First Lady (9 page)

Wolinski’s counterparts at the FBI and CIA sat next to each other on one of the couches. Their direct superiors, the Attorney General and the Secretary of the Treasury, had positioned themselves at the edge of the seating group as if they wanted to distance themselves from the proceedings.

Harry Leeds, the FBI director, and Clement Stone, Director of the CIA, already knew what was in Wolinski’s report. The three men had been in constant contact for the past twenty-eight hours, ever since Cornelia Case’s chief of staff had discovered she was missing. It was the President who had called this meeting.

As Lester Vandervort walked across the presidential seal that covered the rug in front of his desk, Wolinski shifted in his seat. The tension in the room was almost unbearable. He’d only been appointed Secret Service director six months ago, part of the sweep that had taken place at the agency following the Case assassination, but now his job was in jeopardy. He didn’t like to think about going down in history as the first agency director to have lost a First Lady.

“Let’s hear it,” the President snapped.

“Yes, sir.”

Everyone in the room knew Wolinski was sweating, and they were all waiting to see how he’d handle it. “Two hours ago we picked up a report that the Pennsylvania State Police pulled over a felon named Jimmy Briggs. There’s a warrant out for his arrest for armed robbery. At the time of the arrest, Briggs was driving a blue Chevy Corsica registered to a Della Timms. The Chevy had temporary plates from a used car dealer in Rockville.”

At the mention of the Washington, D.C., suburb, the men in the room who weren’t yet familiar with Wolinski’s information grew even more alert.

“As far as we can determine, Della Timms doesn’t exist,” he said.

“But you don’t know for certain.”

Clement Stone, the CIA director, knew damn well they needed more time before they could be sure, and this was his way of insulating himself from any blame. Wolinski hid his irritation. “We’re still checking. The dealership has a reputation for playing fast and loose with the law, and the salesman didn’t see a driver’s license. We’ve questioned him, and he’s described Timms as a thin, elderly woman with curly gray hair and unusually smooth skin.”

He paused for a moment, giving them time to draw their own conclusions before he went on. “We know Mrs. Case used some kind of disguise to get out of the White House, and the timing’s right.”

“You
think
she used a disguise,” Litchfield snapped. “We still have no way of being certain my daughter wasn’t coerced.”

Wolinski had never liked James Litchfield, but now he felt a pang of sympathy for him. Everyone in Washington knew how close the former Vice President was to his daughter. “All the evidence points to the fact that she left voluntarily.”

The President gave Wolinski a hard stare. “You think she may have disguised herself as an old lady, sneaked out of the White House, somehow made it to Maryland, and bought a car. You’d better have more than that.”

“I do, sir. The Pennsylvania State Police found an envelope in the trunk of the Chevy with fifteen thousand dollars in it.” Wolinski dreaded the next part of his report. “They also found a sack of women’s clothes and some toiletries. One sack had a gray wig in it.”

“Jesus.” Litchfield shot to his feet, his expression agonized.

“There might not be any connection,” Wolinski said hastily, “but we’re going over the White House security tapes right now to get a closer look at all the older women who came through on the tours that morning. We should have the results in another hour.”

The President swore, and Litchfield lost what little color was left in his face. Wolinski knew exactly what was on their minds, and he spoke quickly. “There were no signs of violence. Jimmy Briggs said the keys were in the ignition when he took it, and that he never saw the driver. The car’s heading for the lab right now.”

“What did you tell the locals?” The President’s chief advisor, a man who was known to be paranoid about White House leaks, spoke up for the first time.

“We’ve said that we’re doing a routine investigation. That we’ve gotten some crackpot mail threatening the President and we think it might have come from the car’s former owner.”

“Did they buy it?”

“They seemed to.”

The President’s advisor shook his head. “So far there haven’t been any leaks, but we won’t be able to keep this quiet for long.”

Litchfield erupted. “We have to keep it quiet! If the press finds out that my daughter has disappeared . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

“I have agents heading for Pennsylvania right now,” Wolinski said.

“Not good enough.” The President’s gaze took in both Wolinski and Harry Leeds, the Bureau director. “I want a task force of special teams put together for this, with Bureau agents and Secret Service agents assigned as partners. Your best people.”

Wolinski didn’t know who sounded more alarmed at the idea of pairing the agents this way, himself or Harry Leeds. “But sir—”

“Sir, if I might suggest—”

“You’ll do as I say.” The President’s gaze took in the Attorney General and Secretary of the Treasury before he returned his attention to Wolinski and Leeds. “I know how you men work, and I won’t let anybody build a private kingdom on Mrs. Case’s disappearance. I insist on complete cooperation between agencies. Setting up the teams this way guarantees that I’ll get it. Does everybody understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” The President’s eyes narrowed. “Now I suggest you all get busy because, I promise you, if Cornelia Case isn’t located quickly, some people in this room are going to be out of a job.”

“M
A-MA-
M
A
!”

Mat dreamed he was cleaning out a latrine. As the dream progressed, a malevolent-looking kitten appeared and sank its sharp claws into his arm. Gradually, he worked one eyelid open and then the other. He blinked. No kitten. Instead, a pair of baby blue eyes peered angelically at him over the edge of the bed.

“Ma-ma-ma-ma-
Ma
!” She dug her fingers into his arm. Her wispy blond hair was matted to one side of her head, and her chubby cheek bore a crease. Otherwise, she was bright-eyed, smelly, and ready to party. “
Ma!
”

“Wrong person, kid.” He extricated himself, rolled to his back, and stared up at the roof of the motor home. They weren’t moving, which explained the fact that the Demon was roaming. “Nell! Lucy! Butt needs her diaper changed.”

No response.

“Da—
Da
!”

