The Dirty Secret (30 page)

Then all hell broke loose.

The quarterback rolled to his left, clutching the ball in his reliable left hand, while the tailback sprinted in the opposite direction. The two receivers on the right side ran downfield, breaking off into their respective routes, as did one of the receivers on the left.

The second player who had lined up on the left sideline, however, had trotted in motion prior to the snap. When the ball was hiked, he swiftly changed his trajectory and swung wide to the right, sprinting into the backfield. As the quarterback and the receiver drew close to one another, the quarterback deftly made a one-handed backwards pitch with his left hand, safely delivering the ball to the receiver as he bolted past him, heading the other way.

“That’s the backup quarterback!” Dave yelled. Sensing a trick play, everyone screamed.

Several Pitt defenders froze, trying to react. One receiver ran a flag pattern, breaking toward the right sideline near the 10 yard line, while the other receiver on that side ran a skinny post toward the back of the end zone. After initially running straight downfield, the receiver who had lined up on the left side changed course, running a mirror-image skinny post. In the meantime, the tailback ran to the 5 yard line and curled back toward the line of scrimmage.

The defensive backs maneuvered swiftly, blanketing the receivers. In the melee, however, no one remembered to cover the starting quarterback, who had sprinted down the left sideline on a fly pattern and was frantically motioning for the ball.

As a linebacker dropped out of coverage and came charging toward the backfield, the backup quarterback came to a dead stop, turned his body 45 degrees toward the left side of the field and uncorked his cannon arm, heaving the ball to the back corner of the end zone. A Pitt cornerback, suddenly recognizing the gap in coverage, tried to race toward the uncovered white jersey flying downfield at the 10 yard line, but it was too late. The backup quarterback’s rocket throw hit the starting quarterback perfectly in stride, right on the numbers.

“Touchdown West Virginia!” the announcer screamed. Jack hooted and pumped his fist in the air. Logan gave Dave a high five. Brandon was running in place excitedly when Aunt Melinda snatched him, thrust him up in the air and smothered him with kisses. Jack’s teary-eyed brother, Bart, pointed at the ceiling and shouted, “
Thank you, Jesus! Thank you!!
”

In the time it had taken the play to develop, the game clock had run down to triple zeros, and white-jerseyed Mountaineers were hugging one another, rolling around on the turf. As the cameras focused on the dejected faces of two stunned Pitt players, everyone in Jack’s family room began to chant, “We want
Florida!
We want
Florida!
We want
Florida!
”

Jack slipped out to fetch another round of beers for himself, Dave and Bart. As he approached the kitchen, the sound of Tabatha’s voice stopped him cold.

“
Yes!
He wants to see me
next week!
I don’t know how I’ll arrange it, though. I’ll have to start plotting now.”

His head started to spin.
Someone wants my wife to sneak off and meet him?
As he shifted his weight from one foot to another, the hardwood planks beneath him creaked.

“Hold on just a second, Betsy. From all the screaming going on, something big must have happened. Plus, I think someone might be coming.”

Jack placed his hand on the wall, steadying himself.
Think quick! Act like you heard nothing.

As the footsteps grew closer, Jack pulled himself erect and smiled.
There is a time and a place for everything. Once you get to the bottom of things, then you can confront her.

Rounding the corner, Tabatha almost crashed right into him and she jumped backwards. “What are
you
doing out here?”

“Celebrating because those so-called losers from WVU just beat Pitt, and I’m grabbing some beers to help us celebrate.”

Tabatha scowled, silently studying him. “Well, you guys need to settle down. I can hardly hear what Betsy’s saying.”

Jack smiled thinly and slid past her. “I’ll snag these beers and get right on it.”

“Are you being
sarcastic?
”

Jack shut the fridge. “Not at all,” he said, taking a sip of the beer.

As he moved back toward the happy ruckus in the family room, Jack subtly brushed against her. “Tell Betsy I said, ‘Hi.’”

CHAPTER 66

PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 9:45 A.M.

“So you made it back to D.C. in one piece?” Jack asked, speaking into his phone.

