Chapter 27

Sam was waiting at the gate to take us home as ordered. Silently, Julie and Zander piled in after me, apparently shocked senseless by their recent violent experience. Chaos takes time to process, but I was proud of how they’d held up.

When the limo finally deposited us on our doorstep, Magda was there, helping EG string popcorn around a tree blinking in lopsided glory. The domestic scene, alone, after the gun violence was sufficient to push me into overload. Mallard hanging tinsel had me toppling in shock.

I grabbed a wall, and our little family waved in welcome. Shaking my head to clear it, I followed the twins and staggered toward the stairs and showers.

At that point, I really didn’t care what Laura Jeffrey had to do with a wife-beating killer, a bunch of AGA thugs, and Arden’s board of directors. It would no doubt make more sense when I read the police reports in the morning. For now, I was home, my family was safe, and Graham was landing his damned helicopter in his private heliport. I hugged safety around me like a cozy sweater and abandoned the outside world.

Graham didn’t come down for dinner, but he sent me Arden’s hospital report. Our favorite preacher was recovering after having his stomach pumped for poison. Nurses reported that Laura Jeffrey had arrived during lunch and had been the last person to see him before me. Josh had cleared me because he’d eaten nothing while I was around—I do that to people.

The police had Laura in custody, but she would be encircled by lawyers.

One could hope Arden would finally report everything he suspected about people he could no longer trust, but I wasn’t holding my breath. He was probably praying for them. If he’d reported his suspicions earlier, Melissa might still be alive.

Nick and Patra came over to celebrate with us—and to collect information the media didn’t have yet.

“What will happen to Jesus World?” Patra asked, not out of any concern for the park and its supporters but planning her next story. I knew my sister well.

Magda actually sat at the table with us. With a nonchalant wave, she answered with assurance, “Arden’s followers will be praying for God’s will. That should provide all the funding he needs to rebuild.”

Yeah, she’d probably have the CIA secretly fund overseas schools. I gave her the stink eye but kept my mouth shut. My concern was for Julie, who was looking intensely thoughtful. I had about decided that was a dangerous thing.

After dinner, we carried our drinks to the parlor, much to Mallard’s immense dismay, and admired our first family Christmas tree. EG insisted on carols. We didn’t know any. Julie gallantly sang some South African hymns. We bumbled through “Jingle Bells.” I pried EG away from package sorting, and called it a night. That was enough family togetherness even for me.

Finally, I was able to take the hidden stairs from the room next to mine up to Graham’s lair to see what he was doing. To one side of the wall his monitors displayed the park, but it was too dark and potentially dangerous for the cops to explore it tonight if there were any more booby-traps than the ones on the fence. They’d installed lights and guards and had the place under surveillance.

Graham had some new activity rolling across the other screens. I wasn’t interested.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind and leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He hit his keyboard and changed the monitors. One showed Julie slipping outside to meet Lucas in the barren grape arbor behind the mansion. . .

“I knew you’d have the arbor bugged,” I complained, switching off that screen. “Leave her be. She’s old enough to make her own bad choices.”

“He’s not bad, just inexperienced. Your sister is the crazy. Once you give her her share of the money, she’ll give it away, probably to Arden.”

“Her choice. It’s allowed. EG and Tudor are the only ones who need real guardians right now. I can handle that.”

He snorted. “You haven’t a clue what Tudor is into. And EG will be worse in a few years.”

EG was pretty bad now, so I didn’t argue. “I just need to steer them down the right paths. It will be easier here than wandering the back roads of the Middle East.” As our small family had done in Magda’s misbegotten youth went unsaid.

He couldn’t argue that either. “Keep an eye on Magda.”

My turn to snort. “Like that’s happening in our lifetimes. I’m guessing she won’t stay long enough to enjoy a gift of wine. So I bought her a red emergency phone with all our numbers in it, and I’m giving the phone number to the kids for Christmas.”

He chuckled. “You’re mean. Did you buy Mallard his wine?”

I nibbled Graham’s ear lobe before answering. “I bought him shares in his favorite Irish pub. He’ll be paying himself when he runs up his tab.”

Graham stood abruptly, grabbed my waist, and pulled me hard against his hips. The heat of his kiss was worth the aggravation of dealing with his insanity.

