The Winner (31 page)

Riggs took this in for a few moments.

“Do you know the guy?”

“I really don’t want to get into it.”

Riggs rubbed his chin. “You know, the guy banged me up. So I already feel like I’m involved.”

LuAnn moved closer to him. “I know you don’t know me, but it would mean a lot if you would just drop it. It really would.” Her eyes seemed to widen with each word spoken.

Riggs felt himself drawing closer to her although he hadn’t physically budged an inch. Her gaze seemed to be pasted onto his face, all the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to be blocked out as though an eclipse were occurring.

“I’ll tell you what: Unless the guy gives me any more trouble, I’ll forget it ever happened.”

LuAnn’s tensed shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

She moved past him toward the stairs. The scent of her perfume drifted through his nostrils. His skin started to tingle. It had been a long time since that had happened.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said.

“It certainly doesn’t compare to yours.”

“Did you do it all yourself?”

“Most of it. I’m pretty handy.”

“Why don’t you come by tomorrow and we can talk about you doing some more work for me.”

“Ms. Savage—”

“Call me Catherine.”

“Catherine, you don’t have to buy my silence.”

“Around noon? I can have some lunch ready.”

Riggs gave her a searching look and then shrugged. “I can make that.”

As she started down the stairs, he called after her. “That guy in the Honda. Don’t assume he’s going to give up.”

She glanced back at the shotgun for one significant moment before settling her gaze on him.

“I never assume anything anymore, Matthew.”

“Well, it’s a good cause, John, and she likes to help good causes.” Charlie leaned back in his chair and sipped the hot coffee. He was sitting at a window table in the dining room of the Boar’s Head Inn, off Ivy Road a little west of the University of Virginia. Two plates held the remnants of breakfast. The man across from him beamed.

“Well, I can’t tell you how much it means to the community. Having her here—both of you—is just wonderful.” Wearing a costly double-breasted suit, with a colorful handkerchief dangling from the outer pocket and matching his polka-dot tie, the wavy-haired John Pemberton was one of the area’s most successful and well-connected real estate agents. He also sat on the boards of numerous charities and local committees. The man knew virtually everything that happened in the area, which was precisely the reason Charlie had asked him to breakfast. Further, the commission on the sale of LuAnn’s home had landed six figures in Pemberton’s pocket and he was, thus, an eternal friend.

Now he looked down at his lap and a sheepish grin appeared on his handsome features when he looked back up at Charlie. “We are hoping to actually
meet
Ms. Savage at some point.”

“Absolutely, John, absolutely. She’s looking forward to meeting you too. It’ll just take some time. She’s a very private person, you understand.”

“Of course, of course, this place is full of people like that. Movie stars, writers, people with more money than they know what to do with.”

An involuntary smile played across Pemberton’s lips. Charlie assumed the man was daydreaming about future dollars of commission when these wealthy folk moved in or out of the area.

“You’ll just have to live with my company for a little while longer.” A grin creased Charlie’s features.

“And very enjoyable company it is too,” Pemberton replied automatically.

Charlie put down his coffee cup and pushed his breakfast plate away. If he still smoked cigarettes he would’ve stopped to light one up. “We have Matt Riggs doing some work for us.”

“Putting in the security fence. Yes, I know. Undoubtedly his biggest job to date.”

Upon noting Charlie’s surprised look, Pemberton smiled in an embarrassed fashion. “Despite its cosmopolitan appearance, Charlottesville really is a small town. There is very little that happens that isn’t known by most people soon thereafter.”

At those words, Charlie’s spirits plummeted.
Had Riggs already told someone? Had they made a mistake coming here? Should they have planted themselves amid the seven million residents of New York City instead?

With an effort, he shook off these numbing thoughts and plunged ahead. “Right. Well, the guy had some terrific references.”

“He does very good work, dependable and professional. He hasn’t been here all that long by the standards of most locals, about five years, but I’ve never heard a bad word said about him.”

“Where’d he come from?”

“Washington. D.C., not the state of.” Pemberton fingered his teacup.

