Oath of Office (8 page)

“I appreciate that.”

Stone inspected the front end of the Volvo and what remained of the sign, and let out a high-pitched whistle, not so different from the sound his cruiser’s siren had made. Beneath the lawman’s wool-lined bomber jacket, Lou saw a tan shirt with a silver metal star pinned to the breast pocket, and a perfectly knotted black tie.

“Guess we got real lucky here,” Stone said, hoisting up his dark brown pants over an ample belly. “You say you’re a friend of Mrs. Meacham?”

“I am—was—friends with her husband as well.”

Stone’s thin lips folded into a crease that vanished inside his mouth. “Any ideas why he did what he did?”

“Well, no, except to say I can’t imagine him doing it.”

“But he did.”

“Yes, he did,” Lou echoed grimly.

He considered sharing details, right then and there, about the bizarre happenings in the ICU at DeLand Regional, and how they dovetailed with Carolyn Meacham’s odd behavior, but decided this wasn’t the time or place.

“It’s been a hell of a day.” Stone sighed, his eyes locked on Lou’s.

“Tough day, indeed,” Lou answered.

“You sure you’re in no need of medical attention, son?”

“No, thank you. I’m all right.”

Stone just nodded. “Okay. Like I said, I trust you. Now, then, you have something you want to tell me about the accident?” Stone continued his hard stare.

“This accident is all my fault,” Lou said. “I never should have let her drive. She’s in no condition, given what happened today, but she absolutely insisted. Said it would be best if she had something to focus on. I’d really hate to see her in trouble with the law after what she’s just been through.”

Stone’s grin was impenetrable. “So you’re saying it didn’t happen quite the way she said it did?”

By then, the two men had connected.

“What if I told you the wheels lost grip? Rain-slicked roads and all,” Lou said.

“Well, I’d be inclined to believe you. My doctor was Carl Franklin, one of the best we ever had. At the moment, I am having some mighty harsh feelings toward the man who killed him. But that doesn’t translate to the man’s wife. I didn’t know the Meachams that well, on account they haven’t lived in Kings Ridge very long. But what I did know of them, I had nothing against—even John’s history of trouble with the medical board a few years back.”

Lou tensed. This was no hayseed sheriff. For however many years he had been the man in Kings Ridge, Gilbert Stone was not merely rattling about the town, procuring coffee and doughnuts. He was in charge of it. He also hadn’t hesitated to mention Meacham’s history to what should have been, until now, a total stranger. Either Stone was indiscreet to a fault, or somewhere in the course of gathering information about his fiefdom, Dr. Lou Welcome’s name had bopped across his desk.

Lou warned himself to stay sharp.

“I wish I could explain why John did what he did,” he said.

“Me and you both, son,” Stone replied. “It sure don’t make no sense.”

“I’m glad you understand my concern for Carolyn.”

“Oh, I do, I surely do.”

“So just a ticket, then?”

Stone put his campaign hat back on. “Like I said, I’m sure Carolyn’s been through hell today. Let’s make sure her car drives fine, and I’ll send her off with a warning to be more careful on these slippery roads.”

“Wonderful.”

Stone hesitated a beat, then locked on to Lou’s eyes once again. “And I’m going to send you off with a warning as well,” he said.

“Me?”

“If you know something about my town, or the people in it such as Carolyn and John Meacham, or anyone on the staff of our hospital, and you choose to keep that information hidden from me, you won’t find me to be so easygoing.”

CHAPTER 11

The president and First Family lived on the second and third floors of the White House—fifteen bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms, along with a sitting room, kitchen, dining room, and spectacular solarium. Darlene had done her best to make the master bedroom feel homey and familiar to her, but to no surprise, she had yet to completely succeed. At heart, she would always be a farmers’ daughter—a woman of down-to-earth taste in furnishings and art.

She and Martin slept in an 1820s four-poster tiger maple bed that she had chosen from notebooks of photographs that the Office of the Curator had provided to her. The rest of the room’s décor was more conventional and modern, although piece-by-piece she was changing it. Perhaps if they made it to a second term … at that moment, a big
if.

