Ransomed Dreams (17 page)

Sheridan said, “Tell me it’s all a bad dream.”

From the table Bram shrugged, and Luke said, “We have no way of figuring that out just yet.”

She sighed.

Calissa set a mug on the counter. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I want to go home.”

“Sheridan—” without getting up, Luke pulled out a chair—“why don’t you sit.” He did not intone a question.

She met his gaze.

Mistake.

It was like slipping into a hot bubble bath.

She removed the blanket and folded it, glancing around the familiar room. It was large enough for the oak table that seated six. There was a counter halfway across the center with four stools. Vertical blinds, shut against the night, covered the window over the sink and a sliding-glass door. She took in the country decor and the appliances, white, from the first white era.

“Why didn’t he ever remodel this place?” She set the blanket on a stool.

Bram said, “Sit, honey. I made soup and sandwiches. You need to eat.”

Sheridan looked at the table, hesitant, trying to get her mind off the man who was there in Chicago with her where Eliot should have been.

Those accusatory papers covered the table. Luke and Bram hunched over them like college kids studying feverishly for an exam. Or like commanders plotting in a war room how best to attack the enemy.

“It’s not going away, is it?” she said. “We have to plow through it and figure out what to do about it.”

Bram smiled. “Hear, hear! That’s the spirit. Do you want chicken noodle or broccoli cheddar?”

Calissa said, “Chicken noodle. She has a tummyache.”

Sheridan gave her sister an odd look.

“It’s been a long couple days for you. You used to get tummyaches when you got stressed out.”

“I’m fine!” She caught Luke’s crooked smile. “I am. I am ready and willing to dig through all this junk.”

He angled his head toward the chair. “We have a plan. Come listen and tell us what you think.”

She sat.

Calissa set a bowl of soup before her. As she ate, Luke pointed out the highlights on some of the papers. There must have been magic in Bram’s chicken soup to keep her steady and focused.

Luke said, “I’ve learned that Bram here is quite the investigative reporter.”

“That’s how he got started in journalism.”

“So I heard. He’s going to dig further into Harrison’s congressional record and get a detailed history of everything he’s been involved with. I’ll follow the international trail to see if anything leads to smuggling.”

“Smuggling is a fact of life,” she said. “It’s common knowledge that diamonds are mined in Venezuela and not accounted for and sold somewhere else.”

“I didn’t know that,” Calissa said. “Where do they go?”

“Wherever.”

Luke added, “Some information is hearsay; some is documented; some simply points to irregularities. It’s true that diamonds are smuggled across the country’s borders, which are vast and impossible to control. The gems are transported into Guyana or Brazil, where they’re laundered, and then make it into the legitimate market.”

“Who benefits?” Calissa asked.

“Terrorists and the like.”

Calissa blanched. “Terrorists?”

Sheridan set down her spoon and swallowed the hot liquid. She’d heard the rumors. She knew all the stuff Luke explained now. But to hear spoken aloud the enormity of the crime her father played a role in was too awful.

Bram blew out a loud breath. “That’s pretty big-time. Harrison and others like him—how would they be involved in something so major?”

“I wouldn’t want to guess. The complicated answer is he helped put into place certain guidelines that protected smugglers. A simple answer is he and others carried gems into the U.S., knew where to sell them, and pocketed a lot of money. Today you could probably tuck three million dollars’ worth of diamonds inside a matchbox.”

A wall clock ticked loudly in the silence.

Luke turned over one of the papers and slid it in front of Sheridan. “We found this note.” In faint pencil it read,
Hull House, VA
. “What do you make of it?”

“You know Hull House on the campus of the University of Illinois, Chicago. It was a settlement house at the turn of the last century, later made into a museum. Our mother volunteered there and through its association.”

“The same as you.”

“Right. I don’t know what
VA
has to do with it, though.”

He shook his head. “Do you think it’s your mother’s handwriting?”

“I don’t remember her handwriting. She didn’t write much.” It was one of Sheridan’s regrets, that she didn’t even have a recipe written down by her mother. “Liss?”

“It’s her tiny printing.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Calissa sounded huffy.

Sheridan shrugged at her.

