By Saturday night the wind was strong. It folded the blades o: meadow grass and exposed their paler sides, washing Liberty Ridge with the astringent smell of the desert. John walked to ware the Big House. Holt had invited him to dinner, "big doings." He looked out at the ocean where a yellow sun sank toward bronze water. There were too many things to think about so he picked the most important: Don't rock the boat now. By noon tomorrow, you will be finished.
He was surprised to see the dining table set up on the expanse of lawn that fronted the Big House. A green-and-white striped canopy rocked in the wind, its rounded edges flapping against the poles. Two servers-Liberty Ops trainees, John guessed-moved across the lawn with large chafing dishes on wheeled carts. Behind them came Carolyn in her wheelchair, pushed strenuously across the grass by her evening nurse. He could see Laura and Thurmond Messinger standing at the wet bar with Lane Fargo and an older couple John had never seen before. Adam Sexton waved at him.
He crossed the lawn, stepped under the snapping canvas canopy and onto the parquet flooring, then headed toward the bar. Laura greeted him with a handshake and a peck on the cheek, surrounding John in a brief front of perfume. She had on a pair of jeans, a low-necked white blouse and a black jacket that showed off her ample front and ample suntan. Thurmond nodded to him over the rim of a cocktail glass, and extended his hand when his wife was finished. He was a balding man who wore the oversized black-framed eyeglasses John associated with eccentrics, clothing designers and old-time talent agents.
The wind yanked the cocktail napkin from Thurmond's hand. "Heck of a night for outdoor dining, I'd say."
His wife untangled a strand of long dark hair that had blown into her lipstick. "Damn Vann doesn't have the brains he was born with."
"What makes you think he was born with any?" asked Fargo, his smile putrid as always and his short black hair peaking down over his forehead. He wore a black silk jacket, adorned with images of shrunken heads, over his invariable black t-shirt.
"He is keeping you around," said Laura, solicitously.
"Why wouldn't he?" asked Fargo. He acted affronted at first, then John saw it was not an act at all. Fargo caught him noticing this, then covered up by sipping his beer.
"John," said Laura, taking his arm, "I'd like you to meet Scott and Mary Holt of Salt Lake City. Scott is Vann's older brother."
Scott offered John a grave smile and a gentle handshake. He was a shorter, leaner version of his brother, with the same prying gray eyes, stubborn jaw and abundant gray hair. He looked to be ten years Holt's senior. His wife was broad-faced and handsome and smiled at John as if he had done great things in life. They both held glasses of what looked like sparkling water, with lime wedges afloat on the ice.
"Just in for a visit?" John asked.
"Well, quite frankly, we don't quite know why we're here," said Scott.
"Vann practically had to beg him," said Mary.
"That's not true, Mary."
"I mean… L.A.'s not our favorite place."
"Pat! Pat!"
John caught the aghast expressions on Scott's and Mary's faces as he listened to Carolyn's voice, hesitated, then turned to greet her.
"Hello, Mrs. Holt."
"Oh, don't you Mrs. Holt me, my clever little prince. Kiss, my son?"
John bent over and kissed her, then stood and awkwardly shook her hand.
She looked up from her wheelchair at Scott and Mary, an expression of confusion on her face. "I'm so sorry, but we haven't met, have we?"
"Scott," said Scott. "We just-"
"-and I'm Mary, Carolyn. Nice to meet you, again."
"Oh, of course. The Ides of March. How could I be so forgetful? You remember my son Patrick, of course? Back from the White House?"
"Well, sure we do," said Scott, casting John a look of profound doubt. "Um-hm. The White House?"
"Well, you know," said John.
"Top secret," said Carolyn. "Where on earth has my president gone?"
"He'll be right out, Mrs. Holt," said Joni, putting her hands on Carolyn's shoulders. "Here he comes, right now!"
Grateful for the diversion, John turned to watch. Holt walked across the lawn buttoning his blue blazer, looking out toward the ocean, lifting his nose like a dog to smell the air coming in from miles away. He moved deliberately, like a man willing to learn something with every step. He looked positive and alert, but preoccupied. John could see the worry lines in his forehead and the inward cast of his eyes as he stepped under the canopy, nodded to Fargo and Laura, then came toward the bar.
