Iron House

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Abigail was perched on the edge of her bed when her husband walked in, restless and tired and rough. White stubble covered his cheeks; his eyes were bloody red and he smelled of last night’s liquor. “You look disturbingly fresh.”

“Thank you.” Abigail stood and smoothed crisp white cotton.

“Jesus. You’re too dumb to know sarcasm when you see it.”

“That’s your fear talking.”

“Fear?”

“Your world is falling apart, isn’t it?”

“It’s your world, too.”

Abigail shrugged. “Win the next election. Lose it. I’ve never much cared for your politics or your reputation.”

“Just my money.”

She lifted her chin. “I think we’ve been frank for years about what we expect from each other. Yes, I like your money. What of it?”

“You’re still the grasping little tramp I found all those years ago.”

“I was never a tramp.”

“No. You’re right. A tramp would know how to screw worth a shit.”

“You’re drunk.”

“And Nero played his fiddle. What of it?”

“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I’m leaving. I hope you have a nice morning.”

She turned, and he put thick fingers on her arm. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t have your dirty little secrets.”

“Let me go, Randall.”

“Your own dark little world.” She tried to pull free, but he tightened his grip, swayed. “Where were you yesterday, my loyal wife? Huh? Where’s the Mercedes? Where’d you get that eggplant on the side of your face?”

“That’s enough.”

“Where’s Michael? Oh, that got your attention. Look at you now.” He waved the same heavy fingers. “That got you.”

“What do you know about Michael?”

“I know he got shot. I know you paid off my doctor. With my money. What? You didn’t think he’d tell me?”

“I thought you’d be smart enough to trust me to do what’s right. I thought if nothing else that we had that part figured out. No one has done more to protect the integrity of this family than I.”

“Michael is not family.”

“I’m leaving.”

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

She stepped for the door, but he moved with shocking speed for such a large man. He threw out an arm, drove the door shut. “I want to know what the hell is going on!”

“I’m not going to speak with you when you’re like this.”

He made a claw with one hand. “There are things happening…”

“I know.”

“Things you can’t possibly understand or appreciate…”

“I know plenty.”

“You don’t know anything.” He pushed closer, towered above her. “Where’s Julian? What do these dead men have to do with him? I know there’s a connection. The names are familiar.”

Abigail eyed the door, then sighed deeply. “Can you calm down enough to have a discussion? Can you be reasonable?”

He took her arm again, and squeezed enough to make it hurt. “Tell me what you know.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Good.”

“Damn it, Randall.”

He released her arm, and she rubbed the sore spot. “They were at Iron House with Julian. Okay? They were at Iron House.”

“How can you know that? They haven’t even identified the third body yet.”

“Chase Johnson. It’s Chase Johnson. Has to be.”

“Another Iron House boy?”

“Yes.”

“What are they doing dead in my lake?”

“I don’t know. I just…”

“Just what?”

“I brought them here, okay? I paid them to come here. I found them and I paid them.”

“Paid them, why?”

“To apologize to Julian. He’s never gotten over the things that happened in that awful place. I thought if they apologized, he could get some kind of closure. He could finally put it all behind him. He’s thirty-two years old, too old to live under that kind of weight.”

“You brought them here without asking me.”

“Yes.”

“To my house.”

“Randall…”

“You brought them to my house and Julian killed them.” It was not a question. His skin was loose, mouth a thin line. “You brought them here and that daft, bastard son of yours killed them.”

“And what if he did?” It was Abigail’s turn to be angry. “They deserved it.” The senator raised a hand as if to strike her, but Abigail stepped even closer, chin up, eyes bright. “I fucking dare you.”

He lowered his hand. “Sometimes, my dear, the past seems to come out in you.”

“What past?”

“Little glimpses of what you were before I met you.”

“Take that back.”

He smiled a hard smile. “Bits of white trash…” He shook his head, threw her words back at her. “I fucking dare you.” He straightened his jacket. “Who raised you?”

Something dark moved in Abigail’s eyes. “Fuck you.”

“There it is again.”

“Mock me again, Randall, and I’ll make you regret it.”

“What are you going to do? Leave me?” She looked away, and his voice chilled. “That’s right. You like it here, don’t you. You like the power, the money. You like all of it. Little whore.”

Abigail brought her knee up, drove it between his legs. The senator staggered, hands on his knees, face red and slick. “Bitch. Fucking… bitch…”

“I warned you.”

“God… damn it…”

Abigail straightened, smoothed the same, white cotton. “You’re pathetic.”

She put a hand on the door, walked out into the long, lush hall.

“You’re no saint,” he called.

She closed the door, but could still hear him.

“You’re no goddamn, lily-white saint!”