“So he was a builder up there then?”

Pemberton shook his head. “No, he got his general contractor’s license after he got here.”

“Still, he could’ve apprenticed up there.”

“I think he had some natural talent for the trade. He’s a first-rate carpenter, but he apprenticed with Ralph Steed, one of our best local builders for two years. Ralph passed away about that time and that’s when Riggs went out on his own. He’s done very well. He’s a hard worker. And landing that fence job doesn’t hurt any.”

“True. Still, the guy just shows up in town one day and plunges into something new. That takes some balls. I mean I’ve met him, and it wasn’t like he would’ve been fresh out of college when he came here.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Pemberton looked around the small dining area. When he spoke next it was with a lowered voice. “You’re not the first person who has been curious about Riggs’s origins.”

Charlie leaned forward, adding to the conspiratorial image of the pair. “Is that right? What do we have here, a little local intrigue?” Charlie tried to make his tone appear light and unconcerned.

“Of course rumors come and go, and you know the questionable veracity of most of them. Still, I have heard from various sources that Riggs held some important position in Washington.” Pemberton paused for effect. “In the intelligence community.”

Behind the stone mask Charlie fought the urge to abruptly give back his breakfast. Although LuAnn had had the good luck to be one of the recipients of Jackson’s control of the lottery, she might have just matched that luck with a dose of incredibly bad fortune. “In intelligence, you say? Like a spy?”

Pemberton threw up his hands. “Who knows. Secrets are a way of life with people like that. Torture them and they won’t say a thing. Probably bite on their cyanide pill or whatever and go peacefully into the night.” Pemberton obviously enjoyed a touch of the dramatic mixed in with elements of danger and intrigue, particularly at a safe distance.

Charlie rubbed at his left knee. “I had heard he was a cop.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don’t recall. Just heard it in passing.”

“Well, if he was a policeman that’s something that can be checked. If he was a spy, there’d be no record of it, would there?”

“So he never talked to anyone here about his past?”

“Only in vague terms. That’s probably why you heard he was a policeman. People hear bits and pieces, they start to fill in the holes themselves.”

“Well, son of a gun.” Charlie sat back, trying hard to appear calm.

“Still, he’s an exceptional builder. He’ll do good work for you.” Pemberton laughed. “Just so long as he doesn’t start snooping around. You know if he was a spy, those habits probably die hard. I’ve led a pretty squeaky clean life, but everybody has skeletons in their closet, don’t you think?”

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Some more than others.”

Charlie leaned forward again, his hands clasped in front of him on the table; he was quite eager to change the subject and had the vehicle to do so. “John,” Charlie’s voice dipped low, “John, I’ve got a small favor to ask of you.”

Pemberton’s smile broadened. “Just ask it, Charlie. And consider it done.”

“A man came by the house the other day asking for a donation to a charitable foundation he said he headed.”

Pemberton looked startled. “What was his name?”

“He wasn’t local,” Charlie said quickly. “He gave me a name but I’m not sure it was his real one. It all seemed suspicious, you understand what I’m saying.”

“Absolutely.”

“Someone in Ms. Savage’s position has to be careful. There are a lot of scams out there.”

“Don’t I know it. How upsetting.”

“Right. Well, anyway, the guy said he was staying in the area for a while. Asked for a follow-up meeting with Ms. Savage.”

“I hope you’re not going to agree to that.”

“I haven’t yet. The guy left a phone number, but it’s not a local one. I called it. It was an answering service.”

“What was the name of the foundation?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but it had something to do with medical research of some kind.”

“That’s so easy to concoct,” Pemberton said knowingly. “Of course I have no personal experience with frauds like that,” he added huffily, “but I understand that there is a proliferation of them.”

“That was exactly my read. Well, to make a long story short, since the guy said he was going to be around awhile, I thought it probable that he was renting someplace hereabouts, instead of sacking out at a hotel. That gets to be expensive after a while, especially if you’re living scam to scam.”

“And you want to know if I can find out where he might be staying?”

