THREE MONTHS LATER
“Welcome back!”
Mac and Annabel stood at the door to their apartment in the Watergate, hands outstretched to Jayla King and Nate Cousins, who’d just returned from Papua New Guinea.
“It’s good to be back,” Jayla said.
She and Cousins had traveled together to Port Moresby where Jayla took care of legal matters with her attorney, Elgin Taylor. Her father’s house had been sold; the buyer intended to turn the laboratory into a small apartment for an aging relative. Jayla had wanted to pay one last visit to the Sepik River region where her father had planted and cultivated the native plants used in his quest for a better painkiller. The trip had provided Jayla with closure; she’d taken her father’s ashes with them and sprinkled them over the plot of land that had meant so much to him. For Cousins, the Sepik River and its lush, forbidding jungle and primitive natives was an eye-opening experience into a culture that existed for him only in movies and National Geographic.
Shortly after they’d arrived at the Watergate, Brixton and Flo showed up. The occasion was a brunch that the Smiths had put together for the returning couple.
“Congratulations,” Flo said when she and Brixton joined the others on the balcony, referring to the news that Cousins had proposed marriage and that Jayla had accepted.
“Have you set a date?” Mac asked.
“We haven’t had time to even think about dates,” Cousins said.
“We have another bit of news to share with you,” Jayla said.
All eyes went to her.
“I’m leaving Renewal Pharmaceuticals.”
“When did you decide that?” Annabel asked.
“I’d been thinking about it ever since my father died. Walt Milkin—he’s CEO of Renewal—made up my mind for me. He’s a very intelligent man, no question about that. But when he threatened to cancel the contract with Nate’s PR agency unless Nate delivered my father’s work to him, I decided that he’s not a very nice man.” She turned to Brixton. “But you are a very nice man,” she said, coming to where he sat and kissing his cheek.
“Robert doesn’t handle compliments well,” Flo quipped.
“That’s because I’m not used to getting them from one unnamed lady.”
“Oh, poor baby,” Flo said, planting a kiss where Jayla had. “I agree with Jayla. You are a very nice man—most of the time.”
“You saved our lives,” Jayla said.
“Nothing to it,” Brixton said in his best modest voice. “Waksit wasn’t about to kill anybody. He was a pussycat.”
“Speaking of Mr. Waksit,” Mac said, “I spoke with his attorney today here in Washington, an old friend. I also spoke yesterday with Jayla’s attorney, Elgin Taylor, in Port Moresby. He told me of your visit to him, Jayla, and how impressed he was with your demeanor while dealing with so many unpleasant events.”
“I spread my father’s ashes, the way he would have wanted me to.”
“So he said. He also told me that it’s the opinion of the local police investigating your father’s murder that the fellow who torched and bulldozed your dad’s property in Sepik, and who killed your father’s native helper, Mr. Tagobe, also killed your dad. His name was Underwood, Paul Underwood if I have it right. Underwood allegedly hanged himself in his cell where he was being held in the Tagobe murder. The police don’t necessarily buy that he took his own life, but they don’t have solid evidence to the contrary. It’s their belief that he was killed by whoever he was working for to keep him quiet.”
“Alard Associates,” Brixton said.
“Evidently so,” Mac said. “Speaking of Alard Associates, the Justice Department, working in conjunction with the local police, has brought criminal charges against Alard Associates and its namesake, George Alard. He was taken into custody yesterday. They’re charging him in the Morrison murder. The hit man who knocked out Robert and used his gun to kill Morrison has been apprehended and confessed, and has implicated Alard as the person who ordered the hit.”
The conversation shifted subjects as Annabel and Mac laid out the brunch spread—salmon with capers and onion, bagels, cold cuts, with cups of lobster bisque as a starter. It was over dessert that Eugene Waksit was again mentioned.
“You said earlier that you’d spoken with Eugene’s attorney here in D.C.,” Jayla said to Mac.