John moved to the edge of the canopy away from the house and watched the flat-bottomed crescent of a sun evaporate into the ocean. As always he waited for the flash of green; as always it failed to show. He walked out onto the lawn. To the north he could see the Valencia groves shimmering in the wind and the fading light. The western hillsides were autumn yellow with patches of green in the tight, shaded folds. The lake was buffed to a dull silver patina by the wind and the big Norfolk Island pine on the beach swayed with each gust. John imagined the wind whistling through Rebecca's bones, and then he unimagined it.
Adam Sexton walked up with a lovely blond woman he introduced as his wife, Odessa. She offered her hand and John shook it.
"Did you get my message?" Sexton asked.
John nodded. "Not sure what you were after."
Sexton looked at Odessa, then took John's arm and guided him outside the shade of the awning and into the sun. His voice was confidential now with none of his usual swagger.
"All I'm hearing is good things about you from Vann. He's taken. I think his daughter might be, too. I just want you to know that you've got a friend in court. I want you to know I believe you'd be good here. Whatever you're doing, you have my endorsement."
"What do you mean, doing?"
"Everybody's doing something. It's all a game. Everything. That's just a fact of life."
Sexton looked at him with an odd expression, a mixture of acknowledgment and acceptance. "So, whatever your game is, keep it up and play it well. There's room on Liberty Ridge for good people. People like you."
"Thanks, Adam."
"Keep your eye on Fargo, if you aren't already." With that, he clasped John's arm and returned to Odessa.
Valerie was coming across the emerald lawn. He watched her walk on the grass, her red high heels in her right hand. Her red dress with the white polka dots looked fifty years out of date, and unmeasurably beautiful on her. Her hair was up. When she saw him, she raised the hand with her shoes in it in greeting. Then she smiled and ran across the lawn to him, threw her arms around his neck and swung him around, kissing him on the mouth. Everyone under the canopy was watching.
"Hello, Mr. Menden."
"Miss Holt."
"Happy Saturday night."
"Back at you, young lady. Disengage. We're creating a scandal."
"I love a scandal. What's to drink?"
"More than enough to put you on your butt."
She looked at him sternly. "I can hold my liquor, young man. That runs in the family. Shall we join the party?"
John offered his arm in a formal angle and Valerie responded, running the bottom of her forearm against his, touching him very lightly. At the edge of the canopy she steadied herself against him and slipped on her shoes. He felt her weight tilt and her fingers dig hard into his arm.
Fargo was there. "You look really pretty tonight, Val."
"Oh thanks, Laney-Poo. What's that, your shrunken-head jacket?"
"This is it."
"You're a dark man, Lane Fargo, but I like you anyway, Against all my better instincts."
"Get the lady a drink," he said to John.
"What'll it be?"
"Gin and tonic, John. And double up on it, would you?"
When John came back with the cocktails, Fargo had just said something into Valerie's ear and Valerie had just started faking her laugh.
"Lane called you P-Boy," she said. "Because of your coat. Can't tell if you're a private eye or a cowboy."
"Stop it, Lane. I might bust a gut."
"No, really, I mean, what's that coat all about?"
"Warm in the winter, cool in the summer."
"Oh, I'm just teasin', John-Boy." He smiled his small-toothed smile and leaned in close to Valerie. "John's always got his panties in a bunch because I'm following up on him for your Dad. You know, verifying his character. Think he's got something to hide?"
Valerie eyed John playfully. "Everything."
"Me too! See, John-Boy, I'm not alone in suspecting that you're a character of low moral value."
"Oh, now I didn't say that," Valerie offered. "I think he's hiding
… hiding… genius, advanced moral development, and a big… heart."
"Doing one hell of a good job of it," said Lane.
"Some people are easy to fool," she said.
"Then I rest my case," said Fargo, kissing Valerie's cheek. "Watch this guy, now. And I'll see you later, gorgeous."
"Okay, Laney."
"You too, P-Boy."
"Fargone Lane," whispered Valerie, as Fargo attached himself to Scott and Mary Holt. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him. Dad does."
Her dark eyes flashed and a mean little smile came to her lips. "I must learn to forgive and forget. We all should."
"Best advice I've heard lately. By the way, you look absolutely beautiful tonight."
"I like these clothes that are out of style. Don't know why that idea appeals to me so much."
