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Barrie stopped reading and raised her head. She might just as well have been looking at three formal portraits. Their features were frozen into perfect, perpetual pleasantness.
She returned to the letter. “ ‘Vanessa and I realize that you, the American people, will be as disillusioned and saddened as we by this turn of events, but no one is immune to this dilemma which is experienced by millions of families in our world community. We ask only that you make no harsh judgments and that you appreciate the honesty with which we’re dealing with this unhappy situation.
“ ‘Following the example set by my father-in-law, Senator Armbruster, Vanessa and I have dedicated ourselves to public service. We plan to continue serving you in whatever capacity you’ll allow us. Speaking for myself, more than at any other time as your president, I need your wholehearted support. Thank you.’ ”
It was signed David Malcomb Merritt, President of the United States. Barrie folded the letter and replaced it in the official envelope. “Very eloquent, Mr. President,” she said. After a beat, she added, “And very fraudulent.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Barrie took a deep breath and mentally leaped off the high diving board. “You’re not heartsick over this divorce, Mr. President. You’re relieved. Because I’m certain it’s part of a deal, right? A deal struck with Senator Armbruster and Vanessa.”
“This is an outrage,” Armbruster blustered. “You’ve surpassed even your audacity, young lady. We invited you here tonight—”
“Hoping that you could purchase my silence with an exclusive story about the divorce in the First Family. Sorry, Senator, no trade. No deal, Mr. President.” She stood up and approached the divan on which Vanessa was reclined. “How could you settle for this,” she said, smacking the envelope against her palm, “when he killed your baby?”
“I’m calling the Secret Service.”
“No, Clete,” David ordered, halting his father-in-law at the door of the parlor. “Let’s have this out. Miss Travis has been slinging mud at me for weeks, influenced no doubt by Gray. It’s time she heard my side of the story.” Facing her, he said, “I did not kill Robert Rushton Merritt. I don’t know how you reached that ridiculous and slanderous conclusion, but you’re wrong.”
“Vanessa intimated to me that you did. After the events of these last few days, I believe her.”
“You mistakenly inferred that from something she said at a time when she was so depressed she couldn’t think straight.”
Barrie kneeled down so that she and Vanessa were on eye level. “When you contacted me that first time, were you clinically depressed? Or were you afraid? Did he smother the child while you were in the room, or did you find him standing over the body, pillow in his hand?”
“The baby died of SIDS.”
Ignoring the President, Barrie grabbed Vanessa’s hand. “Are you going to let him get away with murdering your baby and trying to murder you?”
“I’m warning you, Miss Travis, one more word and—”
“Your father talked you into this deal, didn’t he? Wasn’t it he who suggested that you maintain your silence in exchange for a peaceful divorce? Do you know why he urged you to accept that deal?”
“Because he knows I’m afraid,” Vanessa said faintly. “I want out of my marriage to David.”
“Be quiet, Vanessa,” David shouted. “Don’t tell her a goddamn thing.”
Barrie appealed to her. “Why do you think the President agreed to a divorce when it could impede his chances for reelection? What reason would be compelling enough for him to grant you a divorce?”
Vanessa looked distraught, but her wide blue eyes were fixed on Barrie. “I… I don’t know.”
“Because your father threatened to expose a terrible secret if your husband said no.”
“I’m warning you for the last time—”
“David, let me call in the Secret Service,” Clete implored.
Barrie spoke above them. “Your father knows where the body is buried, Vanessa. In this instance, that isn’t simply an expression. There really is a buried body. Of another baby. Born years ago to a woman named Becky Sturgis. That baby wasn’t wanted either, so your husband killed it. And your father helped him cover it up.”
Vanessa looked at her father. “Daddy? Is this true?”
“Of course not! The woman’s a lunatic, Vanessa. Everybody knows it. You can’t trust a word she says.”
“You can’t bluff your way out of this, gentlemen,” Barrie said. “Shutting me up won’t help. Too many people know. It’s over.”
“Like hell it is!”
Responding to the President’s angry shout, the Secret Service agents opened the door. “Mr. President?”
