Authors: Marilyn Campbell
She had no problem stroking his ego. He was attractive for his age, intelligent, mature, focused, kind, generous and faithful, characteristics that might cause any normal woman to fall madly in love with him or at least be happy to have such a good man as a life partner. But Holly had never been able to say the words he wanted to hear. The phrase "I love you" had been stricken from her vocabulary twenty-one years ago, and she couldn't bring it to her lips, regardless of how much it would please Philip. Besides, he deserved more from her than a lie.
Perhaps this time, when he asks why I won't marry him, I should tell him the truth.
Holly had already decided that if she was going to tell anyone about that night it would have to be her parents first, then, depending on how that went, Philip next.
Part of the reason she had avoided speaking of it was she wanted to block it out. The other part, however, was the fear of tarnishing the perfect image those three people had of her.
Logically, of course, she had always known the blame belonged solely on the shoulders of Jerry Frampton and Tim Ziegler. But no amount of logic had done quite as much for her self-assurance as listening to the confidences of the women of the Little Sister Society that day and discovering that she wasn't the only one. She couldn't help but wonder how much further she could progress by following their advice to talk about what had happened to her.
Why, it could even make a difference in how she responded to Philip on Saturday.
For the second time that week, she made an impulsive phone call. As it was Wednesday afternoon, she knew exactly where she could find both her parents.
"Kaufman Haus," her mother's cheery voice answered after the second ring.
"I'd like to make reservations for three for midnight tonight."
"Holly? What's the matter? Why are you calling in the middle of the week?"
Holly laughed lightly. "Nothing's the matter, Mom. I swear. There's just something I wanted to talk to you and Pop about, and I figured the best time was after you close up on a slow night. Correction, slower night. Everyone knows Kaufman Haus doesn't have slow nights."
The old line made her mother laugh, but she quickly became serious again. "If it's really important, we could take the night off—"
"No, no. It'll be late by the time I get to the house anyway."
"Will you be staying?" Vivian asked hopefully.
"Only tonight. I have to be back here first thing in the morning."
"Oh, I see. At least give me a hint so that I know whether to worry or be excited."
"Neither one. I just need to explain something, that's all. I'll see you tonight."
It took several more reassurances before Holly could hang up and get Evelyn working on reservations. She figured it was a good omen when she was able to book a flight out of Dulles at nine, which left her plenty of time to pick up a change of clothes at her apartment and have dinner. Evelyn confirmed that a rental car was reserved for her at the Pittsburgh airport. Even with the one-hour drive to Butler added to the hour-long flight, she would still be home before her parents.
When Philip heard what she was up to, he offered to accompany her. "I haven't seen Bernie and Viv in months."
"I know, and I'm sure they'd be happy to see you too, but this time I need to see them alone." His hurt expression prompted her to add, "But I could use a lift to the airport later, if you wouldn't mind. I'd rather not leave my car there overnight." Guilt made her continue. "In fact, why don't you follow me to my apartment while I pick up an overnight bag and then we can go to dinner." Her extra effort earned her a grateful smile.
* * *
David's network of informants was not limited to hotel employees. In a transient city of power like Washington, there was an abundance of people in seemingly unimportant positions who were privy to interesting tidbits, and David had spent years cultivating friendships with a great number of those people. The fact that most of them were women was just as intentional.
Once he was back at his desk in the paper's newsroom, he needed to make only one call to the dispatcher at the cab company to learn that the driver of the taxi he'd observed in front of the hotel dropped the mouse off at the Internal Revenue Service building. He had no idea why employees of two branches of government would be meeting with Erica Donner, but he bet his next paycheck there was some sort of story behind it. Again, his nose told him it could have something to do with Tim Ziegler's call. What he needed were some names to attach to the faces.
He didn't have a contact inside the FBI but he had a companionable relationship with a city police detective. It seemed reasonable that the man would know at least one agent that might be able to identify Red. If memory served, the detective was a major football fan. An invitation to an upcoming game would probably net him a name and maybe a bit more.
Identifying the other three women was going to be more of a challenge, but he determined to describe them to everyone he knew until he got some answers.
Before he began that, however, he needed to ask Valerie for another favor—a roster of the students enrolled in the freshman class at Dominion the year Cheryl Wallace and Erica Donner were there.
"Is that it?" Valerie asked with a laugh. "You sure you don't want the upperclassmen as well? I've already been asked to come up with the names of all of Senator Ziegler's fraternity brothers. Don't you want a copy of that too?"
"That would be terrific," David replied. "If it's not too much trouble." He wasn't surprised that another reporter was working on that angle. Cheryl Wallace's list of alleged attackers had caused a lot of speculation all over the country.
"Well, I'll tell you the same thing I told the other reporter. I've got a stack of rush requests that could get me fired if I don't do them first. But I already did a quick check of their website and came up with nothing. That was a long time ago, before everything was computerized, and although the university should have retained the records, they've probably been buried in some storage vault. I also placed a call to the school but so far no call back. They probably aren't anxious to talk to any media right now. It may not be so easy to get the information. What you need is a yearbook."
Or an alumnus, like Cheryl Wallace.
"Well, if anybody can do it, I know you can," David said with complete sincerity.
He made several more calls then headed back to the Kessler Hotel in hopes that Mrs. Donner might be planning to go out to dinner.
* * *
Holly and Philip arrived at her apartment in Georgetown with plenty of time to spare, but Holly was too anxious to be on her way to sit and relax. Philip poured himself a club soda while she went into her bedroom to throw a few things in a bag.
