Читать книгу Vendetta - Meredith Fletcher - Страница 9

Athena Academy

Outside Phoenix, Arizona

Now

“As I recall, you loved horses when you were younger.” Christine smiled from where she stood beside the paddock.

“I did,” Winter agreed. She knew that she was wearing an unaccustomed goofy grin, but she couldn’t help it. Horses had always brought out that side of her. Even when she’d gotten in trouble at the academy and had been assigned to mucking out the barn, it hadn’t been a true hardship. She’d gotten to be around the horses. “I still do. I just don’t have as much time for riding as I used to.” She gazed across the paddocks where the horses were kept.

The big animals stamped and blew. The sounds echoed through the cavernous barn. Athena Academy kept several head of horses on hand. The stink of horse sweat, fresh hay and leather mixed made the air thick. But it smelled just right to Winter. Dozens of memories she’d thought lost and gone forever scampered through her brain like mice.

Before she realized what she was doing, Winter grabbed a handful of sweet feed from the bag hanging on a center post. She crossed to the nearest horse.

The young paint stallion rolled his eyes at first and trotted away from her. He snorted aggressively and laid his ears back against his head as if he was the fiercest thing on the planet. One sharp hoof stamped the ground in defiance.

Winter held the feed out and didn’t move. Drawn by the smell of the grain, the colt approached skittishly and took the offering from her hand with his quivering, whiskered lips. His teeth chomped together hollowly.

“Maybe you’ll find time to ride while you’re here,” Christine said.

“But I’m not here to ride, am I?” Winter ran a hand through the colt’s wiry forelock as he ate. He threatened to shy away, but his greed to fill his belly outweighed his instinctive fear.

“No, you’re not.” Christine’s smile slipped and faded.

“Maybe we could get to that then.” Winter petted the colt. Amusement coursed through her when the young horse rolled his eyes wildly and trotted away after he’d eaten all the food. She let him go. She knew that she could get him back.

Christine hesitated.

Winter kept silent. She’d learned to be quiet during an interview while in classes at Athena. The person that wanted to talk—to confess or to simply tell something they no longer wanted to carry on their own—would talk to fill the void. Eventually the person would get around to whatever was on his or her mind. The trick was not to offer any deflection from whatever they wanted to talk about.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Christine started.

The colt pranced on the other side of the fence as if taunting Winter to give chase. Despite the solemnity of the moment, she smiled at his antics.

“I need someone to investigate Marion’s past,” Christine stated. “Someone good. Someone thorough.” She paused. “Someone I trust.”

Even as open-minded about the meeting as she’d been, the announcement caught Winter by surprise. She forced herself not to look at Christine. She didn’t want the woman to see the disbelief in her eyes.

“You don’t have anything to say?” Christine asked after a moment.

Marion Gracelyn was the matriarch of this school! She was your best friend! Hell, yes, I have a lot to say! And a lot to ask!

But Winter held back. “Christine,” she said softly, “you’ve already made up your mind to trust me or I wouldn’t be here. You’ve already decided that I’m the one you want to investigate Marion Gracelyn.” She turned to face the woman. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Christine’s real eye grew moist. That was the only time any of the girls at school could tell which eye was a prosthetic. And Christine Evans didn’t often let her emotions show.

“Thank you,” Christine whispered. “I told David you’d understand.”

The mention of David Gracelyn’s name irritated Winter somewhat. He didn’t trust her or want her there. He’d made that perfectly clear.

“Marion Gracelyn is dead,” Winter said. “She’s been dead a dozen years. Why would her past suddenly be of interest? You want someone to write her memoirs?”

“No. This is of a more serious nature.”

Leaning against the paddock, Winter remained attentive. She was a good interviewer and she knew it, but that skill was sometimes complicated if she intimately knew the person she was interviewing. She not only knew Christine Evans, but she respected and liked the woman tremendously.

“Marion took a lot of secrets to her grave,” Christine said. “I couldn’t even imagine how many until these last few years. And those have been—” She stopped herself and shook her head. “Getting the academy funded and staffed was difficult.”

