The Test (33 page)

Jack and Dan had arranged to pick Ashley up at nine a.m. The family plane would then fly them directly to Sarasota. By afternoon, Ashley would be reunited with her family. One minute she felt elation; the next, a surge of guilt. She hadn't breached the implications of her disappearance. Had she broken the law by running away? And would she do it again if it meant escape from Conrad? The hardest question: what would happen if she had to face Conrad alone?

When Preston and Dan arrived, Preston handed Ashley a shopping bag. “Here's something to wear.”

Ashley pulled out a large-brimmed black hat and a pair of oversized dark glasses.

“Camouflage,” he said, “just in case we have followers.”

“Conrad?” Ashley felt herself start to sweat.

“Not to worry, we'll be on the lookout. Once we get you into your family's compound, you'll be safe. Never seen security like that place.”

When Ashley and Ruthie hugged good-bye, Preston's eyes kept sweeping the outside perimeter.

Welton flipped open his cell phone. He'd been pacing, awaiting the call from his investigator.

“Crane here,” the voice confirmed. “Something's going down, doc. They've got the girl. Preston and Dan Parnell. They're heading for the airport.”

“Stay with them. Find out where they're headed.”

Welton took a deep breath. He had to control his breathing. Hyper-ventilation made his heart beat more wildly. His hand was steady when he picked up the phone and placed a call to Terry Parnell's cell phone. Through the Parnell family debacle, he'd remained on friendly terms with the boy in order to glean information about the Parnells in general, and Ashley in particular. Now that the Parnells knew where Ashley was and, in fact, had her in their custody, Terry might know the plan.

“Terry, it's Conrad.” Conrad listened for any negativity, but detected none.

“Conrad, I'm so glad you called. We've found Ashley. Did you know?”

“Yes, she's been trying to get in touch,” he lied.

“Well, she's on her way here. You were right all along. Posttraumatic stress syndrome. I mean, buildings crumbling down. People jumping out of windows. Body parts. People buried alive—”

“Washington?” Welton interrupted. Senators had bunkers in the bowels of the D.C. buildings, didn't they? If they'd taken Ashley there, it was the worst possible scenario. Welton's heart began to flip in his chest.

“No, Longboat Key, Florida. Dad's picking her up in Albuquerque, and they're flying into Sarasota. We'll all be there. You ought to be there, too, man.”

“She needs time alone with her family,” Welton said once he'd taken a reassuring breath. “I'll see her soon enough.” He disconnected, and without putting down the handset, called the airport to charter a plane to Sarasota. Expensive, but soon the money would no longer be a problem and he'd own a jet. By the time Crane called with the Parnell flight plan, Welton was halfway to the Philadelphia airport. With any luck he'd arrive in Florida before Ashley.

Even before Monica Monroe had won her first talent contest at age twelve, she'd been a member of Cardinal Sean Parnell's cathedral choir, and continued to be a frequent soloist when she was in Detroit. Her parents were devout Catholics and it meant a lot to her father, especially since her mother's death. So dutifully, as requested this time, she'd sung her favorite, Schubert's “Ave Maria,” at the ten o'clock Thanksgiving Day Mass. Now, as the cardinal thanked her profusely, she was anxious to join Patrick, go home, and eat herself into oblivion.

“Is Patrick here?” the cardinal asked as she turned to leave.

“Waiting in the back with my brothers' families. I guess I should get back to them. The usher mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something?”

“Could you step into the sacristy for a moment?” They closed the door just in time to avoid a group of parishioners who either wanted to kiss the Cardinal's ring or to ask Monica for an autograph.

“I know you have family obligations,” Cardinal Parnell said. “But I have quite an extraordinary request.”

“Yes?” she asked, truly curious.

I talked to Carl Schiller yesterday.” His paper-thin, wrinkled face grimaced. “About Ashley.”

“About Ashley?” Monica's eyebrows arched. She had only been with her biological half sister three times. Each time Ashley had seemed remote, detached.

“She's alive,” he said in a whisper.

“My God,” Monica blurted. “I mean, my goodness. That's wonderful.”

“Yes.” He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross.

“Where is she?”