Despite her well-intentioned efforts at bedtime meditation and yoga, Darlene still felt restless enough at times to accept some help from the vial of sleeping pills in her bedside table. Tonight, with continuous news coverage of the horrific events in Kings Ridge, Russ Evans’s sad visage embedded in her mind, her lingering anger over Martin’s decision to leave her solo at the Boys & Girls Club, and a full schedule facing her in the morning, she had little doubt there was an Ambien in her near future.

She was sitting upright in bed, rereading a paragraph from the current issue of
Food Health.
Finally, unable to advance past that page, she set the magazine aside and returned her attention to the eleven o’clock news, which was reporting on the latest developments in the Kings Ridge tragedy. Details of the crime and of Dr. John Meacham’s life were continuing to emerge, but there was still no clear explanation for what the man had done. A physician murdering patients and staff in his office. People remained in shock and desperate for answers.

She clicked off the television, picked up her magazine again, and had just finished the page when the bedroom door swung open. The President of the United States slipped inside, threw his jacket and power red tie over a chair, bent down, and kissed her on the forehead.

One look at his tired eyes, gaunt face, and graying temples, and she felt compassion and the stirrings of forgiveness for the man she had vowed to love until death. Martin had been a rodeo jock in college, and it was his piercing blue eyes, powerfully set jaw, and cowboy good looks that had first attracted her to him. Then she came to know his droll wit, tenderness, and the bottomless compassion for the causes he believed in. From that admiration came a profound and deepening love.

If there was any aspect of his personality she had to work to accept, it was the power of his ambition.

“Sorry I’m late getting up here. I had to give a statement about the killings in Kings Ridge.”

“How terrible that is. Everyone seems shaken. I saw you commenting on the news a little while ago. You did an excellent job. Very honest and from the heart.”

“Thanks, princess. The whole thing is just awful. Right out of the blue, the guy goes postal.”

“I don’t think that’s a phrase you want to use in public.”

Martin chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Especially since the union endorsed me. You got anything on under there?”

“Nothing that can’t be taken off with the flick of a finger in, say, a nanosecond.”

He slowly lowered the sheet. His eyes sparked. “You are just the best thing I’ve seen all day,” he said in a worn voice.

Darlene had promised Russ Evans she would at least speak to Martin on behalf of his legislation. But the way Martin looked to her now—haggard, creases like canyons cutting across his forehead—she felt herself having second thoughts. The old saw about carrying the weight of the world wasn’t completely true for many, but it was for him. She lowered him to his belly and kneaded his shoulders.

“You could have seen me earlier,” she said in a soft voice.

There was a passing instant when she wished she had kept her feelings about the dedication to herself, but she had strong beliefs that a marriage without communication was doomed to turn toxic.

Martin swung around, pressed a warm hand to the side of her face, and gently caressed her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said before giving her a quick kiss on the lips. “I know that I disappointed you today, and I’m sorry. Really and truly sorry.”

Darlene smiled down at her husband. Whatever effects of the job she had observed seemed to have diminished. Her heart filled with love and her eyes must have reflected her desire, because Martin rolled over and kissed her hard on the lips, cupping her breast in his hand. Her mouth opened in response and she kissed him back, deeply. Their lovemaking had been occurring less frequently of late, coinciding not so much with pressures of the presidency, but with the time that Martin’s outbursts had become more common.

He slipped off the rest of his clothes and moved her down beside him, his hands continuing to explore the spots she liked. His touch brought Darlene a profound feeling of comfort and desire. She felt him becoming aroused, and herself beginning to respond. Perhaps this night, the Ambien would stay in the drawer.

“So, baby,” Martin said, beginning the sort of banter he enjoyed during sex. “Tell me something else about your day.”

Darlene tensed.

No lies, no evasions. That was the unwritten rule of their marriage.

She once again flashed on Russ Evans’s sad, desperate face.

“Actually,” she said while Martin worked at her neck with his lips, “there is something I need to discuss with you. But it can wait.”

