September Sky (American Journey Book 1) (40 page)

Chuck watched closely as O'Malley paused to collect himself. He could only imagine the pain he had suffered in the past two weeks and admired him all the more for sticking with a case that he could have – and probably should have – turned over to others.

"As a result of the confession, prosecutors have dropped all charges against Wyatt Fitzpatrick in connection with this case. Mr. Fitzpatrick is today a free man. I will be happy to share more information on these developments as I learn about them. Are there any questions?"

Chuck waited for the reporters to ask some questions and was more than a little surprised when they didn't. They instead scribbled away on tiny pads and kept to themselves.

So Chuck did what he had done so often in the past and jumped into the fray. He got out of his chair, looked at O'Malley, and asked the most obvious question of all.

"I have one, Chief."

"What's that, Mr. Townsend?"

"You said that Miss Gates is continuing to cooperate with authorities."

"That's right."

"Why would she 'continue to cooperate' if she has already made a full confession?"

"That's an excellent question, sir. I'll give you an answer," O'Malley said. "But before I do, I must ask the reporters in the room to put down their pencils and pads. Anything I say from this point on is strictly off the record."

Chuck knew instantly that the case was about to take a sudden and unexpected turn. He knew that police spoke off the record only if a crime was still under investigation.

O'Malley stared at the five reporters in the room.

"Can I rest assured, gentlemen, that you will not print a word of this?"

Each of the reporters nodded or muttered an affirmative answer.

"That's good. Then I will continue."

O'Malley took another breath.

"In her confession to authorities in San Antonio, Miss Gates said she conspired with another individual to kill Miss O'Malley. She said that her fellow conspirator was not at the Stratford Hotel on the morning of August 18 but had participated fully in the planning of the crime."

Chuck felt his stomach drop when he saw O'Malley stare at Emily. Was he about to give her bad news? Was Max Beck the conspirator?

"We believe that the statement offered by Miss Gates is credible. For that reason, we will issue, within the next two hours, an arrest warrant for Silas Fitzpatrick of Galveston. I expect to make an official statement on this development at that time. Thank you."

Chuck scanned the room as O'Malley headed for the door and saw five scribbling reporters, two stunned women, a shocked son, a furious friend, and an attorney who didn't look the slightest bit surprised that Silas had been charged as a conspirator. He looked at Butler.

"You saw this coming, didn't you?" Chuck asked.

"I suspected Silas might be involved when he said he had to leave town the day after Miss Gates was arrested," Butler said. "I haven't heard from him since."

"Did he tell you how you could reach him?"

"No. He said he would contact me."

"This makes no sense," Chuck said. "A crime like this would require an incredible amount of trust. Why would Goldie and Silas trust each other on anything? They barely know each other."

"That's not true," Wyatt said in a cold, deliberate voice. "They know each other very well. They've been lovers for weeks."

CHAPTER 69: CHUCK

Houston, Texas

At 5:30 p.m. on the day before Chuck believed the hurricane would hit, he followed two men, two women, and an eight-year-old girl into the house that Hiram Fitzpatrick built.

The house was empty. Though police had searched it from top to bottom in an effort to learn the whereabouts of Silas Fitzpatrick, they were gone by the time Wyatt, Chuck, Justin, Charlotte, Emily, and Anna walked through the door.

Chuck considered that a blessing. After getting less than ten hours of sleep in the past three days, he didn't want to do anything but rest and relax in a mansion that was built for rest and relaxation. He had accomplished his mission and more. It was time to take a break.

He escorted Charlotte to their room, helped Emily and Anna with their luggage, and then walked to a second-story porch that overlooked the north side of the property. He found Wyatt sitting in a rocking chair, smoking a cigar, and staring blankly into space.

"I'm afraid to ask what you're thinking," Chuck said.

"Perhaps it's better if you don't," Wyatt said.

Chuck sat in another rocking chair a few feet away. After a moment of awkward silence, he turned to face his distant relative and not-so-distant friend.

