Gathering String (63 page)

When he came back from a quick shower, she was in bed and it wasn’t until he slipped in beside her that he realized she was awake. “I’m sorry, Jack.” It was a faint whisper, and he pulled her close.

“Sorry?” She smelled like that French soap she loved. “This is Swede’s doing …”

“I’m sorry it had to be Sam that you went to. It had to be him because Swede knows about him and me, doesn’t he?” He didn’t answer. He kissed her cheek, the medal dangling away from his chest and brushing her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

He settled against her, her small body curved into his, and he whispered, “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” He fell quickly into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

Chirping birds woke Sam. Stone cold sober, their twittering still made his head hurt. The room was homey, the bed comfortable, but much as he wanted to, he couldn’t go back to sleep. It was just too damn strange, knowing Tess was right upstairs with the Norse god.

Barefoot, in T-shirt and jeans, he brushed his teeth in the downstairs bath, and then wandered through the big, silent, sunny rooms to the kitchen. He rummaged in the cupboard and had started the coffee maker before he realized the front door was slightly ajar. Feeling the hair bristle on the back of his neck, he knew he’d shut it tight and locked it carefully when he came in last night. Cautiously, he moved to peek out through the screen, and then he smiled. Tess was sitting out on the porch swing, wearing a thin, long-sleeve T-shirt and shorts, working on her laptop.

“You’re up early.” She jumped when he spoke, turning to see him squinting at her. “Damn, the sun shines bright out here.” The night’s rain had left behind a fresh, earthy crispness. The sky was a clear, clean blue, the air cool. But it would be a warm day once the sun got higher and burned off the damp.

She smiled. “I was a little restless all night. This situation is just so very, odd, don’t you think?” He nodded emphatically. “I came out here hoping not to disturb anyone. Did I wake you?”

“No, but you’ve got some very loud and extremely happy birds who did. Honking horns, loud garbage trucks, police sirens, those I can sleep through. But a bunch of giddy birds …” He shuddered and studied her face through the screen. “You look surprisingly good for the crack of dawn.”

“And you look like you just tumbled out of bed.” He ran his hand over his dark stubble self-conscientiously. “It’s not that early, after seven. That’s late for Jack, but he was still asleep when I came down.”

“So he’s still here, huh?” Sam had hoped he’d left for the
Journal
already.

She nodded. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been up before him. That must have been a hell of a drive last night. Tell me about it.”

He heard the sputtering of the last of the coffee running through and said, “Hang on.” When he came out, he carried his pack of cigarettes and two steaming mugs, handing her one. “The nearest Starbucks must be at least 100 miles away. How do you manage?”

“Jack or the Wishbone Cafe,” she answered, taking the mug and nodding her thanks. She put it down on the porch rail. Sam settled near it, in the small niche next to the front steps, where the porch curved toward the front door, in the shadow of the big oak tree. Sitting there, he would be impossible to spot from the road if anyone drove by. He lit a cigarette as she asked, “Well?”

He spoke through a trickle of smoke. “You’re right. It was a hell of long a trip, very strange on many levels. I think we’re both a little stunned to be in this together. He intended to just drop his bomb and run, but I had to get out of that hotel. Did he tell you there’s a summons server on my ass?” She nodded. “After you called, we knew Erickson meant to give him good reason to get home. My coming with him seemed like the only way to flee the scene and still get the information I needed from him. I had a hard time trusting him at first. It’s pretty fucking hard to believe …” Sam paused to sip his coffee, watching her calm face over the rim, “I thought his coming to me might be some kind of trick of Erickson’s. But when I saw his face when you told him someone had been here …”

She looked down. “I think I get the picture.”

He didn’t say anything, just drew on his smoke again while he watched her. She was pale, and there were fine lines around her eyes, but somehow they’d become even more luminous than he remembered, even ringed with fatigue. The angles of her cheekbones were more finely drawn since the last time he saw her, and he thought she’d lost some weight. The last few weeks must have been hard for her. But in spite of it all, she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. There was something about her face, a softness, he had never noticed before.

