Mimosa Grove (10 page)

Robert thought he heard the man curse but wasn’t sure. However, from the reaction he’d gotten, it was possible that McNamara might have them by the short hairs after all. If this was true, the case could get tricky.

“So is this something we need to check out?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The abruptness of Fredrich’s response was disheartening.

“When can you let me know if this…FFR has been tampered with?” Robert asked.

“Give me a phone number.”

Robert repeated the number on the pay phone.

“Wait there,” Fredrich said.

Obviously the dial tone in his ear was all the goodbye he was going to get from the secretary of defense. He hung up the receiver, then glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes after two in the afternoon. He had promised to attend a dinner party that evening but was wondering if he was going to have to send last-minute regrets. Down the hall, he saw the door to the containment room open. Carter Murphy stepped out into the hall and glanced his way.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Robert waved him back into the room.

Carter frowned but retreated. He was the counsel for the defense, for God’s sake, and didn’t have a clue as to what was going on.

Seven minutes later, the pay phone rang. Robert picked it up on the first ring.

“This is Scanlon.”

“Fredrich here. We have a problem.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Robert asked.

“We have reason to believe that McNamara has the FFR.”

Robert sighed. “Okay. My first question is…what the hell is an FFR?”

Fredrich hesitated. Few outside of the department even knew it existed, but considering the high profile of this trial, it stood to reason that the world would soon know. It was only fair that the prosecutor had a head start.

“One of the biggest tragedies of any war is killing our own under friendly fire. It happened far too often during our last conflict in Iraq, when we were after Hussein.”

“True. It seemed to me that each time it happened, the media was all over it, looking for a way to make the accident seem sinister…which made it even more of a tragedy than it already was. As if someone on our side did it on purpose.”

“Exactly,” Fredrich said. “Which led to something so simple it’s a puzzle why we didn’t think of it sooner.”

“The FFR?”

“Yes. Friendly Fire Radar. Only it’s not exactly radar. To put it simply, something similar to a computer chip becomes part of every existing missile, as well as those that have yet to be built. It will recognize an answering signal that will be installed in every United States military vehicle, from jeeps to tanks. Basically, it initiates a self-destruct sequence before contact. Anything that moves on the ground will be safe from whatever comes from the sky…if it’s one of ours. In other words, we will no longer be killing our own.”

“And you know for sure that McNamara has this?”

“Someone does. The fact that he even knows of its existence tells me we’re in trouble.”

“Goddamn it,” Robert said. “Don’t you keep that stuff locked up?”

Fredrich snorted lightly. “You have no idea.”

“And yet he still got to it, which backs up the intel we have on him. Some child prodigy that the old U.S.S.R. got hold of and turned into a stone-cold spy. Ironically, we think they forgot about him, so, left to his own defenses, he used every skill they taught him and went into business for himself.”

“We need to know where the schematics are and who else knows about it.”

Robert tensed. “I don’t make deals.”

“You will this time.”

“Goddamn it!” Robert roared. “Do you know what kind of a message this sends to our enemies? Besides, once this becomes public knowledge, the FFR won’t be a secret anymore.”

“Then make it go away…. Make McNamara or Chorkin or whatever the hell his name is go away. Give him back to Russia. Let them deal with him. They’re pretty embarrassed about the whole thing as it is.”

“That’s what he wants!” Robert yelled. “You’re playing right into his hands. Have you wondered what other secrets he’s sold? Or how many people have died as a result? Let me bury the son of a bitch. I’ll put him so deep into the federal prison system that he’ll never see daylight again.”

“Do what I told you to do,” Fredrich said.

“Go to hell,” Robert said, and slammed the phone onto the hook.

Then he stood there, shocked by what he’d just done. He’d spent his whole life playing by the rules, ashamed of his wife’s bizarre behavior, ignoring his daughter to the point of alienation, and now he’d defied the system.

He stared back down the hallway, trying to picture himself groveling to that son of a bitch and his lawyer. He couldn’t see it happening. Not in this lifetime.

