The Heir

26

“Jason?” Pamela was so good at reality. My imaginations crumbled before her smiling face. “Honey, you should sit down for this one. I was talking with Bob Forrester’s secretary in Washington.”

My imaginations recovered. “Is this a joke?” Suspicion jumped up beside imagination. “Did Fred tell you to call her?”

“Jason. Of course not. She called me.”

“Because if Fred-”

“Just listen, dear. The senator will be in town this weekend and wishes to meet with you.”

“This must be a joke.”

“Oh no. His secretary asks if you and your wife could be invited to dinner tomorrow night.”

“At his home?!”

“Yes, dear.”

“I don’t believe it. Fred must be behind this somehow. I’m sorry, Pamela. It’s just that five minutes ago, Fred was telling me I had to speak with the senator, and that the senator might even call first.”

“Then Fred was right. But I really don’t think he was involved. Now, the dinner will be very formal. Did all your fancy schools teach you which fork to use?”

“I failed those classes. Did he ever invite Melvin?”

“If your father ever walked through that door, I didn’t know about it.”

It had been a long week. Two murders, one funeral, one governor demolished, one motorcycle ride to New Hampshire, one move to a new house, four firings. But this was going to be the worst. “Sure, we’re available. But I want Fred to be there.”

“That’ll be tricky. He’s inviting you to his house, which is stooping pretty low. He’s only giving one day’s notice, which also makes him look eager, and that’s even worse. He won’t like us to make requests.”

“See what you can do.”

“I’ll try. You must have really gotten his attention.”

It was time to go through the rest of Melvin’s office. I’d be fourth in line, after Grainger’s break-in, then the police, and now the FBI. No, fifth. The murderer had been in there after Grainger’s people. But there still might be something.

If Angela had pawed through it all weeks ago, that would make me sixth.

I called Katie while I was driving.

“Heads up,” I said. “We might have dinner at Bob Forrester’s tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

I didn’t feel like explaining at the moment. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. I have to plan what to wear. Who else will be there?”

“Just us.”

“Jason! Just us? I don’t believe it.”

“Well, and probably Fred.”

“He’ll be odd.”

I’d never heard her real opinion of him. Then I realized she meant he would be unpaired at the table.

“Pamela’s still negotiating. They’ll find someone if they have to.”

“What is it all about?”

“Power and money, what else?”

“Jason, I don’t have the right things to wear for occasions like this.”

“I’m sure you will find something.”

I was at the gate. A policeman let me in, but he was apparently the only officer of the law on the premises. No one else was home. There was yellow tape across the door to Angela’s parlor.

I went directly to the office. It had been more than three weeks since I’d last been in that room, and I could tell others had been there. It wasn’t a mess. Angela had probably never seen a mess in her life. Well… a physical mess, anyway. Most of her life had been a mess.

I didn’t even know what had been in the office originally so I had no idea what had been taken, or by whom. There wasn’t much. The main file left was his foundation notes. I leaned back in the old wood desk chair and read them for an hour.

They went back for years, and there were gaps. Apparently he’d only kept the interesting stuff in his desk. There were board meeting minutes and reports on specific projects, and a few of the few had handwritten notes. Those opened no windows into his soul. I read them all.

Add $200K was written next to one line about a grant to a library. NK to continue review at the top of a page about a food program somewhere.

NK would be Nathan Kern. I couldn’t think of anything else Melvin had written that I had read. There was no need to take any of the papers.

It was getting eerie again reading them. The whole place was eerie-the thick carpet, the dark paneling, the books that had never been read. I had to conquer this place, somehow, before I sold it. The Washington townhouse hadn’t been hard, but the ghosts here were more recent. I started wandering.

It was different than the last time I searched the office, when Angela had been in residence. I thought about Angela’s last night. She’d invited someone over. They’d sat together in the midst of her pinkness and puffery. Had she found something incriminating? Did she know it was Melvin’s killer with her? If it had been his killer, of course. How many murderers were on the loose, anyway?

Maybe she didn’t realize what the evidence meant, and she asked the person to come explain it to her. As loopy as she normally was, she was completely off the deep end that last conversation I’d had with her. She must have known something was wrong.

The murderer was someone she knew, obviously. She didn’t know too many people. Was it connected to Clinton Grainger? Who in the world would know both Angela and Grainger?

