Best Laid Plans (13 page)

“Come, sit down, Jolene. I know you’re upset, which is why I wanted to give you time before we talked about funeral arrangements.”

Keep it calm, motherly
, Adeline told herself as she started back down the hall. It would set Jolene off.

“No! You will have
nothing
to do with Daddy’s funeral. I want you out of this house. Out of my life! I know you did something. Daddy changed, something was bothering him. And I know it was you.”

Jolene was right about Harper being preoccupied. That bothered Adeline, but she’d checked all her ventures, and nothing had been compromised. The thing about the land—he hadn’t asked again. “Jolene, dear—”

“Don’t talk to me like you care!” Jolene followed Adeline to the library, neglecting to shut the front door. “This is
my
house,
my
home. You can’t be here.”

Jolene stared at the wine bottle. “That—that—that was my mom and Daddy’s anniversary wine. You—” Jolene grabbed the bottle. Wine sloshed out of the top. “How dare you! He’s dead and you’re drinking his wine?”

“Jolene,” Adeline said, “can I get you some water? Tea?”

“Get out of my house!”

“This is
my
house, Jolene. And you know it. Harper left the house to me.”

Jolene’s face scrunched up in pain. She’d of course known about the changes in Harper’s will. She’d been upset about the house because this was where she’d grown up, but then she married Dr. Scott Hayden, who had plenty of money and had apparently promised to build her a dream house, so she finally shut up about the changes to Harper’s will.

Jolene Ann Worthington Hayden, the prima donna princess who’d been given everything she’d ever wanted her entire life. She was the epitome of everything Adeline despised. She had a father who doted on her. A husband who worshipped her. If Jolene hadn’t been around, maybe Adeline and Harper would have had a better relationship. But Jolene was always interfering. Always that disapproving daughter, even when she
said
she was fine with the marriage. Harper had actually
asked
Jolene if it was okay to remarry! His wife had been dead for
fifteen years
and he’d asked his grown daughter if it was
okay?

“You manipulated him.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it. Harper always had the best lawyers. There will be no loophole you can wiggle through. If you’d been nicer to me, more supportive of my career and my marriage to your father, maybe I would have sold you this place.”

“It’s always been about money with you. You think I don’t know? That you married my daddy so you could use his money to run for office?”

Adeline was so angry that her eyes watered. She tamped down on the anger but let the tears come. “You never understood that I loved him. That I gave him pleasure. Happiness. He’d given up everything to raise you, and when he finally decided to do something for himself, to start dating again, to marry
me
, you couldn’t handle it. Your father
wanted
me to run for office. He encouraged me. And I had a very successful career in real estate. I brought plenty of money into this marriage.”

“Don’t you dare rewrite history now that Daddy can’t defend himself.”

Snot ran out of Jolene’s nose and she brushed it away with the back of her hand, like a child.

“I think you’d better leave,” Adeline said. “Before we both say things we regret.”

“I’m planning Daddy’s funeral. You can come, only because it’ll be expected. But I’m talking to Pastor Melton, and I’m planning the celebration of Daddy’s life, and you’ll stay the hell out of my way.” Jolene turned to leave.

From the corner of her eye, Adeline saw the lights coming down the drive. Of course the sheriff’s department would be fast; she was a federal official.

“No,” Adeline said. “I spent more time with Harper than you did in the eight years that we’ve been married. I will not allow you to take this away from me. Away from your father. You could never see beyond your selfish needs that your father was sick and tired of catering to you.”

Jolene turned back around at Adeline’s accusation. “That’s not true! How dare you!”

“Do you know how your father died?”

“A heart attack—which I’m sure you drove him to!”

“A heart attack? Perhaps. But he was screwing around with a prostitute. He was found with his pants down in a cheap motel room.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“So, the police haven’t spoken to you yet? Ask them. Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was. He wasn’t the man I thought he was.”

Jolene shook her head frantically, her jaw slack and trembling. “Daddy would never—”

“Men do, and your daddy was a man, Jolene. Suck it up, because it’s going to leak to the press.”

Jolene stepped forward. “How dare you—”

Adeline looked up at her stepdaughter. Tilted her head defiantly. “
I
certainly wouldn’t leak the information. Do you think I want everyone to know, especially in an election year, that your father was a pervert?”

Jolene raised her hand and noticed that the wine bottle was still in it. She screamed and lunged for Adeline. Adeline sidestepped her and knocked over the small end table. “Jolene! Stop!”

“Ma’am!” a deep male voice said. “Put the bottle down now.”

Jolene seemed stunned that two uniformed deputies ran into the room. “Ma’am, please,” one of them said.

Jolene looked at the bottle and at Adeline. “I hate you!” she screamed. She threw the bottle against the wall opposite Adeline, and it shattered, spraying wine in all directions. The two deputies immediately grabbed her. One handcuffed her, then ushered her out of the den. The other turned to Adeline. “Ma’am? Do you know that woman?”

She nodded, brushing away tears. “Yes. My stepdaughter. My husband died Friday night and Jolene—she is upset with me, with him.” She took a deep breath. “It’s about money. It’s always about money, isn’t it?” She feigned a dizzy spell and the deputy caught her and helped her sit in one of the plush armchairs. “Thank you, deputy,” she said with a half smile.

He said, “We’ll need a statement. Are you pressing charges?”

“I don’t know—I don’t want to. Can you call her husband? Or take her home? She’s grieving. I’m sure tomorrow she’ll regret everything.”

