Crown Jewel (23 page)

Ricky smiled as he waved her away. He walked over to the pool, peeled off his shorts and tank top. Wearing just his boxers, he dived into the crystal-clear pool. He swam the length of the pool three times before he climbed out. He wrapped a towel around his shoulders before he padded into the kitchen to pop a bottle of Coca-Cola. He found some cigarettes in one of the drawers and carried them out to the deck. Finally, he was ready to
think.

He jogged along the Tidal Basin, Secret Service agents in tow. He ran effortlessly, barely breaking a sweat. For a man his age, he was in excellent condition, so fit and trim, he knew he would put his opponent to shame in the primaries. Voters liked youth, and they liked healthy candidates. They also liked determination and fearlessness. He had all those attributes plus a score of others that would eventually allow him to claim the most coveted position in the land. He adjusted the blue bandanna that said
ROADRUNNER
on it, a gag gift from one of his agents. He really didn't need it since he kept his silvery hair in a brush cut. Even though he had never been in the military, he liked the look.

His thoughts whirled as he clipped along, his arms pumping to his heartbeat. He smirked at the sweat dripping off the agents running alongside him. So much for youth. He focused on what was ahead of him. That's what you had to do when you were involved in the political game. Fix a clear goal in your mind and don't deviate one iota. At times it had been a struggle, but he'd held firm, and at last his goal was almost within reach.

Adam Vincent Nolan thought about his family as he sprinted along. They were so perfect, the press had dubbed them the all-American family. A title he approved of. He was a shoo-in. Even the pundits had to agree.

The stopwatch hanging at his side beeped. He'd run his daily five miles. Now it was time to shower and start his day. He tried to remember what kind of schedule he had for the day. Other than to say it was full, he couldn't remember anything else. One way or another, he'd get his picture in the paper. He slapped at his forehead as his steps slowed to a slow jog. Armand Farquar. He had heard of his death on the eleven o'clock news last night. That meant a trip to sunny California. He liked Armand as much as he liked anyone. All that money. And Farquar had always been generous to his party.

He was walking now, faster than usual, in a hurry to get to his office. In his pile of messages there had been a call from Mrs. Farquar yesterday. Had she called before or after her husband's passing? He made a mental note to call her as soon as he reached the office. Sucking up to Armand's wife could only help him. Fund-raisers at their palatial estate, five-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinners. Oh, yes, major sucking up was called for. He wondered when the funeral would be. Probably tomorrow. Everything was going to get screwed up with a trip to California. His whole schedule would be shot to hell. Farquar's funeral would be an event. Everyone who was anyone would attend. He'd be in the front row, thanks to his position. Great photo op. Pictures with him placing a rose on the casket, pictures of him with the new widow, comforting and consoling her. He wondered if he would be asked to give the eulogy. He had a few tucked away that he could draw on. Short, meaningful, somber yet uplifting speeches. He tried not to think about how many funerals he'd attended as vice president during his five-plus years in office. He'd be glad when he was president and could pass that duty on to his successor.

Maybe he'd take his wife with him. Women liked to see another woman consoling and comforting the bereaved. It wouldn't hurt that his wife was incredibly photogenic either.

Adam V. Nolan waved to his agents as he entered the house. He was so golden, he positively
glowed.
He wondered if anyone else could see his aura.

 

Ricky was stunned the following morning when he and Roxy entered the mortuary to find so few mourners. For a man of Armand Farquar's stature, he'd expected half the world to turn out. He recognized the maid from the day before and the man who had been polishing a car when they'd first arrived. He would have bet his last dollar that the other mourners were lawyers and doctors. Private did indeed mean private.

A somber-looking man in a black suit and slicked-back hair closed the doors. Ricky and Roxy sat down behind two gray-haired, distinguished-looking men. A minister wearing a white cassock with gold trim walked over to a small pulpit and opened a prayer book.

When the thirty-minute service was over, Ricky stood up with everyone else. He didn't know Armand Farquar any better now than when he had entered the mortuary. He knew what he did philanthropically and businesswise, but he didn't know who the
man
was. He wondered what Lorraine thought of the minister's words. She probably didn't even hear them.

Suddenly the other mourners were looking at him. He saw recognition in their faces.
They're wondering what an ex-movie star like me is doing here,
he thought.
Let them wonder.
He walked over to Lorraine and held out his hand.

“Thank you for coming. I appreciate it,” Lorraine said. “I'll see you back at the house.”

Today the maid wore a navy dress with a small white apron. She led them to the dining room, where a full breakfast was laid out on a sideboard. Lorraine was seated at the head of the table. She nodded. “Please, sit down. My husband would have liked this small, intimate breakfast. He hated ostentation of any kind. In many ways he was a very simple man. Much like me. We both loved seeing the sun rise in the morning. I told him once, during the early years of our marriage, how I always looked forward to getting out of bed and watching the sun creep over the horizon. From that day on, we both watched it every single day.”

Ricky felt a chill race up his arms. “My brother's favorite time of day was sunrise. He felt the same way.”

“Like mother, like son. Tell me about
my son,
Mr. Lam. Tell me every single thing you can remember even if you think it's insignificant.”

Ricky talked until his voice gave out, at which point Roxy stepped in. “You do have family, Mrs. Farquar. You have three granddaughters and a daughter-in-law. I know they would love knowing they have a real grandmother. If you like, Ricky and I can take you to their house. Perhaps not today but when you're ready. Sometimes happiness comes out of tragedy.”

Lorraine's voice was full of awe when she said, “Three granddaughters! Today. I'd like to see them today. Too much time has gone by. I don't want to waste my days. Can you see your way clear to taking me there today?”

“If that's what you want,” Ricky said.

