Fonduing Fathers Page 8

  Gav stood back, hands clasped. He didn’t seem surprised when Yablonski shook his head. “I think I would much prefer we walk. You have no objection to our wandering through the vineyard, do you?”

  “None at all,” Erma said without consulting her husband.

  Bill grunted. “I’ll go set up that closed sign anyway.”

  Yablonski led us back out into the sunshine. He took five long strides along the gravel path, then stopped and stared to the left. Several seconds later, he stared right. Extending his arm, he pointed. “That way.”

  We’d traveled about a hundred yards farther up the gravel path, past the house, when Yablonski noticed me lagging slightly behind. Although I did my best to keep up, it took me twice as many steps as it did them to cross the same distance. He stopped. “My apologies,” he said.

  He continued at a more leisurely pace. Open land and trellis rows surrounded us on all sides. The air was quiet, the sky clear. “I like this,” Yablonski said, glancing around. “Good place to have a serious conversation.”

  Personally, I thought it was overkill.

  “Has your friend Leonard told you much about me?” he asked, as though Gav wasn’t standing right there. It felt strange to hear Gav referred to by his given name. I knew how much he hated “Leonard” and I took pains never to use it.

  “I know you were his commanding officer. I know he considers you a friend.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He told me you work for the Department of Defense.”

  “But?” he asked, clearly reading my expression.

  “I have my doubts.”

  I could tell I’d surprised him. “Fair enough. Let’s keep it at that, shall we? From what I understand from your friend here”—he indicated Gav—“and from what I’ve read in the newspapers, you have a tendency to get involved in matters of national security even when you’re instructed to stay away. What do you have to say about that?”

  I glanced at Gav for help but his look told me I was on my own. I got the distinct impression that if this Yablonski could help me, he wouldn’t do so unless he believed he could trust me. “Like everything you read or hear, there’s a kernel of truth,” I admitted. “The idea of the White House chef getting involved in conspiracy plots, bomb threats, terrorist actions…” Hearing myself, I stopped, then began again. “It does sound ridiculous. I admit that. If you knew the whole story behind each of these circumstances, however, you might understand how I got involved in the first place.”

  He watched me as I talked. “You sincerely believe I would condone your involvement?”

  “Condone?” I laughed. “Hardly. I wouldn’t expect that from anyone, even Special Agent Gavin.” The look in Gav’s eyes encouraged me. “But I think, given the facts, you might actually understand how situations evolved.” I pulled myself up to my full height. “I take national security seriously, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not reckless. I keep the Secret Service apprised of all my activities. Ask Gav.”

  “Leonard’s opinion may be compromised at this point,” he said. “But there are others who corroborate these assertions of yours. You have friends in high places.” He held up a chubby finger. “That doesn’t mean I want to be seen in your company. No offense.”

  “Or overheard in my company, apparently.”

  His lips spread in a sly smile. “Or overheard. Your young man here is calling in a very large favor by asking for my assistance.” Again the fat finger. “I’m willing to do so, on the condition that you tell no one of my involvement and that you keep me updated on your progress. From what I’ve heard thus far, nothing involves national security or classified information. If I discover differently, you will cease your investigation immediately.”

  “All I want to know is what really happened with my dad.”

  Gav remained silent.

  The big man commenced walking again, remembering to take shorter strides. The ground here was hilly but he didn’t seem to be out of breath. At the top of a small rise, we could see more trellised vines stretching out ahead of us, and the rest of the vineyard below.

  Yablonski took a deep breath through wide nostrils. “Invigorating to be out here,” he said apropos of nothing. Fixing me with a penetrating gaze, he asked, “I need a definitive answer. Do you agree to cease your investigation on my command?”

  “As long as you agree not to issue such a command without providing me an acceptable reason.” I adjusted my jaw. “That’s as definitive as I can go. If that means you refuse to help, so be it.” The words tumbled out, raw with emotion. “Investigating my father’s murder is important to me. I plan to follow any leads as far as I possibly can. I won’t make promises I can’t keep, even if that means losing you as a resource.”

  Yablonski shifted his attention to Gav, who flashed an “I told you so” look.

  “Your terms are acceptable,” Yablonski said. “If you haven’t already deduced, I am a careful man. I’m willing to help because I respect Leonard and owe him more than I can ever repay. I don’t anticipate running into any difficulties, especially given that your father’s death occurred so long ago.”

  I felt my shoulders relax, realizing at that moment how tense I’d been. If this had been a test, which it seemed to be, I’d passed. I would be grateful for any help this man could provide. For his part, Yablonski appeared to relax, too.

  Now that we’d established ground rules, Gav spoke up. “I knew you two would hit it off.”

  I stifled my reaction. I’d hardly call this “hitting it off.”

  “Joe and I talked yesterday and I brought him up to date on everything,” Gav said. “Except the details of your meeting yesterday, of course. You hadn’t told me about that yet. You may want to bring Joe up to speed, too.”

  “Sure,” I answered.

  But Yablonski had other ideas. “After meeting with Gav, I did a little digging on Pluto,” he said.

  “You did?” I asked. “Why?”

  He shook his head. “I remember hearing the name come up several times over the years, but whenever it did it was in regard to situations in which I had no oversight. I didn’t pay close attention. In my line of work, we respect chain of command and boundaries.”

  That sounded like a chastisement, but I let it slide.

