Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (77 page)

Victoria Braden stood behind a portable lectern on the steps of a band gazebo at Endor Recreational Park. The gazebo had been constructed half a century ago with the intention of hosting summer concerts in the park, but Endor had no band and the gazebo fell into disrepair—until word was received of Mrs. Braden's intended visit. The gazebo was quickly reshingled and freshly painted and now stood crisp and white, draped in patriotic banners and American flags.

Chris Riddick, by contrast, was dressed in his usual dark suit and crewneck shirt, which allowed him to disappear—and that's exactly what he felt like doing right now. The small park was packed with bodies, exactly as Braden's organizers had planned it, so that no camera angle could suggest so much as an empty corner. It took every citizen of Endor to pull it off, and more than a few from the neighboring towns of Linden and Riverton and Front Royal—but they would have all come anyway. Little Victoria had come home, and this was their chance to see the next First Lady of the United States.

“I want to thank the Endor High School marching band for that rousing rendition of ‘Hail to the Chief.' I should remind you that ‘Hail to the Chief ' is the official presidential anthem, reserved only to announce the president of the United States. I'm afraid playing it for me was a breach of protocol—or at least a little premature.”

The audience erupted in laughter.

Riddick looked at Victoria and almost smiled.
You're good, sweetheart— really good.
She rarely glanced down at her notes; it gave the audience the impression that she was speaking straight from her heart, though in fact her text was always prepared in advance and she rarely departed from it. But even when she did, her instincts were unerring; she knew what she wanted from an audience and she got it.
You always get what you want
, Riddick thought.
You just get tired of the things you get.

The day had begun with a humiliating “Welcome Home” parade up Main Street—a pathetic stretch of potholes lined with appliance stores and thrift shops and gift boutiques promising tourists “authentic mountain crafts.” Next came a visit to “Endless High,” followed by a mind-numbing “high tea” with the wife of the mayor. At each event Riddick did what he always did—stand in the corner and look formidable and protect Mrs. Braden from dangers that didn't exist. Somehow Victoria managed to throw herself into every event, smiling and waving and listening enraptured to boring drivel with eye contact like a laser-guided weapon—and everywhere she went the cameras clicked softly, capturing every caring moment.

“Some of you may not know this, but ‘Hail to the Chief ' was first used to announce the president at the inauguration of James K. Polk. It seems that Mr. Polk was a short man, and his wife was afraid that he might arrive unnoticed. Fortunately, my husband doesn't have that problem; when John Henry Braden walks into a room, people know he's there. John is a man of stature—you're going to notice that between now and November whenever he stands alongside another candidate. You'll notice his stature—not just in height but in principles, in values, in ideas that will make this country an even greater place to live.”

Riddick could sense the climax coming. He knew the formula by heart: Once she mentioned “principles and values,” she was about to bring it home.

“I want to thank you all for coming out today; I want to thank you for making me feel so much at home. I will never forget Endor. This town is a part of me, and I'll take it with me wherever I go—with your help, God willing, to the White House. Thank you—thank you all so much.”

A tremble in her voice—a tearful farewell—one final wave, and—cut! It's a wrap, boys. Break it down and set up the next shot.

Riddick stepped up beside Victoria as a signal to well-wishers not to get too close.

“How was it?” she whispered, smiling for each of the photographers as they squeezed to the front of the crowd.

Riddick placed one hand in the small of her back. “Flawless, as always.”

She immediately moved away and turned to her assistant. “What's next?”

“Some of the photographers are asking for more time.”

“Which ones? I'm not interested in the locals.”

The assistant checked her notes. “There's one from the
Post
Arts &Living section; there's
DC Style
and the
Washingtonian
too.”

“Good. Find them and let them know—tell them it's ‘by invitation only.'”

“Where do you want to set up?”

She looked around the area. “Let's take a walk—do a little window-shopping. If we don't get away from this crowd, we'll never stop being interrupted.”

She left the gazebo and headed for the sidewalk with Riddick close by her side. She nodded a friendly greeting to each person as she passed, but in between smiles she cocked her head toward Riddick and said, “Don't ever—
ever
—touch me in public again. Do you understand?”

Riddick paused. “What if I'm taking a bullet for you?”

“Then do it in midair—but don't touch me. It sends the wrong message.”

“Maybe that's the message I wanted to send.”

She accelerated her pace and widened the distance between them.

For the next hour they moved from gift shop to gift shop, allowing the photographers to capture her image in every conceivable setting. There was Victoria studying the engraving of Monticello; Victoria resting in a rocking chair beside the kindly old proprietor; Victoria looking thoughtfully out the window with the shadows of the mullions cast dramatically across her face. Riddick watched, imagining how he might pose her if he were a photographer himself. He slowly shook his head; the camera never got tired of her, and it was easy to see why.

When the last of the photographers was finally satisfied, Riddick and Victoria stepped out onto the sidewalk. Victoria waved to the rest of their entourage to catch up with them while Riddick lit a cigarette.

“I wish you wouldn't smoke,” she said.

“Concerned about my health?”

“I could care less about your health. It reflects badly on me.”

He dropped the cigarette and crushed it out. “I don't know how you do it, Vic.”

“Do what?”

“Handle all the attention. Smile for all the photographers. Act like you're listening when you're not. I'd feel like screaming at the end of a day like this.”