Winter hadn’t thought about that while she’d been attending the school, but after she’d gotten out in the world and started working as an investigative journalist she’d realized just how monumental the undertaking had been.

“You think Marion did something wrong?” The question didn’t come out as smoothly as Winter had tried to make it.

Christine took in a quick defensive breath. “No. I don’t. Not intentionally. But so many things had to happen simultaneously in order to make the academy a reality. Even Marion, as good as she was, wasn’t able to be everywhere at once.”

“She didn’t have to be,” Winter said. “You were there.”

“Thank you for that.” Christine relaxed a little. “But there were still a lot of problems.”

“We’re not talking about problems, though, are we?” Winter asked. “You mentioned secrets.” She couldn’t help pushing a little. It seemed like the time to do so. And even her patience wasn’t inexhaustible.

“We’re talking about secrets.” Christine hesitated. “I think that one of those secrets has come back to haunt us.”

“Which one?” For the life of her, Winter couldn’t imagine what it might be. Marion Gracelyn had always seemed so open and aboveboard.

“Somewhere in Marion’s life, she made a very powerful enemy.” Christine pursed her lips. “Over the last few years, that enemy has made himself or herself known to us.”

“Who’s the enemy?”

“That’s part of the problem, you see. We don’t know.”

Winter quivered inside. She loved mysteries. They were delectable little things that could encompass her every thought as she sorted them out. No matter what the secret was, it couldn’t remain hidden. There was always a trail. Normally that trail was marked by money or sex.

“How did you find out about this enemy?” Winter asked.

“That’s a long story.”

Winter smiled at the older woman gently. “You brought me out here, to one of my favorite places, to tell me this much. Maybe we could go to your favorite place and you could tell me the rest of the story there.”

Some of the sadness clinging to Christine lifted. She raised an eyebrow over her real eye. “Putting an interviewee at ease?”

A mischievous grin pulled at Winter’s lips. “Perhaps. Is it working?”

“I started being more at ease the moment you agreed to come.” Christine took a breath and nodded. “Let’s go.”

As they strolled through the gardens the horticulture and chemistry classes maintained, Winter listened to Christine talk about the investigation several former students had put together into the “accidental” death of Lorraine Miller. Walking amid the bright spring tulips, lilies, amaryllis, daffodils and irises and talking about murder and illegal genetic experiments seemed incongruous.

Hell, it is incongruous.

Astonished, Winter listened to the story of Lab 33 and the genetically enhanced young women that were—essentially—Rainy Miller’s “children.” Christine didn’t reveal who those young women were, but she talked about the strange physical abilities they had.

Winter couldn’t believe that only bits and pieces of the real story had ever surfaced in the media. There had been some flap over the story, but nothing had ever connected in the way Christine laid it out.

Then, seated on one of the small stone benches placed through the gardens, Christine started explaining about how Rainy’s death might have been connected to Marion’s and the recent kidnapping of the three young Athena Academy students. The story was long and Christine took pains to be thorough.

“You think the two girls that were taken were specifically chosen because they were created in Lab 33?” Winter asked.

Christine stood at the island in the kitchen and prepared chicken breasts. After talking for hours, she’d suggested they get something to eat, then offered to make dinner.

“Not in Lab 33. In a medical facility in Zuni.” Christine rolled a chicken breast in a liquid mixture and set it aside.

“How do you know that?” Winter wielded a chopping knife on salad ingredients with a dexterity she’d learned at the academy. When she’d first realized she was going to have to take culinary classes as part of her curriculum, she had demanded to know why. Her steadfast refusal to participate in class had prompted a visit to Christine Evans’s office. Christine had explained in no uncertain terms that learning to cook for oneself was just as important as any of the other skills she would be learning at the academy. She still didn’t necessarily enjoy the process, but she knew how to do it.

“We’ve managed to reconstruct some of Aldrich Peters’s notes from Lab 33,” Christine replied. “We’re still working on other pieces, but it’s getting harder.”

“But the girls were egg babies?” The term was foreign to Winter, but she’d picked it up because Christine had used it. She’d often unconsciously picked up sentence structure and vocabulary from people she interviewed.