And the sooner he dealt with the bastard, the better off they would all be.

R
obert’s hands were curled into fists as he strode back into the prison conference room. Carter Murphy looked up, then flinched as Scanlon pointed his finger in McNamara’s face, his voice rising in anger as he spoke.

“I will not make a deal with you. Not now. Not ever. It is my opinion that whatever you stole has already been compromised. Whether we get it back or not does not change the fact that its existence is no longer a secret. Therefore you have nothing with which to bargain.”

“I don’t believe you!” McNamara shouted, and started to get up when Carter Murphy shoved his client back into his chair.

“Sit down, damn it, and for once do as you’re told.”

“He’s lying!” McNamara shouted. “I know what I have. He’s got to be lying.”

The flush on Robert’s face gave him away.

“See?” McNamara said.

Even Carter was surprised that Scanlon would do something this rash.

“Are you?” Murphy asked.

Robert’s fury was evident. “I told you before. I don’t make deals.”

McNamara raised his fists, the handcuffs rattling as he pointed in Robert’s face.

“You will deal with me, or I’ll make you sorry.”

Robert stiffened. “Don’t you think you’re already in enough trouble without threatening a federal prosecutor?” Without another word, he left the room.

Carter Murphy threw up his hands and grabbed his briefcase.

“This meeting is over.” Then he glared at his client, angry with himself and with McNamara that he’d let him get by with this. “This was a mistake from start to finish. You are not in charge of your case, I am, and I advise you not to say anything more.”

“Then you’re fired!” McNamara shouted.

“Thank you,” Carter said, and followed Robert out of the room. “Scanlon! Wait!”

Robert paused.

“There’s no use arguing with me,” he said. “I’m not changing my stand on this.”

“McNamara fired me,” Carter said. “Just wanted you to know.”

Robert smiled grimly. “When the attorney general finds out what I’ve done, I’ll probably be fired, too.”

Carter’s eyebrows rose. “They told you to deal, didn’t they?”

Robert hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

Carter grinned. “I’ll say this for you. You’ve got balls. As for our Monty Hall/
Let’s Make a Deal
reject in there, I’m leaving before he changes his mind.”

Robert was mildly amused at Murphy’s reference.

“I can tell you for certain, there is no Door Number Three. The attorney general will have something to say about this case, but it won’t come through me.”

“Or me,” Carter said. “Never been so happy to be fired in my whole life.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Robert muttered. “It will probably be the end of my career.”

“Worse things could happen,” Murphy said.

They shook hands and then went their separate ways, but what Carter Murphy said stuck with Robert. Worse things
could
happen. It set him to wondering what would happen if he left the prosecutor’s office. It hurt him to admit that the world would go on. In fact, he wondered if there was anyone in this whole city who would miss him, then set the thought aside. Time enough to feel sorry for himself later. For now, he was going to remove himself from the case before they had a chance to fire him.

Trigger DeLane had known ever since the day of McNamara’s arrest that this call would come, yet when he heard Peter’s voice on the other end of the line, his stomach knotted. If only he could take back the last four years and start over, he would never have gotten mixed up with this bastard, no matter what the reward.

“Trigger, it’s me.”

“You shouldn’t be calling me,” Trigger said.

Peter sneered. “Why? Afraid Daddy’s little boy might be implicated?”

Trigger cursed softly but stood his ground. “That isn’t possible.”

“Well…actually, yes, it is,” Peter drawled. “I mean, after all, a man has a right to cover his back when necessary, don’t you agree?”

The taste in Trigger’s mouth was suddenly bitter. He felt like he needed to pee.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh…how do you Americans say it? Oh, yes…that’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

Trigger shuddered, thinking of his father’s face should he learn of his involvement, and knew he was lost.

“What do you want?” he mumbled.

“That’s better,” Peter said. “Now, here’s what I want you to do. Robert Scanlon is the lawyer for the prosecution in my case and he’s balking at making a deal. I want you to find out what he treasures most, then use it against him until he agrees to my demands.”

