Forgive Me (41 page)

Walt was careful with his money (her dad’s influence perhaps) and spent it on experiences (and grandchildren), but not things. He enjoyed traveling and it wasn’t uncommon for him to be gone for months at time, sometimes with Louise, but sometimes without. The Odettes did retirement the right way, but given Angie’s tax returns, she was not on pace for such adventurousness. She had better odds chasing down adulterers at seventy-five then she did taking off for a few months to soak up the Bora Bora sunshine.

“Everything all right with your Dad?”

“Yeah, fine. Thanks.”

“Walt’s down in his workshop,” Louise said, tightening the tie of her robe as she led Angie into a spacious kitchen, the heart of most any home. “Do you want some coffee?” She glanced at the kitchen clock and noticed the time. “Oh goodness me, you probably want lunch. We’re not always this slow getting started, dear.”

“I’m just going to have water.” Angie helped herself to a glass. She knew where everything was.

“I’ll go grab Walt.”

Moments later, Angie and Walt were seated across from each other at the round kitchen table.

“Talk to me, Angie,” Walt said.

She glanced out the window and made sure Louise was still in her garden, watering plants in her bathrobe. Angie wasn’t sure if Louise was in on the secret.

“I know,” Angie began. “About my mom and dad . . . and me. About our being in witness Protection all these years.”

Walt didn’t look as shocked or surprised as she had expected. “Did your dad tell you or did you somehow figure it out on your own?”

“My dad,” Angie said.

Walt returned a grim nod. “You must be in a state of shock. Look, I’m sorry, kiddo. Keeping the secret wasn’t easy, but it was the job. I hope you understand.”

“I do, and I don’t blame you. Honest I don’t.”

Walt gave Angie’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks. That’s a huge relief. You know I love you and I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know. But I’m confused about something.”

“I imagine you’re confused about a lot.”

“There’s really nothing about William Harrington and his Ponzi scheme in any of the archives I’ve searched. Nothing I could find about my dad turning state’s evidence, either.”

Birdsong filtered in through the open kitchen windows and the aroma of Louise’s fresh brewed coffee tickled Angie’s senses.

Walt cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “I don’t know anything about that. My job was to help get your dad a new life, and that’s what I did. We were close in age back then, and well, we just became friends. It was the only time in my career with the Marshals that ever happened to me. I really liked your dad and I empathized with his situation. You were too young to remember anything from that time. It was very tense, very scary for your parents, but I assured them it would get better with time and it did. They built new lives as new people, and we’ve been close ever since. I’m afraid there’s not much more to the story than that.”

Angie leaned forward. “But there is, Walt. How is my mom connected to Isabella Conti?”

“Who?”

Angie took the picture out from her purse and explained all she’d learned about the Contis and what she had shared with her father.

“My dad stole from the Mob and Conti was in the Mob, and somehow this girl is connected to my mother.”

“And what did your dad say?” Walt asked.

“He says he doesn’t know anything. Doesn’t know the girl or how my mom knew her or why she would write
forgive me
on the back of the photograph.”

Walt made a
hmm
sound—it was curious to him, got him thinking. “What can I do, Angie?” He sounded earnest.

“What do you remember from that time? About my dad’s business dealings. There’s something there.”

“Why don’t you ask your dad?”

Angie looked again out the window and saw Louise bent over her nascent flower garden weeding without gloves on. The garden wasn’t much to look at now, but it would be glorious in a few more weeks. Louise was quite gifted with plants.

Angie looked back at Walt. “I guess I was hoping you could tell me.” For whatever reason it felt better than saying,
“I don’t trust my dad to tell me the truth.”

“Tell you why there wasn’t a trial?”

“It seems to me my dad got a free pass into witness protection. He committed crimes and got away with it.”

“Hardly got away scot-free,” Walt said. “He had to give up his entire life, his family, your mom’s family. It was hardly an easy road.”

Angie couldn’t disagree there. “Okay. And just to reiterate, I don’t hold any of this against you. You were just doing your job.”

“And just to reiterate, I think of you as a niece,” Walt said. “You’re family to me. That’s what’s important. Not a name on a piece of paper.”

