Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) (3 page)

I continued up the road that ended in a circular court complete with a marble fountain in the center. I got out and approached the house trying to keep my jaw off the sidewalk. I went to the door and pressed the bell, hoping I didn’t look as bad as I felt. Chimes like a heavenly choir sounded in the distance and a moment later, the massive door opened. A tall, thin man in pressed slacks, dark coat, white shirt, bow tie, and coifed hair as white as his shirt opened the front door.

“Welcome to Live Oak House, Captain Everett,” the butler said in a clipped English accent that emphasized the word oak. I recognized his voice from the gate. Martin Hunt’s retainer was all business, but there was a hint of warmth behind his eyes.

“What’s your name,” I asked.

“I am Norris, sir. The general is expecting you. Please follow me.”

“Do you know what he wants with me?” I asked, as I cleared the door.

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” he replied with a touch of disdain. “Would you follow me?” Norris said again.

He closed the door, did an about face and marched off down the hall at a double time pace. I had to hustle to keep up.

I straightened my Guy Harvey shirt and wished I’d pressed my khakis or at least run a rag over my shoes. Trailing behind the butler, I caught the nagging feeling I’d become a servant to the master of this house too.

I followed my guide through the bright foyer with a wide staircase in the center. I went by room after lavishly furnished room, then down a carpeted hall with floor to ceiling windows on one side. If the natural surroundings on the drive out to the estate were spectacular, what I saw through those windows was breathtaking. A statuesque woman in a microscopic black and yellow bikini emerged from the swimming pool. She stepped out, stretched her neck, and reached up to wring out her long golden hair. Time ground to a halt as though she moved in slow motion like something out of a movie. I must have made an audible noise because Norris turned, cleared his throat, and said, “The general doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Properly chastised, I caught up and my guide led me further down the corridor and around a corner.

We stopped at what must have been the sixth set of double doors I’d seen. Norris knocked twice, opened the doors, and said, “Captain Everett, sir.”

I stepped into a spacious well-equipped gym where the Pointer Sisters
Jump for My Love
was blasting. The Florida sun reflecting off two chrome universal machines was nearly blinding. There were racks of free weights, dumbbells, flat benches and a variety of specialty machines. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined two walls of the room and another held expansive windows. A treadmill and a rowing machine in front of the windows provided a view of the pool and the lake beyond. The guy working out didn’t look up, but continued pumping out a set of dips, loudly breathing out with each rep. I began assessing the man working so vigorously in front of me.

My host was a muscular barrel-chested man. His regulation high and tight was pure white. As I watched him push out his last ten reps without slowing, it occurred to me he must be on the downhill side of seventy. A man half his age and still on active duty would be proud to have his trim waist, thick arms and broad shoulders. I’d learned there were two sorts of men who got to be generals in the army, serious driven hard asses, and political players. It was clear I was dealing with the former. He could have long since gone to seed, but the intensity of his workout reflected a special discipline. He kept himself in shape and he remained a tough customer. His face, a map of the world, spoke of hard work and hours in the sun. Two brilliant green eyes flashed with an inner fire.

When he finished his last dip, he landed lightly on his feet. I stood easy before him wondering if he’d call me to attention. He grabbed a towel, ran it over his face, then, throwing his shoulders back and coming to his full height, gave a great sigh. He slapped the towel down on the dip stand and turned to me. This was a formidable man.

I knew about him, even though we’d never met. Martin Hunt had commanded the Eighteenth Combat Military Police Brigade in Viet Nam. He was a major then. His unit was in country from early ‘66 until the evacuation in ‘75. The unit’s crest, a green sword over a gold double-headed ax, hung in a frame on the wall behind him. I had worked with a bunch of MPs in the sandbox and any discussion of military cops always included Major General Martin Hunt. He was a legend.

“You made good time, Captain Everett,” he said as he approached me, his hand outstretched. “I appreciate punctuality and I don’t stand for tardiness.”

The strength of his grip and the firmness of his voice confirmed my assessment. He walked with a noticeable limp, but it took nothing away from his strength. I suppressed a grimace and the urge to pull my hand back and I sucked it up. If his hand was one of welcome, his face displayed something all together different.

“It’s good to meet you, sir. How may I help you?”

“How long since your separation?” he asked.

Since I’d never been married, I assumed he wanted to know how long I’d been out of the service. Old army guys never forget their time in uniform.

“It’s been a while, sir.” I replied.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look so good, son. Having trouble reintegrating? You look tense and…”

Really Sherlock? You are clever.
The general’s words didn’t come out as criticism, it was more as if he was concerned, but it stung nonetheless.

“I’m not tense, just terribly, terribly alert,” I snapped. The joke didn’t even fall flat. The silence that followed was uncomfortable for me, but the general just looked at me with his mocking smile. He looked down and to his right, an indication of an internal dialogue. He was asking himself questions, I guessed about me.

“I’ve been going to the VA for a while now,” I said at last. “It’s getting better,” I replied, not sure I believed what I’d said.

“We’re going to play it like that, are we?” he said. “ ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it, is not wise,’ Proverbs twenty, verse one,” he said. “I’ve looked after troops a long time. I’ll give it to you straight. You look like shit unless that’s the style now.”

“I’ve had my ups and downs, sir. Like I said things are getting better.”

“None of my business, but settling back into civilian life can be tough when you’ve seen action.”

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go," I said.

The general snorted, but didn’t smile. “Oscar Wilde isn’t one of my favorite people. I prefer Lincoln, Stonewall Jackson, Edmund Burke, those sorts of men, more historical figures, and the most important book, the Bible.”

The immortal words of Frank Sinatra came to mind, ‘Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the Bible says love your enemy’, but I thought I’d sit on that thought. I nodded and tried to muster a disarming smile. I don’t think it worked.