“It's what I want. Now, it's my turn to tell you my story.” Like Ricky, Lorraine talked until her voice turned raspy.

The maid entered the room with fresh coffee. Ricky gulped at his, scalding his tongue. His hostess's words left him feeling dizzy and shaken.

Lorraine waited until the maid left the room before she said, “Yesterday, I placed a call to the White House, to the vice president's residence on the grounds of the Naval Observatory, and to the numbers my husband had listed in his Rolodex. So far no one has returned my call. I'm sure they will, though, as Armand contributed generously to both political parties. You can trust me to take care of this. It's my mission in life. Let's both be sure what it is we want from that man. I want an acknowledgment that Adam V. Nolan is my son's father. I want a birth certificate that states he is the father and I am the mother. I'm sure his DNA is on file somewhere. He is, after all, the vice president of the United States. Now, Mr. Lam, what is it you want on your brother's behalf?”

Roxy had to poke his arm to get him to respond. “I want a face-to-face meeting with him. I want him to resign from his office, and I want his promise that he will not run for the presidency. Then, ideally, I'd like to strip him naked and toss
him
in a Dumpster. Then when he pops out, I'd like a photographer from the
Washington Post
to conveniently appear to take his photograph. What part of all that don't you think I'll get?” His voice was so angry and fretful, Roxy placed a soothing hand on his arm to calm him.

Lorraine smiled wanly. “My husband always used to say, be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. Together, we'll work toward that end. I'd like to visit the cemetery where my son is buried. Will it be possible to stop there on the way to my daughter-in-law's home? On second thought, I want to visit my son's grave tomorrow. I want to go there alone. I need to…to…talk to my son.”

“Of course. Also, today it might be more comfortable if you had your chauffeur drive you to Lee Ann's house. My car only has two seats, and you might want to stay longer. Roxy and I would just be in the way.”

“Yes, you're right. That's how we'll do it.”

“Roxy and I have to return to South Carolina, Mrs. Farquar. Do you have even a vague idea of how long it's going to take to make contact with the vice president?”

Lorraine's jaw set firmly. “Not one minute later than tomorrow morning. Armand's memorial service will be held tomorrow at eleven at Holy Trinity. I'd be very surprised if the vice president doesn't attend. By the way, I'm glad you didn't have my son cremated. I never understood why Armand wanted to be cremated. It's necessary, of course, if a person wants his ashes scattered somewhere, but then there's nothing left to show that the person ever existed. That sounds so cruel to me. People get such solace and comfort from visiting a deceased loved one. I'm sorry, I'm just rambling here. I'm ready to leave if you're ready.”

 

The Longhorn Steak House was cool and dim, decorated in brass, dark oak, and burgundy wall hangings. It was comfortable, with well-padded booths, and the acoustics were actually good. Ricky waited for Roxy to slide into the booth before he sat down. The first thing he did was to remove his jacket and tie. “I feel like I've been on a weeklong drunk. Yesterday and today were mind-benders.”

Roxy sighed as she tossed her straw hat onto the table. “I know what you mean.” She looked up at the waitress. “I'd like a whole pitcher of sweet tea. With lots of ice. Ricky, would you prefer something else?”

“No, the tea is fine.” The waitress left and returned a few minutes later with a frosty pitcher of ice tea and a basket of hush puppies. “I just wanted to sit here and
wilt.”

Roxy leaned back in the booth. Her hand reached out for Ricky's. “You made Mrs. Farquar one happy lady today. She lost a husband but gained a family. That's pretty wonderful in my book, Ricky. I hope wherever Philip is, he knows what you're doing for him. Not many people would do what you've done. Most of them would have shrugged it off, and said, ‘What the hell, he's dead, he'll never know.' I'm so glad you followed through. You know what else, Ricky, I could see Philip with Lee Ann Oliver. Her daughters are lovely. They look like Philip. So many tears were shed today. Sometimes things really do work out right in the end. I don't see the vice president granting you or Mrs. Farquar an interview, though. I have a feeling it's all going to turn ugly. You and Mrs. Farquar are going to be bucking the second highest office in the land, not to mention the Secret Service. All those agencies that are such watchdogs. Both of you are going to have to tread very lightly.”

Ricky drained the tea in his glass and poured another. “I know. I think Mrs. Farquar has a plan. She didn't share it, though. No matter what, we're leaving the day after tomorrow. We'll have to carry through from South Carolina.” He looked up when the waitress appeared to take their order. He looked at Roxy.

“I'll have the T-bone, medium rare, a twice-baked potato, garden salad with blue cheese dressing.”

“I'll have the same, but I'll take ranch dressing,” Ricky said.

Ricky squeezed Roxy's hand. “Thanks for being here with me. I don't know if I could have muddled through on my own. I just want you to know that. And, yeah, I love you in the bargain. Do you think you might be interested in some
tomfoolery
later on?”

Roxy let a wry grin tug at the corner of her mouth.
“Tomfoolery,
is it? Is that the same as wild, passionate sex? An orgy of wet, slick bodies writhing on the bed amid groans and moans? Oh, my gosh, you're blushing! Yes. The answer is yes.”

 

Ricky woke with a start, unsure what it was that had awakened him. Then he smelled the coffee and bacon. He bolted from the bed, pulled on his shorts, brushed his teeth, and ran down the steps to the kitchen. “And she's a good cook, too,” he said, kissing Roxy lightly on the cheek. She had already showered, and she smelled as good as what she was cooking. He liked the long, cotton muumuu she was wearing. Appliquéd on the back, and the front as well, were giant sunflowers. His girl had style. He grinned as he snatched a piece of crisp bacon. He poured coffee for both of them as he munched.