Grace Interrupted (32 page)

“What?” I asked. “This was his idea?”

“No,” Davey said quickly. “It was always about doing the right thing. Always about working for the greater good. About putting others first. He talked a lot about dying an honorable death. He knew how upset I was about Jack being arrested. He knew how much it meant to me to clear Jack’s name. Pierpont wasn’t trying to get me to take the blame for Zachary’s murder for his sake . . .” He looked at me with dread in his eyes. “Was he?”

When the Embers men and police escort made it to our position, I saw an expression on Jack’s face I’d never seen before. He stayed as far from his father as possible and wouldn’t make eye contact with the man, even as Gordon reached out to embrace Davey. “I’m so sorry, son,” he said pressing his face into Davey’s shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

They broke apart, Davey looking miserably conspicuous, and Gordon trying without success to keep his emotions in check. He lowered himself to the ground and dropped his head into his hands.

Jack exchanged a look with Keith and walked away.

Tank took control immediately, frisking Davey. When she came up empty, she asked, “Where’s the gun?”

I was about to answer that I had it when Gordon cried out. He clutched his chest, falling forward, gasping for air. Tank was next to him in a moment, crouching low, issuing orders. To the uniforms: “Get help. They must have a medic here. You,” she pointed to another cop, “call for an ambulance.” She loosened Gordon’s collar as she barked her commands. Two of the officers ran off.

“There is a medic,” I said. “I know what he looks like. I’ll go.”

I ran off before anyone could stop me, racing up the hill yet again. The gun bounced against my inner thigh and as I made it to the top of the rise I saw Frances hurrying my way. Having changed into her hoop-skirted gown, she reminded me of a bell, tolling with every step she took.

“Frances,” I said, “I’m so glad to see you.” The surprise on her face was probably very similar to mine. I never would have expected to be saying those words. “Gordon Embers is having a heart attack. Down where Zachary was killed. Where’s the medic?”

“He went to the election,” she said. “Come on, I’ll show you where I saw him.”

Frances couldn’t run as fast as I could, so I reluctantly slowed my pace and hoped the uniformed officer had already found the doctor and that they were on the return trip. No way to count on that, however. I pressed on.

Holding her skirt up as she tried to keep pace, Frances asked, “What happened down there?”

“Should you be running?”

“It’s cool out now. I’m fine. What happened?” she asked again.

“Too much to explain.”

We kept running and had just made it to the edge of the gathering when sirens blared behind us. Everyone stopped what they were doing, turning to see what was going on. An ambulance bounded over the far hill and bounced along the rough terrain following the path the coroner’s van had taken less than a week ago. I hoped that wasn’t a bad omen.

“That was fast,” I said.

I heard a woman murmur, “What’s going on?”

“No idea,” her husband said. “Pierpont will know.” He turned toward the stage. “Hey, Pierpont!”

“They’ve kept an ambulance on-site all day today,” Frances told me. “The doctor got very chatty while I was in there with him. He said that over the years they’ve learned to anticipate a few emergencies when the partying gets out of hand on the last night.”

“Lucky for Gordon,” I said.

“What was he doing here anyway?” she asked.

I was about to answer, but Pierpont had stepped onto the makeshift stage. “What was the question?” he asked into a microphone.

“A microphone?” I asked. “They must have some sort of generator. I’m surprised Pierpont’s using it.”

“Once the election is over they can officially return to the twenty-first century with all its wonders,” Frances said. “Pierpont’s rule.”

“Convenient.”

We were within five feet of the stage, but Pierpont didn’t see us. He was gazing out over the crowd, one hand up, answering the man’s query. “Everything is under control,” he said. “One of our visitors didn’t leave at the prescribed time and suffered an unfortunate accident, but the local authorities are handling it. Nothing we need to be concerned about.”

Frances gave me a skeptical look. “He’s making that up, isn’t he? He has no idea what’s going on over there.”

As she spoke, I thought about Pierpont’s assertion about the back gate having been left unlocked the night of the murder, and it being mysteriously secure when the police checked it out. “I bet that’s not all he made up,” I said. I hadn’t shared my suspicions with anyone, and I had no intention of confronting Pierpont myself. With him onstage addressing his troops, I felt safe. As soon as this event was over, however, I planned to share everything I’d learned about Pierpont with Tank. I was about to start back, intent on talking with her, when Pierpont’s speech stopped me.

