CHAPTER 18
Before exiting the Cherokee in the parking garage at the Standard-Gazette, I put the duffel bag with my camo fatigues on the floor in front of the passenger seat and then slid the packet of fabricated evidence into the compartment between the two seats, closing the cover to conceal it from curious eyes.
When I got off the elevator on the fourth floor of the building, Darla's personal assistant—a mid-30's-ish woman named Doralee DeSpain—was waiting for me. "Mrs. Finley instructed me to take you to the conference room where she took her kids and their spouses. It's the second largest room in the building and the largest on this floor . . . not that that's relevant to your reasons for being here. . ."
"So, any idea what the atmosphere is like in there?" I asked.
"No, sir, none at all. The young men—particularly her own sons—seemed kind of . . . tense, if you get my drift."
"Tense, huh? That can't be good." I sighed. "I asked Darla to text me before I go in, to give me a sort of 'heads-up' on what's happening in there. I haven't heard from her yet."
"She's probably been busy fielding questions since she went in there. I doubt she's had half a minute to send even a short text."
"Huh. Guess I'm gonna hafta wing it, then." We stopped outside of a room whose door read "Conference Room 4A." I nodded my head at my guide. "Thanks for getting me here, Ms. DeSpain." Then I turned the knob and opened the door.
I saw Darla, seated in a large chair at the head of the long conference table. Her kids and their spouses occupied eight chairs at the opposite end of said table. Cups of coffee sat on the table in front of six of the eight young people; the other two had bottles of water.
"So," Darla was saying, "now you know everything you need to know about my past—and present—relationship with Jack Beckham . . . ."
"Ahem." I cleared my throat noisily as I entered the room, not wanting her to say another word that might turn out to be embarrassing for both of us . . . well, for me, anyway. I don't like to listen to people go on about me to others. If someone's going to sing my praises, I either prefer that they share their feelings with me in private; or, if they're going to do it publicly, that they do it when I'm not around. I don't like being the object of attention of a roomful of people. It's happened two or three times at testimonial dinners of one sort or another, and I've squirmed in my seat the entire time. I think Darla understood that about me.
She smiled, rose from her chair and came to me, putting her hands on my chest. "Everything's okay, Jack," she whispered. "The kids weren't concerned about my marrying you per se; they were just worried that I might be rushing into things, getting engaged so quickly when we haven't seen each other for thirty-five years."
"Did you explain to them that it only took a couple of days for both of us to realize that those thirty-five years don't matter?"
"I told them it only took me a couple of minutes to realize it." She lowered her arms and took my hand. "Come on over here. They'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Oh. . . O-kay," I said reluctantly. My heart got stuck in my throat. Darla might think everything was okay, but . . . I wasn't so sure. On the other hand, I didn't know her kids.
"Well, everyone . . . here he is," said Darla a bit nervously, "Jack Beckham. . . uh, Admiral Jack Beckham."
One of the girls, a petite strawberry blonde, said, "The portrait doesn't do you justice, Admiral."
"Portrait?" I looked around. Oh, gee! Thanks, Dad! "My father would be responsible for putting that picture up there," I said. I then turned to Darla. "That painting is a blow-up of the eleven-by-fourteen photo I gave him before I shipped out for Desert Storm. I can't believe he did this!" I shook my head, bowed it and moaned, rubbing my temples. "I hate the fact that, since he owns this paper, he can put any darned thing he wants any darned place he wants!"
"Your father owns this newspaper?" one of the young men asked.
I raised my head. "Darla didn't tell you? . . . Yeah, he owns it. It's because he owns it that your mom is working here. He hired her specially, despite the fact that her journalistic experience has primarily been with a small-town newspaper—no offense."
One of the girls spoke up. "She said your dad brought her here to help him with a plan he had to get you and your brother to bond. She didn't say he owned the paper."
"It was an oversight," Darla explained. "It wasn't an intentional omission. I just didn't think about it."
"So," said one of the other young men, "did it work?"
I shrugged. "More or less. . . When we found out what Dad and Uncle George were up to, we stopped fighting with each other and turned our attention toward finding a way to get even. Mac and I may not have a lot in common, but neither of us likes being manipulated. In fact, we were in the process of putting our plan for revenge into action when your mom told me you were here and asked me to come by. I've got some stuff out in my rental vehicle I need to deliver as soon as I leave here."
"So, what kind of revenge are you planning?" the fourth young man asked.
I smiled. "Sorry, it's top secret. I haven't even told Darla—and I don't intend to. If you want to know what our plan is—and if you're still in town—watch one of the local newscasts tomorrow night at ten . . . or eleven or . . . whenever. I'm sure it'll get full coverage."
