The Governor's Sons (37 page)

“You got me,” Gavin said.
 
“But Dad wants to keep the whole visit a secret.
 
The guy won’t be moving to Clarkstown for good until the beginning of next month.”

Libby bit her upper lip.
 
Her deadline to eliminate Hall was by the end of that month.
 
“Well, Gavin--you be the eyes and ears for the Organization while that nigger’s under your roof, okay?”

She couldn’t let on that the Organization wanted to kill Harland Hall.
 
Even though Gavin appeared to hate Hall, and had recently started saying “nigger” enthusiastically, he might react like Otis.
 
And Libby believed Gavin too important a tool to jeopardize.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Just let me know what his plans are.
 
Maybe monitor his movements.
 
Get as much information as you can, especially when Hall talks to your dad.
 
And I’ll want to know where his office and apartment are, and exactly when he’ll be moving in.”

“Okay.
 
But then what?
 
I mean, after he’s here for good.”

Libby sat quietly for a few seconds.
 
“What do
you
think should be done?
 
What would give
you
satisfaction?”

Gavin only hesitated for a moment.
 
“Seeing him dead.”

Surprised, Libby sat up from her pillows.
 
“Do you—” Almost giddy, she caught herself, then leaned back calmly and cleared her throat.
 
“Do you really mean that?”
  
Gavin said nothing.
 
“Do you really mean that?” Libby repeated.

“I don’t know.” Gavin sighed.
 
“A part of me does, but not just because of Uncle Otis.”
 
Libby waited for him to continue.
 
“When Dad told us Hall was gonna stay in our house—I got really mad.
 
But then he just went on and on about what a great guy he is; top of his class at Harvard and all that crap.
 
It’s like Dad said those things just to show me what a disappointment I am.
 
‘Here’s Harland Hall,’ he says, ‘a Negro without half the advantages of my kids and look how he’s turned out.’
 
Dad said Hall wouldn’t risk his reputation to have somebody killed.”
 
Gavin seethed.
 
“But if Hall comes around here, with things like they are now, he might just get his ass killed.
 
And I won’t care one bit.”

“Well—the Organization just wants to uh—shut him up.”
 
Libby tried to feel out Gavin a little more.
 
“Scare him—so he won’t talk.”

Gavin’s eyes peered keenly into Libby’s.
 
“I think he ought to keep on talking.
 
There are a lot of nutcases out there that want to see him dead.”

Libby kept herself from grimacing.
 
She hated being referred to as a nutcase.
 
“You’re right, Gavin,” she said calmly.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Gavin continued, “I don’t think we should scare him.
 
He can make all the noise he wants and keep on stirring up trouble—then somebody’s bound to blow him away.”

Ash paced nervously around the private drawing room.
 
Gazing at the elegant décor, he wondered what Harland would think of the grandeur of the Governor’s Mansion.
 
The room was pale green, its walls decorated with oil paintings depicting civil war battles and portraits of civil war heroes.
 
A marble bust of Robert E. Lee held a place of honor in one corner of the room, while the opposite corner paid homage to the state’s first governor, Enoch Upchurch, also immortalized in stone.

An ornate brass chandelier with six large frosted glass globes hung from above.
 
Tall windows were adorned with dark green velvet drapes, tied back with gold tassels.
 
Over the polished hardwood floor lay a large Oriental carpet woven in an intricate floral pattern of red, green, beige and gold.
 
The Chippendale sofa, covered in a needlepoint design of muted pastel tones, sat near a matching set of gold silk damask Chippendale armchairs.

From the way Harland sounded on the phone, Ash doubted that staying in the Governor’s Mansion would be an intimidating experience for him.
 
Nevertheless, Ash thought, Harland would be the first Negro to stay in the Governor’s Mansion as a guest.
 
And Ash was the first Governor to have a Negro child.
 
He corrected himself—acknowledged Negro child.

Ash looked at the oil portrait of his family over the marble mantle; the only piece of contemporary art in the room.
 
He and Charlene, along with the kids, looked every inch a Governor’s family.
 
Just when Ash would tell them the truth about Harland Hall was uncertain.
 
He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from wringing them.

Ash’s mind wandered to his last phone conversation with Harland.
 
Winning the argument with him hadn’t been easy.
 
Prior to that exchange, Ash had believed everything was in place for Harland to have a brief stay at the Governor’s Mansion while he sought a residence and office space in Clarkstown.
 
But when Ash called to finalize the plan of his arrival and other arrangements, Harland informed him that he’d prefer to handle things himself.
 
Getting the Governor involved in his affairs, Harland believed, wouldn’t be a good idea.

The only way Ash had convinced Harland to change his mind was by using Betty Jean as a trump card.
 
Ash felt almost ashamed resorting to a ploy like that, but it worked, and it was actually true.
 
Ash had told Harland that he’d be endangering his mother’s health by making her sick with worry.
 
Worry
was
detrimental to good health, and what man, who truly loved his mother, would make her worry unnecessarily?

Now, to Ash’s relief, Harland would be safe and his mother, happy.
 
Betty Jean had called Ash more than once to voice her concerns about her “baby” moving to Clarkstown, and asked that Ash provide some sort of security.
 
Of course, she’d never mentioned this to Harland.
 
“He wouldn’t hear of it,” she’d told Ash.

Ash stopped at the window and gazed out.
 
It was a sunny day with hardly a cloud in the sky.
 
A car had been sent to Atlanta first thing in the morning to pick up Harland.
 
