Legacy of Secrets (77 page)

“Over the years, because of his lack of mobility and his fondness for good Italian food, Grandpa Dan had gained a lot of weight, and I remember they rigged up this special hoist to get him from his wheelchair onto the yacht, slinging him across in a sort of canvas bos’n’s chair, yelling and cursing and shouting commands, and looking like an enraged bear. It always made me laugh to see him, and when he was safely on board he would grin at me and say, ‘All right then, son, now it’s your turn.’ And he would have them sling me across, too, telling the crew to let me drop almost into the water so that I screamed and yelled, half-afraid and half-delighted, while he laughed his head off at me.

“‘Now you know what it feels like,’ he said every time we did it, and he knew I loved it, just as I loved being with him, even more than with my own mom and dad.

“He was always fun to be with; he was full of stories and bonhomie, and the villa and the yacht were always crammed with a mixture of friends, new ones as well as old, because he collected people as easily as he acquired money. And through the same talents—a way with words and an enjoyment of life.

“He told me the story of Lily and his brother, ‘Just in case the truth ever surfaces,’ he said. ‘Because with you following in my footsteps and going into politics, you can’t afford any skeletons in the closet.’

“Now, don’t forget, I was only nine years old and the only thing I wanted to be at that moment was a fisherman, right there in Positano, going out with the boats in the morning on that hazy blue sea and returning in the evening with a glistening catch, and carousing later in the bars and trattorias, the way I saw my friends’ fathers doing. They were my preferred role models in life, but Grandpa Dan had other plans.

“‘I see the marks of a politician on you,’ he said, studying
my face. ‘And I’m going to see to it your education points you in the right direction. And maybe all the way to the White House.’

“I could see his eyes gleaming as he thought of an O’Keeffe sitting in the Oval Office. I didn’t understand until much later how much it would have meant to him to triumph over his background, his brother Finn, and over Lily and all the Molyneuxes.

“I’ve always thought it sad that he and Finn were not reconciled before they died, but the bad blood went too deep, I guess. And I always wondered, even though I know he adored my grandmother Nancy, whether he secretly hoped one day Lily would come back to him.

“So, there you have it. He died the following year when I was ten, without ever seeing Lily, or Finn, again. And I followed his instructions and became the second O’Keeffe to become a senator. I’m glad I did, and I’m really glad I had him for a grandfather.” Jim looked at us, shaking his head reminiscently. “He was the tops,” he said. “A fine man.

“My own father died five years ago, and as far as I know he never went to Connemara. We may be the only Irish who have never been back to visit ‘the old country,’ maybe because the past was always shrouded in mystery and un-happiness, and because the Villa Favorita where Grandma lived alone for years until she, too, died was always the family ‘home’ and the place where we all congregated in the summer.”

W
E SMILED OUR THANKS
at him for telling us his story. “Well, now you know the Molyneuxes are not all bad, maybe you’ll come and visit us,” I said warmly, liking him for his openness as well as his good looks and charm. “I’m invitin’ you now, Jim O’Keeffe. I’ll be expectin’ to see you and I can guarantee Ardnavarna will welcome you like a long-lost son.”

With that he laughed and swept us off for lunch at a grand restaurant, where Shannon and Brigid and I were so
busy gaping at the famous political faces and all the celebrities, we almost forgot to eat the delicious food, though I could tell Brigid was savoring every detail, and probably comparing it unfavorably to her own cuisine.

Senator Jim took us back to the railway station in his limousine and we parted in a flurry of hugs and kisses, like old friends. “See you in Connemara,” he called as we waved from the train, and somehow I was sure we would.

“What next?” Shannon said, back again at the Ritz-Carl-ton. Brigid had retired to her lavish bed with more cinnamon toast and tea and I could hear a game show blasting from her television set. Eddie was sitting next to Shannon and we were drinking a restorative glass of champagne and thinking out our next move.

I heaved a sigh. “The partners are next, I’m afraid,” I said, because I honestly couldn’t think of anyone else. “First Brad, and then Jeff.”

“Okay, then this time I’m coming with you,” Eddie said, “because I’m sure they did it.” We stared at him with surprise. “Well,” he said, “who the hell else can it be? We’ve eliminated the O’Keeffes, and we know the partners were robbing him.”

“Or we know that it looks that way,” I said, because I had long ago learned that nothing is the way it seems.

Brad Jeffries lived out on Long Island, and we drove off in our hired limo to beard the lion in his own den. We had not telephoned ahead because we wanted to catch him offguard, but as it happened we were the ones who were surprised.

A
SMARTLY DRESSED HOUSEKEEPER
answered the doorbell and let us in. A few minutes later Monica Jeffries came hesitantly down the stairs to greet us. She was an older woman, though I never like to use that phrase when speaking of another lady—and I could see she
was
“a lady.” But she must have been well into her sixties and natural with it; by that I mean she was as nature had made her, unlifted and untucked, and still pretty in a pale, discreet sort of way. Pale hair, pale skin, and pale eyes behind almond-shaped tortoiseshell spectacles.

“Shannon honey,” she said in a lovely Southern accent, “what a surprise.” I thought she sounded as nervous as she looked and my hackles rose like the dalmatians when they scented a rabbit. Monica Jeffries had something to hide, I just knew it.

Shannon introduced me and then Eddie, and southern gentlewoman that she was, Monica offered us tea.

“We should be delighted,” I said, waiting until the Earl Grey was served in pretty Wedgwood cups and the social talk was out of the way before saying abruptly, “What we really came for is to see your husband.”

“Brad?” she said, blushing a fiery red. Her hands shook as she replaced her cup hastily in its saucer.

“We want to talk to him about Daddy,” Shannon said hurriedly. “If he happens to be around?” She looked questioningly
at Monica and all of a sudden the poor woman burst into tears.