Two hours later they were finished with dinner.
"Everyone have a drink?" Holt asked. "Then lift it to the United States of America and the freedoms that we have left."
Murmured agreements, clinking cocktail glasses.
"Here, here," he continued. "Lend me your kind ears for a bit. I've got some things to say."
John saw the young Holt Men step inside the canopy with dessert trays, then turn back toward the house at the wave of Vann Holt's hand.
"We're eating outside in the wind tonight because this is my favorite weather," he said. "Feels like God's own breath to me, but that's probably just me. Hell on the hair and skin, I know. Wouldn't want it blowing every day but you've got to enjoy it while it's here. One of my themes tonight-enjoy it while it's here."
Another round of mumbled assent, another meeting of glasses and nods. Holt stood.
"I want to start out by welcoming Scott and Mary from Utah. It's been exactly four years, eight months and two weeks since Scott and I have spoken. I know I disappointed you, brother. I was trying my best not to disappoint myself. That God of yours that I turned my back on is none the less supreme for my lapse. Stick with him. I don't expect his forgiveness. Would love to have yours, though. Don't say anything now. I'm not asking anyone for anything tonight. Except to hear me out."
John looked over at Scott and Mary, both statue-still and erect, both crimson in the face. Fargo was staring at him. Carolyn's gaze seemed infinite as the cosmos. Laura Messinger aimed a brittle smile up at Holt while her husband tried to study Scott and Mary as he sipped his drink. Valerie in her polka dot dress looked at John, then back at her father.
"It's important to me that we be together tonight," he continued. "You are my family. Both literal and extended. You are the people I love. You're my life. Carolyn-I love you the most. You were my beginning. You'll be my end. Thanks, girl."
"Oh, Hercules."
The laughter was immeasurably polite and John could feel the anguish behind it. He tried to imagine Carolyn whole. He also saw a darkness pass behind Holt's gray eyes, a darkness that seemed familiar and known, a part of him.
"I had something funny happen down in Texas a few months back. Didn't tell any of you about it. Wanted to mull it over. Well, it's been mulled. They found a spot on a scan, then a bunch more. No reason to get into detail. Biopsy, all that. The upshot is it's been in there a while, in the system, doing what life does. I'll be pushing up weeds here on Liberty Ridge inside a year, if the doctors are right. Feel pretty good all around, actually."
Carolyn clutched John's arm with surprising strength. He looked at Valerie, whose powerful glow diminished while he watched. Her mouth parted just slightly.
"No," Holt said. "Don't say a word. Nobody. We've got months until good-bye and I hate good-byes. You all know that. I'm just getting out the facts. No use hiding them. I don't want tears and I don't want special treatment. Least of all I want is pity. It's insulting. Anybody can't handle this can get up and leave the table now. I mean it."
In the silence that followed John heard the slap of the canvas over them and the hiss from the hills around them. Valerie's face had gone slack, her lips parted in astonishment.
Carolyn smiled, not understanding.
Scott sat with his arms crossed, expressionless.
Thurmond Messinger looked at his plate; Laura had taken his arm in both her hands.
Adam Sexton slouched in his seat, but his eyes were resolutely fixed on Holt.
It was Fargo who surprised him. The dark man in his shrunken-head jacket was scanning the faces around him, as if much more interested in reactions to the news than the news itself. His eyebrows were raised in a thin attempt at alarm. His gaze came to John. It was frank and probing, maybe even a little amused.
And John realized: Fargo knew. No surprise in his face, no befuddlement or sadness, not the slightest hint of shock. Fargo knew. John held the curious stare until it moved on.
He felt Valerie's fingers digging into the flesh of his palm.
"Now," said Holt. "Main reason I bother you all with this is that things are going to change. We've got a nice little empire here and I want it run right when I'm gone. I want things understood. I want things clear. One-Valerie, I've been trying to get you into Liberty Ops for a while now. Especially since you got out of school. I'm asking you again, right here and now, to think about it. Think hard. I want you in charge someday soon. Two-Laura and Thur, Adam, keep on doing what you do best. You're our glitter and our gold. You're the people to answer the world for us. I'm asking you to work with Valerie, when that time comes. Three-Lane, I'd take you to the grave with me but I think you might get cold. You're the best friend a man could have. I'm thanking you for everything you've ever done for me. I needed you for everything on Liberty Ridge. You watched my back. Kicked butt when you needed to. I don't know if anyone here appreciates all we've been through together. I don't know if you'll even want to be here when I'm gone. We have some time to ponder that. But you will be well taken care of, when the time comes. Taken care of very well. I've already started putting some of this organizational stuff in writing. I'll finish it, soon. We'll need some law for this company, just like the country does."