“Yes. We knew they had special powers, but the method of their conception was a surprise.”

“Whoever took them knew more about the students here than you did.”

“We realized that later.” Christine cubed the chicken and scattered it across a hot pan. The meat sizzled and started browning at once.

Winter pushed the chopped vegetables into a salad bowl and shook them. She washed her hands in the sink and gazed around the kitchen.

Christine lived on-site at the school. Most of the faculty did. Of course there were a few teachers and specialists who were transitory and taught only as specific coursework was offered.

The house showed military order and precision. Winter would have expected nothing less. But there was also a softness and a personality that she hadn’t been prepared for. When Winter was in attendance, every student at the academy knew Christine Evans as firm but fair and as an ex-military officer. They even knew a little bit about her family, but none of them had ever been invited to her home.

“It’s good, in a way, that whoever was behind the kidnappings knows more than we do,” Christine said. “I feel more certain that it’s not someone here.”

Retreating to the island, Winter rested a hip against it and picked up a carrot stick. Her mind spun and clicked through the variables.

“Not necessarily,” Winter said.

Christine looked at her.

Winter counted off points on her fingers with her carrot stick. “Someone here could have decoded more of the DNA fragments you’re working with than anyone else has. Someone could have found more of the fragments than you know about. Or someone here might be working with this mysterious A person.”

“I truly hope not. We’ve already had one betrayal. A recent hire helped lure the girls away from the school. With everything that’s gone on, I don’t know how another betrayal in our midst would affect us.”

Winter quietly agreed. She crunched the carrot stick and thought some more. “What do you hope I can do?”

“Find Marion’s enemy.”

Oh? Is that all? Winter barely kept her sarcastic comment to herself. She pushed her breath out and tried to relax.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Winter asked.

“We’ve decided to give you free rein at the school. Through the records. Through Marion’s notes. Everything.”

Winter choked down the carrot and couldn’t believe what she was being offered. “There are a lot of people connected to the Athena Academy. Important people. Politicians. Military leaders. Philanthropists.”

“We know that.”

“Big philanthropists. People who don’t like their names in the news.”

“That’s right.”

“Information like that isn’t just handed out to anyone.”

“No,” Christine said, “it isn’t. That’s why I insisted on getting you.” She turned the chicken on the stove.

“Why did you insist on me?” Winter sat at the round table in the breakfast nook a few minutes later. The view outside the French doors looked out over a small, elegant English garden.

Christine offered chicken cubes to Winter. “Because you’re good at what you do.”

Winter put the chicken over her salad. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve read your books.” Christine fixed her own salad. She’d also prepared baby corn and placed it over the greens as well.

“Read them before or after you decided to call me?”

“I’ve always read them.” Christine poured sparkling white wine into two glasses.

“Always?” Winter couldn’t help prodding a little. She was shamelessly seeking out ego pampering, but she couldn’t help herself. Her parents, affluent and as distant as ever, couldn’t be bothered. Every day she seemed to have less and less in common with them.

“Yes. I read. I listen to music. I follow sports. And I appreciate artwork. Our young women have been successful in all those fields.”

Winter knew that. She’d recognized names in the media from her days at Athena Academy.

“Athena graduates have also become spies, forensics experts, military officers, attorneys and taken their places in careers that aren’t so easy to track.”

“I make an effort to follow them whenever I can.” Christine took a bite of salad. “You’d be surprised at how many of them actually stay in touch and let me know what they’re doing.”

Ouch. Guilt much? Winter knew she hadn’t been in touch often. There had been occasional Christmas cards, though Christine hadn’t missed a single one.

“If you’ve read my books and followed my career,” Winter warned, “you know that once I start following a story I don’t back off and I don’t take direction well.”

“I know. That’s why David isn’t happy about your involvement.”

Gracelyn Ranch

Outside Phoenix, Arizona

Now

Winter parked her black Lexus SC 430 in front of a large family home that sat off by itself just west of Phoenix proper.