“That’s probably his daughter,” Trigger said. “She’s a looker, and single, too.”

“Really? Then that’s perfect. Get her. Don’t hurt her…but don’t let her get away. We’re going to need her to convince her father to my way of thinking.”

“Damn it! I’m not going to get myself involved in kidnapping.”

“Why? You’re already involved in treason. What’s a little kidnapping compared to that?”

“For starters, the death penalty.”

“You’re already facing the death penalty if they catch you, so just be sure you don’t get caught,” Peter snapped. “Do you still have the same cell phone number?”

“Yes.”

“Then get her and put her somewhere for safekeeping. I’ll call you in a couple of days to let you know what to do next.”

Saturday dawned hot and still. The air was muggy, seemingly too thick to breathe. The air-conditioning in the old house was spotty at best, and today was no exception. Laurel woke slowly, coming to her senses before opening her eyes. Her grandmother’s bed cradled her comfortably as the weak flow of breeze from the air-conditioning vent blew down on her back. She knew it was late, but her sleep last night had been restless. All night she’d dreamed that someone was standing beside her bed and watching her sleep. Even when she’d gotten up in the night to go to the bathroom, she’d remembered the feeling and given the room a quick search, although no one was there. It had taken her a long while to relax enough to get back to sleep. Now she was awake, but reluctant to move.

It would be easy just to turn over and go back to sleep. The notion was on her mind when suddenly she realized it was Saturday. Her body quickened. Tonight was the night of the celebration party for the safe return of Justin’s niece. He was coming to get her around five. The thought of spending the evening in his company made her shiver with longing. It was crazy to feel this connected to a man she’d just met, but it had happened just the same.

Without giving herself time to change her mind, she threw back the bedclothes and sat up on the side of the mattress. As she did, her gaze automatically went toward the windows opposite her bed. She glanced out, wincing at the already white-hot, cloudless sky, and headed for the shower, stripping out of her gown as she went. Later, as she was dressing, she heard the sound of a small engine running and hurried to the window. A tall, lanky man wearing a pair of faded blue overalls and a baseball cap was pushing a lawnmower about the backyard. A long brown ponytail was hanging out from beneath the back of his cap, and when he turned the corner of the yard and started back toward the house, she could see bare skin burned teak-brown by the sun.

It appeared that Tula’s grandson, the one who was going to clean up the grounds, had arrived and was off to a good start. Clippings flew out from beneath the mower as he pushed it through the tall, uneven grass. Off to the west, she could see Elvis’s tail feathers hanging down from the lower limb of one of the mimosa trees in the back yard. She grinned. It appeared that Elvis had taken refuge from the mower. For all she cared, the darned bird could spend the day up there.

She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror, eyeing the pale yellow T-shirt and black shorts as proper attire for the weather, poked an unruly strand of her copper-colored hair back behind her ear and started to step into a pair of backless sandals when she happened to glance back up at the mirror. A reflection of something behind her caught her eye. She turned, curious as to what she’d seen, but when she looked, there was nothing there. Still curious, she looked back in the mirror, and as she did, her heartbeat stuttered, then started to race. Whatever it was, was still there, and as she watched, what appeared to be a face began to appear in the air above her left shoulder. Suddenly the notion that her sleep had not been as solitary as she’d believed seemed more likely.

As she stared, more and more of the specter took shape, composing its form from the dust motes and sunbeams hanging in midair. Every instinct Laurel had made her want to run, but she felt rooted to the spot. She took a deep, shaky breath and then slowly turned again. This time the image remained. She could see what appeared to be the upper two-thirds of a female, and while the details were vague, Laurel felt as if the hairstyle and clothing were from a time long gone. Transfixed by the sight, she just stared, and as she did, she was struck by an overwhelming burden of sadness. Tears sprang to her eyes, and without thinking, she clutched her hands to her chest, as if to alleviate the pain within.

Slowly the shape of the spirit before her began to shift, and the longer she stared, the more convinced Laurel became that it was beckoning to her to follow.