On the night before Christmas Eve, Julie waited until the house settled down, and carried her stack of presents downstairs. She was still a little uncertain of her place in the family, but she enjoyed gift giving.

To her surprise, their mother was sitting in the ugly Morris chair, sipping a glass of wine and watching the lights on the tree. She looked up with a smile as Julie set her colorful stack on the floor. In the dim light, lines of weariness formed around Magda’s mouth and eyes, but her sleek blond hair was as elegantly styled as her ensemble of form-fitting red sweater and wool slacks.

“I am glad we had this chance to meet,” Magda said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry far. “Your father would be so very proud of the two of you.”

Delighted with this opportunity to know her mother better, Julie sat cross-legged at her feet. “We’ve always understood that you and Father had a higher calling. I’m not sure I’ve found mine yet, but I hope it is one that will allow me to visit often with family. I feel accepted here as I do not always elsewhere.”

Magda laughed softly. “You were all born with rebel genes and excellent brains. You will never fit in with flocks of sheep. The world needs more people like us. But you will find unique friends who will be as close as family someday.”

Julie nodded. “I think this is so. Where do you go from here?”

“It’s best if you do not know. But Ana will be distributing your funds soon, so you may travel where you will. Let your brother handle your money so you never go hungry. When I was your age, I didn’t realize how harmful poverty could be, and Ana and Nick suffered for it. Keep enough to care for your children.”

“I do not know if I shall have children, but you are correct. I should keep emergency funds. Our father would hope that we would always have a home for you, should you need one.”

Magda leaned over and patted her cheek. “Ana would argue with that, and rightly so. I am dangerous, but I appreciate your compassionate heart. You inherit that from your father’s side of the family. Have children. Create your own dynasty and save the future. But for now, go on back to bed. EG is up in her room, plotting our entire weekend. You will need your rest.”

Julie did as told, fearing her mother was saying good-bye. She did not completely regret losing a chance to know her better. In her own odd way, Magda had given a legend to all her children, so she was always present wherever her family was gathered.

After a day of EG’s idea of a family Christmas Eve—visits to the White House lawn to see a real Christmas tree, more shopping with carolers, hot cider, and of course, watching A Christmas Carol production—I was wiped.

But I’d finally finished my Santa shopping and, with everyone in bed, I needed to fill EG’s stocking. She’d found an enormous red furry one and added more glitter to the glittery stars already there. The stocking was large enough to hold a library. I added books and a paint set and some chocolates and still had room left over.

I stopped to admire the tree before turning off the lights. Among the branches, I found a new ornament—a tiny crystal cherub with a gold base. Curious, I turned it over. On the base was inscribed: In memoriam, Anthony Hostetter, 1991. Magda must have hung it there.

Anthony was my baby brother, the one I couldn’t save from bombs. Apparently, Magda hadn’t forgotten that painful time, although she’d divorced Anthony’s father shortly thereafter and moved on with her life—to Africa, to be precise. I’d never forgiven Magda for the baby’s death. Maybe it was time.

Distracting myself, I watched the snow starting to fall out the front window, coating the historic street lamps and creating a Victorian panorama.

I gave the stacks of gifts beneath the tree one more glance and frowned. They’d been rearranged. I sat down to examine tags, like the child I’d never been. Nick and Patra had been smuggling in gifts from their respective abodes, so the stack was acquiring mountainous dimensions. They’d promised to show up early in the morning to watch EG tackle the motherlode. I didn’t have to shake the box labeled from Nick to me. I knew it would be clothes. I just prayed they were something I dared wear.

Then I noticed that the gift I’d wrapped in elaborate velvet and gold for Magda wasn’t there. I shoved larger packages aside but the square phone box had vanished—and so had all the other packages addressed to her.

She was gone.

At least she’d taken her gifts with her.

I can’t say that I felt surprise or even sadness, except for EG and the twins, who would have liked pretending they had a real mother. But it was hard to miss what you’d never had. I’d long ago accepted that—whatever her reasoning—Magda loved having children. She took pride in our achievements. She simply didn’t have the patience for tending us.

I didn’t know if her departure meant I’d won Patra’s wager and got to keep my fake Birkin bag or not. Our mother hadn’t overwhelmed us with extravagant gifts to make us look like pikers, then run. Instead, she’d left each of us identical, small, rectangular packages.

