Jack knew from the news coverage that the late vice president's widow was in town packing up the Grayson family possessions. Jack had not spoken to Marilyn Grayson since the postburial gathering at her home in Georgia. He'd kept her business card, however, and in light of the past several days' events, her unsettling words to him about the circumstances of her husband's death seemed almost prophetic: "With the direction your father is headed, you might have some questions too. If you do, call me .
He dialed from the backseat of the limo, the tinted windows turning even blacker as they sped away from the lights of downtown, through the nighttime in Dumbarton Oaks Park. The call went to her cell, and when she answered, he introduced himself as "Harry Swyteck's son Jack."
"How nice to hear from you again, Harry Swyteck's son Jack."
Perhaps he was reading too much into her joke, but it felt like a friendly warning never to fall into the trap of giving up your own identity in this town--a reminder that he was Jack Swyteck first, not someone's son.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I've been thinking about the conversation we had at your home, and I have--"
"Questions?" she said. "So soon?"
"I'm afraid so."
"When would you like to talk?"
"I'm actually in your neighborhood right now, if that's not too short notice."
"I'd be pleased to have the company. I'll tell the Secret Service to let you in."
Built originally for the superintendent of the naval observatory, the Vice Presidential Mansion had all the hallmarks of late
-
nineteenth-century Queen Anne architecture, from its signature round turret to the broad veranda wrapping the ground floor. Jack was cleared at the gate, and the limo took him up the long driveway to the entrance. Marilyn Grayson greeted him at the door, and Jack stepped into a foyer that was large enough for a piano and its own fireplace. It was filled with corrugated boxes.
"Excuse the mess," said Mrs. Grayson. "We've been packing all day."
She led him directly across the foyer to the first-floor library. A portrait of the first vice president stared down from over the fireplace. Jack thought that Mr. Adams looked to be on the verge of sneezing. The bookcase and end tables were already devoid of family photos and other personal touches, and not a Christmas decoration was in sight.
She was as gracious as Jack had found her in Georgia, and even though the mourning period was not yet over, she looked more rested and relaxed than on their first visit. She asked about Harry, and Jack kept up his end of the pleasantries by asking about her daughter, who at that moment entered the room, as if on cue, still quite striking even in blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and no makeup.
"You remember Elizabeth?" said Mrs. Grayson.
"We met briefly," said Jack.
Elizabeth wiped her palms in her sweatshirt and then shook Jack's hand. "Excuse the way I look," she said. "We're in a packing mode."
"Totally understand," said Jack. "Moving is never pleasant, and I'm very sorry for the circumstances of yours."
"Yeah, it pretty much sucks."
"Elizabeth," her mother said.
"Mother, please. That word no longer has the sexual connotation that your generation thinks it does. Right, Jack?"
Jack fumbled for a response. "I think I'm kind of the transition generation on that one."
"Cute," Elizabeth said, smiling. "How long are you in town?"
"As long as it takes to get my father through the confirmation process."
"I'll be here helping Mother another week or so. We should have lunch. I can fill you in on all the secrets."
"Secrets?"
"The kitchen and the dining room are on separate floors. The ghost dresses in buckskin, but he's been spotted only by the Mondale children. That kind of thing."
"I'm sure Jack is quite busy," said Mrs. Grayson.
"He looks old enough to decide for himself."
"Indeed. Which is precisely--" Mrs. Grayson stopped herself this time, as if to steer away from a sore subject.
"Mother thinks I'm asking you on a date, which scares her. My ex-fiance was in his forties. She didn't approve."
"Forties?" said Jack. "Heavens to Murgatroyd."
"So, lunch?" said Elizabeth.
Jack didn't even want to test Theo's theory that this Georgia beauty had thus far in life dated only Generation Y porn addicts and desperately needed her own personal Clark Gable. And then, of course, there was Andie.
"I think--"
"If you say no, I'm going to short sheet the beds before your father moves in."
"Well, if you put it that way."
"Good. I'll call you," she said.
She smiled and left Jack and Mrs. Grayson in private. The former Second Lady settled into the armchair, and Jack took the chair opposite her.
"That Elizabeth," said Mrs. Grayson with a shake of her head, "she certainly has her father's spirit."
"That's a good thing, I'm sure," said Jack.
The widow didn't answer.
"How can I help you, Jack?"
He wasn't sure where to begin. "It's been a strange week."
"I've been following it all in the news," she said.
The news. If that was her only source, she knew nothing about Sunday's e-mail from the man who claimed to be able to make Harry Swyteck president. That wasn't Jack's focus anyway. "When you say you've been 'following it all,' does that include the death of Chloe Sparks?"
"Who?" she said.
"You've never heard of her?"
She shrugged. "Should I know her?"
"Last year she was a White House intern assigned to the vice president. She was fired for--"
"Ah, yes. The druggy."
"She was murdered Saturday night."
Mrs. Grayson paused to absorb the news. "I hadn't heard about that."
"From what I've gathered on the Internet, it was much bigger news in her hometown of Chicago than it was here. What little media attention it got in Washington was couched in terms of Chloe being the younger stepsister of White House reporter Paulette Sparks."
"How awful for Paulette. I've always thought she was such a class act. And her sister--well, what a terrible downward spiral for a young person with so much promise."
"She was a reporter for the Inquiring Star when she was shot."