“Yeah,” Dave replied. “I got home just in time to watch WVU get screwed over.”

Jack sighed. “I can’t believe Oregon slid around us in the polls.”

“It hurts, but Oregon stomped USC in the Pac-12 championship while we didn’t even cover the spread on Pitt. As much as it hurts, we have no one to blame but ourselves.”

Jack sighed again, heavier. “Well, that’s enough about football. Do ya think Royal is gonna pull it out in Charleston tomorrow?”

“I think the law’s on our side, but it’s gray enough for four Democrat justices to rule against us. We’re hammering out an appeal to the Supreme Court in D.C. just in case.”

Jack smiled wanly. “I know what you mean. That’s how I’m viewing my personal life.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Jack shook his head mournfully. “I’m pretty sure Tabatha is screwing around on me. I’m meeting with Rikki to figure out how to get her phone records.” Prolonged silence ensued. “Dave? You there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. I guess I didn’t realize Rikki was your lawyer. You’ve never mentioned that, and it just took me aback.”

“Democrat or not, she’s the best oil and gas lawyer around. Plus, it always helps to be on good terms with the county’s prosecutor.”

“Oh, I know,” Dave said quickly. “She’s brilliant and persuasive, not to mention stubborn. Those are traits you look for in a lawyer; I just didn’t realize she was
your
lawyer.”

Jack paused. “It’s strange, but Rikki and I were just talking about you not long ago.”

“Why? How’d
my
name come up?”

“I don’t remember. But I told her I thought it was a shame you guys drifted apart. You were such good friends growing up and all.”

“Did I mention she was
stubborn?
” Dave asked dryly.

“We both know that. But for some reason, I think she might be softening a bit with age. Call me crazy, but I think she might actually be cordial if you run into her again.”

Dave chortled. “She’s always been
cordial
towards me, Jack. But her cordiality is always packed inside a big blast of cold.”

Jack mulled it over. “Maybe that’s not the right word. I think she might be
receptive
to burying the hatchet with you.”

Suddenly, static erupted. “I’m going through a dead zone on my way to Martinsburg!” Dave yelled. “I’ll call you back.”

“Okay! Talk to you later!” The line went dead.

Jack climbed out of his truck and, taking care to avoid rain puddles in the parking lot, he walked into the courthouse and climbed the stairs to Rikki’s office.

“Hi, Jack!” Martha cheerfully greeted him. “She’s waiting for you.”

He nodded and walked back to Rikki’s private office. “Hey, counselor! Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

Rikki laughed loudly. “I’m
always
seeing you on short notice. At least this time you had the good manners to call first. What’s up?”

Jack shut the door and sat down. “It’s Tabatha. I’m at the end of my rope. I’m sure she’s cheating on me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I overheard her telling a friend that some guy sent her a text message, wanting to see her this week,” he replied. “She sounded like some boy-crazy seventh grader and I’d like to check out her phone records to see who she’s screwing around with. How can we do that?”

Rikki pursed her lips and reclined her chair. “What cell phone company does she use?”

“I don’t know,” Jack answered. “There’s the phone I gave her through my company, and then there’s another one she guards with her life. No clue where
that
came from.”

Rikki nodded. “Do you still have that power of attorney she signed last year?”

“The one authorizing me to sign her name on documents at our real estate closing?”

“Yes. But she actually signed a general power of attorney authorizing you to basically stand in her place and exercise
any
right or power on her behalf. Execute contracts, sign deeds, borrow money, communicate with third parties, etc.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “
Really?
I could use that to get her cell phone records?”

“Phone records, emails, you name it. When you request copies of her documents with that POA, the recipients are required to turn them over as if she had requested them herself.”

He smiled. “Let’s do it.”

“You don’t need
me
to do anything,” she replied. “You’re the one she appointed as her attorney-in-fact. You can do it yourself.”

“But you know the legalese to make sure they actually turn them over. Plus, I don’t want them to mail those records to me … Tabatha might get to them before I do, and that would alert her to what I was doing. I’d rather have those companies mail everything to you.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Rikki acknowledged. “In that case, bring me that POA. I’ll whip up some cover letters requesting her records. You’ll sign the letters, but they’ll direct that the records be returned to me as your lawyer. Sound good?”