I opened mine just to be certain it wouldn’t explode.

Inside was a box from a leather store. Gingerly, I lifted the lid. A sleek black leather case larger than a wallet but smaller than a clutch lay nestled in protective paper. An emblem of some sort was embossed into one brass-protected corner. The case snapped together on nearly invisible edges. It looked like an extremely expensive day planner, which would be typical of Magda’s non-technical mindset. But I was pretty certain it wasn’t a calendar.

I unsnapped the case, and with one finger, lifted the top edge.

A photo of my father, Magda, and me as a toddler stared back at me. I studied it for a long time. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Brody Devlin’s image, although, since I recognized his devastatingly handsome face and daredevil smile, I must have seen photos at some time. I was only four when he died. Could I be remembering him from all those years ago? I had no childhood scrapbooks to call up memories, but this image of me with long black hair and a fringe across my brow was unmistakable. I didn’t look particularly happy to be posing, but I was wearing a frilly dress and hair bows. That would make anyone frown.

I turned the vinyl page and found a photo of Nick and me next. He was probably two, so I must have been seven. He was a grinning golden-haired imp in cute overall shorts. I was a scowling, black-haired guard dog in torn denim.

I don’t know where Magda had found these photos, but I was misty-eyed by the time I flipped through images of me with my siblings at different ages. There was even one of the twins playing with a lion cub while I stood to one side, holding a big stick. She’d chosen photos that displayed all my best and worst traits. I wanted to hate her for understanding me so well.

But she’d gone to a lot of work to prove she cared.

Shattered, wiping back tears, I wrapped the box back up again and returned it beneath the tree. I might have to order everyone to save Magda’s gifts for last or we’d all weep through our first Christmas together.

I turned off the lights and trudged upstairs. Graham met me in my room. Graham never showed himself in public spaces below his attic level. I would have been worried, except he held out his arms as he never had before. It was all the encouragement I needed. I fell into them, weeping. I never cry. It’s a policy of mine. But for just this moment of weakness, I poured like a teapot.

He held me against his muscled chest until I recovered.

“Like Max, and you, she hides the soft bits,” he murmured.

“And maybe, like you,” I suggested, wiping my eyes.

“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” he said dryly.

He led me up the secret stairs to his war office, where he punched a few keys and set up a video on his biggest monitor. When he pushed the forward button, I knew this was a recording, not real time. The camera view of Jesus World being lit by police lights unfolded.

The police and feds had been busy over the past few days while I hadn’t been watching. There were now gaping ditches and construction equipment everywhere.

I knew from Graham’s missives that, so far, the police and the feds had dismantled strategically planted IEDs under fence posts and uncovered stashes of weapons and explosives, all in GenDef crates. The entire park was riddled with hiding places.

The complete paper trail didn’t exist yet, but forensic accountants were working on it. They already knew that George Paycock the Embezzler had been siphoning General Defense’s funds into the park. The feds had been assuming he was stealing money, but the motive was no longer as clear as they’d believed. With Zander’s and Graham’s help, the authorities were far down the trail of proving the park board had been transferring the stolen funds to Paul Rose contributors, who then gave it to Rose PACs.

GenDef was essentially buying themselves a presidential candidate who would support more wars and promise not to ban guns, thereby assuring their existence for another millennium or two.

But along with funds, the park board had also been accepting, and concealing, shipments of weapons, with the aid of Gregory’s construction company.

Tony Jeffrey was on the park board and had to be aware of what was happening. Laura Jeffrey hadn’t been a director, and she was claiming the shipments were perfectly legitimate from the company’s end. But either she was lying or Georgie had been shipping weapons even after his death. And that didn’t even touch on the illegality of unlicensed weapon caches.

Now that the police had enough evidence to convict Laura of poisoning Arden and shooting Melissa—she’d kept the gun she’d used in her bedroom drawer—they weren’t much inclined to believe her protestations of innocence. Tony had lawyered up. We weren’t hearing much from him.

“They’ve found shipping manifests,” Graham said, halting the film to show the peaceful park in a light layer of this evening’s fresh snow. “The weapons and explosives were leaving GenDef’s warehouse as defective materials scheduled for recycling. The park has no record of receiving them, but enough of Julie’s film shows trucks arriving at night, after the gates were secured.”