Her arms folded in a defensive posture. No one among Washington's elite escaped the Inquiring Star. "Now that you mention it, I think I had heard that somewhere."
"Chloe was having discussions with an anonymous source who claimed to have information that could bring down President Keyes."
"Now that sounds like something I would have heard on the news."
"It's not public information. I heard it from Paulette Sparks. She also told me that Chloe was trying to communicate with the vice president--trying so hard that the FBI contacted Paulette about possible stalking issues. Do you know anything about that?"
"No."
Jack paused, expecting her to say more. But she was finished.
"You don't seem to believe me," she said.
"I do. But honestly, I came here expecting you to say that Chloe's anonymous source and her attempts to contact the vice president had everything to do with the questions you have about your husband's death."
"Well, I didn't know about those things, so they obviously could not have raised any questions in my mind, could they?"
She seemed to be closing that door pretty tightly. "Obviously not."
"But I'll make a deal with you, Harry Swyteck's son Jack. I will tell you what makes me question Phil's death, if you'll tel
l m
e what the FBI doesn't seem to want anyone to know: What caused you and the FBI to arrange that meeting with a homeless man outside the museum on Sunday morning?"
Jack paused. Telling her about the anonymous e-mail was no small step, even if Paulette Sparks--a member of the media--did already know about it.
She said, "Naturally all of this remains between us. You have my word on it."
Jack was still considering it. She was a curious woman, the widow Grayson. But for reasons he could not fully explain--perhaps it was the way she had reached out to him at the funeral--he trusted her.
"You've got yourself a deal," said Jack, and then he fell silent.
"I'm listening," she said.
"Former Second Ladies first. Please."
She smiled thinly, as if she liked his style. And then she told him.
Chapter
16
"With or without training wheels, dude?" said Theo.
Theo Knight was the last person Jack had expected to run into at the hotel bar at the end of the day. A flight of tequila shots was set up before him. "Training wheels" were lemon and salt.
"I'm not doing tequila tonight," said Jack. "And what the hell are you doing in D
. C
.?"
"Interview."
"For what?"
"Secretary of Education. I'm big on educational programs. Head Start. Wipe No Child's Behind. All the big ones."
"It's Leave No Child Behind, Einstein. Seriously, what are you doing here?"
"Your father's lawyers want to talk to me."
Shit, I am a potted plant. "Nobody told me about that."
"Said they're afraid something might come up about the settlement money you got from the state of Florida to pay me back for the four years I spent on death row."
Jack processed it: it took an act of the state legislature to get compensation for wrongful conviction. Harry's signature had approved the settlement that made it possible for Theo to buy Sparky's Tavern.
"So," said Theo, "with or without?"
"I'm meeting with about a dozen lawyers and the White House chief of staff first thing tomorrow morning."
"Definitely without," said Theo. He slid the brimming shot glass in front of Jack.
"Did you not hear me?" said Jack. "No tequila."
"Dude, what did we do when your ex-wife turned into a fruitcake?"
"Tequila."
"When your girlfriend Mia dyed her hair, changed her name, and left town?"
"Tequila."
"When Rene chose relief work in Africa over a love life in Miami?"
"Tequila."
"Exactly. We re talking tradition here. You cant break tradition."
"You're talking as if Andie dumped me."
"Well, she's going to--if you don't get rid of this really nasty case of Washington-itis."
"You talked to her?"
"Yeah. She likes Miami fuckup Jack. Not Capitol suck-up Jack."
"You make me sound pathetic."
"You are pathetic."
Jack raised his glass. "I'll drink to that."
They belted back their shots together.
"Smooooth," said Theo.
Jack winced, as if he were drinking gasoline. "I hope we're not starting with the good stuff," said Jack, and he belted back another shot. He slammed the empty glass on the bar and added, "Vice President Grayson had ED."
It was a perfectly timed non sequitur that had Theo coughing on his tequila. "You mean ... the guy . . . couldn't--"
"Is there another kind of ED?"
"I don't know. What do politicians get--electile dysfunction?"
"Stop being an idiot. He had ED."
"How do you know this?"
"His widow told me."
"When?"
"Right after his daughter asked me out to lunch."
"You shittin' me?" "No."
"Dude, you gotta let me come on that date. A mother-daughter thing is like my biggest fantasy."
"First off, it's not a date. She wants to tell me what it's like when your father is vice president."
"Sounds better than a date," said Theo, as he slipped into an affected Elizabeth Grayson voice. "Oh, Jack, I've been so lonely. Greta Garbo lonely. Farmer's daughter lonely. Lonelygirll5 on the Internet lonely. Kiss me, you fool. Kiss me right now!"
The pucker was enough to make the businessman at the other end of the bar get up and leave.
Jack said, "And even if it was a date, Marilyn Grayson is fifty
-
one years old."
"Damn. Old enough to be your . . . sister."
"Shut up and listen. There was a perfectly legitimate reason for her to tell me about her husband's condition."
"I'm listening."
"In addition to ED, Phil Grayson had atherosclerosis."
"I dare you to say that after one more shot."
"Focus. The thing is, you can't take any of the ED medications if you have atherosclerosis. What's the big warning you hear on all the TV commercials for ED medication?"
"If you have an erection lasting more than four hours, call your girlfriend's girlfriends."
"That's not the warning I'm talking about. You can't take the drug if you have atherosclerosis. It can cause a fatal drop in blood pressure and a heart attack."