Thirty minutes later, she started to walk into the living room and froze in the doorway. Philip was seated on the couch with his back to her—and was closing the lid on her briefcase. "Philip? Were you looking for something?"
"Yes. Or rather I was about to." He latched the case and set it back down on the floor where she had left it. Standing up and turning to her with a sheepish grin, he said, "I didn't want to admit to Evelyn that I misplaced the last report from the House Ways and Means Committee. I had the sudden thought that it had somehow gotten mixed up with your folders and ended up in your briefcase. I apologize. Without thinking, I opened it to check. I should never have done that without asking. I swear I didn't rearrange a single sheet of paper."
He appeared to be appropriately embarrassed at having been caught, but it left Holly feeling a little uneasy. Certain he was telling the truth, however, she could see no reason to make an issue of it. "Did you find the report?"
He laughed. "No. As soon as I opened that portable office of yours and saw how much work you have in there, I just closed it up again. If you get a chance, I'd appreciate your taking a look for it, though. Are you ready to go?"
She nodded and let him take the bag from her. Though she hadn't planned on taking her briefcase along, his reminder of how much work she had to do changed her mind. Grabbing the case and her purse, she flicked the lights off and closed the door behind her.
* * *
"I'll be damned! Harry Abbott taking a trip around the world." David Wells shook his head at the balding man he considered his mentor. Harry had talked about this trip as long as they had known each other, but David had always figured the old man's plans had about as much substance as his cigar smoke. Yet here they were, sitting in an airport restaurant, drinking a toast to his adventure. On the other hand, Harry had retired as sports editor for
The Washington Herald
several months ago and David had never expected him to do that either.
David had already put ten years into
The Washington Herald—
as a paperboy—before he got a job on the inside working as an apprentice to Harry on the sports desk. Those years, plus his family's poverty level, helped him gain the Newsboy Scholarship, which covered his tuition at George Washington University, but his part-time job for the paper paid for the rest. In truth, Harry taught him far more than four years of journalism class ever did and, because of that, David would walk barefoot across a desert for the man.
"How long do you figure you'll be gone?" David asked.
"As long as it takes. I'm going to play golf in Scotland, Ping-Pong in China and whatever it is they do in Tahiti, I'll do that too. I've already got a publisher interested in the book."
"The book?" David didn't bother to hide his surprise.
"Sure." Harry leaned forward and lowered his voice as if sharing a major secret. "You didn't think I'd take off without knowing it would all be deductible later."
"I wondered what you were up to the last couple of months when you kept putting off getting together."
Harry shrugged and took another swallow of his beer. "To tell you the truth, I was feeling too sorry for myself to be sociable. I just had to give myself a kick in the ass. Retirement's not for me. What else is an old ex-sportswriter going to do but write a book about sports? At any rate, I've been following your stories. Nice job on the HUD article. What are you working on now?"
"Just finished up an article on the local homeless situation. It wasn't too hard. All I had to do was go back and hang around the neighborhood I grew up in. Something else got my nose twitching today."
"Not going to sit on your laurels, huh?"
"Hey, you know what you told me years ago—
Lots of people are satisfied being first string, but the one the fans remember is the quarterback.
"
Harry chewed on his unlit cigar. "I never had any doubt you'd make it, kid. I pegged you the day you walked into the newsroom-—smart, sassy and hungry as hell. So, what got you going today?"
David gave him a brief account of Tim Ziegler's call and his stakeout in the hotel. He then described the women, being particularly explicit when it came to the nervous blonde.
Harry chuckled. "It's amazing your hormones never got you into a serious mess. Seeing as how you've had a close encounter with every D-cup blonde in Washington and you didn't recognize her, maybe she's just visiting." He waved to the waitress to get them another round.
"I don't think so. My nose says they were there for some kind of business and she had the stamp of a capital woman on her. I've just missed meeting her somehow."
"Maybe she's one of that rare breed, a happily married woman."
David shook his head. "No ring. I—" His thought was aborted as he caught sight of a couple entering the restaurant. "I'll be damned! It's
her."
The blonde was carrying a leather briefcase and she was with a much older man, toting a brown tweed overnight bag. As the man sat down at a table near the entrance, she headed for the restrooms beyond Harry and David's table.
As she passed him, David noted that her light-blue blouse was thin enough to confirm the fullness of her breasts and her black jeans had been washed just enough to hug her rounded hips without being too tight. She never made visual contact with him but he couldn't help but notice that her eyes were almost the same shade of blue as his own. He let out the breath he had unconsciously held as she had glided toward him. Damn, she was gorgeous!
Harry waved his cigar at David to get his attention. "Aren't you getting a little old for the game?"
"You're one to talk, old man. As I recall, you're the one who said,
Why buy a ticket to the game when you can climb the fence?
"
Harry's lips formed a smirk around the stogie. Although he removed it to speak, the words still exited from the corner of his mouth. "What'd you do, write down everything I said for the last two decades?"
"I didn't have to with you spouting Harryisms all the time."
"Harryisms? Well, now. I kinda like that. Maybe I can use that in my book. In the meantime, I'd like to add one more to your collection. There comes a time in every man's life when he's too old to climb the fence. Then it's sort of nice to be holding a season ticket."
David pretended to choke on his coffee. "What's this, Har? Is the confirmed bachelor hoping to find a little woman on his world tour?"
"Nah. It's too late for me. But it's not for you. I just wanted to let you know that since I retired, sometimes it gets a little lonely around my apartment."