Bram said, “Given that
VA
is the abbreviation for Virginia, we wondered if she did anything connected with Hull House work during her time out east.”

“That doesn’t ring a bell with me,” Calissa said.

“Me neither.” Sheridan ate, her mind wandering to the visits with Ysabel to the museum. They were nothing short of glorious. Her mother knew everyone who worked there. She knew the place inside and out. She would take Sheridan by the hand and describe in detail the displays and photos. She knew all the facts about Jane Addams’s work with immigrants and all the programs that Hull House provided, from day care to art classes to Mexican potters creating what would eventually inspire Fiesta tableware.

“Sheridan.” Luke interrupted her thoughts. “I understand why you want to call Eliot.”

Good grief. Her sister must have blabbed about her earlier hissy fit upstairs. “Right, Luke. But you know where we live. You know I can’t do that. I can’t just pick up the phone and expect him to answer on the other end.”

“But you could make arrangements to do that. You could send a message to him to be in Mesa Aguamiel to receive your call at a particular time.”

The thought excited her. “I could, couldn’t I?” It was possible. Convoluted, but possible. If she got Mercedes to—

“Please,” he said, “don’t do it.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “But why not? He needs to know this stuff. He’s Harrison’s son-in-law.”

“It’s not that straightforward. Bram and I need time to research. If we find any indication that Harrison influenced national policy or sold smuggled diamonds, then I’ll pass the information on. In the meantime . . .” He closed his mouth.

“In the meantime, what? Finish your sentence.”

“Eliot is part of the international scene. He might inadvertently tip off someone who knows someone who, et cetera, et cetera.”

She barked a laugh. “You think he talks to people? How? By carrier pigeon?”

“He talks to Mercedes, who talks to Javier, who talks to tourists. Eliot may go into Mesa Aguamiel and write e-mails. Rumors spread like wildfire even from the hinterland.”

Anger filled her. “Thanks for reminding me that my cocoon has been obliterated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re saying I’m not allowed to talk to my husband.”

“For now.” His face closed up.

She looked down, stirred her soup, and muttered, “I really don’t like you, Luke Traynor.”

“I know.”

Chapter 31

Chicago

The morning after showing Harrison’s papers to Sheridan and Luke, Calissa sat in her car with her sister. She turned off the engine and looked out her side window. “Either I’m getting paranoid or that blue hybrid has followed us most of the way from the house.”

They were in a parking garage on the U of I campus, near the Hull House Museum, on the trail of an idea Sheridan had had about the
VA
written in their mother’s handwriting on the back of one of the papers. The rain had ended in the night, and the sun glinted off the windshield of the vehicle she mentioned.

Sheridan craned her neck to see around Calissa. “Paranoia comes with hanging out with Luke, but so does a sixth sense. Where is it?”

“By the exit, at the curb in front of that SUV.”

“The driver is talking on his phone.”

“I only noticed because I’ve been thinking about getting a hybrid, but certainly not that color.”

“Let’s go ask him how he likes his.”

“Sher!”

Her sister was out of the car and almost to the side of the garage before Calissa could unbuckle her seat belt. She caught up with her at the wall, a waist-high concrete structure.

Sheridan waved and yelled through the opening, “Hey, you!”

The guy seemed to turn their direction, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Quickly he looked the other way, peeled from the curb into the left-turn lane, and slid through the intersection as the arrow turned red. Someone honked.

“Oh!” The word exploded from Sheridan. “He’s doing it again. I cannot believe it.”

“What? Who? What are you talking about?” Calissa hurried after Sheridan, back toward the car.

“He’s got no right to do this.” She talked loudly to herself. “No right. I don’t care what’s going on. You know there are more of them out there. They’re like rats. You see one for every fifty hidden in some black hole. Oh!” She yanked open her car door and got in.

Calissa followed suit. Sheridan was digging through her handbag, muttering incoherently. The name Traynor was spouted once or twice.