“Brad’s gone,” she said between sobs. “He’s left me. After forty years together. There’s another woman, younger than me, and pretty. She trains horses down at her farm in Kentucky, and that’s all I know about her. I suppose it must have been going on for some time, but the first I knew of it was just after your father died. Brad came home one night, all tense and silent, but he’d been that way ever since … well, ever since it happened and the business collapsed, so it wasn’t anything different. And then he told me there was this other woman. He said he was packing his bags and going to live with her, and that I could keep this house and everything in it, and he would make sure I was taken care of financially. He said our children were all grown-up and so there was no need for him to worry about them, and he was going to start a whole new life and enjoy himself for once.” She glanced at us through her tears, and tender-hearted Shannon took her glasses and held them while Monica attempted to dry her overflowing eyes.

“Oh, dear, now I’ve embarrassed you,” she sniffed, struggling to regain her composure, while I looked for anything she might inadvertently reveal about her errant husband. But it soon became obvious that she knew little more than where he was and nothing at all about his business and Bob Keeffe’s death.

I gathered up Shannon and Eddie, ready to leave. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Mrs. Jeffries,” I said, “but if you’ll just give us his address, we intend to go and interview him. And make no mistake, I shall tell him what I think of him, leaving a fine gentlewoman like yourself for a little horse-mad hussy.” And as she hurried to get the address for us, I wondered why she hadn’t gone after the silly man herself and horsewhipped him, the way he deserved.

The next morning we were on a flight down to Louisville where we were picked up by a limo and driven to Bradlee Farm. On the way there, we stopped in the nearest little
township, a mere straggle of feed stores and minimarkets dominated by a gigantic Mobil gas station at the intersection of two main roads. Eddie sauntered into the feed and grain store on the pretext of asking directions to Bradlee Farm, and with his easy friendliness, learned in no time at all that Bradlee Farm was owned by Brad Jeffries and had been for the past ten years. Fedora Lee had been hired to run it for him and she was a real whizz with horses, and not a bad-lookin’ woman either. And she’d had Mr. Jeffries twisted around her little finger from day one. Everybody knew it, but it had been going on for so long now, nobody even talked about it anymore.

“Interesting,” I said thoughtfully, wondering how Brad Jeffries had come by the large amount of money needed to purchase a beautiful and obviously very expensive farm in the best bluegrass country. Acres and acres of immaculate paddocks and corrals were dotted with shade trees and Thoroughbreds of such quality that I burned with envy. In the distance, we could see a sprawling white ranch house surrounded by flower beds and lawns, and to one side the extensive stables.

We were stopped at the gate by a guard. He came out of his cute little white-clapboard guardhouse to give us a once-over and then, impressed by the limo if not its passengers, he telephoned the house to let them know we were here. He pressed the button that lifted the barrier and let us through and we bowled down a mile or so of perfectly kept roadway, past all the lovely horses and the ranch hands busy about their business, and I longed to stop and explore but I knew I could not. I had Brad Jeffries to deal with first.

He was waiting on the steps to greet us and he looked as nervous as his wife had. He wore dark glasses, so I couldn’t see his eyes as he shook my hand and welcomed me. “This is unexpected, Shannon,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders as we walked indoors into the hall. “But I guess you spoke to Monica.”

“We did,” she said, shrugging him off and sounding
colder than I could ever have imagined. But then I remembered that it wasn’t just on Monica’s behalf she was angry at Brad: she knew from Joanna that he had been stealing from her father, and that this fancy farm was probably paid for with that stolen money. And maybe Brad had even killed for it.

Brad took us into a comfortable den with a bar in one corner and a huge stone fireplace in another, and we arranged ourselves cautiously on the edge of the huge squashy sofas refusing his offer of a drink, and looking stonily at him.

“Well?” he said, glancing apprehensively at us, “what can I do for you?”

“We’ve come about these,” I said, taking the ExWyZe Fund contracts from the attaché case and opening them one by one at the pages with his incriminating signature. The color left his face as he stared at them. He said, “But how did you get those?”

“My father found them and gave them to Joanna Belmont for safekeeping,” Shannon said icily.

“It’s not the way it looks,” Brad protested. “They were just regular transactions, nothing more than usual. Bob bought the land and he had us take care of the details and sign the documents. You know how little he cared for that side of the business.” He looked appealingly at Shannon. “He liked working out the deals and talking the bankers into giving him the financing, but after that he always left it to us….”

“I understand you bought this farm ten years ago,” I said briskly. “But even then it must have cost a great deal of money. I haven’t yet had the pleasure of visiting your stables, but I’m a fair judge of horseflesh and those Thoroughbreds I saw out there in your beautiful paddocks are a major investment. But in any case, we know you were stealing and we have the evidence to prove it.”

Brad’s face turned ashen as Shannon said bitterly, “My father took you into his business. He helped you up the ladder. I
know
how well he paid you, and all those generous
‘bonuses’ he gave you, and the trips and the lavish presents at Christmas. You took his generosity and his simple trust and you abused it. You stole from him so you could leave Monica and come here and live in splendor with a younger woman who probably thinks you’re nothing but an old fool anyway.”

“Do you mean me?” a sharp voice said from the doorway, and we all swung around to look at the woman who was standing there watching us. She was tall and elegant in cream riding britches that fitted like a second skin, a white cotton shirt and perfect riding boots that I admired briefly before reminding myself that this was “the other woman.” She had an oval face, dark eyes, and a firm mouth, and her black hair hung down her back in a braid. I guessed she was in her middle-thirties. She was in perfect shape, and I knew she must be a good horsewoman.

There was a cold expression in her dark eyes and a tightness around her mouth as she strode into her den and said, “Am I ‘the other woman’ you are looking for?”