“It doesn't matter how you feel,” she said. “It only matters how you look. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”

“Victoria! There you are!”

Victoria turned; standing behind her was an old woman no more than five feet tall, with curly gray hair and a broad grin that exposed the tips of twisted yellow teeth.

“Well, hello there,” Victoria responded, smiling warmly and extending her hand.

The old woman eagerly took Victoria's hand with both of hers, holding it with one and stroking it with the other. “I've been trying to see you all day, but it's just been impossible! I waved to you in the parade but I don't suppose you saw me. I called your name over and over again—but I guess everyone else did too. I came to the high school but you were already gone. I was at the park, of course, but there were so many people and a little soul like me—well, I just couldn't squeeze through! I started to get all panicked—I thought,
What if Victoria goes away and she never meets me?
The thought was almost too much to bear!”

“Aren't you sweet,” Victoria purred. “What's your name, dear?”

“Agnes,” she said, “but I don't suppose you'll call me that.”

“I'd be proud to, Agnes.”

The old woman suddenly released Victoria's hand and threw her arms around her waist, pulling her in close and squeezing her tight. Riddick immediately stepped forward, but Victoria looked at him and shook her head. She wrapped her arms lightly around the old woman's shoulders and patted her on the back. A few seconds later Victoria let her arms fall to her sides, but Agnes continued to hold on.

Riddick stepped up behind her. “Ma'am.”

The old woman released Victoria and turned to him.

Riddick handed her a business card. “If you'll write to me at this address, I'll see that you get an autographed photo of Mrs. Braden— would you like that?”

“Oh, I have all sorts of photographs of Victoria—ones she hasn't even seen yet.” She turned back to Victoria. “I'm sorry for being such an old fool. It's just that—well—I never thought I'd get a chance like this. I thought I might never see you again.”

Victoria put her hand on the old woman's shoulder. “You're no such thing. In fact, I think meeting you has been the highlight of my visit to Endor.”

Tears began to well up in the old woman's eyes. “I have something to show you, Victoria—something I made just for you—something I know you'll want to see.”

“What's that, dear?”

“It's at the library—right across the street there. I wonder, could you come with me and see it?”

Victoria glanced at her watch.

“I promise, it will only take a moment. Please? It would mean so much to me—and to you too.”

Victoria smiled. “I think we can spare just a moment for Endor's finest citizen, can't we, Chris? All right, Agnes—lead the way.”

They crossed the street to the library. Agnes unlocked the main door and Riddick went in first while Victoria and Agnes waited outside. He stepped out a few seconds later and said, “It checks out—you can go in.” Agnes allowed Victoria to enter first—but when Riddick tried to follow she held up a hand and stopped him. “If you don't mind, what I have to say to Victoria is personal.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am—that isn't allowed.”

“It's all right, Chris,” Victoria said. “Wait outside.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Mrs. Braden. It isn't procedure.”

“We're making an exception for Agnes. I'll be right back.”

They disappeared into the building and left Riddick standing there, staring angrily at the closed door.

Agnes led Victoria into a small room just off the lobby. Victoria looked at the walls; they were covered with photographs and magazine covers and newspaper clippings of her.

“Well—I must say I'm flattered.” She moved quickly around the room, pausing to look at a few of the photographs. “This is quite a collection, Agnes. You put a lot of time and effort into this. You're right— this is very special to me.” She glanced at her watch.

“Oh, this isn't what I wanted to show you.” Agnes took a key from around her neck and unlocked a lower drawer, then took out a large scrapbook with a brown leather cover; she set it on the table in the middle of the room and opened it to the first page. “This is what I want you to see.”

Victoria looked. The page was filled with faded black-and-white Polaroids of a beautiful baby girl. “What a lovely child. Is this your granddaughter?”

“That's my baby girl.”

“She's beautiful. Where is she now?”

Agnes smiled up at her. “She's right here, Victoria.”

Victoria blinked. “I'm sorry?”

“I don't expect you to remember—you were only six months old at the time.”

She stared at the photographs. “Are you saying that's me?”

“I don't expect you to remember me at all—a child can't remember its mother after only six months.”

“I think there's been a mistake,” Victoria said. “I left Endor when I was just a baby.”

“That's right, dear—that's when I gave you away.”

“What?”

“I loved you, of course—more than you'll ever know. But I wanted something better for you, and I knew I couldn't give it to you. I was dirt poor, you see, and I was raising a baby all by myself. I know it's hard to believe now, but I was a pretty little thing back then—I had all kinds of boys sniffing around my door. There were two of them in particular— well, I just couldn't choose between them. And when I told them I was in a family way, they both ran for the hills. I can't really blame them; they were just boys. But that left me to raise you by myself, and—”

“Wait a minute. I know all about my birth parents—they were killed in a car crash.”

“That's the story I made up—that's the story I told your new parents.”

Victoria began to turn the pages of the scrapbook. On the next page she found a birth certificate; the date of birth was the same as hers, but the name was different.

“Beulah Deluca?”

“I named you after your grandmother—isn't it lovely? But your new parents liked ‘Victoria' better, and I suppose it's done you just fine.”

On the next page was a baptismal certificate and a lock of delicate hair tied with a pink ribbon. The following page contained a single sheet of paper—it seemed to be some kind of genealogical chart.