Meant for Her (3 page)

Pulling the pile of glass sheets onto her lap, Gwen sifted through them as she thought about Julie. Purple was the dominant color, but she could also feel red and sharp bits of yellow. She took the colors out of the pile and began to score the sheets into small shapes and skinny lines. Relying on her natural sense of balance and proportion, Gwen worked to create shapes that represented the emotions clamoring around her niece, then set them on top of the purple triangles in pleasing asymmetry.

As she completed each piece, she added a metal hook between the layers of glass and arranged them on the rack for firing. The pieces would fuse together in the kiln, creating one smooth surface that retained the separate colors. Then Gwen would combine the fused glass pieces with hammered brass and mirrors to create a mobile for her niece.

Gwen set the rack into the kiln and fired it up. The pieces of glass would slowly be transformed into their new shapes—reminiscent of the old, but stunning in their combinations. The high temperatures required for the metamorphosis meant that the pieces would not be cool enough to touch until morning. Gwen reflected that the process of change was often an arduous one, both in art and in life.

Turning her attention to the large copper pot simmering on the stove, she removed the lid and bent her head close to the soup to inhale its rich scent. It was not a fatted calf, but the intent was the same. Gwen was celebrating the arrival of her long lost niece, and she wanted everything to be special for her. Mentally she imagined that Julie was getting close, so she began to chop up the parsley and basil on a thick bamboo board. They would be added to the pot just before serving.

The ringing of the doorbell woke the dogs and set them to barking. Gwen smiled and rushed to answer the door, her joy at Julie’s arrival somewhat tempered by her concern. She opened the door and a dense gust of icy wind entered the cozy house.

Upon seeing her aunt, Julie’s half smile collapsed into a grimace. Gwen pulled her into the house as she shut the heavy door against the arctic air, bringing Julie straight into her arms for a tight squeeze. A stranger might have thought they were sisters rather than aunt and niece, separated by only ten years or so and equal in height and build.

“What’s wrong, Julie?”

She choked on the words as they came out of her mouth. “My dad died.”

 ~~~

There are a lot of freakin’ Julie Truebloods.

This time, the X wasn’t helping, either. Hank was sitting in a dark hotel room in downtown Boston, a laptop and a beer on the desk in front of him, trying to find the connection between the dead guy in the motel fire and his Julie Trueblood.

Well, not
his
exactly.

“She wanted me to work for it,” he said to himself, trying various combinations of her name and the few facts he had in this case. It wasn’t until he typed “Julie Trueblood Navy” that he was rewarded for his efforts.

NAVY COMMANDER JOHN MCDOWELL ACCUSED OF ESPIONAGE, VANISHES.

“Holy shit.”

Hank’s brow creased as he frantically scrolled down the screen, searching for Julie’s name. What did she have to do with an infamous traitor?

“Gwen Trueblood, McDowell’s sister-in-law, has been granted temporary guardianship of McDowell’s minor daughter, Julie. The commander’s wife, Mary McDowell, died of cancer ten months ago.”

Julie Trueblood was Julie McDowell.

Hank had seen a 60 Minutes piece on the case years ago, though he never would have recognized the woman she had become. John McDowell was a cryptographer for the Navy, who passed the contents of secret messages on to Uzkapostan. He was single-handedly responsible for the sinking of the U.S.S. Dermody that killed eighty-eight soldiers.

If Systex knew about her background, she’d be fired faster than an arsonist at a fire station. Systex was a major manufacturer of information systems, with several substantial government contracts. No wonder she went by Trueblood.

He searched for “Julie McDowell Navy” and was rewarded with thousands of hits. Clicking on images, Hank’s screen was transformed into a collage of photos taken around the time of the scandal. One black and white in particular caught his eye, a young Julie trying to get through a mob of reporters, her eyes wet, a backpack strap on her shoulder.

Hank wanted to throttle that photographer.

His cell phone rang and he checked the caller ID.

“Merry Christmas, man.”

Chip Vandermead had been Hank’s roommate in college. Hank called him occasionally when the Islanders played the Penguins, but Chip’s position as an analyst with the NSA is what kept him on Hank’s speed dial.

“How’s Melody?”

“Pregnant.”

“So you said. That’s great.”

“Twins.”

“Oh, crap.”

“We’re going more with the, ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ approach, but ‘Oh, crap’ has crossed my mind.”

“Sorry, man. That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

“She’s due on Valentine’s Day, but she’s never going to make it. She’s as big as a house.” Hank heard a woman yelling in the background. “What? I’m not talking about you.” He chuckled. “So, what’s up? I know you didn’t call just to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

“I need a favor.”

“Of course you do.”

“I have an encrypted message, and I need to know what it says.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Four lines of text, Seventy-nine characters all together.”

“Can’t help you.”

“What?”

“It’s too short. Unless someone wanted you to be able to read it, and used a known cipher that’s able to be read with a computer algorithm or something. Who wrote it?”

“Commander John McDowell.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not kidding.”

“The man’s a legend. Personally, I thought he was dead.”

“He is now.”

“What happened?”

“Somebody shot him, then set a fire to cover it up.”

Chip whistled. “Where’d the message come from?”

“A safe deposit box. The key was at the scene.” Hank looked at the hundreds of pictures of Julie on his computer screen as he talked. “I need to know what that message says, Chip.”

“I can run it through the computer, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a hell of a lot more than one, Jared.  Do you know anything else about this message? Sometimes it’s the littlest thing that helps break a code.”

Hank thought for a minute, wondering what might be relevant. “The only other thing in the safe deposit box was a sheet of paper that said Julie X. Trueblood.  I already tracked her down. Looks like she’s his daughter, going by her mother’s maiden name.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can find out.”