The grounds had been heavily landscaped. Gardeners walked through the immense area with wheelbarrows and other supplies. The grass looked like regulation green on a golf course. A tall security wall ran around the perimeter. Closed-circuit cameras had overlapping fields of vision.

During her career as an investigative journalist who specialized in reconstructing the lives of famous people, Winter had sometimes been around those who lived extravagant lifestyles. She hadn’t been impressed. Her parents owned larger houses than most of those she’d seen.

The Gracelyn family didn’t look as though they lived extravagantly, though. The house and grounds were large, that was true, but they also looked lived in. They weren’t just as showcases.

A young, impeccably dressed houseman came out to the car. Winter remained where she was and allowed him to get the door.

“Ms. Archer?” he asked. There was something about the way that he carried himself that suggested exposure to the military. His blond hair was cut high and tight. “I’m Gary. Mr. Gracelyn is waiting inside for you.”

“Thank you.” Winter stepped from the car. She wore black Capri pants and a burgundy blouse under a thigh-length jacket. She reached back into the car for her computer bag.

“I can get that for you,” Gary offered.

“No, thank you. I can manage.”

“If you’ll leave me your key, I’ll arrange to have the car garaged while you’re here.”

Winter dropped the rental’s keys into Gary’s hand. He pocketed them and took the lead.

“Mr. Gracelyn has arranged for you to use Senator Gracelyn’s home office.” Gary threw open the double doors and revealed the spacious office where Marion Gracelyn had spent a large chunk of her life.

Drawn by her curiosity, Winter stepped into the room and gazed at the walls. Two of them held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. The books didn’t look like they were there for show.

The other two walls held photographs of Marion Gracelyn at various stages of her career. Many of them showed her shaking hands with powerful men and women in political and financial circles. They ran the gamut of her career, from her early days as an assistant district attorney in Phoenix back in the 1960s to her final days as a state senator.

The years were kind to you, Winter thought as she looked at the pictures. In the early pictures, Marion had light brown hair that swept down to her shoulders. It was shorter than most women had worn their hair in those days because Jackie Kennedy’s trend-setting hadn’t spread to everyone yet, and most women hadn’t been in jobs where the upkeep of long hair would have been almost impossible.

She’d had deep brown eyes. Intense eyes, Winter realized, that reminded her immediately of David Gracelyn’s. Marion had been slim in those pictures and the outfits she’d worn made her look beautiful.

Even thirty-odd years later, Marion had been a beautiful woman. She didn’t look like she’d gained an ounce, and even looked fitter than ever in one of the photographs in tennis whites. Her hair was shorter, of course, because the style had changed.

“Ms. Archer,” Gary called from behind her.

Winter turned and found David standing beside the houseman. She hadn’t heard him come up. Then she got irritated because he’d stood there and watched her without saying a word.

David frowned at the houseman as if he resented being ratted out.

“Good morning, Mr. Gracelyn,” Winter said smoothly.

David nodded. “Ms. Archer.” He looked around. “I trust the office will suit?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Winter decided she would only reply to the social amenities and not give him one damn thing more. He could get over whatever was bothering him on his own. He was a big boy.

The problem was, she was aware that he was, too.

He was dressed more casually than she would have expected. He wore only jeans and a casual knit shirt that revealed his broad shoulders and chest and emphasized his narrow waist. He wore sandals instead of shoes. His hair even looked tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

And that started thoughts that Winter didn’t even want to entertain.

“If you need anything, Gary can see to it.” David started to leave, then hesitated.

Winter arched her brows at him.

“If there’s anything I can help with,” David said, “just let me know.”

It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ask for your help. But she said, “Sure.”

He left. Was he making a feeble attempt to play host or marking territory?

“Is he always so cheerful?” Winter placed her computer bag on the large desk and opened it.

Gary paused for a moment before speaking. “It isn’t you, Ms. Archer. I think that everything going on has just brought Senator Gracelyn’s absence more sharply into focus for everyone. We still miss her very much.”

Keen observation there, Winter chided herself. You should have seen from the way Christine reacted how hard this was going to be on everyone.

