The Dirty Secret (37 page)

“We think so,” Silent Doug answered. “The trajectory from Jack’s wounds indicates the bullet was fired uphill from a position out in the woods, all the way across another clearing on the far side of Bart’s meadow. About 700 yards from Jack’s tree stand.”

Dave whistled. “That’s either one hell of an accident or one hell of a shot.”

Vaughn squinted his good eye and cocked his head sideways. “It’s
possible
someone could have taken a shot at a deer in that other clearing and missed. But it looks suspicious.”

Rikki nodded solemnly. “Did you guys find anything else out there?”

The sheriff opened his folder. “By the time we got to the scene, the snow had melted off, so we didn’t find any good shoeprints. No spent casings either. All we found at the spot where we think the shot came from was a crumpled-up candy wrapper, and God only knows how long it had been there.”

Vaughn shut the folder. “We’ll know more once we hear from the crime lab and when Jack’s email provider responds to our subpoena. That’s it for now.”

Rikki stood up and extended her hands skyward, stretching. “All righty then. Thanks for the update, Sheriff. If we find anything interesting, we’ll let you know. Keep up the good work!”

Silent Doug shot her a crisp salute. “Will do. You guys have a good day. Dave … I’ll see you at 11:30.”

The sheriff left her office and Rikki’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on then?”

Dave sighed. “We both got drafted to participate in the Masonic funeral rites at Jack’s gravesite. We’re meeting a half-hour before the service so we know what we’re doing.”

“Ah. I see.”

Rikki strolled across the room and peeked out the doorway. “You know, Dave, I really like the sheriff, but something about him has just freaked me out since we were kids.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I mean, he seems honest and as nice as can be. Maybe it’s just the way his one eye is always looking off to the side. I’ve never known exactly how that happened, and it kinda creeps me out. For all I know, he lost his eye in one of those twisted secret rituals you Masons conduct twice a year in a cornfield under a full moon.”

Dave let loose with a belly laugh. “You’ve been reading too many conspiracy books, Rikki! Trust me, the truth is a lot simpler.”

“Oh, really? And I suppose you know how the sheriff actually lost his eye.”

“Sure. It’s not like anyone was sworn to secrecy. It’s just something he prefers not to talk about. I think he’s afraid it might come across like he’s bragging about it.”

Rikki sat at the conference table, motioning for him to follow suit. “Mr. Anderson, you have my undivided attention.”

Dave smirked and sat down cattycorner to her. “All right.” Taking a deep breath, he dramatically opened by saying, “Quite simply, Douglas MacArthur Vaughn is a
badass
.” He paused, contemplating his next words. “He was a hell of an athlete in school; first-team All-State at linebacker. And right after graduation he enlisted in the Army, despite the fact we were neck-deep in Vietnam at the time.

“He was a model soldier. Went through Special Forces school, earned his Green Beret, and pulled two tours of duty in ‘Nam. In fact, his team was one of the last units we pulled out, just before Saigon fell to the commies.”

Pausing for breath, he glanced at Rikki, who was listening with her pale green eyes open wide. Sensing that his audience was captivated by the story, he continued.

“When he got home from ‘Nam, he arrived in town wearing his dress greens, his Green Beret, and a patch over his left eye. His first night home, a bunch of his buddies took him out drinking, including my uncle, who told
me
about it. And later that night, after getting a bellyful of booze, Silent Doug finally told them about his eye.”

Dave leaned forward, resting his elbows on the conference table and sipped on his Diet Coke. “His team was conducting covert ops against Viet Cong supply depots in areas of Laos held by the Pathet Lao communists. One night, his unit attacked a depot and was surprised to find a bunch of Soviet ‘advisors’ there.”

Rikki leaned forward, her mouth slightly agape.

“The ensuing fight was brutal: Small arms fire and hand-to-hand combat. The sheriff matter-of-factly described what happened, saying he lost count of how many people he killed just trying to get out alive.