“Thank you all for your support,” the little man was saying, “especially in the wake of all the unpleasantness we experienced this week. Additionally, I’m sorry that my friend Jim Florian had to give up his candidacy. That was a very moving speech you gave, Jim.” He sent a meaningful glance to his right, where Jim Florian leaned sloppily against the stage, looking wretched and very drunk. Addressing the crowd again, Pierpont said, “Jim would have made an excellent general. His father and I were friends from way back when and I remember watching Jim grow up, go to college, and get his great job at NASA.”

Pierpont sent another meaningful glance toward Florian, who was attempting to right himself. He scratched the back of his head, took a few shaky steps away from the stage, then stopped. Nodding to no one in particular, he turned back.

Pierpont continued to address the audience. “The truth is, with our Gettysburg event coming up next month, I’m particularly delighted to remain in the position of general . . .”

With drunken determination, Florian boosted himself onto the stage. “Now just you wait a minute,” he said.

Pierpont stuttered as Florian advanced. He sent a panicked look toward the crowd. “Another round of applause for Jim, everyone?”

The audience complied. Florian turned, blinking at the burst of noise, then shook off his confusion and yanked the microphone out of Pierpont’s hand.

“Somethin’ I forgot to add . . .” he said.

Pierpont reached to grab it back. “Maybe later, Jim.”

Dulled reflexes notwithstanding, Jim lifted the microphone out of Pierpont’s reach, grinning. “Uh-uh,” he said, “my turn, shorty.”

The look on Pierpont’s face sent a chill up the back of my neck. Unable to drag my attention away, I whispered to Frances, “This could get ugly.”

She nodded.

Catcalls ranging from: “Sit down, Florian!” to “Had enough to drink?” bubbled up from the audience. He ignored them.

Waving a finger, he said, “Here’s what you all
don’t
know. I didn’t step down from the election because I wanted to . . . Oh no.”

Pierpont made another lunge for the mic, but Florian stumbled sideways, keeping it out of the other man’s reach. He stepped up to the very edge of the stage and I worried he might pitch forward, but he seemed to be looking out, searching. “Any of you got kids still hanging around, you better take them back to your tent.”

Nobody moved.

“I mean it,” he shouted, making us wince. “This isn’t going to be a PG-rated show. Not tonight.” Backing up to the middle of the stage, he chuckled to himself. “Pretty funny, huh? PG?” He pointed to Pierpont. “Nobody in the Civil War would have heard about PG. That would be
farby
.” He elongated the word. “And old Pierpont over there is probably having a hissy fit right now. But you all notice how it’s okay we have a microphone here tonight? How come? Because it suits the little general’s pursp . . . pruspi . . . purposes.” He shrugged. “You know what I mean.” He cupped his eyes. “Now get the kids out of here.”

Some of the parents, looking confused, complied.

Apoplectic, Pierpont started toward Florian again, but Hennessey had come up behind him and grabbed Pierpont by the arm. From where we stood it looked like Hennessey said, “Let him talk.”

Pierpont continued to struggle. I hoped Hennessey held on for the rest of the night.

“Okay, so here it is, folks,” Florian said. He pointed to Pierpont. “I hate that guy. Probably even more than the rest of you do. Know why? Not because I can’t have a cooler in my tent. Nope. Something bigger. Waaay bigger. He made me step down.” Nodding, slurring his words, he went on. “Blackmail. Yep. You heard right. Mr. Dictator knows how much you all deps . . . dssip . . . despise him. Knows it full well and knew his days were numbered. That’s why he wanted me to be the new general. So I would be the face, but he would still be in power. You understand this yet?”

I was beginning to.

“But when he found out I was planning to relax the rules from his dictatorial standards, he took it all back. Told me I had to give up.”

The crowd had gone utterly silent.