“Gregory allowed them in the back gate, where there were no security cameras,” I suggested. “They didn’t know about Julie’s cameras. They stored the weapons—for what?”

“Some of them went to domestic paramilitary wingnuts willing to pay outlandish prices for arsenals to save them from our own government. The majority, however, appear to have ultimately been sold at hugely inflated prices on the world market, to terrorists on the banned list. GenDef more than covered the donations they made to the park.”

“Then George Paycock started blackmailing Laura?” I guessed.

“Eventually,” he agreed. “They’ve finally found a bullet in the foundation where they found George. It matches Laura’s gun—not enough for conviction but telling.”

“What about Esther and the other guy buried there?”

“Owen was working on the underground bunkers. We found texts on his phone asking his boss pointed questions. Gregory claims he forwarded those questions to the board, and his phone reflects that.”

“So we’ll never know who killed Owen and Esther unless someone confesses?” I kept staring uneasily at the peaceful park scene on the monitor, looking for answers.

“George Paycock was Laura’s lover,” he said baldly. “We have evidence and witnesses.”

“Uh oh.” I sighed and leaned back against him. “The plot thickens. Laura got tired of George and found someone new. George started blackmailing her about the weapons.”

He nodded against my head. “Among other things. But while they were still happily together, they discussed the problem of Owen being too smart for his own good.”

“So Paycock promised to answer questions and met with him at the back of the park, out of sight of the cameras. Shoving Owen over the brink of one of those holes could have broken his neck.” I hated having an imagination. I could almost visualize the whole scenario.

“That’s the most likely story. We have evidence that George was Laura’s go-to guy for anything she needed done, but I don’t know if we can pin Owen’s death directly to her.”

No wonder I had more bodies than suspects if the killers started killing each other. “Owen may have talked about the bunkers with Melissa, who could have said something to Arden.”

“She was a particularly clueless young woman, but you’re right, she told Arden. He’s starting to talk. He could turn out to be a key witness,” Graham said. “Ed Parker swears he was merely supporting Melissa’s art and knows nothing of anything, but they’ve searched his hunting lodge and found more crates of weapons. He might not have killed anyone, but he knew what the board was doing. He’ll talk too.”

“By eliminating Owen, and passing Melissa on to Ed, who may actually be supporting her career. . .” I pondered that, decided my head might explode, and gave it up. “Without Owen, Melissa shut up, and Arden wrote her off as just another crazy who disappeared from his radar. Cover-up continues as planned. But then Georgie got greedy, right?”

“Keeping both a wife and two mistresses is expensive,” Graham said, hugging me tighter. “He wanted a bigger cut. Laura probably broke off any relations with him when she learned about Esther. But what really undid him—and Laura was spitting mad when she told this—was that Esther learned about his embezzling. When she and George had a fight, Esther reported it to Arden. Laura says Arden told her he’d been praying over what he should do.”

“Which was why Esther had to disappear.” I groaned at Arden’s idiocy and Laura’s arrogance in believing what she wanted was more important than the lives of others. “I don’t suppose she would also admit to killing her?”

I leaned into Graham, waiting for the moment he started playing the park video again. The falling snow frozen on the screen said the film had been taken this evening. I already knew I wouldn’t like whatever he was building up to.

“The DNA report verified the woman buried in the same area as George was Esther, but her wounds were from a different size gun. They found some of George’s DNA beneath her fingernails. My assumption is that once Laura heard that Esther had revealed the embezzling, she would have told George to get rid of her. With Owen’s successful murder under his belt, there was nothing to stop George from ending the problem of an expensive mistress and snitch in the same way. The police are going over Esther’s phone records and possessions now that we have ID, but we probably don’t have a case against Laura there.”

I shuddered. “George had his lover dumped in the park, then Laura did the same to him? Not very creative of her.”

“He’d already been accused of embezzling. He had become a liability who could easily have spilled her involvement. With him gone, she could persuade her father to let her take over his position, eliminating the middle man.”

“And then Arden started asking questions, finally and at long last. The man is just too dumb or too trusting, I can’t decide which.”