"Jack, you can't be serious! You're doing something big enough to get it on the TV news and you won't tell me what it is?"
"Yeah, Mom should get the scoop!" said her oldest son.
Darla looked pointedly at the young man. "That's not what I meant. If Jack is going to humiliate his own father—who happens to be the owner of this newspaper—I don't want the story spread all over our own front page! But I'd at least like to be forewarned—so that I can be forearmed, just in case anybody calls and asks questions!"
I shrugged. "What you don't know can't hurt you, D. Anyway, you know the reason why we're doing this. You just don't know what this is. All I can say is, if you do want the story, get a reporter up to Pike National Forest tomorrow evening at around eight. Have him keep his eyes peeled for helicopters and/or jeeps. It should prove interesting."
"Jack, you didn't!"
"Not yet, but we will."
"Who—"
"We haven't made up our minds yet. We're gonna discuss it further when I return home tonight."
"Do any of you have any idea what they're talking about?" one of the girls asked.
Everyone shook their heads. "They obviously understand each other, though," said the oldest girl. "Shows how well they really know each other."
The eight of them were staring at us; we looked at them and smiled sheepishly. "It's Jack-and-Darla shorthand, so to speak," I said. "Yeah, we understand each other—very well." I looked raptly into Darla's eyes and smiled. She blushed. Oh, yeah! She understood.
One of the boys noticed. "He just propositioned her with his eyes!"
"What?!" queried another one.
I turned back toward the table and addressed the group. "I did not proposition her! That 'look' was simply a non-verbal way of telling her how I feel about her—nothing more. As far as I'm concerned, Darla is the epitome of everything that's good about women. I wouldn't do anything to change that."
I heard some sighs of relief from the Peanut Gallery, and Darla turned her attention back to me. I smiled softly and said, "I'd better go—if you think they're done with me. I've still got a lot to do to prepare for tomorrow's little show . . . and I'd like to get done early enough to have dinner out with you this evening, as planned."
"With dancing?"
"If I'm not too tired. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."
Darla turned back to her family. "Anybody else have questions for Jack? He really does need to leave, and I have work to do. So, if your questions and concerns have all been dealt with satisfactorily, I suggest we call this meeting adjourned."
"I have just one more question," the youngest girl spoke up. "If the two of you are engaged, how come Mom's not wearing a ring yet?"
Darla explained. "We were planning to get a ring before going to visit all of you. But, since everything has happened so fast, and we've been so busy trying to figure out the entirety of Mr. Beckham's plan and where he and his brother are hiding out, we haven't really had time to go shopping for a ring. I expect we'll get one within the next few days."
I took hold of Darla's left hand, held it up so that the group seated around the table could see it, and confirmed what Darla had just said. "I shall indeed be putting a ring on this hand sometime very soon." Having said that, I lowered her hand, but kept hold of it. "Now, if there's nothing else, would you please excuse us? I'd like to give your mother a proper farewell."
I led Darla out to the hallway, and, once the door had closed behind us with a heavy clap, I gathered her into my arms and said, "I love you, Darla Jane McIntyre Finley. I promise you, I'll put a ring back on that finger ASAP; and when I'm through punishing Dad, I'll thank him for arranging this." I then lowered my head and pressed my lips to hers. Man, did they taste good! I couldn't get over that—Darla's lips. Nothing sweeter in the whole world. It made me want to keep kissing her and never let up.
Then the bell on the elevator rang. It was stopping on this floor. I reluctantly broke contact and withdrew my lips, still holding her in my arms. She was weak in the knees. I felt her go limp, just as she had the night before. I couldn't let go of her, for fear she'd crumble to a heap on the floor. I held her to me and she sighed. The elevator doors closed again without taking on or dropping off any passengers. I guessed someone must've decided that discretion was the better part of valor and moved on.
"Can you stand now?" I asked quietly.
Darla nodded. "Yes, I have my knees back."
I caressed her cheek again. "I'll pick out a ring while I'm in D.C."
"In D.C.?"
"I'll tell you tonight over dinner. I'll call you later and let you know what time the reservations are for, but right now I hafta go. Take care, D.J. I love you," I concluded, as I withdrew my hand from her cheek.
"Reservations?" Darla called out to me as I turned to go. "Jack . . ."
I turned back again and smiled. "Dress up," I said. "We're putting on the dog tonight."
I felt her eyes drilling into me as I headed for the elevator. Tonight would be delightful.