 ~~~

Julie wrapped the sky blue terry bathrobe around her warm, damp body and walked out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam following her into the much cooler bedroom. Her wet hair was piled on her head and wrapped in a pale yellow towel, just like the one she used to dry herself off out of the shower. Gwen had a masterful understanding of creature comforts, and Julie smelled of mint and rosemary from the decadent shampoo, soap and lotions her aunt provided.

Warm hardwood floors gave way to plush carpeting beneath her feet as Julie made her way to the window seat and sat down on its edge. She took in the familiar view below, the landscape’s pristine blanket of snow shining bright in the late morning sunshine. A gently sloping yard bowed before rolling hills in the distance, and the horizon spoke of mountains tinted purple by the tilt of the earth itself.

Julie leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the cold glass, allowing her eyes to close in recognition of the peace she felt in this place.

This room had been hers when she lived with Gwen, and she acknowledged it for the haven that it was both then and now. It was ironic to be comforted by these walls after years of avoiding the solace they so freely afforded. Julie had not been here once in the time since college.

Vermont reminded Julie of the darkest time in her life—her own despair over her father’s disappearance. Here lay the ashes from which she had risen like a phoenix, and only another fire could have brought her back again. In this place she was the daughter of a traitor, stalked by the media and villainized by the Navy officers who continued to interrogate Julie long after her father escaped their influence.

Her return to Vermont had been determined the moment Hark Jared set foot in her office. Last night, Gwen listened intently as Julie told her about the fire that killed her father. She thought of it now, picturing the scene as if she witnessed its deadly fingers reaching to destroy her ultimate hope—that her father would some day return to her and to his rightful place in her life.

Opening her eyes, Julie was surprised to realize that there were no tears on her face, as if the well of grief had simply gone dry from her great gulps at its waters in the last two days. She touched her cheeks with her hands and marveled at their normal texture, dry and soft.

The reality that life continues despite tragedy was both an odd comfort and a bad joke that rubbed at her and made her chafe on a spot that was already raw.

Julie had stumbled into bed last night after talking to Gwen until the wee hours of the morning. Now she looked around the familiar room and saw it had been transformed. The antique furniture that had been painted a bold coral when Julie lived here now matched the pale yellow of the fluffy towel on her head. Bed linens of turquoise and bright yellow toile seemed to hum in their bold contrast to the muted blue of the walls. A bulky duvet was wrapped in a lemony fabric that felt like the softest bunny, and the pineapples atop the four posts of the bed had been gloriously decorated in hammered gold and blue glass.