Angie thanked him, and didn’t mention that Bao had told her something similar. She got up from the table. “Well, wish me luck, Uncle Walt.”

“Luck with what?”

“I’m going to take your advice and confront my dad again. And this time I’m not going to leave until he tells me the truth once and for all. I’m going to make him go through all of his business dealings until I know everything about his past, and figure out how my mom was connected to Isabella Conti.”

Walt’s expression changed. He looked like someone who’d just remembered where he set down his missing car keys. “You know, you got me thinking. Let me check something for you in my files. Hang on a second. No promises.”

Angie agreed to wait. She drank her water and looked out at the lawn, watching Louise hard at work, thinking about her mother and how much she’d enjoyed gardening.

Angie read e-mails on her phone and the time slipped away without her noticing, but it seemed like he had been gone for a while. She held out hope for a minor miracle, a piece of paper, some sort of official document to explain the unexplainable.

But Walt returned empty-handed. “I’m sorry, Angie. I thought there might have been something in my old files, but I was wrong. My guess is your dad never had a trial. That had happened before. He gave up information and in exchange, no charges were filed.”

Angie gave Walt a big hug. “A friend of mine said the same thing. Thanks for looking, but I’m not giving up. I’ll figure this out with my dad, one way or another.”

Walt held Angie’s shoulders and looked deeply into the eyes. “I have every confidence you will.”

CHAPTER 56

H
ome again, home again.
Angie used her key to go in through the front door. The TV wasn’t on, but then again the Nats weren’t playing. She called out to her dad, knowing he was at home because his Lexus was in the driveway. If he happened to be taking a walk, it would be downstairs on his elliptical in the basement where he had a second television set up.

“Daddy? I need to speak with you,” Angie said, setting her purse on the little desk in the kitchen that had become a catchall for odds and ends.

As she had expected, her father was at home—in the first floor office, judging by the sound of his footsteps.

She was already rummaging through the refrigerator when he came into the kitchen. She needed a bit food to calm what felt like a caffeine overdose, and found a bowl of egg salad on a shelf and half a loaf of bread misplaced in the drawer where the vegetables go. Her mother never would have put the bread there, though she did keep it refrigerated.

Angie took the items over to the kitchen island and only then acknowledged her father’s presence. Gabriel had on faded jeans, a denim work shirt, and looked quite relaxed, not at all like someone carrying a burdensome secret for years.

Angie took down a plate from the cupboard and set it next to the food. She poured herself a glass of water. “Do you want a sandwich, Dad?”

“You’re not done with this, are you?” Gabriel said.

“Nope, not even close,” Angie replied. She retrieved a dull knife from a kitchen drawer and heaped some egg salad onto the bread. She spread the egg salad evenly, then cut the sandwich in two, took a bite, and chewed slowly. She washed it all down with a drink of water. “I hope you don’t have plans today, because we’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“Angie, please.”

She took another bite, leaning against the kitchen island, acting as though she had all the time in the world. “No more, please. No more lies. Somehow your former business and Mom’s former life are connected to Isabella Conti, and I’m determined to figure out how.”

“I told you all I know.”

“Please, Dad, that doesn’t work anymore. I checked. There’s nothing about William Harrington in any archives I searched. Nothing about your Ponzi scheme or the trials where you turned state’s evidence. And I’m pretty good at this stuff. There should be something, but there’s nothing. So either you’re not giving me the whole truth or you’re forgetting some key details, but either way, I’m not leaving until we sort it out.”

It was a test. If he came up with the same explanation Bryce and Walt had offered, she might be inclined to believe him.

But instead of a valid explanation, Gabriel shook with anger. His face turned red and his eyes flared in anger. “I will not be spoken to this way by my daughter.”

Angie refused to be rattled. She took another bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on her father, intending her actions to be interpreted as a show of defiance. “Then tell me what I want to know,” she said after swallowing her bite.

“No.”