Well, Fred. But would any chair in that room have supported him? That was a crucial piece of evidence-no crushed furniture.

In Melvin’s bedroom I had a surprise-his closet and drawers were still filled with his clothes. Of course they would be, but it was strange, and what was I supposed to do with it all? Give it to the poor? I’d call Nathan. Most homeless people don’t have a decent business suit.

There was a small table by the bed. I pulled open the drawer. It was nearly empty, just some aspirin, reading glasses, tissues, paper and pen, and a book. What would he have been reading?

It wasn’t a book. It was a bulky brown leather picture frame that opened like a book. I opened it, and then I had to sit down.

There were two pictures. One of a man and woman, one of two young children. I’d never seen these photos. Probably no one else had, either, except Melvin, in more than twenty years.

Melvin and Ann, Jason and Eric.

I didn’t know what to think. They’d been here by his bed, maybe for that long. Suddenly, new doors into his heart were opening for me. I didn’t want to go through them, but I still sat on the bed as minutes went by, staring at the pictures. In the end I didn’t know if it was better or worse that I’d seen them.

And they’d been by his bed. All this time.

I took the frame with me.

It wasn’t as far a drive to our new residence. The road turned and I saw my own house through the trees. I stopped on the roadside to look at it.

“Pamela?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Find someone real good to put in a security system for my house. There’s one here already, but I want something industrial strength.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want it in a hurry?”

“Well, yes. It’s a dangerous world.”

“I understand. I can call the people who maintained your father’s system.”

“Maybe you should ask around.”

“All right, I will. And there’s no word yet from the senator’s office.”

“Let me know when there is.” I put my phone away and sat there awhile before I went in. The picture frame was in my briefcase, and I didn’t show it to Katie. When I got to my office, I put it in my desk drawer.

I dialed Nathan Kern’s number. It was after five, but that hardworking, dedicated man was still there, burning the midnight dollars.

“Yes, Jason? This is Nathan Kern.”

“Hello, Nathan. I was calling to ask you about last week. I want to get this straight. You talked to Angela on Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday evening. We discussed her joining the board. As I told you before, she was very excited.”

“And on Thursday, I told you she had changed her mind. That was a surprise?”

“Absolutely. I was quite surprised.”

“Did you talk to her at all after that? I’m trying to figure why she got spooked.”

“No. I had meant to. You called in the evening on Thursday, and on Friday morning I flew to Washington for a weekend conference. When I returned Sunday afternoon, I heard the news.”

“Okay. I just wondered. Something happened sometime Wednesday night or Thursday.” One other thought came to me. “Nathan, be careful, okay?”

“What?” He paused. “Oh. I see. Yes, Jason, and you, too. Be careful.”

Time to go down to the dining room. I was hungry, and Katie had said supper would be special.

That night we had our first real dinner in the new house. The theme was Traditional New England Farm. The dining room was inundated with wildflowers of the autumn fields and forests, nature blasting right through the walls in its exuberance. Much of the flora had landed on the Rustic Farm Table-dark, polished wood, mottled with more knots and burls than a person could shake a hand-carved walking stick at. Fortunately, there were still several uncovered square yards of the table for our hand-thrown and fired pottery plates and serving bowls, cut crystal water and wine glasses, pewter cutlery, silver candlesticks, and linen napkins in carved wooden napkin rings. Every sparkle of it was brand-new.

And all was secondary to the meal of roast duck, herbed new potatoes, fresh dark bread, and spinach salad, with maple pecan pie for dessert. The wine was French, a rose

I didn’t recognize. Our conversation was as comfortable as the food, and afterward we lingered over the pie.

“A person could get used to living this way,” I said.

Katie laughed. “I’ve always wanted to.”

“Do you ever question it?”

“No. I know you do.”

“All the time.” I yawned. Maybe tonight I would finally sleep. “But if I was poor, I’d question that. So there’s no way out. I’ll always have questions.”

“Where we are, Jason… it’s what everyone wants. Most people never get here, and they just accept that they won’t. But there doesn’t have to be a reason why some people… why it’s us. We just are.”

We were drinking coffee with the pie. “What if we weren’t?” I asked. We’d polished off the wine.

“I don’t know. I don’t think about it.”

I swirled the coffee in my cup, but the wine was swirling in my brain. “Think about it. Say I just gave it all away. What would you do?”