Cardinal Parnell stood wringing his age-mottled hands. “She's being taken to Florida,” he finally answered. “And I think that I should be there. And that brings me to my request. I was wondering if you could lend me the use of your aircraft?”

Monica was taken aback, and looked it.

“Your dad keeps bragging about your plane.” Cardinal Parnell looked uncomfortable. “How it can be ready to go at a moment's notice.”

“Um…” Her pilots had the day off. “Let me check with Patrick and the pilots.” Monica punched the speed dial on her cell and left the sacristy. The cathedral was empty except for her family, her nephews clowning around the baptismal font. Quickly, she conferred with Patrick. No question, the cardinal could use the plane, but should they accompany him? They'd both noted how frail he'd looked on the altar. Ashley, alive, was big news, and maybe she could be of some help to the Parnells in this extraordinary circumstance. And while she was there, she could catch up with hot gossip about her niece Jenna and Terry Parnell.

“Dad, what do you think?” she asked, knowing how much having the family together for holidays meant to him.

“Yes, you should go.” Nick Monroe put his arms around Monica and Patrick. “We owe Cardinal Parnell so much.”

“Thank you, my children,” Cardinal Parnell said when Monica and Patrick returned with the good news. He bowed his head and gave them a blessing.

Monica knew she'd never get over the awe of being this man's niece. She thought of Paul Parnell's letter to her—“My request is that you share your identity with the Parnells . . . all I ask is that you embrace the family . . . even though, I'm not worthy, I am so proud of you. I pray that you can forgive me . . .”

She had renounced the money, but perhaps she could be helpful to the family.

Rory knew that something was going on. Something important. Why else would Frank be spending a holiday with them? He'd never made a secret about how he felt about her noisy kids. But now he seemed so genuinely caring. What was he up to? And what about Gina and Terry driving across the state for Thanksgiving? And Dan to join them later? Still, a nagging concern clouded this togetherness. Were they doing this for her, knowing this would be her last holiday? If so, she was pleased because she considered the effort a tribute. So much better to have her loved ones here while she was still alive. She grieved for Carla and Ashley and her parents, but took comfort in knowing she'd see them soon. Today, despite the gnawing pain in every bone and her exhaustion, she'd be thankful.

Rory got around mostly by wheelchair now, and just as she was wheeling herself into her dressing room, she heard the roar of an engine, followed by excited barking. From her bedroom window, she watched two large dogs leap out of the back of a shiny red truck. Labs, one black, the other yellow. Beautiful dogs, but—Tyler was allergic. Before she could call Chan, nine kids, including Tyler, surrounded the animals. Maybe Tyler would be okay now that Chan had started him on allergy shots.

As Rory selected among her robes for something cheerful, she heard a tentative knock, and Gina asked, “Rory, is it okay if I come in?”

Gina walked in and the two women embraced. Rory was free of intravenous lines and feeding tubes, but down to ninety pounds. Gina, the picture of health, helped Rory select matching sandals and a festive scarf.

“You're a very special person, Gina.” Rory's voice was almost drowned out by boisterous kids and friendly barks. “Your dogs?”

“They come with Dan. Lucy and Lucky. They're great with kids, so not to worry. Anyway, Terry's out there to keep them in line, assisted
by Carrie, Where Matt is these days, you'll find my daughter.” Gina smiled. “I think they're a super couple.”

“That's great,” Rory said, a shadow crossing her hopeful spirit. Four daughters and she'd never see them develop romantic relationships. But they'd have Chan, she kept reminding herself.

“So,” Gina said, “let's talk about today. Sounds like the Tallys have the dinner under control, so could I ask if we could all meet in the library in a little while for a discussion?”

“Why?” Rory asked. It had to be something about Dad's trust. What else could they want to discuss? Of course, that was why Frank had come to Florida. He must have found a legal away around the test approach. “I don't think I'm up to it,” she said. Money and property and wills and trusts were the last things she waned to discuss.

“Chan can sit in for me.”

“Rory, please, join us. It's important.” Rory looked into Gina's dark eyes and saw the crinkle of a smile. What was going on? Had the kids prepared some kind of performance and Gina was the adult sent to insure her presence?