“Of course. We’ll make sure she gets home. I would suggest you have the codes and locks changed on the house, and make sure your security system is on, even when you’re home.”

“Yes. I hate to see Jolene come to this. I wanted us to be friends, that’s all I wanted after I married Harper, and she hates me.” Adeline put her head in her arms and sobbed.

The deputy took a few minutes to write up a statement, then called his supervisor with a report. Adeline smiled to herself when he characterized Jolene as hysterical. When he was finished, she thanked him for his prompt response and walked the deputy to the door. His partner was standing next to their car with Jolene in the backseat. Adeline closed the door and whispered, “Don’t mess with me, Jolene. I always win.”

As soon as the deputy’s drove off with Jolene, Adeline rushed over to her phone and called her campaign manager, Rob Garza. Other than Joseph, there was no one else she trusted, no one else who understood the many layers of her life.

“Rob, Jolene just attacked me at the house. Two Bexar County Sheriff deputies were here, saw everything, and are taking her home. Make sure the press gets a picture of her when she gets there. You have less than fifteen minutes to set this up. I want her completely discredited. I don’t think she knows anything about our side business—if she did, she would have spilled it tonight, because Lord knows I baited her—but if she does suspect anything, I don’t want anyone to believe her.”

“Consider it done,” Rob said.

*   *   *

As soon as blogger Gary Ackerman read that Harper Worthington was dead, he started to pack.

Somehow, they’d found out.

And they’d killed him to keep their secret.

Gary wasn’t certain who
they
were, but one of
them
was Harper’s wife, Adeline Reyes-Worthington.

Gary had tried to tell voters seven years ago that Adeline Reyes-Worthington was bad news, but they voted her in anyway. For a while, he’d become obsessed with proving that she had rigged her election, to the point where Adeline had gotten a restraining order against him.

He didn’t know
how
she did it, but she’d done it.

He’d stayed away from her because he didn’t want to go to prison. He’d be killed inside, because he knew too much. The Chinese were buying up the country with Obama’s blessing—and probably his help—and the Bushes had put their blue-blooded cronies in every corporation in the country. The unions benefitted their leadership more than the workers and Wall Street controlled the financial system to benefit the few. Someone high up in the government had assassinated Kennedy, and someone else high up in the government had tried to assassinate Reagan. Oswald and Hinckley were just scapegoats—part of the conspiracy, but not the leaders of the conspiracy.

Everything was tied together, a sick and twisted fist tightening its control over the hearts and minds of Americans. He told the truth on his blog every day, and he didn’t flinch from the hate mail. He got it from everyone—so-called conservatives who thought he was wrong about their golden child; so-called liberals who thought he was a racist because he didn’t praise the president; racists who thought all the problems were because of blacks/Hispanics/Jews. He despised them all. They didn’t understand that the root of all the evil in the world was the corruption of government on all levels. It was insidious. It was everywhere. And
they
would do everything they could to preserve their power and control.

He had proof. Harper Worthington was dead. The one respectable person who had actually
listened
to him was dead.

Gary hadn’t believed Harper when he first came to Gary two months ago. He thought Adeline had sent her husband to trick Gary into violating the restraining order so they could put him in prison where he would be killed. But Harper agreed to all of Gary’s rules: no Internet or cell phone communication (it was all monitored by the government); no meeting at Gary’s apartment (he had rented it under a false name); correspondence only through a mail drop. When they finally did meet, it was at a dive bar in a neighborhood without surveillance cameras.

Harper didn’t call him paranoid or weird like most people did. He listened to everything Gary had to say. Some of it, Gary could tell Harper didn’t believe, but he never once made Gary feel foolish. And when Gary told him about the history of suspicious land deals that his wife had been part of, Harper was very interested.

Except Gary had no proof. His strength was seeing patterns, and there was a pattern of land that had been bought and sold at above and below market prices. He didn’t know what it all meant. He’d written out a sheet of numbers and Harper had understood.

Finally, someone believed him. Harper said he would get to the bottom of what was going on.

And now Harper Worthington was dead.

Which meant
he
would be next.

For about two seconds he considered calling the FBI and telling them what he knew. Except the FBI was part of the government, and the government was all corrupt. How would he know if he got one of the good agents and not one of the bad agents? He’d read about the DEA agent who was working with the drug cartels. There were more. He didn’t know who they were. He didn’t want to die.

He had a safe place, out in the middle of nowhere. A one-room cabin completely off the grid with a year’s supply of water, food, and ammunition. That’s the only place he would be safe. He’d forget about Harper Worthington, forget about Adeline, and just survive.

Gary grabbed his bag and opened his door.

Almost before he could register that there was a man standing in the doorway, three bullets hit him in the chest.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DEA Agent Brad Donnelly hated desk duty, but his doctor hadn’t cleared him for the field. He was lucky to have been allowed to work at all considering he’d been tortured and nearly killed by a high-ranking member of a small but violent drug cartel. Most of the crew was dead and Brad had survived, so he’d take the pain and move on with his life.

He was ready to go back full-time, but his body wasn’t cooperating. His knee had been shattered. Surgery had replaced the knee, but running was still difficult, and after a full day working, he limped. His physical therapist told him he was making great progress, but it didn’t feel like it to him. It had been nine weeks.

But he came in early every day because he met with his trainer at 5:00
A.M.
, five days a week, in the hopes that diligence and hard work would bring his body back to top form. By seven Monday morning he was showered, dressed, and sitting at his desk reviewing the work of his field agents, itching to join them. Today, his direct line was ringing before he even sat down.