Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [107]
Cardell reacted to an itch on his face as though to scratch away the comment.
Montgomery continued. “If word of what happened in that parking lot and the cover-up ever becomes public, it could destroy Jeanine.”
“And Fletcher Jamison’s presidency.”
Montgomery started to elaborate on his thought but Ward stopped him. “I suggest you remember, Warren, that it was Jeanine who stabbed that young punk, not Mitzi.”
“An accident.”
“It doesn’t matter. Jeanine was responsible for his death and I came to her rescue, and to yours.”
“I haven’t forgotten that,” said Montgomery. “But maybe it would have been better if—”
Cardell turned and faced his friend, his face red, his eyes flaring. “Better if what, Warren, that I do nothing? No matter what the legal outcome, their lives would have been ruined. You strut around town crowing about how your daughter is the first lady of the land. You go to the White House and sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom. And do you know what, Warren? If I hadn’t acted the way I did, your precious daughter would be married to some jerk and living in a trailer park outside of town.”
“That’s a hell of a thing to say.”
“But it’s true. I told you at lunch that Brixton is being taken care of. Leave it at that.”
Cardell got up to leave but Montgomery grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Is it true that you arranged for the Watkins girl to be killed when she got out of prison?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Is it true?”
“It doesn’t matter whether it is or not. You know, Warren, you’re spineless for a man who’s achieved the success that you have. There are times when a man has to act to preserve what’s precious to him, his family, his wealth, and his nation. The money you contribute each year to our group says to me that you understand what’s at stake. I sure as hell don’t intend to see my daughter injured by what’s happened, and I also don’t intend to see Fletcher Jamison’s presidency torpedoed. We now have a man in the White House who shares our beliefs, who recognizes that this is a white Christian nation built upon the backs of European immigrants, who stands for what we stand for, small government, adherence to time-honored traditions of marriage and honor, fiscal responsibility, and an end to social welfare programs. I’ll do whatever I can to protect your daughter from scandal because she is part of that administration, but I won’t stand for being second-guessed by the man who benefits from my having taken action.”
Montgomery sat silently.
Cardell resumed his seat on the bench, smiled, and put his arm over Montgomery’s shoulder. “This too shall pass, my friend,” he said. “Relax. The president will handle it on his end and I’ve set steps into motion here in Savannah. Everything will be just fine. Trust me, Warren. You must trust me.”
CHAPTER 39
Flo Combes took Brixton’s call at her shop in the historic district.
“I was getting worried,” she said. “You haven’t called.”
“I got tied up.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“My kinky days are over. I think I might have hit a home run.” He filled her in on his conversation with Mitzi Cardell and the call he’d just received from Mackensie Smith. “Smith has arranged for me to meet with Ms. Cardell tonight at the gallery his wife owns.”
“That’s terrific.”
“Yeah, it is. He’s a great guy. What’s new back there?”
“Cooler today, and rainy. Sounds like you’ll be coming back soon.”
“If things work out tonight the way I hope they will.”
“Have you spent any more time with the ex and your daughters?”
“No. Marylee’s got herself a boyfriend, a lawyer named Miles whose tan puts George Hamilton to shame.”
“And you instantly bonded.”
“I counted my fingers after we shook hands. I’d better get off, sweetheart. I’ll call after I see how tonight goes. Love you.”
His next call was to his office. Cynthia answered.
“Clients beating down the door for my services?” he asked, lightness in his voice.
“Have to use a baseball bat to keep them away. Oh, you’ll love the story in today’s paper. That guy who was running for mayor,