“Okay,” she said. “Let's face the music.”

In the library, Chan, Frank, Matt, Terry, and Carrie were already seated. Frank cleared his throat as if he were to address the Senate. “I have some phenomenal news,” he said. “I think it will come as a surprise to you, Rory and Chan, and to you, Terry. Ashley is alive,” Frank said with no more preamble.

While Rory gasped, Frank explained about Ashley and Welton. He also informed the group that Monica, Patrick, and Cardinal Sean were on their way.

“What took her so long?” Chan demanded. “Rory needed her and she's too scared to show herself? That doesn't cut it with me.”

“Chan,” Gina said, “she was pregnant. She would have been concerned for the baby.”

“And now she's lost the baby.” Rory gently massaged Chan's arm, calming him.

“Oh, shit!” Terry jumped up, his eyes darting around the room. He repeated, “Oh, shit.”

Gina rose and spun Terry around to face her. “Terry, such language. Why—?”

“Why?” he shouted. “Because Conrad called me. Because of me, he knows that Ashley is headed here. I didn't know he was persona non grata and took for granted that he'd want to be with her. He said she'd need to spend time with her family and that he'd see—God, I feel like such an idiot.”

“Don't worry,” Frank reassured the young man. “Dan and the private investigator are with her. Our security will keep her safe until we decide if we need to take further precautions. This is not your fault. We should have told you all. Not left anybody in the dark.”

Rory lowered her head and smiled. “Ashley is alive. She's coming here. I have one of my sisters back.”

For the first time in many months, Rory felt a pang of hope. She could almost feel Ashley's bone marrow trickling into her system, Ashley's cells replacing her diseased ones. The process would be long and demanding and she'd be isolated from her kids for weeks to prepare for the graft. But maybe, with Ashley's HLA match, she'd be one of the lucky ones with leukemia to see her children grow up. She'd hardly dared wish for a complete remission, but now—

“Chan,” she said, “let's tell the kids!”

When Welton was honest with himself, he'd always known that it would come to this. Too much duplicity, avarice, disrespect. He had no choice. They had underestimated him, a being of superior intelligence.

Welton had met Buzz Riley years earlier when he'd been on staff at the Menninger Clinic, and Buzz an inmate at Leavenworth. Conrad's research in hypnosis had included a study of the criminally insane, and it had introduced him to Buzz. Buzz was one of the smartest human beings that Welton had ever met, and Buzz was completely without a sense of right and wrong. But, he was the perfect hypnosis subject. Thanks to Welton's skill, Buzz Riley won parole long before the completion of a thirty-year sentence for homicide.

Other than genius, Buzz and Welton had something else in common. They had both executed their fathers, Welton, opportunistically in a hospital elevator, Buzz with a baseball bat as the old man slept. And Buzz had come in handy as a mastermind and executioner of Lenore, Stanley Welton's first wife, and Crissy.

Welton had multiple contingency plans in place for Buzz when it came to the Parnells, but with a fortuitous stroke of fate, they were consolidating. Except for Monica—not a concern as she'd already renounced the Parnell money—all the family would be together on Longboat Key for Thanksgiving. An unexpected bonus for Welton. All were innocently gathering for the family holiday, awaiting Ashley's return. All in one place, at one time.

Now as Welton waited for Buzz to join him in the private terminal at Philadelphia International Airport, he checked his watch. If his plane took off as scheduled, they'd be in Sarasota at 3:10 p.m., almost two hours before Ashley was to arrive. Buzz had everything he needed in place, and Welton had no desire to know the details. Buzz had
never come close to being caught, but if he were, his brain would be empty of any association with Conrad Welton. The wonders of hypnosis harnessed.

“Dr. Welton, sorry I'm late.” A wiry guy, his gray hair in a pony tail, rushed to the doctor, the lone passenger in the departure lounge. He wore black jeans, a black long-sleeved pullover shirt, and black running shoes. “Let me get your bag, doc,” Buzz said, easily hoisting Welton's luggage. “I ain't got much stuff. I'll be outta there tonight, a night on the road and back home tomorrow.”