Jack nodded and stood up. “Sounds great. I’ll bring it in this afternoon.” He walked out of the courthouse wearing a twisted smile.

So Tabatha thinks she can sleep around behind my back and get away with it? She’s in for a rude awakening.

MARTINSBURG, BERKELEY COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
MONDAY DECEMBER 1, 11:55 A.M.

Dave inhaled a spoonful of
pasta e fagioli
. “I’m impressed. This place is great.”

Monica Boley smiled, softly stabbing her Caesar salad. “The chef who owns it is from Florence. The food here is as good as anything you’ll find in D.C. or New York.”

Studying her face, Dave was struck by how attractive she was. Her thin nose and rounded cheekbones, combined with lush lips and imperfect-but-straight teeth, gave her a unique and appealing look. Her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her wit was unmistakable. For a woman so relatively young, she seemed exceptionally mature and well-grounded.

Maybe Gil was right. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge the contents of this book just because it has Margaret Thatcher’s name on the cover.

“Speaking of D.C.,” Dave segued. “Would you be interested in working for the new administration? Assuming we hold on and win this thing, someone with your problem-solving talents would be very useful in Washington.”

Monica’s smile widened and a mischievous glint flared in her eyes. “I’m
very
interested in discussing positions you think might be suited for me. I agree I’d be useful, and problem-solving is just one of my
many
talents.”

Dave’s face flushed and he nearly spit out his soup laughing. “I have no doubt. Are there any areas of the government you find particularly interesting?”

“The White House itself,” she immediately replied. “Surrounded by all that history
and
working in the Executive Branch’s nerve center. That would be amazing. But if you want to shove me away in the Department of Agriculture or something, I’d respectfully decline. No offense, but I’d rather work as a drug rep in Martinsburg than die of boredom.”

Dave leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Wow. You don’t beat around the bush or think small, do you?”

“What’s the point? You want my help to accomplish something important, I’ll be there with bells on. But if you just want me to fill a vacancy on the payroll, I’m not your girl.”

Dave chuckled. “Something tells me you and I will get along just fine.”

Monica cracked an easy grin. “I agree.”

CHAPTER 67

WEST VIRGINIA SUPREME COURT
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 11:02 A.M.

Sitting in a stately walnut chair in the West Virginia Supreme Court’s courtroom, Mack Palmer stared at his surroundings.

The carpet was dark red and the 30-foot-high ceiling consisted of rectangular stained glass openings. Five black leather chairs were positioned equidistantly behind the Court’s massive walnut bench that extended almost the entire 40-foot width of the room. The walls were slabs of white Vermont marble, and tall marble columns stood around the perimeter, positioned atop black Belgian marble bases and capped with Ionic volutes inlaid with gold leaf.

A much smaller table sat in front of the bench with a small lectern on it. Three walnut chairs sat on each side of the lectern, which served as the demarcation line for opposing lawyers arguing cases before the Court.

The intercom buzzed, jerking Palmer back to reality. Seated at a small desk beside the bench, the Court’s Clerk (a highly-regarded attorney himself) solemnly intoned, “The Justices of the Supreme Court of Appeals of West Virginia.”

On cue, four men and one woman in long black robes stepped into the chambers, passing through thick, 20-foot-high burgundy drapes behind the bench and solemnly took their seats.

“The first case on the docket this morning is Number 38916,” the Clerk announced. “State ex rel. Royal v. The Honorable Olivia Blackwell, Judge of the Circuit Court of Berkeley County. This case has been consolidated with Mr. Royal’s petitions appealing orders from the Circuit Court of Mercer County and the Circuit Court of Monongalia County, originally assigned Docket Numbers 38917 and 38918.”

Palmer stepped forward and placed his notes on the lectern while two other attorneys from his firm sat down to his left. Susan Mathis and her team took seats on the opposite side. Palmer adjusted the microphone, took a deep breath and raised his eyes.