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The thought turned her stomach.
“Damn you, Alex,” she whispered to the silence. “Why couldn’t you just walk away and leave it alone? The way you did everything else.”
For once in his mundane life Alex Sherwood had decided to take a stand and fight the fight. And all because her idiot brother thought they needed help.
She’d already decided that the lease on the apartment would be allowed to lapse and everything would be donated to the Salvation Army. Nothing would leave with her. She’d come today only to make sure that there was no lingering evidence that pointed toward anything she was doing. That would require a thorough search, which she and Grant would do together. Perhaps she might even learn a clue or two as to Alex’s mysterious woman.
But what did it matter?
He was dead, which made her irrelevant.
She took a quick look around and noticed no accumulated mail, old newspapers, or magazines. Even the refrigerator had been cleared of perishables. Odd, considering that Alex lived here alone. On a whiteboard beside the phone there was no list of groceries, or reminder to pick up the dry cleaning, or anything to indicate an occupant.
A knock disturbed the silence.
She walked across and opened the door, which creaked to the sound of dry hinges.
Grant stood outside.
He stepped in, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Hard and intense. The way she’d become accustomed to from him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said.
“It’s been a tough few days.”
“Why are you even here?” he asked.
“We need to make sure there’s nothing left from Kenneth’s mistake.”
He let her go and closed the door.
“I also need to hear about your visit to the Castle last night.”
“You might not like what I have to say. But I did get this.”
His hand slipped into his jean pocket and came out with the ceremonial key.
She smiled.
“And I also found the Trail Stone.”
All good.
So she was curious.
“What is it I don’t want to hear?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Danny entered the Vice President’s Room inside the Capitol, just outside the Senate Chamber. Its official designation was S-214, once the only government space in Washington assigned solely to the vice president. Times had changed, but not this room. The marble mantel, floor tiles, gilded mirror, and matching Victorian cornices all dated to the 19th century. The room’s double-pedestal mahogany desk had certainly made the rounds. Nearly every vice president used it until 1969, when it went to the Oval Office for Nixon and Ford, coming back here with Jimmy Carter. Since the Civil War the room had been a place for work, ceremony, caucuses, press conferences, and private meetings, a few of which altered the course of American history.
The floor clock sounded 10:00 A.M.
Vice President Theodore Solomon had been alerted that a new member of the Senate was coming, so he waited behind the desk. Contrary to what people thought, though the Constitution vested the VP as the Senate’s presiding officer, rarely did a vice president ever attend a session, voting only to break a 50-50 tie. Not like the old days, when vice presidents were a constant presence on the Senate floor. Today they came only if the majority leadership sensed that a tie-breaking vote might be required.
Which was rare.
The governor had made the official announcement of his Senate appointment thirty minutes ago at a Knoxville press conference. As expected, there’d been some immediate backlash, particularly since no other candidates had been solicited. All had been explained, just as they’d agreed, stressing that it was merely a caretaker appointment until the people could choose their own senator. And who better to keep the seat warm than Tennessee’s favorite son. It sounded so good, even he almost believed it.
“Mr. President,” Solomon said, standing and offering his hand to shake.
Danny liked this man.
Teddy Solomon was old school, a financial conservative but a closet social liberal, most likely brought on by the fact that his eldest son was gay. They’d served together in the Senate, Solomon a straight shooter from Missouri who’d run against Warner Fox in the primaries, coming up short and having to withdraw early. Fox, acting smart like his name, ultimately decided to bring this potential enemy into the fold and offered him the second seat. The surprising thing was that Solomon had agreed to the gig. Danny loved what Woodrow Wilson’s VP once said. Being vice president is comparable to a man in a cataleptic fit. He cannot speak. He cannot move. He suffers no pain. He is perfectly conscious of all that goes on, but has no part in it. Then again, what John Adams said when he served as Washington’s number two made more sense. In this I am nothing, but I may be everything.
What was it? One heartbeat away?
Which had happened eight times. Nine, if you counted Ford taking over for Nixon. Death or resignation seemed the only way any vice president ever became president. Only one in the last 125 years had managed to move to the top spot through election.
The first George Bush.
And he earned only one term.
Solomon stood tall, with a wide face to match his size that cast a weary, wary kindness that somehow managed to avoid softness. The jaw had yet to sag, the lips still firm, the features sturdy. He was a few years older than Danny, his hair smoothly brushed and surprisingly dark, occasionally inviting comparisons to Ronald Reagan’s lack of gray. As always, he wore a pressed dark suit with a stiff-collared shirt and a striking silk tie.
“You sure about this?” Solomon asked.
He nodded. “Retirement was a bitch.”
“It’s been only a few months.”
“Long enough for me to know that I don’t like it.”
He listened to the basso tick of the clock and knew its story. It arrived during McKinley’s term, but gained prominence during FDR’s time when his vice president used it to time his entrance into the Senate. As the chimes began to ring fifteen seconds before the clock struck twelve, John Garner would stop whatever he was doing and march into the chamber, reaching his seat on the podium precisely at noon.
“I want to be sworn in here, in private,” he said to Solomon. “Then I want to get to work.”
“The press is clamoring for us to do this outside for the cameras. After all, it is a bit of history in the making.”
He knew Solomon felt the way he did about journalists. They were there only to be used. At the moment he had no need for their services. Decades back, when he first served in the Senate, reporters had been some of his closest friends. There was a code then, rules, an honor system, along with a different breed of man and woman who’d reported the news. He’d liked those journalists. Now it was all about money and ratings. Nobody gave a damn about being right. Just be first. Or even better, be controversial. There were so few journalists anymore. Entertainers now dominated the news channels. And he could imagine their present quandary. They’d all received the news of his appointment at the same time from the governor’s announcement. Nobody had any advantage. They’d need an a
ngle, a chance to pepper him with polecat questions about the whats, whens, whys, and hows. Better to let ’em wonder.
“That’s the great thing about being a seat warmer,” he said. “I won’t be around all that long, so I don’t have to answer a thing.”
And he added a broad smile.
Solomon’s gray-to-colorless eyes, ageless as salt water, flashed a boyish glance.
“What does your boss have to say about my return?”
“I just got off the phone with him. Shocked is the best way to put it. Fox was hoping to be rid of you. Truth be told I’m sure he’d like to be rid of me, too.”
The words came in a cultivated, Midwest drawl. Though of opposite parties, he and Solomon had always seen eye-to-eye. This man had been a big assist during his time in the White House. And he’d returned the favor, making sure Missouri was never forgotten in the federal budget.
“I want to know, Danny, between you and me. Here, with the door closed. What are you doing here?”
“Making a little history. Me and Andrew Johnson. Two presidents, from Tennessee, who became senators.”
Solomon perched his lean frame on the edge of the desk, crossing one shiny shoe over another and folding his arms. “It’s just us. What’s going on, Danny?”
He knew he might need an ally, and what better one than this tall glass of water from Missouri. And though the VP and Lucius Vance were of the same party, he knew there was not a speck of love between them.
“Vance is up to something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t know much, just enough that I had to come and find out more. But I might need your help.” He paused. “Before this is through.”
“Sounds serious.”
“I’m not sure. But every political alarm inside my brain is screaming trouble.”