“Why would you give it away?” Her voice was just a little bit sharp.

“I’m being hypothetical. How important is the money compared to me?”

She did not like the question. “Of course you’re more important. Now stop talking about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Then I saw she was crying.

I’d pushed too hard, even if it wasn’t very hard. She was feeling vulnerable. Everything was still too new, and she was being reminded that it could go away, turn back into a pumpkin at midnight. She needed assurance, and as I looked at her eyes blinking back tears, I would have done anything for her. Then she asked for the one thing I couldn’t do.

“I want you to just accept that we’re here,” she said.

“I’ll try,” I said.

“You always ask those questions, Jason. Why don’t you find some answers sometime?”

I didn’t know what else to say. I hugged her, and she gave me a little kiss and left the room, and I went up to my office. After a while she stopped by to leave a vase of the wildflowers on my desk.

Eric had apparently gone home, but just before nine he came roaring up to the front door. He’d had a mood swing. The motorcycles had finally bored him, and he was now traveling in a monster Corvette. I heard him from the back of the house, three ballrooms away.

“Channel Six,” he commanded. “Press conference at nine o’clock.”

We scurried to the television lounge, tastefully decorated with equine accents, and perched on the leather sofa and chairs. Surely I’d seen the room before, but I didn’t remember it.

“They arrested Howland and Gilbert today,” Eric said. “The first cabinet secretaries in state history to be arrested while they were still in office.”

“I thought they had already resigned.”

“The governor hadn’t accepted the resignations yet. He didn’t have time. They’re already out on bond.”

He snapped on the wall-sized screen and Bill Sandoff’s head, four feet tall, joined our cozy little group.

“-will begin in just a moment, when Governor Bright arrives. We have not been informed about what exactly the governor will announce, only that it is major, and that-Governor Bright is arriving- He is proceeding directly to the podium…”

“Good evening.” Harry Bright was now filling our room. I resolved to purchase a new small television on which to watch press conferences.

“Ladies and gentlemen, fellow citizens,” he continued sternly, gravely, grimly. “I am here this evening to ask for your help in facing together the greatest danger ever to threaten our state.”

No one was with the man. No aides or officials had come into the room with him. He was flying solo, and he had no license.

“A monstrous plot has been unleashed on the people and government of this state, and against me personally. One man is attempting to overthrow the popularly elected constitutional government and replace it with his own puppets.”

There was only one man that monstrous, and everyone in our little room knew who the four-foot head was referring to. The head itself was breathing deeply and its four-inch eyes were bloodshot and wild.

“He has resorted to every crime in his loathsome scheme. He has personally committed extortion, slander, obstruction, and now, even murder.”

The governor was resorting to every adjective in his loathsome speech. And now he was personally committing political suicide. I was hoping he wouldn’t crash the plane right into my front door.

“I have been informed by State Police Commissioner DeAngelo that there is no doubt that Jason Boyer faced my aide, and close friend, Clinton Grainger, and gunned him down in the street. This cold-blooded murder-”

The reporters couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Mr. Governor! Governor Bright? Is that official? Has Mr. Boyer been arrested? Is there a warrant for his arrest? What about the other murders? Mr. Governor!”

But the hinges had come completely loose. The popularly elected constitutional government glared at us, at me, right through the television camera. His mouth opened and closed and finally one little glimmer of reason broke through the storm and spoke.

“I have no further comment.”

But no aides stood aside to let him pass. No one was there. Just the one man at the podium, and even counting him, no one was there. He didn’t know how to leave. He was abandoned.

I felt so sorry for him.

The questions rose up again, waves crashing against the crumbling cliff, and he wasn’t even hearing them. I told myself that I was not the cause of this man’s destruction, and I knew that was true. I couldn’t even feel resentment for his attack on me, only pity. Finally he turned and walked slowly to the door, which was still open, and left the room.

Quickly, Bill Sandoff was in charge of our wall. My thoughts were swept away.

“An extraordinary press conference by Governor Harry Bright. Clearly, very upset by the death of his close staff member, Clinton Grainger. The governor’s comments raised some very serious questions about-yes, I understand that Police Commissioner Miguel DeAngelo is making a statement by telephone from state police headquarters. Jill Abernathy is at the Channel Six Studio and has that report.”