In the quiet between them, she shut down the computer, and as she folded down the screen, she looked up at his searching eyes and asked, “What?”

“Why did you tell him, Tess? About you and me?”

She looked away. “I didn’t. It would have been better if I had. After you were here last, Jack just put it together.” He looked at her questioningly, but she didn’t want to tell him Jack had seen his St. Francis medal. So she said, “Somehow he knew we were on that plane together. I don’t know, maybe someone in my family mentioned it. And if he read your story on Wally, it's obvious. Whatever, he took it from there.” She sighed, trying to imagine them talking about it. “What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Sam looked down at her full cup of coffee, cooling on the railing, and handed it back to her. “But every time he looks in my direction, I get the distinct feeling I’m within a breath of having the shit beat out of me. It doesn’t take a genius to guess why.” She said nothing, stirring in the black coffee with her finger. Sam sighed, “Well, I’ll say this much for him. He can connect the dots. Was it bad?” She grimaced and nodded. “What an ass. It’s not like you cheated on him. It was before …”

“Yes, but it’s not good news to find out that your wife was with a married man, whenever it happened. And I should have told him myself, instead of letting him …”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I don’t know what he’s got to complain about. He’s the one who got the girl. I’m the one twiddling my thumbs all alone in the downstairs bedroom with only Auntie Em’s flower basket quilt to keep me warm.”

“It’s summertime, Sam. You don’t need anything to keep you warm.”

He chuckled a little. “Well, you catch my drift. Jesus, I’m finally single again and there’s not even
one
woman in my life.” He leaned over a little, his voice dropping confidentially, “Even Sarah’s starting to look good.”

“I’m not crazy, Toughie. I’d like to live to get this story published.” And then his smile faded. “Besides, I know exactly how he feels.” He stood, cutting off whatever reply she might have made as he tossed his cigarette out into the wet grass. “I need a refill. You?” She shook her head.

He had just reached the kitchen counter when he heard Jack come in behind him. Reaching up, Sam pulled down another mug, filled it, and turned to him without a word, holding it out.

“Thanks,” Jack was wearing a bright white T-shirt with a pair of faded jeans. “I should get into town soon. But first we need to talk about what to do.” Clearly he intended to launch a game plan and get Sam out as quickly as possible.

“Right,” Sam leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I’ve been thinking about it, Hoss. There had to be someone helping Erickson. The guy’s a hell of a juggler, let’s give him that, but Carl got liquored-up and struck that match less than a month before he was sworn in. A brand-new governor’s got to hit the ground running. And God knows, Swede Erickson didn’t waste any time making his mark. You can’t tell me he didn’t have someone running interference for him while the old man was in a rehab center or insane asylum, or wherever it was he stashed him. There had to have been someone close to him on call when he couldn’t be.”

“There was. I told you. He said Pete knew.”

Sam’s mouth scrunched down skeptically. “Not that fucking psychopath. Erickson couldn’t trust him to deal with anything without losing it. Just ask poor Rover. No, there had to be someone else.”

“He said just three of us knew: his brother, himself and me …” Jack started.

“Yeah, and he’s never steered you wrong.” Jack’s jaw set tight, and Sam turned to pick up his empty mug. “I figure it’s got to be one of two people, or maybe both of them.” Tense and sullen, Jack didn’t say anything. “My money’s on that Frigidaire of a wife. Man, I’ve seen an army of women like her in D.C.: Ambitious, smart, single-minded and hard to the bone.” Looking over his shoulder with a lopsided grin, Sam added, “Hell, I think I just described my own ex. And if Betty is anything like her, we should check her out. Damn, I bet she knew about the whole thing.”

With an impatient grunt, Jack asked, “And just how are you going to go after her? You think you can line up another interview? Or do you want me to just ask her about it the next holiday I spend with them?”