Late the previous night, Sheridan had declared her disdain for him and huffed back up to her room. It didn’t seem to phase him. He graciously accepted Calissa’s offer of the first-floor guest room. By the time she’d gotten down to the kitchen that morning, he had made a pot of coffee and was ready to leave the house. He reiterated what he’d said the night before:
“I need to figure out what’s going on. In the meantime, stay close to home. Take her to the hospital; take her to lunch; take her shopping. But do not take her anywhere else or leave her alone.”

Calissa had nearly sprayed a mouthful of coffee across the counter.
In your dreams, mister.

“Sher, was I really right about that guy in the car? He followed us?”

“Probably.” Her face was inside the bag. “This is what Luke did after he left the hospital in Houston.”

“He had you followed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sheridan didn’t reply.

Calissa thought about Luke’s admission that he loved Sheridan but not in a man-woman-eros sort of way. “Sher, he would have just been wanting to make sure you were okay. He’d been protecting you for some time by then, right?”

“Mm.” The noncommittal sound was muffled as she still rummaged in the bag.

“How did you know someone was following you?”

“Eliot told me what to watch for.”

“Eliot is a spy too?”

“No. That sort of knowledge comes with the territory.”

“How to follow someone? Sounds like tradecraft to me, something he’d have to learn from experience.”

“Liss, can we stop with the Eliot’s-no-good attitude?”

“Sorry.” Calissa reprimanded herself. It really was a bad habit she had nurtured through the years. Not liking Eliot was easier than envying her sister.

“You know, Dad’s the one on trial here. He’s the one we never should have trusted.”

Tears stung Calissa’s eyes. How could her dad have committed such heinous acts? He was domineering and insufferable at times, but such a personality opened doors to great accomplishments. He had initiated countless positive developments for the state and for Chicago. Perhaps he had not been a great public servant, but he was an above-average one.

At some point while sitting in the hospital’s ICU, she had run out of excuses for Harrison Cole. He’d been young, too eager, blind, confused, in love with a Venezuelan. None of them worked. There were no excuses for his behavior. Calissa could not get used to that thought.

“Missed calls?” Sheridan was staring at her cell phone. “Voice mail? When did that happen?” She fumbled with the keypad for a moment. “I can’t remember the password Luke told me he set up.”

Calissa slumped in her seat. Sheridan was losing it. She’d seen it happen in the hospital in Houston when Eliot was so bad and Luke so attentive. Odd. The situation was similar to the one they were in now. No Eliot, lots of Luke.

She said, “See what number the call came from.”

Sheridan couldn’t find the right spot quickly. Calissa realized that since there was no phone service where they lived, she probably had not used a cell in a long time. Luke had provided this one. She wouldn’t be familiar with it.

“Oh, my gosh.” Sheridan looked at her. “It’s the number I call in Mesa Aguamiel.”

“Mesa Aguamiel? Where’s that?” She bit her lip. They’d just slid into a taboo subject: where Sheridan lived.

Calissa met her sister’s stare.

At last Sheridan said, “Mexico. Near Topala.”

Topala? Calissa did not know Mexico. She had never visited Latin America. She liked Paris. “Oh.”

“I have to listen to the message. What if something happened to Eliot?”

“Call Luke for the password.”

“I was going to call him anyway.” Sheridan fiddled with the phone. “Chew him out for that guy in the hybrid. Look at this. He’s put himself as speed dial number one, in case of emergency.”

“This qualifies.”

“The thing is, Liss, he’s the one who creates emergencies.” She pressed the phone to her ear.

“What’s he done? Why do you treat him like he’s a pain in the neck?”

“I met him in Tegucigalpa. Supposedly he was a foreign service officer in public diplomacy. Soon after, there were demonstrations, anti this and that. One became violent. Our Marines put us on lockdown for two days. I thought we might be evacuated. A couple years later I heard of problems in Quito. I learned later that he’d been there at the time. Then he came to Caracas and . . . well, you know what happened there. Hi.” Her voice turned steely. “Call them off, Luke.”

Calissa watched her sister talk into the phone, glad to hear the chutzpah back in her tone.

“Calissa and I are at the Hull House Museum because I used to work here and I want to visit. If you have a problem with that, you’ll just have to deal with it. Not that it’s any of your business. And I need the password for my voice mail.” She paused. “Yes, I have a message. Why else would I ask for it?”