(*)
I changed into my camo fatigues in the outdoor restroom of an old, beat-up service station in the foothills and drove the Cherokee into the mountains. As I drew near the locale of O'Shaughnessy's Outpost, I took out my cellphone and called the store. Shaun's son answered. I asked to speak to his father, so the youngster took over tending the till while I spoke to Shaun. I heard a screen door bang shut. The phone was a cordless, so Shaun was taking it outside for privacy.
"What's up, Jack? Has there been a change of plans, or something?"
"Just a minor one, Shaun. I've got a dinner date tonight, so Mac's gonna bring the map up to your place instead of me."
"Did you tell him how to find it?"
"Gave him directions a blind turkey could follow."
"That's reassuring."
"Any sign of my kinfolk today?"
"They'll probably come by sometime in the next hour to pick up the stuff they ordered for supper tonight."
"Which is?"
Shaun's voice lost much of its warmth. "I don't see that it matters what your pa and your uncle decide to eat for supper, Jack. They're coming in sometime within the hour; that's all you need to know. You might as well get on up there to the holler and wait for 'em to leave so you can play your dirty little trick on 'em."
I was getting concerned. I pulled into a niche at the side of the road. I couldn't concentrate on where I was going while carrying on a worrisome conversation with Shaun; and if we talked much longer, I'd soon be out of range and my cellphone would be useless. I was worried because it sounded as though Shaun was beginning to disapprove of our little scheme. Maybe having Dad and Uncle George as regular customers over the past few days had caused him to warm up to them a bit. This did not bode well. If he decided to take their side and turn against Mac and me when the Feds came poking around, we could get into some pretty hot water.
"You having an attack of conscience, Shaun? 'Cause if you've changed your mind about helping us, I'll tell Mac not to bring the map up to your place and we'll call the whole thing off. This is meant to be a practical joke, perpetrated on two men who had the gall to manipulate two other men, which is, in and of itself, a crime against human nature—even if it was meant for our own good! Now, are you gonna help us, or not?"
"I'm in, Jack; I'm in. Your pa and your uncle have, from time to time, bartered me down to practically peanuts when buying stuff from my store. I owe 'em a bit for that, if nothing else. You can trust me. If the Feds or anyone else official-looking come around asking questions, I'll do what I said I'd do. I've got your back, Jack. Count on it."
"I knew I could, Shaun; I knew I could. You just had me worried there for a second. I was afraid you might be getting a little soft on the old coots, seeing as how they've been regular customers for the past few days."
"I only lost my temper 'cause they're getting some really fine fixings for their dinner—stuff that I normally sell for a total of about thirty-five dollars—and they're only paying me ten! I'm a bit touchy about that. Not something I like to advertise—even to you. But, seeing as how it's your own kinfolk, and you're aiming to bring 'em down a peg, I'm hoping I might get something out of their punishment, too."
"Like what?" I asked.
"Well, I'm bound to get at least a good chuckle out of it."
"That you are, Shaun; that you are. Just tune in to the ten o'clock news tomorrow night. You'll get a bellyful of laughs."
"I'll still be on duty here at the store when your 'guests' start arriving. I might just head out to the holler myself and watch the proceedings from behind a tree. What time're you planning to call out the cavalry?"
"We figured we'd give them about an hour to settle in, get comfortable, start eating and drinking and swapping stories . . . I think I'll call around eight. Might take them all of fifteen or twenty minutes to get someone up here."
"Who're you gonna call?"
"We haven't really decided. In all likelihood we'll call Homeland."
Shaun grunted. "Don't you think there's a possibility that, whoever you call, your uncle and your old man might squeal and tell them it was you and Mac that set them up?"
"They might if they get mad enough. I'm just hoping they'll take the joke in the spirit in which it's intended."
"I thought this was for revenge."
"Well, it is, but . . . Yeah, I see your point." I sighed. "I guess, then, if they do decide to squeal, we'll just have to squeal right back at 'em."
"There's always that option; but wouldn't that mean getting your lady friend involved?"
"Not necessarily. We'd just say that Uncle George told us Dad had been grabbed by terrorists, and while we were investigating, he, too, disappeared, which led us to discover that it was a trick the two of them were playing on us for reasons of their own; so, we decided to play one on them in return."
"Sounds plausible—and just enough of a 'guy' thing to be believable."
"Especially since it's basically true—except that they're not playing a joke on us; they're just trying to run our lives. I think that, if our part in this little endeavor is uncovered, even they would rather have the public believe it was a practical joke than to have it known that they were trying to manipulate us. . . Most people hate the way parents interfere in the lives of their grown children. I know I do—even when it's not my life that's being interfered with."
