Act of Terror

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nancy Hughes couldn’t help thinking that the quicker she got Jolene married to Garrett Filson, the quicker the two lovebirds could get around to the business of giving her grandbabies. She often said she was born to be a grandmother. Her naturally red hair had gone snow white about the time she turned fifty. And she certainly preferred the honesty of children over the adults in Washington. Jolene had come along late in life as it was, when the Hugheses had been married almost ten years. Then she’d taken a sabbatical from college for a three-year stint in the Peace Corps. At twenty-seven, the girl had waited long enough-and so had Nancy.

Hughes sat in a wicker chair on the long front porch of the vice-presidential residence, sipping her sweet tea and looking over the park-like lawns of the Naval Observatory. The house was nice enough, but it was a bit of a step down from their home back in Dallas.

Nancy Hughes had made a solemn vow to herself that-except for the mandated security detail-Jolene’s wedding would not cost the American taxpayers a dime. Besides, she’d told her daughter, the taxpayer couldn’t afford the kind of wedding she wanted. That had to come from their considerable family war chest.

She leaned back and put her feet up on a wicker ottoman that matched her chair. This wedding had monopolized so much of her time for so long-and now it was almost on top of her. So, so much to get done, and there was so little time to do it. This wedding was a gift to her daughter-and herself. It was the wedding she’d never gotten.

Ginormous, Garrett called it…

The door opened behind her and she heard the heavy footfalls of her personal secretary, Gail Peterson. Nancy found it amazing that a woman barely five feet tall and the weight of a postage stamp could shake the entire house when she walked.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Gail said in her syrupy East Texas drawl. She waited to go further until given leave to do so.

Apart from her stomping around and overly timid nature, Gail was a fabulous secretary. Frumpy polyester suits and hair dyed a faded shade of blond, she’d worked for the family in one capacity or another for over thirty years.

“Have a seat, Gail,” Nancy said. “I need someone to talk to anyhow.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Gail said, a little catch in her throat.

It was then Nancy looked up to see her red eyes. She’d been crying. Nancy moved to the ottoman and patted the seat where she’d been sitting. “Please. I insist.”

Gail complied. “I just talked to her earlier this week…” She broke into a series of ragged sobs, drawing a crumpled tissue from the cuff of her blouse to dab her eyes. “The poor thing’s background clearance just came through and I was just fixin’ to call her in when I heard…”

More sobs.

Nancy bit her tongue. She patted Gail’s knee. “Heard what? Whose background?”

“I’m so sorry.” Gail dabbed at her nose with the tissue. “I saw those agents here and I thought they told you. I thought you knew already…”

Nancy closed her eyes, praying for patience. “Told me what, dear?”

“The assistant… we hired to help with the last… minute… wedding stuff…” Gail began to weep as if a dam had broken inside her. Her words were punctuated by tremulous gasps for air. “Grace Smallwood… got stung by a bee… and now she’s dead…”