“That’s right. He’s been charged with attempted murder, physical assault, and a variety of other things connected with having held you and Flo at knifepoint.”
“He’s sick,” Jalya said.
“That gives him a pass,” Brixton said. “We’re too quick to label bad people as sick. Dr. Fowler says that—”
“Who?” Annabel asked.
“Just a friend of mine,” Brixton quickly said. “He agrees with me. Besides, the people back in Papua New Guinea don’t know for sure that this Underwood character killed your father. “It still might have been Waksit.”
“He admitted that he stole my father’s research,” Jayla said, “but he swears he didn’t commit murder.”
“That’s right,” Mac said. “According to his attorney Waksit claims that he came into your father’s lab minutes after he’d been stabbed to death, and that his arrival scared off the killer before he could steal anything. Waksit also says that he tried to help your father but that he died almost immediately.”
“A nice story,” Brixton said.
“One that I tend to believe,” said Jayla. “I don’t carry any brief for Eugene, but I don’t think he’s a murderer.”
“What about what he almost did to you and Flo?” Brixton asked.
“I think he panicked,” Jayla said, “that’s all. I don’t think he intended to do us any harm. All he wanted was that ridiculous letter he had me type. My father never willed him the research. That was his fantasy, part of his mental illness.”
“If you say so,” Brixton said.
“What about your father’s research?” Annabel asked. “Now that you’re leaving your present job will you be taking it with you to wherever you land a new one?”
Jayla looked to Cousins to respond.
“I’ve just signed up a new pharmaceutical client that’s interested in what Jayla’s father managed to come up with in his lab. I’ve discussed with them carrying that research to its next level, and I think they’ll agree to that, along with hiring Jayla to spearhead the research.”
“I’ve already spoken with Mac about drafting an employment agreement giving me a fair share of the profits from whatever commercially viable painkiller comes out of it,” Jayla said. “It may not amount to anything but it will be exciting to be furthering what my dad had accomplished before he died.”
Because it was Washington, D.C., talk eventually turned to politics.
“What do you think of the news about Senator Gillespie?” Flo asked.
“No surprise,” Brixton said. “His run for reelection was dead in the water before it ever started.”
“I mean about him joining that K Street lobbying group,” Flo added.
“At least it wasn’t Morrison’s,” Mac said.
“Business as usual in our nation’s capital,” Brixton grumbled.
“Robert should go to work for the Chamber of Commerce,” Flo said, and they all laughed.
An hour later, after everyone had left, Mac and Annabel enjoyed an hour of solitude on their balcony.
“Robert’s been seeing a psychologist,” Mac said casually.
“Really? It doesn’t seem to have changed him. He’s still as cynical as ever.”
“No, I see some subtle changes in him. I hope he continues seeing whoever it is. He’s been through a lot the past couple of years. I think seeing a shrink is a good decision.”
Annabel agreed, then said, “I’m pleased for Jayla and Nate. They make a nice couple.” She laughed. “Do you think that if Robert continues to see this psychologist he’ll pop the question to Flo?”
“They make a nice couple, too,” was Mac’s answer. “So do we.”
* * *
“Are you and Flo still talking about getting married?” Dr. John Bradford Fowler asked Brixton weeks later when Brixton sat in his office.
“Yeah, now and then,” Brixton said. “Do you think we should?”
Fowler laughed. “That’s not for me to say, Robert. It’s just that you’ve been saying especially nice things about her lately.”
“Like I said, I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Life is short, Robert,” Fowler said.
They spent the rest of the session discussing Brixton’s feelings about marrying Flo and about marriage in general. When time was up, Brixton made another appointment before leaving, stopped at a florist and bought bouquets for Flo and Mrs. Warden, delivered Flo’s flowers to Flo’s Fashions, and went to his office, where he handed the other bouquet to Mrs. Warden.
“That is so sweet,” she said, getting up from her desk chair and kissing his cheek.
“Yeah, well, life is short, Mrs. Warden. We have to remember that.”