The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [53]
He stopped to take a glance at the visitors’ log, as he’d gotten into the habit of doing. There’d been no activity in a while, but since he was being paid to look—and since he didn’t want to be reminded again that he was being paid to look—he looked. He almost missed it, because there’d been that one hundredth birthday party for Mr. Harris today and all of his children and grandchildren—all thirty-two of them—had shown up for the luncheon and signed in. But there it was, right after the last of the Harrises.
S. Keller to see Mr. Kendall. In at 1:25. Out at 3:00 on the nose.
He didn’t bother to wait for his break but went directly to the locker room and dialed the number.
“Hello?”
“Your friend’s visitor was back today.”
“Keller?”
“Yes. He signed in around one-thirty, out at three.”
“What kind of a day is our Mr. Kendall having?”
“I don’t know. I figured you’d want to know right away, so I haven’t seen him yet.”
The pause was long and somber.
“Want me to go in and talk to him, then call you back?”
“No. I’ll come see for myself. I’ll be there around eight. You’ll watch for me at the side door?”
“You got it.”
“Have him in his room before I get there.”
“Sure, fine. Okay,” the orderly replied, even as the line went dead.
He whistled on his way back to the nurses’ station to see what was happening on the floor that day, mentally jingling those car keys as he went.
The visitor was there, at the side door, at eight sharp. It was already dark, and the figure slid into the dim shadows of the dayroom like a wraith. Barely acknowledging the orderly, the visitor followed the short hallway to Kendall’s room, nodding to the few sleepy residents who lingered here and there in the corridor, none of whom, by tomorrow morning, would recall that Miles Kendall had had a visitor this night.
“Don’t get lost,” the visitor told the orderly before closing Kendall’s door. “I’ll need you to let me out.”
“I’ll be around,” the orderly promised, then went to make himself useful in the room across the hall.
Miles Kendall sat on the edge of his bed gazing out the window at the dark beyond. Somewhere out there, he was thinking, was a river. On warm nights like this, with the window open, he could smell it.
“Hello, Miles.” The visitor sat on a nearby chair.
“Hello.” Kendall nodded warily. His eyes flickered, narrowing with recognition.
“Do you remember me?”
Kendall stared for a long time but didn’t respond.
“I hear you had company today.”
“I did.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I don’t think I remember.”
“Think harder.”
“Ummm . . . I think . . . Washington.” His chin went up a notch. “I worked at the White House.”
“What did you do there?”
“I worked with the President.”
“Yes, you did. He was your friend, once upon a time, wasn’t he?” The visitor leaned forward. “And I guess being the President’s friend, you know a lot of things, Miles. I’ll bet you know a lot of secrets.”
Miles continued to sit stiffly.
“Did you tell your company—Mr. Keller—any secrets today, Miles?”
“I don’t remember,” he answered, a bit too quickly perhaps.
“What did you talk about today with Mr. Keller?”
“He brought me mints. Flat mints with chocolate on them.”
“That was very nice of him, Miles. Did you tell him secrets after he gave you your mints?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you tell him about Blythe, Miles?”
“Maybe we talked about Blythe,” Kendall acknowledged, then leaned forward to ensure the impact of his words. “Maybe we talked about the baby.”
“What baby?” The visitor’s head snapped up.
“Blythe’s baby.” Kendall sat back, watching the effect of his words.
“Blythe’s baby . . .” The visitor’s eyes were wide, the voice almost a hiss. “Blythe’s baby?”
Kendall nodded.
“Where? Where was the baby?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it your baby?”
“Of course not.” He waited for the question to come, knowing that it would.
“Whose baby, old man? Whose baby?” The hand grasped Miles