“With all hell breaking loose around him, he was in the process of dragging an injured comrade to the landing zone for their Huey helicopter. Just as he threw this dude in the chopper, one of the Soviets slung a grenade, and the sheriff got hit with shrapnel. He was bleeding like a stuck pig and screaming his head off, but somehow crawled into the chopper as it took off.

“When he finally regained consciousness, he was in a hospital bed in Japan, missing an eye. He won the Distinguished Service Cross for his actions in that engagement, which is just one rung below the Congressional Medal of Honor and about as high of an honor any mortal is likely to get without actually
dying
for our country.”

“Wow,” Rikki said breathlessly. “What an amazing story.”

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “After that one night drinking with his buddies, he’s apparently never said another word about what happened. And, as a side note, ol’ Silent Doug has had a bad case of the ass about Russians ever since.”

“
Russians?
”

“Yeah,” Dave reiterated. “He hates their guts. I think he’s watched
Rocky IV
about a thousand times. Probably jerks off to it.”

Rikki laughed aloud. “You are one twisted puppy,” she said, shaking her head.

“I know. I have this terrible fear it’s going to come back and bite me some day when I least expect it. God knows if the sheriff heard me say he jerked off to a Stallone movie, he’d probably rip off my leg and beat me to death with it.”

“Well, why don’t we keep that as our own little secret,” Rikki suggested.

“That sounds like an
excellent
idea.”

CHAPTER 80

NEW YORK CITY, MANHATTAN
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 12:45 P.M.

NEW YORK CITY (AP) – The grassroots political action group Strike Back has called for members of the Electoral College to defy the final election results from their states and “vote their conscience” when casting their presidential ballots on Dec. 15.

Now that the so-called “Safe Harbor” deadline of Dec. 9 has elapsed with no change in West Virginia’s election laws, the presidential hopes of Sen. Melanie Wilson (D-CA) appear bleak. Despite having won 41,000 more votes than Gov. Jonathan Royal (R-NC) nationwide, Wilson likely will join Al Gore, Samuel J. Tilden and Grover Cleveland as the only presidential candidates in American history whose popular vote victories failed to earn them Electoral College majorities.

Dmitri Mazniashvili – the billionaire who is Strike Back’s largest contributor and who has largely funded a separate pro-Wilson super PAC – criticized West Virginia’s failure to investigate allegations of voter intimidation and election fraud: “How can the American people have faith in the integrity of their elections when citizens are denied their fundamental rights? When an antiquated institution like the Electoral College arbitrarily and repeatedly thwarts the will of this country’s citizens, it is time for that institution to be abolished.”

Gov. Royal’s campaign spokesman scoffed at such suggestions. “The Founding Fathers’ wisdom has stood the test of time. The Electoral College is another example of the checks and balances enshrined in our Constitution, and these calls for presidential electors to violate their legal and moral responsibilities demonstrates that Strike Back’s views are far outside the mainstream.”

Royal’s spokesman added, “Mr. Mazniashvili’s suggestion that presidential electors betray the voters’ trust demonstrates he has no respect for the rule of law. The President-elect remains committed to extraditing this felon to stand trial for his crimes in his native country, and the sooner that task can be completed, the better.”

- excerpt from FoxNews.com

CHAPTER 81

McCALLEN FAMILY CEMETERY
PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 12:45 P.M.

About 50 people attended Jack’s graveside ceremony in his family cemetery. Aside from the footpath leading from Jack’s home, a gravel roadway ran from the back of the cemetery down the other side of the hill to the main road. A black hearse sat by the gated entrance with its back doors open as the crowd milled around the newly opened grave, waiting to say goodbye.

Rikki and her mother stood side-by-side toward the rear. Tabatha sat on a padded red velvet chair directly beside Jack’s grave. Only the neckline of her relatively modest black dress was visible beneath her tailored black wool overcoat, and a sheer widow’s veil covered her face.

Sitting stoically to her right was Jack’s oldest son, Logan. Wearing a black suit, his thick dark hair was neatly combed and parted to the side as he stared vacantly at his father’s coffin. His younger brother, Brandon, fidgeted in the chair to Tabatha’s left with his jaw clenched shut. His red hair was disheveled, and his balled fists rested on his thighs.

