The Test (19 page)

“Cardinal Sean, this is Dr. Conrad Welton,” she said. How foolish to be making such trivial polite talk as if it were a party, not a funeral. She and Carla would never giggle together again. Never share secrets. Never have kids who'd be cousins.

“Dr. Welton.” As Cardinal Sean reached for Conrad's hand, a priest in a long black cassock tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to his watch.

“You have to go, I'll take care of your niece, sir,” Conrad said, the intended handshake foregone.

“Thank you, my son,” said Cardinal Sean as he followed his priest escort. As the cardinal headed toward the sacristy, Ashley thought of the trip the family made to Rome when he was installed as a cardinal by the pope. Quite an extravaganza. Carla had been her irreverent self, but for months afterwards, Ashley had wanted to be a nun.

“No wheelchair, Chan,” Rory said as their chauffeur pulled to the curb at Eighteenth and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. “I'll be okay.”

“Sure, honey. We'll go in the side door and sit in the front pew.”

Chan had wanted Rory to stay home. Too much exertion; too many germs. But in the end she prevailed. Still, she was too weak to get out of the car on her own. And too thin, with sparse hair under the wide-brimmed hat.

As soon as she was settled into the front pew, Chan went back to join the family. In a moment, Uncle Carl slipped into the polished wooden pew beside her. Rory tried not to flinch when he reached to touch her arm, the one that was covered with bruises from infiltrated IVs. But his touch was so gentle she needn't have worried.

“Rory, I can't believe your kids,” he whispered. “They are so well behaved. What a credit to you and Chan.” It was warm and sunny, but Rory shivered under layers of black crepe.

“Remember how much Carla loved flowers?” Carl commented.

Rory nodded. Even though the family requested that in lieu of flowers, contributions be made to the Parnell Foundation in support of AIDS victims, surprisingly, a Meredith decision, the cathedral was full of blooms in muted colors.
Carla would be pleased
, Rory thought.

The pallbearers she had selected had assembled, and the procession began as the organ filled the cathedral with the music she had chosen. Fresh tears came to Rory's eyes as her children started to file into her pew. First Tyler, her youngest, adopted, still insecure after the death of his parents, still wheezing from last night's asthmatic attack. Ricky, older than Tyler by one month, followed. Close behind were Misty and Karen, looking so much like their biological mother in midnight blue, floor-length dresses and matching hats. Her twin ruffians, Charlie and Chip, were next, as somber as Rory had ever seen them, wearing the same navy blue jackets and gray slacks that they had worn at her dad's funeral. Chan, Becky on one arm and Emily on the other, completed her clan. As Chan took his place at the opposite end of the pew from her, he leaned forward and caught her eye. They exchanged the crooked smile that they always did when all the kids were accounted for.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Parnell family were taking their seats. Frank, straight backed and somber, Meredith, elegant in a black sheath, Elise showcased between them. They sat in the first row directly across the aisle from Chan. Next to them were Ashley and Conrad Welton.
Ashley, wrapped in a lacy black shawl, looked more vulnerable than usual as she clung to that strange man. Immediately in back of them, Dan sat with his reunited family. They were a ray of sunshine.

Family seated, the procession commenced. Rory knew that she did not want all this pomp and ceremony. She made a mental addition to her list of topics she needed to talk to Chan about.

“Grant her eternal rest, O Lord, and let perpetual life shine upon her.” Cardinal Sean's prayer resonated through the cavernous cathedral.

S
EPTEMBER
2001

Conrad Welton was a patient man. Two months had passed, and Ashley was still fixated on Carla. With Carla's high-risk lifestyle, the sisters hadn't even been that close, a fact Ashley chose to ignore. She actually believed that Carla had turned her life around. Save the world. Cure AIDS. That would have endeared her to Paul Parnell and his test. Except that her druggie friend, Bunky, had been only too eager to deliver crack to Carla.

His years playing shrink to prisoners had again paid off. A simple phone call. A face-to-face meeting with his former patient. So convenient, his chosen specialty. Conrad had never abused his skills. He used them only when necessary, and only when there was zero chance of being discovered. Soon he'd terminate his career, leave the University of Pennsylvania, and take control of the Parnell family and its inheritance.