That brought him up off the bed fast. He shuddered and ran his hand through his hair. Then he shoved one side of his T-shirt back in his jeans and made his way to the front of the Winnebago. His neck was getting a crimp from having to keep his head ducked.

Lucy was nowhere in sight, but Nell sat in the passenger seat with her feet propped up on the dashboard and an expression of pure contentment on her face. He found himself pausing, just to watch her. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight had turned her skin to porcelain, and there was something almost ethereally beautiful about her.

She turned and caught him staring at her. He glanced down at the dashboard clock and saw that he’d been asleep for quite a while. “The baby’s on the loose. ”

“I know. She needed some exercise.”

The door swung open and Lucy came back in. “That’s the last time I’m peeing in the woods.”

“Then clean the bathroom,” Nell countered.

Mat felt something clutch his leg, caught a whiff, and looked down to see the Demon hanging on to his jeans. She looked up at him, all drooly grin. Then, using his leg to balance herself, she began to bounce.

“Da-da-
Da
!”

Maybe he’d died without realizing it and gone straight to hell.

“Don’t say that.” Lucy took her sister’s arms and drew her away, then knelt down and caught her small face between her hands to get her attention. “Say
jerk
, Butt.
Jerk. Jerk. Jerk
.”

Nell didn’t even have the decency to hide her amusement as she gingerly picked up the baby and carried her over to the couch for a diaper change. “You’ve got quite a fan club.”

He needed some fresh air. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, but don’t hesitate to take off without me.”

When he returned, the Demon was safely fastened in her car seat and Nell sat behind the wheel.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

She pulled back onto the road. “Soon. Right now I’m looking for a place to stop for dinner.”

“It’s not even six.”

“Lucy’s hungry.”

He tilted his head toward the teenager. “Eat potato chips.”

“I’m hungry, too,” Nell said. “And Marigold needs a decent meal.”

“Stop calling her that!” Lucy exclaimed. “She hates it! She really does.”

“Pull over,” he ordered.

“Right up ahead. The sign says one-point-five miles. Grannie Peg’s Good Eats.”

“I just bet that’ll be four-star cuisine.”

“What does a steelworker know about four-star cuisine?”

“Don’t stereotype.”

“I don’t type at all. That’s why I’m unemployed.”

She looked awfully pleased with herself for someone who was supposed to be desperate. He wondered how she’d react if he told her the truth about what he did for a living. He used to love telling people he was a journalist, but during the past year, he’d grown evasive. That alone had been a good reason for quitting. A man should be proud of his work.

“Oh, look! They’re having a picnic!” Nell slowed to gaze at a family of four that had stopped by the side of the road to eat sandwiches off the tailgate of an old station wagon. Her blue eyes danced with delight. “It looks like so much fun. That’s what we can do for dinner! We can have a roadside picnic.”

“No way. I’ve got my heart set on Grannie Peg’s fine cuisine.”

“Picnics blow,” Lucy grumbled.

“Both of you could use a happy pill,” Nell said firmly.

“I feel sorry for your kid if you’re going to make it eat dirt sandwiches off the back of some shitty station wagon.”

Nell fixed her gaze on the road. “I can’t hear you. I can’t hear anything but happy words.”

Mat smiled. The pregnant lady sure was good for entertainment.

Grannie Peg’s flamingo-pink T-shirt, black leggings, and gleaming silver earrings delighted Nealy. All that on a plump, brassy-haired woman just past forty. Her restaurant had fake pine paneling, plastic flowers in a wall divider that separated the restaurant entrance from the dining area, and a long Formica counter with black vinyl stools. Exactly the sort of place she never got to see.

She was glad she’d been able to maneuver Lucy into carrying the baby. Feeling that healthy, vigorous wiggling beneath her hands as she’d changed Marigold’s diaper had been difficult enough. She’d been terrified she’d somehow bring harm to her.

Grannie Peg stepped out from behind the register and nodded at them as they entered. “Hey, there, folks. Smoking or non?”

“Smoking,” Lucy said.

“Non,” Mat said.

Lucy’s look indicated how pathetic she thought he was.

Nealy watched Mat studying the restaurant’s counter, a purposeful gleam in his eyes. “Don’t even think about it,” she said quickly. “You’re sitting with us unless you want Marigold strapped on the stool next to you.”

The baby squealed in delight. “Da da
Da
!”

“Will you make her stop doing that?” Mat growled.

“Jerk. Jerk.
Jerk
!” Lucy said to the top of the baby’s head.

Mat sighed.

Nealy laughed. Considering how unpleasant her traveling companions were, she shouldn’t be having such a good time, but being with them felt like being with a real American family. They were all so gloriously dysfunctional. Except for Marigold. She was gloriously functional.

Mat sniffed. “Didn’t you just change her?”

“I guess she enjoyed it so much, she decided to do it again.”

One look at Lucy’s face told Nealy she didn’t have a chance of convincing the teenager to handle this diaper change. Reluctantly, she carried the baby back to the motor home.

When she returned, she found Mat and Lucy in a booth, with Lucy glaring at him. She had no intention of asking what was wrong, but Lucy told her anyway.

“He won’t let me order a beer.”

“The depth of his cruelty leaves me speechless.” Nealy frowned at the high chair that had been placed at the end of the table. Who knew how many children had sat in that chair and what diseases they might have had? She looked around for a waitress to ask for disinfectant.

“What’s wrong?” Mat asked.

“The high chair doesn’t look too clean.”

“It’s clean,” he said. “Put her in.”

Nealy hesitated, then forced herself to gently lower the squirming baby into the seat.
Don’t get sick, sweetheart. Please don’t get sick.

Nealy fumbled around trying to fasten the tray in place until Lucy pushed her out of the way and did it herself. “You’re so pathetic. I feel sorry for your kid. I really do.”