“Exactly. I wouldn’t ask it if it weren’t real important. With things like this I’m never too careful. I want to know who I’m dealing with in case he shows up again.”

“Of course, of course.” Pemberton let out a shallow breath and sipped at his tea. “I’ll certainly look into it for you. My sympathies lie with you and Ms. Savage.”

“And we will be very grateful for any assistance you can give us. I’ve mentioned several of the other charities you head up to Ms. Savage and she spoke very positively about all of them and your work with them.”

Pemberton was glowing now. “Why don’t you give me a description of the man? I have the morning free and I can start my own little investigation. If he’s within fifty miles of here, with my connections, I’m certain I can find him.”

Charlie described the man, laid some cash on the table for the meal, and stood up. “We really appreciate it, John.”

T
homas Donovan scanned the city streets for a parking spot. Georgetown was not known for its abundance of places to leave one’s vehicle. He was driving a new rental car, a late model Chrysler. He turned right from M Street onto Wisconsin Avenue, and finally managed to snag a spot on a side street not too far from where he was heading. A light rain began to fall as he walked down the street. The quiet area he soon found himself in harbored an elite neighborhood of towering brick and clapboard residences which were home to high-ranking businessmen and political types. He eyed some of the homes as he walked along. In the lights visible through intricately designed windows Donovan could make out well-dressed owners settling down in front of warm fires, coddling drinks and exchanging light kisses as they went through their rituals of relaxation after another day of perhaps changing the world, or merely adding to their already hefty investment portfolios.

So much wealth and power rested in this area that an energy seemed to wash up from the brick sidewalks and hurtle Donovan along at a furious clip. Money and power had never been overriding ambitions of his. Despite that, his occupation often placed him in close proximity to those who held the attainment of one or both of these prizes above all else. It was a wonderful position from which to play the altruistic cynic and Donovan often played that role to the fullest for the simple reason that he genuinely believed in what he did for a living. The irony of this was not lost on him. For without the rich and powerful and their evil ways, at whom would he throw his sharp-edged stones?

Donovan finally stopped at one formidable residence: a one-hundred-year-old three-story brick townhouse sitting behind a waist-high brick wall topped by black steel wrought-iron fencing of a style found throughout the area. He inserted a key into the gate’s lock and went up the sidewalk. Another key allowed him entry through the massive wooden front door and he shook off his coat.

The housekeeper appeared immediately and took the wet coat from him. She wore a traditional maid’s uniform and spoke with a practiced degree of deference.

“I’ll tell the missus you’re here, Mr. Donovan.”

He nodded quickly and moved past her into the drawing room where he took a moment to warm himself before the blazing fire and then looked around with contentment. His upbringing had been decidedly blue collar but he did not attempt to hide his pleasure at occasionally dabbling in luxury. It was an incongruity in his nature that had bothered him greatly in his youth, but much less so now. Some things did become better as one aged, he mused, including layers of personal guilt that one ended up shedding like peeling an onion.

By the time he had mixed himself a drink from the stock housed behind a cabinet in one corner of the drawing room, the woman had appeared.

She moved quickly to him and gave him a deep kiss. He took her hand and caressed it lightly.

“I missed you,” she said.

He led her over to the large sofa against one wall. Their knees touched as they sat close together.

Alicia Crane was petite, in her mid-thirties, with long hair that was looking more ash than blond with each passing day. Her dress was costly and the jewelry clinging to her wrists and ears easily matched the richness of the garment; however, the image was one of quiet wealth and sophistication. Her features were delicate, the nose so small as to be barely noticeable between the deep luster of the dark brown eyes. While she was not a traditional beauty, her obvious wealth and refinement had inspired a certain look that was pleasant enough. On her best days she would be described as very well put together.

Her cheek trembled slightly as he stroked it.

“I missed you too, Alicia. A lot.”

“I don’t like it when you have to be away.” Her voice was cultured and dignified, its cadence slow and exact. It was a voice seemingly too formal for a relatively young woman.