Found Money - James Grippando [118]
“I need a break,” said Marilyn. By 9:00 A.M., they had already been role-playing for ninety minutes. Marilyn’s head was beginning to hurt.
“You okay?” asked her consultant. Felicia Hernandez was one of the paid assistants, a young and wiry go-getter who survived on caffeine. Marilyn thought of her as a cheerleader with a Ph.D. in psychology.
“Yeah,” she said, massaging her temples. “I think I’d just like to get some aspirin.”
“All right. Everybody take five.”
The group disbursed, most of them heading toward the coffee and bagels. Marilyn headed down the hall toward her bedroom, alone. She was prone to headaches, though not usually this bad. The excitement over the presidential appointment and the apprehension over the approval process was a deadly combination. Although she had passed Senate confirmation once before, years ago, when she was approved for her position on the Commodities Futures Trading Commission, she knew that wasn’t dispositive. Professor Bork had been approved as a federal appeals judge before Reagan had appointed him to the Supreme Court. That didn’t keep his enemies from running down to Blockbuster Video to see what movies he’d been renting—anything to dig up dirt and keep him from getting the higher appointment. And they succeeded.
Marilyn went straight to the medicine cabinet and swallowed two Tylenol. As she screwed the cap back on, a noise startled her. From the bathroom off the master, she could hear the fax machine in the bedroom. Curious, she cut across the room. Sure enough, two pages were resting in the receiving bin. They were still warm to the touch.
She checked the first page. It confused her at first. Every other word was blacked out, so that it made no sense to anyone—except to someone who had seen the original. A closer look took her throbbing headache to yet another level. She could see it was a letter addressed to Frank Duffy. And she recognized the signature of her old friend Debby Parkens—Amy’s mother.
She quickly turned to the second page. The message was brief: “Meet me at Cheesman Dam. Monday. Two A.M. Alone.”
Her consultant appeared in the doorway. “Marilyn?” she said in her perky cheerleader voice. “You coming? Lots of work to do.”
She folded the letter and quickly tucked it in her pocket. “Yes,” she said nervously. “Lots of work.”
A trail of dust followed Ryan up the driveway. The morning sun had already baked the back roads, leaving no sign of last night’s rain. As he stepped down from his truck, he heard the screen door slap shut. He looked toward the house. His mother was standing on the front porch.
“You ready to talk?” she asked as she lowered herself into the chair.
He climbed the stairs, saying nothing, the answer being obvious. Ryan still wasn’t convinced that last night’s timely arrival of Josh Colburn was coincidental. Nor was he convinced that Sarah’s tears were genuine. It all had the makings of a big diversion his mother had created to preempt the family meeting she had promised. Ryan had the unsettling feeling that for whatever reason his mother might never tell him the whole story. Perhaps it was just easier for her, emotionally, to tell him a little at a time. At this point, he’d take whatever he could get.
He leaned against the railing, his back to the yard. “An interesting night,” he said. “Mr. Colburn took me by surprise.”
“Me too.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“You shouldn’t,” she said.
“Are you telling me you knew nothing about the letter in Mr. Colburn’s safe?”
“Ryan, I swear on your father’s soul I know nothing about anything that was part of the blackmail.”
“But you knew about the rape.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Because I believed it never happened.”
He made a face, confused. “Why did you believe that?”
“Because that’s what