Shaun grunted again. "Ain't it the truth? So, Homeland Security, then?"
"Probably. It'll be fun to see Dad squirming under the eyes of the very people I work for. Loads of fun." Having said that, I bade Shaun goodbye, closed and put away my cellphone, and continued my drive toward Bear Log Hollow.
As I drove, I saw a vehicle coming toward me. It was Dad's old familiar Land Rover. So, Shaun was right: they were on their way to the outpost to pick up their dinner supplies. Even though I knew they wouldn't recognize my rented Jeep, I figured there was a chance they'd wave at me—being the friendly guys that they were—and take a look to see if maybe the person in the Cherokee was someone they knew.
I considered putting on my shades, pulling the brim of my hat down lower, and putting the sun visor down, but I figured they might find it a bit suspicious that someone was going into the woods with sunglasses on and his visor down. . . What to do?
I was saved at the last minute by a side road that turned off to the right. I'd never noticed it before, and I didn't know where it led to, but it was better than passing my father and my uncle and taking a chance on their seeing and recognizing me. I turned casually onto the side road—as though it had been my intention to turn there all along—and drove until I found a spot where I could turn around. When I got back onto the main road, I took a look in my rearview mirror. I could just make out the tail end of the Land Rover. That was a relief. Now, if I could just get the packet into the tree and get out of the vicinity before they came back up this road, I'd be home free.
I parked in what I could tell—by the tire tracks left in the dirt—was the spot where Dad's Land Rover had been. It was the same spot where we'd parked all those years ago when we had first come here. It was about thirty yards from the target tree.
Dad and I had come back here a few more times after that first visit, and each time the tree had been a little bit taller and a little bit bigger round. It had been more than thirty years since the last time, though, and I couldn't believe how much the thing had grown. The hole was now above my head, but I could still reach into it with my hand—which I did, feeling around in order to make certain that nothing else was in there.
To my surprise, my fingers came across something that felt a lot like the bag I was holding in my other hand. I pulled the object out. It was, indeed, a plastic zipper bag. I didn't waste time perusing its contents. I had a notion Dad had put it there for Mac and me to find, so I held onto it while putting our little bag of goodies in its place. I then hurried back to the Cherokee and went on my way.
I knew there was a chance I'd pass the Land Rover on its way back from the outpost, but the sun was in my face now, and I figured my outline and my features would be too obscured for them to get a good look at me, especially with my shades on and my visor down. So, I went on my way; and when I did come upon the Land Rover, in spite of being nervous as a cat in a rainstorm, I raised a friendly hand in greeting. They waved back, as I knew they would, and that was that. My heartbeat returned to normal and I stopped sweating, driving down from the mountain as carefree as a lark.
When I got back home and went upstairs to change for my dinner with Darla, I found my brother in his room, packing up his things. "What's up, Mac?" I asked.
"Well, you know, Jack, when everything hits the fan tomorrow night, Dad's gonna be madder 'n a wet hen. I don't think we're going to be particularly welcome here after that. I just figured it'd be better to get out of here before he has the chance to kick us out."
"Got a room for the night?"
He nodded. "Yeah, at the Motel 6. They still have some vacancies if you wanna move out, too—unless, of course, you decide to stay at Darla's . . . on the couch, of course." He gave me a skeptical look, knowing by now what I would say to that. Still, he seemed to take pleasure in baiting me.
"I'm gonna wait till morning to move out, I think," I told him. "I'd like to spend as much time with Darla this evening as possible; and I don't wanna have to come home early, just so I can pack my bags and leave."
"So, how did the drop-off go? Took longer than I thought it would."
I told Mac my story. He whistled. "So, what's in the bag, then?"
"Don't know. I haven't looked at it yet."
He stood up and said, "Well, then, let's have a look, shall we?"
I held the bag up and opened it. Inside was an envelope, addressed to Mac and me.
"What's this?" I wondered aloud, removing the envelope from the bag.
"A letter Dad wrote to us, perhaps?" my brother replied.
"Very probably."
"Do you wanna read it?—or should I?"
I tilted my head to one side as I considered. Then I handed Mac the envelope. "You read it. I'm tired, and I still have a long evening ahead of me."
"You could always cancel your date with Darla . . ."
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen . . ."
"Well, then, stop whining and let me read."
"Read, by all means."
"Hello, boys!