“Thank you, Bill.” Jill was not at her best, but she hadn’t been expecting to be on, and at four feet tall, a face can’t hide anything. “We do have Commissioner DeAngelo on the phone. Commissioner, thank you for speaking with us.”

“Certainly, Jill,” the voice said. There’s something about a phone voice on a news program that seems so authentic. Jill did a great job of professionally listening to it, raptly attentive.

“Commissioner DeAngelo, the governor has just made a very strong statement that you informed him that the police have no doubt that Jason Boyer is the murderer of Clinton Grainger. Is that true?”

“That is not true.”

“Have you been speaking with the governor about the case?”

“We have been keeping him informed concerning our progress.”

“Is Mr. Boyer being charged with the murder?”

“We are not pressing any charges at this time against anyone in this case.”

Jill nodded during the answers, showing us by example how interested the viewers were supposed to be. “Is Mr. Boyer a suspect?”

“We don’t comment on investigations.”

Jill switched from second to third gear. “Commissioner, the governor has leveled a charge of murder against one of the wealthiest men in the state, who is also apparently his most direct political enemy. ‘No comment’ really won’t do here.”

The cop hit his brakes. “Then you ask the governor. Wherever he came up with that, it wasn’t from me.”

“Thank you, Mr. DeAngelo.” She’d dropped into neutral.

“Thank you, Jill.”

Jill coasted to a stop. “That was State Commissioner of Police Miguel DeAngelo.” My guess was that Harry Bright would be getting no more reports from that commissioner.

And of course, he was Wilcox’s boss. DeAngelo was the man from whom Bright ordered office burglaries and trumped-up murder charges. It was pleasant to see that he was now officially a fleeing rat.

“That’s enough for me,” I said.

“Did you shoot the guy?” Eric asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katie said. “Jason was at a meeting last night.”

What was that supposed to mean? She only believed I hadn’t murdered a man because I had an alibi? What a vote of confidence.

“The meeting was with Clinton Grainger,” I said.

“You saw him last night?” Eric was excited.

“Fred and I.”

“Wow. So you could have gunned him down!”

“Do you think I would do that?” I said.

“He was your most dangerous enemy.”

“Who said that?”

“Channel Five.”

“Rule Number 93-I don’t kill people.”

“That’s not a rule.”

“It is for me.”

But Eric was distracted. “Look! It’s Henry Malden.”

The lieutenant governor was answering questions. He certainly looked the part of nonentity. No, he did not question Governor Bright’s ability to continue in office. No, he knew no basis for the accusations the governor had just made. No, he was in no way involved in the kickback scandals. No, he had not discussed any of these things with the governor. No, he saw no reason to ask the legislature to consider an impeachment hearing. No, he had no idea what he was doing here.

The last answer was just my imagination, but he might as well have said it. I waved good-bye and left the room.

Katie followed me.

“I didn’t shoot him,” I said, so she wouldn’t have to figure out how to ask.

“I knew you didn’t. Eric is ridiculous.”

“Everything’s ridiculous right now. So do I call the police commissioner? Or Stan Morton? The FBI person, Donovan?”

I was just thinking aloud, but she took it seriously. “The newspaper or the television news. You need to answer the governor somehow.” It was the first time I’d ever asked for her advice about business.

“I was going to give them an interview today, but it wasn’t the right time.”

“Have them come here. We’ll do it together.”

“Why?” I wasn’t understanding.

“It’s time to start introducing yourself to the world, Jason. And if you want to come off well, you’re going to need a lot of help.”

“What?! I can’t act like a nice person by myself?”

“That is way past your acting abilities.” Maybe my wife was going to be even more of an asset than I’d realized.

I submitted and called Pamela.

“Call Stan Morton. Tell him that I and my wife will be available tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at my house for a wide-ranging television interview for the purpose of introducing myself to his viewers.”

“It’s about time. I’ll arrange it. Now, sit down. I just talked with Senator Forrester’s secretary.”

“I’m sitting.”

“These are deep waters, Jason. The senator’s two granddaughters are visiting at the Forresters’ home this weekend.”

“How old are these granddaughters?”

“They have both just finished at Princeton. They are twins, very attractive, and with charming personalities.”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Pamela.”

“You may bring Fred if you also bring Eric, and I’ve already accepted the deal. It’s time Eric met somebody nice.”

“He’s too young!” I said. “I’m not ready for him to start dating.”

“He has to grow up sometime.”