“If you need help you call me, you hear?” he said. His face didn’t change as he said this and I had the feeling he’d made the offer before, maybe too many times.

“Yes, sir,” I said with a little nod.

Turning to the butler he said, “Norris, a couple iced teas if you please. We’ll take them by the lake.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you’d like something stronger I can sweeten that for you,” General Hunt said looking at me.

“No, thank you, sir, I never mix my drinking with my work,” I replied. “Sweet tea will be fine.”

“Good man. A southern gentleman drinks his tea sweet and his intoxicants slow. I respect a man who knows how to control his liquor. You
can
control your liquor?”

“To me controlling my liquor means don’t spill any. My work and my drinking are two separate things. I take them both seriously,” I replied.

“That’s all, Norris.”

He gave the butler a nod and Norris was gone like a faded echo.

When Norris was gone, the general spoke again. “ ‘The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers’, First Peter, Four, verse Seven.”

The general nodded a few times more times, pursed his lips, holding me in an intense gaze. He was sizing me up. Finally, he said, “You’re quite the smart ass, aren’t you?”

My host grabbed his towel and ran it over his face again.

“I’ve heard that before, but better a smart ass than a dumb ass. You didn’t call me all the way for some a lecture on reintegration. What do you want from me, sir? I’ve got a couple cold ones waiting for me at home.”

“There’s a fine line between being smart and a smart ass. You’re about to cross it. You always try to talk yourself out of a job?”

“Not usually, I just don’t like surprises. Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you if I can do it and how much it’ll cost.”

He hesitated a couple beats longer than was comfortable trying to look through me, then said, “I’ve got trouble, son. Let’s talk.”

Without waiting for a reply, he said, “Come on,” and led the way out of the gym picking up a red folder from a shelf. He led the way through a door toward the pool. We walked into the August heat, past the pool, where only wet footprints leading to a cabana house hinted someone had been there. We went down a wide gravel path toward the lake until finally we came to a large gazebo sort of affair built at the water’s edge.

“Have a seat,” my host said as we entered the open wood frame structure. “This is my favorite place on a summer afternoon. No matter how hot it is, there’s always a breeze here.”

I had to agree with him. It was sticky and hot, but out here by the water, it was downright cool.

“You do much fishing out here, sir?” I asked. I was well past breaking the ice with this guy, but it never hurt to try. I could use a fresh start.

“Most every day, I have a little Jon boat. Don’t catch much, but it’s a good way to relax and forget the past. History is a memory. You’d do well to forget the past.”

I was about to give him an argument but thought better of it. Sitting there at a table, he gave me another hard stare. I’d had about enough.

“Look General, I get that you want to size me up, but I need to know what you want of me.”

“Hold on a moment, Captain Everett,” the general said as Norris appeared on the path.

Norris came down the long path with a tray then served the iced tea.

“You said you like it sweet, right?” He said as Norris finished.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“That will be all, Norris.”

“Very good, sir.”

We watched him go and when Norris was out of earshot the general said, “Tell me what you think of these.”

He handed me the red folder. The rising afternoon breeze off the lake felt cool on my face. Spanish moss rustled in the trees and fluttered like ten thousand flags. I opened the folder to find three sheets of white paper. I held them down with the flat of my hand to keep them from fluttering away in the breeze. Each had letters cut from magazines. The first one read:

WE HAVE EVERYTHING WE NEED TO BRING YOU DOWN. ASK YOUR SON.

It wasn’t a direct threat, but was certainly a problem for a wealthy man like Hunt.
Ah, the troubles of the rich,
I thought
.
The second note also made from cutout letters said:

YOU WILL PAY. HAS YOUR SON CONFESSED

The threat still wasn’t specific, but involved the general’s son. There was no demand for payment. That was in the third note.

WANT THE SECRETS KEPT … 25 MILLION IN RANDOM UNMARKED BILLS … DATE AND INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.

Now I was scratching my head. Maybe I would need that drink, twenty-five million for some unknown secret. General Hunt had a problem all right.

When I looked up, I said, “Phew…. 25 mil! That’s a boat load of money, any idea what it’s about, sir?”

I watched him closely and saw worry and something else, something he was suppressing.

“Norris uses a golf cart to collect the mail every day. He goes down to the box by the road and then brings it to me. All three of these letters came in plain white envelopes with nothing written on them. They were about three or four days apart.”

“Did anyone see who left them?” I asked.

“After the second one, I installed a video camera over the mail box,” the general said. “The third note was left by some brat on a bicycle. Norris recognized him from Campbell, but when we asked the little snot about it, all he could tell us was some woman gave him $25 to put the three notes in the box.”

“Any description of the woman?” I asked.

“He couldn’t tell us anything except she drove a ‘fancy car’ and wore a big hat and sunglasses that nearly covered her face. It’s a damn dog’s breakfast Everett. What do you make of it?”

“What do I think?” I said. I hesitated for a moment then plunged ahead. “I think someone’s trying to put the screws to you. Pardon my French, sir.”

The general waved my concern aside and said, “Go on.”

“What’s your son say?”

“Never mind that for now,” the general replied. “Tell me about the notes. What do they tell you?”

“The paper is common, twenty-pound multiuse bond probably, nothing special. These cut out letters have a shine to them and there’s some weight to the paper. I’d say they were from a glossy magazine, maybe a women’s fashion, or art magazine.” I paused, but the general didn’t ask a question. “Whoever is behind this,” I continued, “is probably watching you. They knew about the camera. They didn’t care if you found out who did the delivery because they used a local kid who wouldn’t know anything useful,” I replied. “What’s it all about, general? I’ll help you but I have to know what’s going on.”