John looked at Fargo again. Things were beginning to make sense: Lane was going to get his walking papers when Holt died. Fargo was nodding with approval, smiling slightly, as if basking in the glow of Holt's praise. But his eyes peered into deep space while the smile just stayed in place, preserved by effort.
"Oh, go Vanny go."
"Be quiet now, honey. There's just a couple of more things I want to say. You all know that Liberty Ridge was built up over the decades. It rose and fell with the times. It was cattle once, then horses, then nothing. Now citrus and security. Tomorrow, who knows? Things will change. We live in an ailing republic. Too many people. Too few values. Too much fear. Too many lies. All the spirit pounded down to mediocrity. My last years have been given over to work and hatred-you all know that. I'm good at those things. I learned to hate everything around me that wasn't you. I hated the people who took Pat. I hated the people who took away his good name. I hated the God that let it happen. We'll still find the kid who pulled the trigger. I'm honor-bound to finish that. I'll still have my day with the woman who smeared him in front of the world. John here is helping me see to her. I can't forgive the unforgivable. I'll see to the final justice for them. I said some things I shouldn't have. Thought some things. Did some things. But, quite frankly, I'm tired of it now. I've got a few months to be here with you people. I've got another winter and another spring. Summer's a maybe. If I could get one more fall to chase those quail and work those dogs, that would be a real good thing. If nothing else I've got you all pinned down here right now, with the Santa Anas blowing the ridge clean and that ocean out there heaving away. So, drink with me again tonight. To here and now. To all of us. Cheers. Boys-haul in the dessert."
The conversation continued-muted, fretful and forced. Valerie was almost silent, but she moved to be as close to her father as she could. She kept drinking. John could see the emptiness in her eyes, and the pain the alcohol couldn't dull. Only Holt was expansive, and soon everyone else was quiet and listening. He was lost to tales of meeting Carolyn, his good days at the Bureau, his first Grand Slam, his best quail shots down in Anza. He drank four Scotch and waters, his voice and delivery unaffected so far as John could see, his big leonine head scanning the guests to let them know he was still here, still alive and powerful, still Holt. The wind blew harder and the canopy shivered. The guests huddled into themselves and still Holt held forth, his voice and the wind taking turns until they seemed to become one force, together breathing life and sound into the tiny universe of Liberty Ridge.
The canopy lifted off and somersaulted across the lawn toward the ocean. Holt stood with his drink in hand, raising it to the sky. Valerie stood with hers; John with his. Then all of them were standing, even Carolyn locked to John's free arm, holding their glasses high while the wind snatched the tablecloth off the table and sent it skidding into the night.
"To vengeance completed and the restoration of soul!"
Then, all:
"To vengeance completed and the restoration of soul!"
They drank.
Then Holt looked at John with all the consuming focus oi his character. His gray eyes looked hungry and hard. The wind bent his hair in one direction and lifted one lapel to the side ol his neck.
John looked back, feeling reduced to the meager essentials of his falsehood.
"Are you with me?" demanded Holt.
"Yes, sir."
At this, Valerie straightened and lifted her glass. "Dad, I'll run the Ops better than it's ever been run before. I'll make you proud. I promise."
John glanced at the stony face of Lane Fargo while the applause lifted around him.
Then Valerie sat heavily in her chair, her face gone the sudden pale of too much drink, and her eyes focusing on the surface of the table.
"Oh," she whispered.
"John," said Holt. "Take her to your cottage. Tend to her tonight."
"I'll help," said Fargo.
"She won't need you, Lane," said Holt.
John thought: Fargo's future in a nutshell. And that's why he's been funneling the evidence to me. John suddenly understood, too, why the soundtrack to Rebecca's slaughter had been removed before he was led to the tape-because Holt's wasn't the only voice on it.
Holt had shot Rebecca while Fargo shot the video.