Martin moaned in her ear. “Hmmmm … sure … get it off your chest if it will help you relax. You seem a little tense.”

Darlene gazed up at the ceiling as he continued to explore the soft curves of her chin, neck, and breasts. He was right about her feeling tense, even though he was, as usual, unwilling to take any responsibility.

“Russ Evans came to the dedication today,” said quietly. “We didn’t see him there, but afterwards, he followed us to the Bar None and asked us to meet with him in private upstairs.”

Martin stopped kissing her and remained motionless. The temperature between them dropped several degrees.

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

Martin sat up. The ice in his eyes was reflected in his voice. “Meet with him.”

“I … didn’t see what harm could come of it. I mean, we have known each other since we were kids. Kim was with me, and … and Victor was right outside.”

Martin swung onto the edge of the bed, but never took his suddenly hard eyes from her. “I can’t believe you met in public with that pervert,” he said. “Do you think I don’t have enough problems without my wife adding to them with the man who is already the biggest blight of my administration?”

Reflexively, Darlene pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. “That’s a cruel thing to say, Marty. We three were alone in the upstairs of the restaurant. No one except the agents even saw Kim and me go up there. Russ Evans was our friend. He believed in everything I stand for. Hearing him out seemed the least I could do.”

“You had no business talking with that man. He’s a disgrace. An utter disgrace. He humiliated the both of us.”

“He says someone set him up.”

“People like him always say that after they’re caught.”

“Martin, have you ever considered that what happened to Russ could have been a politically motivated frame-up?”

At this, the president leapt off the bed and stormed across the room, breathing heavily. “What would make you even imply such a thing?”

“Well, when he asked to see me, I thought he was going to try to position himself for a presidential pardon. Use me to get to you.”

“Go on.”

“But he didn’t do anything of the sort. All he cared about was some legislation he’s been working on. He wanted me to tell you that the laws are important ones and that people, and especially children, shouldn’t suffer because of him. He asked me—no, more like begged me—to convince you to read over his bills and support his programs. That was it. That was the only thing that mattered to him.”

Martin’s face turned crimson. “You’re kidding me, right? Darlene, you really are a gullible hick. Please, tell me this is a joke.”

“Martin, I—”

“You what? You what, Darlene? You had drinks with a pervert, and then you chat it up with him about a program that hasn’t even been formally presented to me!” His anger had charged the air like lightning, fueling itself before a strike.

“Martin, please, you’re sounding unreasonable.”

“You have no business talking to Russ Evans!” he shouted, pounding the top of their bureau and sending a velvet-lined box of costume jewelry spilling across the floor. The mouth that had moments before been kissing her was now contorted into a snarl.

Darlene kept her eyes locked on him, watching with concern as he stalked back to her. Her chest tightened, and for a brief moment she felt trapped between her husband and the headboard of the bed. Then the president sat down on the edge of the mattress, just as gently as he’d done earlier. He put his hand on her knee. She could feel her leg shaking.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I am so sorry for going off at you like that. Just the mention of that man’s name is enough to make me go crazy. With all the pressures I have, right before my reelection bid is to start in earnest, I’ve got to live with the fact that I nominated a child predator to join the highest ranks of my administration.”

“But maybe, just maybe he’s innocent.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Martin said, “but I also know how important kids are to you, so I’m going to make a deal. I’ll read whatever Evans’s remaining people submit. Then we’ll see.”

“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”

“But you have to make a promise to me.”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“You are never, and I mean
never,
to speak to Russ Evans or mention him in my presence again. Promise me that, Darlene.”

Again, she conjured up an image of Evans sitting across the table from her—a soul adrift and without hope of rescue. Despite her lingering doubts and the horrible accusations against the man, her heart ached for him. But loyalty to her husband was by far the stronger pull.

“Of course,” she said. “I promise. Come closer, now. Let’s start over again.”

Darlene turned off the bedside lamp, but Martin quickly switched it back on.

“I’ve got work to do,” he said, pulling on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. “You get some sleep. I’ll be in later and see you in the morning.”