“And I did. Because of what he was holding over me.” Florian stared out, looking morose. “But not anymore. Nope. I’m here to tell you that I lied. Okay? Got that? This won’t mean squat to any of you, but I lied a really long time ago. I got my job at NASA based on a little, itty-bitty falsehood.” He held his index finger and thumb very close together, then moved them apart, then spread his arms wide. “Maybe not so itty-bitty. You see, I didn’t graduate from MIT like I told them. I had a friend who worked in admissions though. He fudged the records and that got me the job. That was years ago, y’understand. But if it ever got out even now, I’d never work in my field again.” His eyes widened. “You getting all this? I would be ruined. Like I am now.”

I didn’t know exactly what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been this.

“Pierpont’s known me since I was a kid. We were neighbors and he worked with my dad. Pierpont knew I didn’t go to MIT. Didn’t know I lied to NASA, though, until I told him once when I was drunk. Ever since, he’s made me his little puppet.” He seemed to find that funny. “Kinda ironic that I’m drunk again and telling all of you.” Growing serious again, he shouted, “But no more!”

Wild-eyed, Pierpont struggled against Hennessey, but was clearly outmatched.

Florian was rambling now. “I’ll tell you how bad it got. He made me lie for him all the time. He told me he saw someone here at our camp the day of Zachary’s murder. But he said it would look fishy if
he
went to the police so he told
me
to do it. I didn’t want to, but . . .” He shrugged. “Blackmail is a real killer,” he said. “For all I know, Pierpont made the whole thing up and I was just being his puppet again.”

Florian hung his head down for a breathless moment. I wondered if he was about to pass out, but then he looked out at the crowd again. “So now you know the truth. And now you know that my career with NASA is shot. My life is shot. Just like I’m about to be shot.”

With that he pulled a handgun out from his pocket and raised the barrel to his head.

Everyone screamed and I started toward the stage, knowing I would be too late to stop him. But Hennessey wasn’t. Dropping his hold on Pierpont, he hit Florian in a flying tackle, the pair falling to the ground with a heavy double
thud
. The gun went off, but I saw them both move.

I didn’t stop to see if they were okay. I figured with all those people around, someone would take charge. I had to move because Pierpont was taking advantage of the chaos. He ducked behind the stage, making a break for a clean escape.

“Call the cops,” I said to Frances as I scooted through the crowd to follow him. I didn’t shout, didn’t warn, I just followed, trusting that my long-legged strides would outpace his before he got to the parking area. A heavy weight bounced against my leg as I ran. I still had Davey’s gun.

Although it was dark, the meadow was wide open and there was enough light from the moon to keep him in sight. He glanced back and saw me, redoubling his speed, but I was younger and taller. Now I did yell, “Stop, Pierpont. You know you can’t get away.”

I didn’t have a plan, unfortunately. The parking lot was still a long way off and by this time we were far away from any other people. No one would see us here. Too late I realized I’d rushed headlong into danger, yet again.

But this time I had a gun. He had nothing.

To my surprise, Pierpont stopped. “Okay,” he said, bending over, pressing his hands to his knees. He wheezed, then crouched and rocked in place. “I can’t run anymore.”

“No you can’t,” I said, easing my hand into the pocket of my dress and wrapping my fingers around the grip of the gun. It never hurt to be prepared. “It’s over.”

We were about fifteen feet apart in the center of the meadow. He stood up slowly. “You should have stayed out of it.”

In that breathless silence after he spoke, I heard the
snick
of a switchblade. Moonlight slid along its metal edge. Instinctively, I backed up. “Don’t,” I said.

“I may be small, but if I took Kincade down, I can certainly handle you.”

“Kincade was drunk,” I said, “you couldn’t have done it otherwise.”

He came at me, slicing the air with his knife. I dodged the blade but in my haste to jump away, I’d caught my foot on a branch and tumbled left.

I managed to get up, scrambling away from him as I did so. The moment I was back on my feet, I pulled the gun from my pocket. Relief made me glib and I pulled a line from memory, “It’s a mistake to bring a knife to a gunfight, Pierpont.”

The moment he saw the weapon he froze in place. He looked back the way we’d come. I knew what he was thinking: that it could be quite a while before anyone thought to look for us out here. “You know how to use one of those?” he asked as he started to circle clockwise around me.