“You want me to follow you?”

Almost immediately, the evanescent shape before her began to move, dissipating in substance as Laurel headed for the door.

The moment she opened the door, something passed beside her, then moved out into the hall. Although the spirit was no longer visible, she felt led by an unseen source.

As she started down the stairs, she heard pans banging in the kitchen and knew Marie was fixing their breakfast, but the moment she reached the first floor, the need to turn right toward the old library down the hall became clear. Hurrying now to keep up with the thought, she was running by the time she entered the room. She knew immediately that she was alone.

Groaning with frustration, she had to accept that either she’d taken a wrong turn and lost where she was supposed to have gone, or she was here without knowing why. Her shoulders slumped as she stared about the room. Nothing was any different from what she’d seen before. The lower shelves were full to overflowing, while the upper shelves nearest the ceiling were less so, as if all the previous residents of Mimosa Grove had forsaken the climb it took on the ladder to make use of that space and opted for what was within reach from the floor instead.

“I’m sorry,” Laurel whispered. “I don’t understand.”

Nothing sounded. Nothing appeared.

Disappointed, she moved about the room for a few moments but felt no urge to go to a particular place. Giving up the chase as a lost cause, she left the library without looking back, and followed the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee permeating the air.

“Something smells wonderful,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

Marie glanced up, then smiled. “Good morning, sunshine. You hungry for one egg or two?”

“I’ll have one, please. I’m saving my appetite for the party tonight.”

Marie turned, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Oh, yeah…tonight is the fete for little Rachelle,
oui?
”

“Yes. Justin is coming to pick me up around five. What would you suggest I wear?”

“Somethin’ like what you have on…only less.”

Laurel looked down at her long bare legs and almost bare feet, and felt herself starting to blush.

“You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking,” she muttered.

“I’m jokin’,” Marie said, then turned around and calmly cracked two eggs into the skillet.

It took Laurel a moment to realize she’d been had; then she started to grin.

“You really had me going there for a minute,” she said.

Marie chuckled. “Scared you some, did I, girl?”

“Yes, ma’am, that you did.”

“Just wear something comfortable that’s not too fussy, ’cause most people round here don’t have a lot of money, and you don’t want to shame them by dressin’ up.”

Laurel nodded, then glanced out the window as Tula’s grandson passed by, still pushing the mower.

“I see Tula’s grandson has arrived.”

“That’s Claude. He’ll do whatever you want.”

“I’ll talk to him after breakfast,” Laurel said, then took her elbows off the table as Marie carried their breakfast to the table. “That looks good.”

“And I ’spect it tastes good, too,” Marie said.

Laurel laughed as she dug into her food. “Am I forgiven for hiring help?”

Marie pretended to frown. “I’ll let you know.”

Laurel was still smiling as she took her first bite.

“Mmmm, it’s marvelous,” she said. “Especially these biscuits.”

Marie’s frown completely disappeared. At that point, Laurel knew she was back on solid ground. She listened as Marie began to count off the tasks she had scheduled for the day, including the fact that two women from Tula’s family would be there later to begin cleaning.

“I’m going to start them in the library,” Marie said. “It’s probably the biggest job. All those books…they just settin’ there gatherin’ dust.”

The mention of the library made Laurel shiver. She wondered what Marie would say if she told her what she was seeing and feeling in this old house. More than that, she wondered if her grandmother had experienced the same thing. But to know, she would have to ask.

“Want another biscuit, darlin’?” Marie asked, then proceeded to take a biscuit and put it on Laurel’s plate before she could answer. “Here…try some of my orange marmalade. Your grandmama loved my marmalade.”

Laurel considered it an answer from above that her grandmother was mentioned. It gave her the perfect opening to bring up the subject of ghosts.

“Mamárie…can I ask you something?”

“Sure you can, baby girl…ask away.”

“Remember the day I arrived…and the ghost that met me on the stairs?”

Marie laid down her fork, the smile gone from her face.