Now late afternoon, he’d be arriving at any moment.
 
Ash had come home early to meet Harland, and today’s timing was perfect.
 
The kids didn’t get home from their summer jobs until around 6:00, and Charlene was on her way to meet with Libby.

Ash wanted to be alone upon his first seeing Harland.
 
If Charlene had been with her husband, she would have been suspicious about the way Ash was acting.
 
Ash wiped his hands on his pants; if nothing else, Charlene would’ve said something about his sweaty palms.

Ash wondered how her visit with Libby would turn out.
 
The girl was finally allowing Charlene a chance to talk with her.
 
Libby claimed that now, although still devastated, she was no longer so distraught she couldn’t get out of bed.

Ash wasn’t buying any of her crap, and was convinced she was pulling some sort of shenanigans.
 
As far as he was concerned, Libby was somehow involved in Otis’s murder, but Ash couldn’t determine a motive.
 
What he did suspect was that Otis had unknowingly allowed himself to be used for something.

Ash patted his forehead with a white monogrammed handkerchief.
 
He’d talk with Libby sometime next week, after Harland’s departure, and then compare notes with Charlene.
 
Ash had never trusted Libby.
 
Now Otis was dead because of her and now, before Harland even moved to town, she was trying to destroy him.
 
Ash wouldn’t let her do that Betty Jean’s baby--
my
baby, Ash thought.

Ash began pacing again.
 
He felt an uneasy fluttering in his stomach, what Mother would call butterflies.
 
Butterflies, Ash reflected, didn’t sound too manly.
 
Moments later, he peered through the window again, just in time to see the driver pull up in front of the mansion.
 
Now the butterflies churned.
 
Ash found himself pleased to believe that they’d transformed into locusts—a much manlier insect.

Ash watched, as the driver stepped out and opened the back door for Harland.
 
Ash had told him to treat Harland as he would any dignitary, even if Harland refused to be treated as such.
 
Ash saw Harland, a tall man in a gray suit, alight from the back.
 
Harland faced opposite the window so Ash couldn’t see his face, but just as Harland began to turn, the locusts in Ash’s stomach began performing deadly maneuvers. Ash couldn’t stand at the window a moment longer.
 
He rushed down the hall to the powder room, then locked the door before vomiting into the commode.

****

“Oh, honey!” Charlene greeted Libby as Libby opened her apartment door.
 
“You poor thing.”
 
The two embraced.
 
But Libby stiffened upon seeing a strange man in a dark suit next to Charlene in the hallway.
 
“Oh, don’t mind him.” Charlene introduced them.
 
“He’s my security guard.”

Ash had insisted she take an armed guard to Libby’s.
 
He’d begun to suspect her as dangerous, and he’d instructed Gavin to stay away from her all together.
 
But this was ridiculous to Charlene. Ash was paranoid.
 
Libby probably didn’t weigh over a hundred pounds and wouldn’t hurt a flea.
 
“He’ll just wait out here in the hall while we visit.”

“Fine,” Libby said in a tight voice.
 
After showing Charlene in, Libby quickly shut the door.
 
She led Charlene to her small dining area, then offered her a seat at the dinette table.
 

“Well—I—um made us some snicker doodles—and a pot of tea.”
 
She sounded nervous to Charlene.
 
“But you’ll—uh—have to excuse the mess.”
 
Libby nodded toward some clothes thrown over the back of her couch, then sat down.

“That’s alright, dear.” Charlene smiled.

“I’ve just been too upset to do much cleaning.”
 
Libby poured two cups of tea from a white dime store teapot.

“Thank you,” Charlene said, as Libby placed a cup and saucer in front of her.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Kroth.”

“So, how are you holding up, dear?” Charlene asked.

“It’s a struggle every day.
 
I won’t be able to rest easily at night until justice is done.”
 
Charlene noticed that Libby’s tone was hearty, and she spoke quickly, as though the lines were rehearsed.
 
“Cookies.”
 
Libby offered a small plate of snicker doodles.

“Uh—thank you.”
 
Charlene took one to be polite, then sipped her tea. “Libby, I can—imagine how you don’t feel safe—especially with Otis gone.”

Libby only nodded mechanically.
 
This wasn’t quite the emotional response Charlene had anticipated at the mention of Otis’s name.
 
She chose to delve into a different direction.

“I must say—I—I don’t entirely agree with the Governor--or my dad.
 
I think the decision to let
all
those men go was a little hasty.”

“How did Governor Kroth and your father convince the District Attorney’s office to let those men go?”
 
Libby asked sharply.

“Oh, Libby,” Charlene sighed, “the FBI was poking around, the whole incident was creating bad publicity for the state, but mainly--there just wasn’t any viable reason to hold them.”

“But that just means two murderers are walking the streets!
 
Why didn’t they even give me a chance to identify them?”

“All of them had alibis, honey.”

“But they all lie!
 
Since when should a Negro man’s word be taken over mine?
 
And since when does a Negro man’s alibi even hold water?”

Was Libby’s vehemence because of her anguish over losing Otis, or because she had something to hide?
 
Charlene wondered.
 
“Libby, tell me again what happened that night.
 
I want to get to the bottom of this just as much as you do.”

“I hate--having to--live through it—all over again.”
 
Libby said this like she was stalling for time to reconstruct a fabrication.

Charlene hoped this wasn’t true.
 
She hated thinking like Ash where Libby was concerned.
 
She’d brought Otis so much happiness, but had Libby really cared for him?