the other thing. It's McCreary." Archer ran a finger down the glass beer bottle then wrapped his hand around it. He didn't want to have to say it, but there was no way around this. "She was thinking about taking up the razor again, Jo."
Josie's own beer was halfway to her lips. Her hand trembled as she paused before taking a drink. She didn't so much look Archer in the eyes as check out the truth behind them.
"Hannah would have said something before she cut herself. It was part of the deal. She would have told me before she told you."
"I could hear it when she called," Archer said softly. "I know what I'm talking about."
"You were in the middle of nowhere." Josie chuckled self-consciously. "You heard static."
"I heard what I heard." Archer shrugged.
"Was she worried I wouldn't have enough time for her?"
"Nope." Archer picked up a calamari ring and dipped it. He held it up. She wasn't interested. He popped it into his mouth after he said: "She says you've been spending a lot of time with McCreary and I better hightail it back here and stake my claim.
"Really?" Now Josie was amused. "Are you going to challenge him to a duel?"
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