“Duly noted,” Winter responded. “Sometimes I think I take people’s reactions too personally.” In truth, that rarely happened. There was just something about David Gracelyn that set her off.

“That’s all right, Ms. Archer. As I understand it, you’ve a most arduous task ahead of you.”

Winter gazed around at the file boxes against the wall. According to Christine, David would provide Winter with all of Marion Gracelyn’s journals, notes, press clippings, and whatever other records she’d kept.

“I’ve been instructed to help you,” Gary went on.

As she surveyed the boxes, Winter felt that old familiar tingle of excitement thrill through her. She loved what she did. Absolutely freaking loved it. There was nothing like trolling through someone’s life, secrets and accomplishments.

There always seemed to be two people involved: the person that everyone saw, and the person that person could be when no one was around. Expectations—whether from self or from others—shaped so many people. Some rose to meet them in glorious ways. Others shattered or crumbled in failure. Most usually survived in the gulf or narrow crack that existed between the two.

So who was Marion Gracelyn really?

“Ms. Archer,” Gary prompted.

She looked back at the man and tried to regain control over her distraction. “Yes?”

“Would you like anything? Or for me to help?” Gary asked.

“Do you have Diet Coke?”

Gary looked surprised. It was understandable. It was only a little after eight o’clock. Most people probably drank coffee.

“I never acquired the coffee habit,” Winter admitted, “but I’m still a caffeine junkie.” She and Christine had stayed up into the small hours of the night talking. The early morning hadn’t come easily.

“Of course. I’ll see to it immediately.” Gary excused himself and vanished.

Winter sat in the chair behind the desk and started rifling through the boxes. The first thing she needed to do was familiarize herself with everything and get it organized in her mind.

Three days later, still working in the borrowed office and aware that David Gracelyn and Christine Evans were getting a little impatient despite their best efforts, Winter was starting to think that she was on a snipe hunt. Marion Gracelyn had angered a lot of politicians over the years, and one of them had finally killed her in a fit of pique. He’d been the only real enemy Winter had turned up.

Her inability to find anything was wearing at her confidence. Maybe she wasn’t the person for the job. Maybe David Gracelyn didn’t have anything to worry about.

Then the word Murder on a news clipping caught Winter’s eye. She reached down into the box where a notebook had fallen open to reveal a news story.

The notebook wasn’t actually one of Marion’s. It belonged to Adam Gracelyn, her husband. Some of his things had evidently gotten mixed up with his wife’s over the years.

Winter placed the notebook on the desk and leafed through the pages till she came to the news story she’d spotted. It was dated Thursday, May 16, 1968. The headline screamed:

Vietnam War Hero Found Murdered

Early this morning Thomas Jefferson Marker, a decorated ex-Army colonel in the Vietnam War, was shot to death by an unidentified woman in the Kellogg Motel near Laveen.

The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office responded to calls reporting gunfire at the motel but officers arrived too late to save Marker’s life. Deputies took the unidentified young woman into custody at the scene.

Many people across the United States know of Colonel Marker’s heroic efforts in Vietnam to bring back American soldiers held in prisoner-of-war camps.

“He was a great man,” Beverly Sorensen, a Cincinnati mother, said when interviewed this morning. “He brought our son home to us when we thought he was lost to us forever. He brought a lot of sons and daddies home from that awful place.”

In their war on crime, the district attorney’s office had their newest recruit, Miss Marion Hart, in the field last night. Ms. Hart, a life-long resident of Phoenix, arrived shortly after the murder.

“We’re working leads now,” Ms. Hart said at the scene. “The district attorney’s office will get to the bottom of it.”

A picture accompanied the story. It showed Marion Hart standing in front of a low-rent motel. Behind her, two men rolled a sheet-covered body out on a gurney. Deputy sheriffs holding shotguns flanked her.

According to Winter’s timeline, Marion had been twenty-eight years old. She hadn’t yet married Adam Gracelyn. But the two had known each other. According to the news story, Adam Gracelyn had become the woman’s defense attorney.

That must have been some meeting.

Intrigued, Winter kept reading.