Sam nodded in concession. “Good point. She’s going to be tough to get to.” Jack raised his eyebrows in agreement. “So that means the one we need to crack is Augusta.” Instantly Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, Hoss,” Sam said softly. “She had to know something.”

And then, as Sam reached to put the pot back, a sudden thought jolted him. He looked down into his own cup, and then back out at the porch. Then he looked at the heavy pot still in his hand.

Tess always drank coffee. It was usually all she had in the morning. No food, just coffee, and a lot of it. Strong and black. He didn’t remember ever finishing his cup before she finished hers. But this morning, she hadn’t even touched it; she still was holding the full cup.

And then, he looked back toward the door one more time where he could now hear the murmur of voices, there was the way she looked; pale and tired, and oddly fragile. But something else too. Something more.

Absently he put the coffee up, and walked back out the door. When Tess glanced over at him, she looked questioningly at the funny, searching look on his face. But Jack was saying, “I’ve got to get to town and show up at the office. I’ll ask around, see if anyone has noticed if Pete’s back.”

“I doubt he’s been seen anywhere. How would he explain why he’s not in Kansas City?” Tess slowly pulled her attention away from Sam as she spoke. “For that matter, how are you?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d tell people I came home because you’re not feeling well.” A flush came to her face. “It’s true.”

“You’ve been sick?” Sam walked around the swing, studying her face.

She waved her hand dismissively. “It was nothing, tension, a summer bug. I’m fine. Don’t tell people that, Jack.” She glanced back at Sam, who was still staring, and faintly shook her head.

“Tell people … ” Sam finally looked over at Jack, “Tell them the truth, that you had a long meeting with Erickson the other night, and that he emailed you the text of the speech. Tell them there was no reason for you to stay in a clusterfuck when you got everything you went for. People will just figure you hurried back to get all the happy news up on the site.” He smiled a little. “You can post the text of his speech before he even gives it. He sure as hell can't grouse about you ignoring an embargo.”

Jack’s mouth was a tense line. “Right, I’m a lucky guy.” Sam settled down onto the railing in the shaded corner, his eyes going back to Tess, watching her profile carefully. And Jack, watching him, asked, “What about you? What are you going to do?”

“Well,” Sam sighed, “I still think the old lady ...”

“I told you no.” Again, Jack didn’t raise his voice, but the firmness was unmistakably clear.

“You’re hamstringing me here, Hoss,” Sam didn’t hesitate to raise his. “I can’t run around giving sources my name and my card.” Sighing with the effort, he went on quietly, “If Erickson’s got people on the lookout for me, and at this point I guess we have to assume he does, I’ll get nailed in no time. I’d planned on going to Sheffield myself after the convention, but what do you want to bet he’s got someone watching out for me to turn up there. Fuck, this is complicated. I can’t request to see Andy Brubaker. I’d have to put that in writing, and it would take weeks besides. I suppose I could start calling your other sources on the phone, but have you thought about the fact that if I just re-create your work, there’s a good chance Erickson’ll catch-wise that you tipped me off?”

“I’m telling you he will never believe I …”

“Yeah, I know that’s what you think. But if I leave a trail by talking to the same people you mentioned to him, what’s to stop him from sending out that dick Peter just to check it out? Or some other ham-handed thug? We’ve got to be as tricky as he is. We have to think of something that won’t track back to you.”

“Something new,” Tess spoke up. “We’ve got to think of something that Jack didn’t cover in his reporting. Something Swede will believe you came across on your own, Sam.”

They both looked at Jack. “I was pretty thorough. I know Carl was managing the store; Augusta told me that herself. I know he had motive to burn it; I got that from the insurance investigator. I know he was in the store that night and that he was drunk; I got that from Andy Brubaker. I know he couldn’t have gone to Sweden when Swede said he did, because he was never issued a passport. The hell of it is Swede knows I got it all, because I told him myself.”