"You can't go after him, Wyatt. You can't kill him."

"I can and I will."

"He's not worth throwing your life away," Chuck said.

"My life is worth nothing without Rose!"

"Let the police take care of this. You've already cut off his assets. Silas won't last long on the run without money. If you want to honor Rose's memory, let the police do their job. Then find that happy life that I know Rose would have wanted you to have."

"You make it sound easy."

"It's
not
easy," Chuck said forcefully. "It won't be easy. Your brother conspired to kill your fiancée. You will never be able to purge that from your mind, but you will be able to move on and have a good life if you leave justice to others."

"Perhaps you're right," Wyatt said.

"I know I'm right."

Wyatt closed his eyes and massaged his temples, as if trying to stave off a headache. When he was done, he stared at Chuck with eyes that reflected concern and not anger.

"Where are the others?"

"Most are resting in their rooms," Chuck said. "Like you and me, they need a break from all the drama. There will be plenty more in the days to come."

Wyatt took a puff of his cigar.

"Indeed."

"Emily and Anna asked me to thank you for letting them come here," Chuck said.

Wyatt turned to face Chuck.

"Do they wish to spend the night?"

"I don't know. The only thing I know for sure is that they don't want to leave Justin's side."

Wyatt smiled sadly.

"They have become quite attached to him."

Chuck nodded.

"Yes, they have."

"Where are Max and Isabella?" Wyatt asked.

"They are presumably on the five-fifteen, the last train out of Galveston. Max apparently wanted to grab some things in his office before coming out here."

"Do you think he was involved?"

"No," Chuck said. "I don't think Max had anything to do with the murder or even the theft of my papers, but I honestly can't rule it out. I can't rule out anything anymore."

Wyatt took another puff.

"Did I tell you that Max moved his ships?"

"No."

"Well, he did. He moved them about the same time that Silas finally agreed to move ours," Wyatt said. "The Beck Atlantic fleet is now docked in Vera Cruz."

"That can't be a coincidence."

"I doubt it is. My guess is that if Max did not steal your papers, then he heard from the person who did. He has never before confined his vessels to a single port."

"It doesn't matter," Chuck said. "Even with all of his ships, he will never be able to get his hands on yours. You'll be able to run your company as you see fit."

Chuck started to ask a question about Hiram Fitzpatrick's will when Justin and Emily burst through the doors and stepped onto the deck. Charlotte and Anna followed closely behind. Chuck could see from the looks on their faces that something was wrong.

"We have a problem," Justin said.

"What's that?" Chuck asked.

"I left the crystal at the beach house."

Chuck sighed.

"Justin!"

"I forgot. I made a mistake. I'm sorry," Justin said. "The good news is that I can get it tonight. That last train to the island hasn't left yet."

"You stay right here. I'll get it."

"No, Dad,
I'll
get it. I moved it to a different hiding place, a very-hard-to-reach hiding place. You wouldn't be able to find it even with instructions."

"Then let me go with you," Chuck said. "Even if you catch the last train there, you won't be able to catch the last one back. It has already left Galveston."

"I know. Emily's folks are on it. It doesn't matter. I'll just catch the first train tomorrow morning. We both know there will be a train tomorrow. We read about it in one of the stories."

"I don't know, Justin."

"I do, Dad. Let me do this. There's no need to risk anyone else's safety," Justin said. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll call you when I get to the station. Then I'll call you again when I leave. Please let me go – and let me go alone."

Chuck glanced at Charlotte, Emily, and Anna and saw the concern on their faces. Emily looked like she had been crying. Anna simply looked lost.

Chuck knew the situation. If someone didn't retrieve the crystal before noon, when the first destructive waves hit the shore, the beach house and the crystal would be lost forever.

"He'll be all right," Wyatt said. "Let him go."

Chuck looked at Wyatt and then slowly returned his eyes to Justin.

"OK. If you have to go, then go. Go now. Get in, get out, and do nothing else," Chuck said. "I don't want to return to California without a son."