"Congratulations on finding my location. You've done a good job. I hope this little exercise has taught you a thing or two about cooperation. I'm well aware that you two think you have very little in common; but the truth is, you're more alike than you realize. You've probably found that out by now."
"Yeah, right!" Mac groused.
"Just get on with it, Mac," I scolded.
"I'm sure that what I've done will probably leave you both angry with me for some time, but I hope you'll keep in mind that I did it because I love you. Since I knew you'd find out where I've been hiding fairly quickly—Mac being the great puzzle solver that he is—you might wonder why I'm leaving you this letter rather than saying everything in person once you get here."
"The thought had crossed my mind, yeah," I said. Mac nodded his agreement.
"I decided it might be a good idea to put this letter in the tree, just in case—especially after Carla failed to do her part in convincing you that I'd really been abducted. (When George learned that things had gone awry, he volunteered to get himself abducted and join me. We both suspected you might take your time in actually coming up here to get the clues that would supposedly help you to find us, because you want to make us sweat it out for a while. We don't blame you: we've manipulated you and for that we're sorry. But, in this case, we both feel that the end justifies the means.)
"As to why we've done this . . . George & I would like to see both of you more often, and we'd like to see you both happily married. There's nothing sadder in this world than growing old alone—believe me, I know.
"know that I remembered her. I had a sudden epiphany that if Jamie were to be involved—however indirectly—Mac and she might hit it off and there might be a chance that the two of them would end up together. I'm still hoping this will turn out to be the case. Jamie is a fine, intelligent, resourceful young woman. You could hardly do better, Mac. I hope you realize that.
"Even as I write this letter, I know that there's a possibility (however slim) that you'll come to the realization that George and I are actually camping out up here and that there is no packet of evidence. If so, I expect you'll try to catch us unawares, or something along those lines. I wanted to tell you so many things that I decided to write this letter and leave it for you to find, just in case you come sneaking up here while we're away from camp—to put some kind of plan for revenge into action—and thereby deny me the privilege of saying what I want to say in person.
"Whatever your plan is, we're ready for it, and there will be no repercussions. We've discussed this thoroughly, and we're both agreed on that score. We know that, if we'd been in a similar circumstance with our dad and uncle, we'd've wanted revenge, too. No man likes to feel that he's being manipulated by his parents—or anyone else, for that matter. But, as I said, we felt that the end justifies the means. You two are probably getting along better by now; and, if I'm any judge, Jack and Carla will be married before the year is out; Mac will move back to Denver; and he and Jamie will be dating steadily. If I'm wrong, then I don't know people; and after more than fifty years in the newspaper business, I believe I do.
"If you're reading this letter it's because you did decide to sneak up here while we were away, and I want you to know that we check daily to be sure this bag is still in the tree. The only way you'll be able to catch us by surprise is if you substitute another bag in its place. We don't actually pull it out; we just reach inside the tree and feel around. So, if you are reading this letter on the sly, congratulations. We'll see you when we come down from the mountain. Until then, best of luck to you both."
"Well now, ain't that a kick in the head!" Mac said.
I smiled. "Good thing I put that other bag in the tree, isn't it?"
Mac nodded. "Yeah. A real good thing. I guess I can stop packing. If there aren't going to be any repercussions, we don't need to leave."
"I still wouldn't wanna be here when Dad comes home, whether he intends to punish us or not. . . I mean, think about it: after what we're about to do to him, do you really wanna be here and have to look him in the eye when he walks in the door afterward?"
"Uh, I see your point. I'll finish packing."
"You could wait until tomorrow morning to leave, though. No need to spend more time in a hotel room than is absolutely necessary.
"That's true. What about you? When are you planning to move out?"
"I'm flying back to D.C. tomorrow to turn in my resignation, from both the Navy and DHS."
"Does Darla know?"
"I'm telling her over dinner tonight. And I'm bringing an engagement ring back from D.C. with me. In the meantime, I'm gonna make some dinner reservations and have a nice, long soak in the tub."
"You'd better rinse it out good when you're done. Dad wouldn't want you to leave his bathtub a mess."
"What do you take me for?—a swine?"
Mac tilted his head quickly back and forth, as though he were considering the question.
I tossed a throw-cushion at him. "Get back to your room and pack, smart-aleck!"
Mac laughed and headed up the stairs. "I'm going . . . I'm going!"
I picked the cushion up from where it had landed and tossed it back onto the sofa; then I went upstairs, too. Making reservations this late, I figured I'd have at least an hour or two to get ready for dinner. I could take my time and do it right. Since it would be a few days before I would see her again, I wanted tonight to be extra special. And Darla deserved the very best.