When he'd first researched the Parnell family assets, Welton had not realized the extent of Paul Parnell's wealth. He'd figured that at least one billion dollars would be split among five siblings—Dan, Frank, Rory, Ashley, and Carla. That would have meant $200,000,000—plus or minus—for him and Ashley. But as the scenario played out, that estimate had escalated. Monica had appeared, but had rejected her share. Carla had died, and Rory would surely succumb to leukemia before the January test date—one way or another. Only Dan and Frank stood in the way of Ashley inheriting the whole sum. Dan could be eliminated fairly easily, but Frank, as a U.S. senator, would be more of a challenge. Nevertheless, with four months left to work out the details, Welton felt well positioned to accomplish his ultimate goal.

Conrad checked his watch—2:45. Ashley was supposed to be home
by three. He'd told her it was important, a surprise. Of course she'd given him the “I just can't leave during rounds” speech. But he'd prevailed and she'd promised. Now he fingered the papers in his hands. His birth certificate. His marriage certificate. A stamped copy of the divorce. And for good measure, Crissy Moore Welton's death certificate. He knew that Ashley kept her birth certificate in the safe in the library. A minute or two for her to retrieve it and they'd be off to the Chester County Courthouse.

The day was bright and sunny and Conrad had instructed the Mendozas to pick copious bouquets of flowers from around the property to fill the house. Personally, he hated the smell of flowers, but this was Ashley's special day. Then he told the couple to take the afternoon off. Another glance at his Rolex before he heard the purr of the Mercedes engine coming up the driveway.

When Ashley came through the door, she looked so disheveled that Welton spoke harshly.

“Go fix your hair and put on some lipstick,” he said, arms on hips, a look of disapproval on his face.

She bolted in through the door, a panicky look in her eyes.

“I'm not late,” she stated, groping in her bag for her comb and lipstick.

“No, you're not.” Welton knew she'd show up on time.

“I had to lie, to tell them that I was sick. I feel so bad, but it was the only way I could g-get out since I'm in the ICU this w-week.” How he hated that disgusting stutter. “So what's so important?”

“Come in here, my love.” Welton led her through the flower-laden foyer to the library, waiting for her to appreciate the bouquets of flowers arranged along the path.

“Why is the safe open?” She stepped back, a quizzical look on her face.

“Reach in, my love,” he said.

“Okay.” When Ashley's hand landed on a document, she picked up and inspected it.

“My birth certificate?”

“Yes, my dear, and mine.” Welton took the paper out of her hand and matched it up with his. “We're going to the courthouse this afternoon. Now you know why you had to get home early. It closes at five.”

“Courthouse?”

Cut the echo machine
, he wanted to say. Instead, he took her hand and fondled the gold ring with the ruby she wore on her ring finger, left hand, as he'd instructed. “My love, you didn't even notice the flowers I had set up in here to celebrate our marriage license day.”

“Oh, Conrad, I don't think I'm ready yet. No, I'm not.” She paused as she looked around, showing no appreciation of his efforts. Then, “I need to finish out this year at the hospital. Not yet, please, can't we wait?”

“My love, we've waited so long. This is a very special day. There is something I want to tell you today; we can do that in the car on the way.”

Ashley stood mute.

The stench of the flowers made Welton nauseous. He had sacrificed his own comfort to make this special day beautiful for her, and she had ignored it. Spoiled, overprivileged, little rich girl. “Come, Ashley,” he said, patiently. “Pick up your purse, and we'll be on our way.”

Welton wasn't sure why he'd waited so long to tell Ashley that he'd been married already. Now about to mount the courthouse steps, he couldn't put if off any longer. In Pennsylvania, for a marriage license, one must show evidence of any previous marriage and the outcome. In Welton's case, it had been both divorce and subsequent death.

He placed the documents in a leather portfolio and led Ashley outside to his waiting Porsche. The top was down, the day sunny and bright, and Ashley's hair already a wreck. Perhaps the noises of the outside world would dampen the story he'd have to tell her.