CHAPTER 70: JUSTIN

Galveston, Texas

Justin knew the second he hung up the phone that his quick and simple trip to Galveston was about to become long and complicated. Or at least it looked that way.

Emily had reported that Max and Isabella had not boarded the five-fifteen train to Houston. They hadn't answered her repeated calls to the house or to the Beck Atlantic office. Nor had they made any attempt to contact
her
.

So when Emily finally got the chance to talk to someone on the island, she asked for help. She asked Justin if he would kindly collect her stubborn parents and put them on a train.

Easy as pie.

Justin thought about his new mission as he exited Union Station and stepped onto the Strand. He didn't mind fetching the Becks, so long as they offered no resistance. He just didn't want to have to persuade them to do something they should have already done.

He thought about calling them first and then reconsidered. There was no need to disrupt their evening just yet. He had until eight the next morning to rustle them out of their house.

So he decided instead to take a circuitous route to Tenth and M. He opted to take one last stroll down Memory Lane before Mother Nature turned it to rubble.

Justin found many memories on the Strand itself. When he passed the café, he thought of the time Emily had given him a piece of her mind and the time she had given him a piece of her heart. When he passed the library, he thought of their first walk, their last walk, and every walk in between. The facility had been the starting point for a hundred pleasant strolls.

Then there was the state medical school. When Justin saw Old Red, he saw a young woman with dreams and an unquenchable thirst for life. When he turned to the campus green, he saw a bicycle built for two and a couple kissing under an oak tree. He saw two young people who had not yet decided to go their separate ways.

When he turned onto Tenth Street and started toward the beach, Justin once again lamented the unfairness of it all. Why did he have to choose between the time he loved and the woman he loved? No one else had to make that choice. Even Dear Old Dad got to bring home his girl.

Justin pushed Emily to the side and concentrated on the matters at hand. He had a gypsum crystal to retrieve and a couple to save – or at least coax out of their own house. He also had a hurricane to avoid. If he did nothing else on Saturday, he hoped to do that.

When he reached the intersection of Tenth and Church, Justin lifted his head and took a long look at a surprisingly tranquil September sky. The wild blue yonder was more mild than wild and still decidedly blue. A thin layer of white clouds that hung above the Gulf of Mexico like a frayed baby blanket provided the only contrast.

Justin didn't allow himself to be fooled. He knew the tranquil sky was nothing more than a mirage. Somewhere beyond the pleasing curtain of blue and white was a monster, a beast of unimaginable size and strength that would strike the city in hours and make its mark on history.

As he walked from one neighborhood to another, he tried to imagine what the businesses, schools, and houses would look like in twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Would the gingerbread houses sprinkled all over the city have a chance? Would the structures made of brick? Or would residents have to flee to the larger hotels and religious sanctuaries to survive?

Justin pondered the possibilities when he crossed Broadway and again when he reached Avenue M and turned east toward Eighth Street. A few minutes later, he opened the unlocked door of a structure he
knew
had seen its last full day. The beach house, his home for the past four months, would be driftwood by Saturday night.

After checking drawers, shelves, and cabinets for forgotten valuables, he walked to a corner of the room, lifted a loose floorboard, and stuck a hand in the space below. When he felt a nail he had placed on the ground, he pushed the nail aside, and began to dig with the hand.

He dug until he felt a small metal box. A moment later, he pulled the box out of the sandy soil and through the gap in the floor. He opened the box and sighed when he saw his ticket home. The blue gypsum crystal had not been disturbed.

Justin placed the gem in his jacket pocket and gave the residence one last look. When he saw a dirty plate on the dining table, he grabbed it, walked to the sink, and washed the dish. He put it back in the cabinet, atop a stack of other dishes, and closed the cabinet door.

Then he took a broom and swept small piles of sand and breadcrumbs out the front door. He knew it was pointless – and arguably OCD-ish – to clean a doomed house, but he did it anyway. Everything deserved a dignified death – even a creaky old shack.