Eight men clad in dark suits approached the grave in a somber, single-file line, forming a semi-circle around it with one man positioned at the head of the casket and another at its foot. Matching white lambskin aprons, immaculate in appearance, were strapped across their midsections, and their hands were covered with thin white gloves.

The elderly gentleman standing at the head of the casket solemnly removed the black felt fedora covering his crown. His full head of hair was as white as his gloves, and after scanning the crowd to confirm it was time to start the service, he took a deep breath and began delivering the message he had committed to memory perhaps four decades earlier.

“Brethren and Friends,” he began in a clear, baritone voice. “It has been a custom among the Fraternity of Free and Accepted Masons from time immemorial, at the request of a departed Brother or his family, to assemble in the character of Masons and, with the solemn formalities of the Craft, to offer up to his memory, before the world, the last tribute of our affection.”

Rikki watched in amazement as the old man delivered his speech without any notes whatsoever. The other six Masons, including Sheriff Vaughn, Dave Anderson and his father, stood silently with their hands by their sides, listening intently.

“Our Brother has reached the end of his earthly toils,” the white-haired man declared. “The brittle thread which bound him to earth has been severed, and the liberated spirit has winged its flight to the unknown world. The silver cord is loosed; the golden bowl is broken; the pitcher is broken at the fountain; and the wheel is broken at the cistern. The dust has returned to the earth as it was, and the spirit has returned to God who gave it.”

As the speech continued, Rikki found herself staring at Dave as he dutifully played his role in the ceremony. His green eyes occasionally strayed from the elderly speaker and fell upon Jack’s boys, and Rikki watched him try to maintain an outward appearance of calm self-control. But his watering eyes belied his true emotional state, as did his occasionally trembling lower lip. As she watched Dave struggle to master his grief-stricken heart and bend it to his will, Rikki suddenly felt a surprisingly intense urge to rush to his side and comfort him.

What in the world is going on with me? What’s with all this sentimentality I’m feeling? Am I losing my mind?

The old man’s voice drew Rikki back to reality. “But we have learned of the Great Architect of the Universe,” he asserted with a nod. “We know that in the Universe all is order; although His design is too huge for any mortal eye to comprehend. But if the Great Architect is there, why should we care that we can see no more than our own small piece of the work?”

The speaker paused, casting his gaze across the crowd. “We know the great building is clear in the Master’s mind, and it is growing toward completion. Our apparent confusion is only the gathering of the material out of which the structure shall rise complete in its beauty and perfection. We can do
our
work and bear
our
burden and even endure the pain of disappointment and loss if we have learned to trust in
Him
. That trust turns the bitter drop to sweetness.”

Suddenly, the old man’s eyes fixed on Rikki, and her heart skipped a beat. “Friendship is refreshment and sweetness as we pass this way,” he said with a patient smile. “It is much to feel that, wherever we are, we have
friends
. Although human companionships are temporary in this world of change, let us cherish the comfort they provide, and let us find the strength to forgive our friends when their actions have caused us pain, just as we ask the Great Architect to overlook those instances when our own handiwork has failed to comply with his perfect commands.”

Rikki felt a lump in her throat and she suddenly had trouble seeing the old man’s face.
Didn’t Jack say something like that to me a while back? That carrying around anger can’t be good for me? That being imperfect should not be an unforgivable sin?

The speaker turned to Jack’s widow and sons. “Our entire fraternity surrounds his loved ones with the assurance of its affection. We offer the support of our sympathy, the comfort of our faith, and the inspiration of our hope, that they may look beyond this hour of grief through the opening portals of the infinite. Let us be unceasingly grateful for every God-given virtue, which the life of our Brother expressed, and let us be comforted and sustained by the assurance that life goes on unbroken and uncorrupted, and that God alone is the life and light of men.”

With a nod to Dave’s father, the old man turned his body at a 45 degree angle, facing the Masonic semi-circle. Mr. Anderson took one step toward the speaker and handed him an apron that appeared identical to those the Masons were wearing.