“Tell me or I’m going to find the Conti family, dammit.” Anger seeped into Angie’s voice. “I’ve got a friend with the Marshals now, or did you forget? He’ll help me. He’ll run this up the damn flagpole if he has to. I promise you, we’ll dig up whatever secret you’re hiding. So let’s do this on your terms, not mine. What is the connection to the Conti family and my mom? Why aren’t there stories about you in the news? Why aren’t you being forthcoming with me?”

Her father’s face turned bright red. “Enough!” he said, stomping his foot so hard he rattled the dishes in the cupboard. He stormed over to the kitchen island, picked up Angie’s plate of food, and hurtled it across the room against the wall.

The plate shattered, sending jagged shards of the dish and bits of the sandwich shooting in all directions like shrapnel. Angie ducked and covered her ears, startled and scared.

“Enough!” Gabriel yelled again. “I will not be spoken to this way!”

“You’re hiding something!” Angie screamed back at him, pointing her finger at his face. “What the hell are you hiding?”

Gabriel turned and stormed out of the kitchen. He went to the TV room and turned on the television, cranking the volume.

“Talk to me, Dad.”

Gabriel wouldn’t respond, so Angie went back to the kitchen and cleaned up the mess.

Time passed, and Angie’s hopes that her father would relent began to dim. She went into the living room and sat on the sofa. The announcer for some History Channel documentary was the only one talking.

After some time, still not having said a word, Gabriel rose from his favorite chair and Angie trailed him into the spacious first floor office adjacent to the living room. Sun spilled inside through a bank of windows overlooking the backyard—a yard still in need of mowing.

Unwilling and unable to endure the silence a moment longer, she decided to press him again. She touched his shoulder. A connection made. “What are you hiding from me, Dad?” she asked in a gentler voice.

Gabriel kept his back to his daughter, sorting through some papers on the desk, pretending not to hear her. He was breathing hard.

“Did Mom have an affair? Am I Antonio Conti’s daughter? What is it? What?”

“No,” Gabriel said harshly, turning to face her. “It’s none of that.” His voice carried less of an edge, suggesting to Angie that he might be softening.

“Then what?” Angie’s eyes were pleading as she reached for her father’s hand. “It’s enough. Just tell me.”

Gabriel titled his head slightly and gazed at his daughter with love in his eyes. “Enough is right,” he said in a quiet voice, almost to himself. “I should have known you wouldn’t let it go. I had hoped, but . . . maybe it’s time. Maybe all this has happened for a reason. You’re safe now. That’s enough for me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Gabriel touched Angie’s cheek with two plump fingers, one of which still carried his wedding ring. He set his hands on her shoulders. His back was turned to the bank of windows, and sunlight streaming in lit him in an angelic glow. Angie saw herself reflected in the lens of her father’s glasses. She looked misshapen, not unlike how she felt.

“You would figure it out one way or another. I have no doubts about that. None whatsoever. But no matter what happens, no matter what I tell you,” Gabriel said, “please know I love you very much, and I’m so incredibly proud of the woman you’ve become.”

“Daddy, what is it?” Angie’s chest tightened. Dread overwhelmed her.

“I’m so sorry,” Gabriel said, sputtering his words as tears welled in his reddened eyes.

To Angie, it looked as though he had aged a dozen years in a matter of seconds. “Tell me, please.”

Instead of her father’s voice, the next sound Angie heard was a whip cracking noise, followed by the sound of breaking glass. The noise startled her. It was loud and unexpected and it sounded very close by.

Gabriel lurched forward, knocked off balance. He fell hard into Angie and his momentum carried them both to the floor where they landed in a tangled heap.

Did he have a heart attack?
Angie’s thoughts were reeling and her father’s weight felt crushing. Using her arms and legs for leverage, she rolled her father off her body. He spilled onto his back, breathing erratically, eyes glued to the ceiling, head not moving.

“Dad, are you all right?”

Angie felt a stab of fear when her father didn’t respond. On her hands and knees, she leaned over her father’s face and tried to get a look into his eyes. She felt something warm and wet spread against her fingertips.

She looked behind her and saw that the floor around her father’s lower back was coated in red where blood was seeping out. Her fingers were sticking into the blood.