“Whatever, he’s not of our world.”

Amen, I thought, before asking, “What about the yahoo who tried to strong-arm me at the hospital? Wasn’t he Gregory’s employee, not Laura’s?”

“But he was working under orders from GenDef. He was their security guard at the gate. He just had Gregory’s ID tag. Gregory might be abusive scum and willing to take money under the table and turn a blind eye, but the board—and his mother—kept him out of everything else.”

“Mrs. Overcamp? Just exactly what part did she play?” I liked snuggling. I liked that he was talking instead of simply sending me police reports. I was willing to postpone the inevitable all night.

“She’s been an ardent Arden supporter for years and probably the person he trusted most. If she told him not to worry his pretty little head, he believed her. She helped choose the photogenic candidates. The photos Julie found in the trailer were Overcamp’s—she was once a professional photographer. Some of the men admitted she used the photos for a little discreet blackmail.”

“Wow, and I suppose all in the name of Josh Arden and his holy mission. I almost like it,” I said in admiration. “The rich sleaze balls had to pay for their sins.”

He snorted at my interpretation of blackmail and continued. “She kept the construction company books. She knew if the students played their parts right, donations poured into the park, so she doled out the concert tickets and party invitations to those who played their part best. She had all the links to the board’s wrongdoing right in front of her, but we have no proof that she understood anything beyond the money keeping the construction company and the park alive.”

“She understood enough to bug Julie’s phone,” I pointed out. “She knew her son’s history of violence. She’s no innocent, but she’s probably not a murderer. How did Tony’s bodyguards get involved in shooting Arden?”

“Laura had her father hire the bodyguards so she had someone to do her bidding after George was gone. They’re blabbing everything they know to lessen their sentences. She told the guards to get rid of Arden, and when they failed, she sent them after the witnesses. Julie’s friends would probably have been killed and framed for Arden’s shooting. Laura’s attorneys are claiming their client is under the care of physicians who prescribed the wrong medications.”

I snuggled into his arms and closed my eyes. “Who’s to say that arrogance isn’t a mental illness? Allowing too much power into the hands of a few leads to Caligula.”

He chuckled. “Only you could make that leap of judgment.”

“I’ll wait for the newspapers to explain all the connections. Show me what you want to show me and then let’s go to bed. EG will be up before dawn.”

He held an arm around my waist as he pressed a remote. The park film flickered to life. Snow fell on the Ferris wheel and dinosaur skeletons and coated evergreens and tree limbs. A police security guard climbed into his car and drove away, heading in the direction of the market coffee house. Couldn’t blame him there. It was Christmas Eve, and he had a boring job on a cold night.

The security lights flickered and died.

“Pulled the plug, did she?” I asked in resignation.

Graham hugged me tighter and said nothing. The film was short. One moment, the park was peaceful and dark. In the next, small strategic fires developed simultaneously near all the weapons bunkers. The feds had still been inventorying the arsenal and hadn’t moved them all.

The bunkers, predictably, exploded.

“Timing devices?” I suggested wearily.

“No other way.” He clicked off the film as sirens sounded and flashing red-and-blue police lights lit the screen.

“Magda or Laura?” I asked cynically. They were both capable. Arden sure knew how to pick them.

Graham hit the keyboard and set another film rolling. Miraculously, he’d turned off all his other monitors so I only had to concentrate on one. It showed the exterior of General Defense’s warehouse. A corner street light revealed flapping yellow police tape cordoning off the entrance.

A second later, the roof blew off the warehouse in a pyrotechnical display to rival anything the National Mall produced on the Fourth of July.

“Nice. Another weapon manufactory down the drain, and suspicion falls on the murdering arms dealer covering up evidence. Magda wins again. Can we go to bed now?”

I had no proof that my mother had blown up the factory as a Christmas gift to herself, but I could almost bet my fortune on it.

“General Defense was the company our fathers were dealing with,” Graham said softly. “They’ve always been assassins and double-dealers.”

“There is always someone to take their place. She’s accomplished nothing,” I argued angrily. “Don’t get me started.”

“Okay, I won’t, not on this, at least. Want to unwrap another gift?”

I punched him for spying on me, then wrapped my arms around his neck. Ours isn’t a perfect relationship, but it works for us.