“Are you happy, my love, one step closer to our perfect life?”

Ashley buckled her seat belt and leaned back into the leather. “Are you sure we're doing the right thing?” she asked. “So soon after Carla's death?”

“Why wait? And don't you want to have a child?”

“Naturally, some day, but not yet. I'm too overwhelmed right now. My residency, trying to be there for you.”

“Let me tell you something, Ashley, life is too short to wait. I was married once, and I'm sorry I waited until now to tell you.”

As Welton had predicted, Ashley's jaw fell and she stared at him wide-eyed. “You were—you never told me. I mean, I didn't know. I mean, why didn't you—?”

“My love, it's a very sad story. Still so painful that it hurts to talk about it. She was very young, and, as I came to learn, very mentally
unstable. I guess I thought I could help her, as a psychiatrist, but I was wrong. Then one day she ran away.”

He pulled the sports car off the road into a small park so he could face Ashley, gauge her reaction.

“Ran away—Like—”

“I'll explain everything, my love.” Welton adjusted his voice an octave lower.

“Did you get a divorce?” Ashley interrupted. Her eyes were focused on her lap, avoiding his face. She started to twist the ring, tugging it off her knuckle.

“Yes,” Welton said, drawing out the drama as he reached to still her hands. “I didn't want to, but I thought it best . . .” He hesitated and his voice broke.

“What, Conrad?” Ashley had turned to face him, a trusting look in her eyes.

“She died.” He cast his eyes downward. “I thought that I'd never fall in love again. And then after all those years, by some miracle last January you walked into my office. Ashley, because of you, my life has meaning again.”

Ashley turned toward Conrad in her bucket seat and reached for his hand. “Why didn't you tell me? I didn't know you'd been through such hurt.”

“So now you know why I'm so anxious to marry you. I've lived too much of my life without you. You are everything to me, my love. Will you marry me? Very soon?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Ashley could demonstrate empathy without resorting to either chemical or hypnotic suggestion.

“We're on our way to get our license now, my love.” Conrad extricated his hands and put the car in gear. “Let's get there before the courthouse closes. Afterwards we'll go home and change, and then I'm taking you to Le Bec Fin for a romantic dinner. We can set our plans amidst candlelight. I hope we'll be married by this time next week.”

Welton received a glowing smile. His disclosure had gone down better than he'd dared to hope. But he could not become complacent. The Parnell family would start digging into his background. And with that digging would come a distortion of the facts.

S
EPTEMBER
2001

Three days later Ashley and Meredith sat in the backseat of Meredith's Town Car. They were on the New Jersey Turnpike, heading to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in Manhattan. En route, Ashley hadn't said much, and Meredith finally stopped trying to make conversation. She'd reached into her attaché case, pulled out a brief, and started to mark it up. Riding in silence, Ashley had already chewed one thumbnail down to the quick and was starting on the second. Her stomach felt queasy, and she wished she'd taken the time to nibble the dry toast that Mrs. Menendez had set out for her. There'd been a scene the night before, Ashley knew that, but she had to squeeze her eyes shut to remember.

She and Conrad had been so happy Friday night as they'd made plans to marry on Saturday morning, September 15. Just the two of them and a judge at City Hall in Philadelphia. They'd notify family and friends after the brief civil ceremony. Cardinal Sean would be outraged, but Conrad said that they could have a church wedding later if her family insisted. She'd consented. That was not the focus of last night's horrible disagreement. Conrad's rage was focused on the Parnell Foundation, the board meeting in Manhattan, where she was now heading. The argument was coming back in fragments.

Conrad saying, “You cannot go into Manhattan with that woman. I forbid it. She refused my offer to join the foundation board of directors. An offer I made in good faith, wanting to do the right thing, wanting to give back to society. And she outright refused.”

“Maybe after we're married.” Ashley's conciliatory attempt had not tempered his anger.

“If they don't accept me, I don't want you catering to them. Face the
facts, you're family is arrogant. They don't care about you. They just drag you out when it fits their needs.”