Walking to the bed, she again sank into its inviting depths. She pulled the duvet over her robed body and closed her eyes, wishing for the sleep that she suspected would not come.

She willed her mind to think of something else. An image of the sexy Navy officer filled her head. Hank Jared. Even his name was sexy. She remembered what he smelled like—pungent soap and something exquisitely male. Her knees almost buckled when her eyes had first locked with his.

A knock at the door disrupted her reverie. “Come in.”

Gwen handed her the phone.  “It’s Becky.”

“Hey, what’s up?” said Julie.

“I’m at your place. I came to feed Sammy like you asked, and Jules, someone’s been here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, someone broke into your condo. It’s pretty bad. Your dresser drawers have all been dumped out onto the floor, and the kitchen cabinets are open and everything’s messed up.”

“Someone broke into my condo?” She sat upright in bed. A cat meowed on the other end of the phone. “Is Sammy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He was locked in a closet and none too happy about it. He’s okay now.”

“Did they steal anything?” In her mind, Julie ran through a list of her valuables, most of them electronics, and most of them with her on this trip.

“I don’t see your laptop or your iPod.”

“They’re with me. Becky, do you think Greg…” Julie let her voice trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.

“I know, he was my first thought, too. Was he upset when you dumped him?”

“He never called me back. I just figured he got the message and wanted to avoid the whole conversation.”

“It looks like he was upset.”

“Yeah. Looks like.” Julie realized Gwen was watching her, her eyes questioning. “Someone broke into my condo and trashed the place.” She choked on an unexpected sob as she said the words, covering her mouth with her hand.

Gwen sat and touched her shoulder. “That officer said you might be in danger.”

“It’s just some loser boyfriend I dumped last week, Gwen. Either that, or some neighborhood kids up to no good...”

“I don’t think so, Julie.” Julie looked into Gwen’s eyes, and what she saw there sent a chill down her spine. Gwen had a sixth sense about some things, and Julie had learned long ago to listen when her aunt spoke with this quiet authority.

“Uh, oh,” said Becky into Julie’s ear.

“I feel a darkness. I don’t want to scare you, but there’s evil here.” She held Julie’s eyes as tightly as she held her hand, wishing to impart strength to her niece at this time. “Did the ex-boyfriend have a darkness about him?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Julie.

“Well, I would,” chimed Becky. “Tell Gwen that I would, Jules. Tell her.”

“He gave Becky the creeps.”

“So maybe it is the boyfriend, then. Or it might have something to do with your father’s murder.”

That possibility was feeling very real to Julie.

“Perhaps it’s time to call the Navy officer who came to see you in Boston. It will give you a chance to get a look at that encrypted message from the safe deposit box, too,” said Gwen.

“I don’t want to see the message.”

Gwen turned exasperated eyes to her niece. “Your father finally wrote you a letter after all these years, and you’re not even going to read it?”

 ~~~

Jingle Bell Rock played on the car radio, but Hank wasn’t listening. A knot had settled in the valley between his shoulder blades, and he tried to stretch his arm across the steering wheel to release the tension. The lines on the pavement slid by in hypnotic straights and curves as his mind tried to make sense of the last several days.

Johnson had hit it out of the park before Hank even realized something was wrong.
Given what I know about this scene, I wouldn’t even know who to call, but the U.S. Navy is here, and I’m trying to figure out why.

Hank didn’t like playing catch-up. Someone knew the body in the motel room was Commander McDowell before he was called to the scene like a puppet. Admiral Barstow had been the one to send Hank there, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was the one pulling the strings.

Hank dialed his commanding officer.

Formidable and unconcerned with niceties, the admiral exerted his influence skillfully over those under his command. Hank was one of the few who remained unaffected by the other man’s demeanor, and suspected he had earned the admiral’s begrudging respect.