  “What did you find out about Pluto?” I asked.

  “Not much, unfortunately. But what I didn’t find is far more telling. The file on the company—we have one because they do a lot of overseas business—had missing pieces. Critical documents I would have expected to see weren’t there. In their place were memos directing me to contact other parties for further information.”

  “Who?”

  “That I can’t tell you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What I do know is that the owner, Craig Benson, has retained the title of CEO, a role that allows him to act on the company’s behalf.”

  We already knew that but I let him continue.

  “His son, Kyle, is running the company now and from what I understand, the younger man is doing well.”

  “What do you think any of this has to do with my dad?”

  “Perhaps nothing at all.” He seemed to be baiting me, waiting for me to question why he’d wasted so much time looking at Pluto.

  I didn’t oblige him. Instead, I smiled. “Thank you.”

  His eyes sparked with an energy that could have been interest or antagonism. “I am always thorough,” he said finally. “In order to put a complete story together—in this case, the story of why your father was murdered and by whom—I prefer to do surplus research rather than not enough. Now, tell me about your meeting yesterday with your father’s commanding officer.”

  “Eugene Vaughn wasn’t especially helpful.” At my mention of the name, Yablonski’s eyes registered recognition. Enough for me to press. “You know him?”

  “I know of him. It was never my privilege to serve with the man, but I wish I had.” His attitude changed from one of admirat
ion to one of patent curiosity. “With regard to your father’s burial at Arlington,” he began, “you claim that Eugene Vaughn was instrumental in facilitating that event?”

  Now we were getting to the key part. “That is my understanding.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Not much. Mr. Vaughn is elderly and can’t always track the conversation. Either that or he’s fooling me completely. One thing he was adamant about, however, was that my father belonged in Arlington, no matter what.”

  Yablonski lifted his chin and stared down at me. “What Gav has told me is highly unusual. I’d go so far as to say it’s impossible. You’re certain of the facts in this matter?”

  “I’ve visited my dad’s grave,” I said. “And my mom showed me the dishonorable discharge papers.”

  He made a thoughtful noise. “There’s no chance you’ve been visiting a grave for a man with the same name as your father?”

  “With the same birth and death dates? I don’t think so.”

  “I suppose not,” he muttered. “Tell me something: Why look into this matter at all? If I uncover evidence that proves your father was erroneously buried in one of the most sacred places in our country, I will do whatever is in my power to see that situation rectified. Do you realize that?”

  My turn to hold my head high. “Of course I do.”

  “And yet you persist?”

  “My father belongs there. I plan to prove it.”

  “And what if you’re wrong? Are you willing to put your mother through that kind of heartbreak?”

  There was the crux of it. I swallowed. “I’m not wrong.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I broke eye contact long enough to take in the hills around us, the warm scent of summer, and the sky above, so blue. There are things a person knows deep in her heart, her soul—things that had to be true, because if they weren’t, the universe, and everything in it, was wrong. I looked at him again. “I know me,” I said. “I know who I am, who my parents are, and were. My mother could not have loved my dad if he were anyone else. Remember, my father was a hero. That’s documented.”

  “His dishonorable status is documented, too.”

  “There’s been a mistake. I can feel it.”

  Yablonski studied me. “And you’re willing to risk all because of this certainty.”

  I’d be lying if I said the thought of hurting my mother didn’t make me weak in the knees, but I was right. I knew that more strongly than I’d ever known anything before. “I am.”

  He gave the briefest of nods. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Paras. I will be in touch via Special Agent Gavin.” Yablonski smiled. It was perfunctory, not warm. “Leonard will meet you in a moment back at the car. He and I have a few matters to discuss first.”

  Thus dismissed, I made my way back the way we’d come, frustrated and unsure. Why hadn’t Gav said very much? I had a few matters of my own to discuss with him, too.

  CHAPTER 9

  I CHECKED MY PHONE AS I WALKED TO THE car. One missed message from the White House. I dialed the interim chief usher’s number immediately. “You called me?” I asked as soon as he picked up.

  “Yeah, Ollie.” Doug sounded overwhelmed as ever. Despite the fact that he’d been in the position for almost two months now, he still hadn’t found his groove. “Hang on, I have notes around here.”

  As he shuffled through papers, I turned, gazing back up the hill. Gav had moved closer to Yablonski, and from their body language, it seemed as though they were having a far friendlier conversation than the one I’d experienced. I was too far away to hear anything, but to me it looked as though Yablonski was laughing. He didn’t strike me as a man with a particularly keen sense of humor.

  “Here we go,” Doug said. “The First Lady asked that you come in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I knew my voice betrayed my disappointment. “Has something happened?”

  “Nothing earth-shattering,” he said. “I guess you mentioned a food convention to her?”

  “The one Marcel is speaking at,” I said, confused. Doug should know this. “That’s on Saturday, not tomorrow.”

  He sighed. “Yes, Saturday. It seems the Secret Service has been ordered to arrange for Josh to accompany you to this convention.”

  “It’s on?”

  “Surprised the heck out of me, too. The First Lady said Josh has been talking nonstop about the event ever since you invited him.”

  I hadn’t exactly invited Josh. I’d brought up the subject and he’d run with it. I’d been certain the suggestion would be shot down by his mother, his bodyguards, or both. Doug continued, “Secret Service wants you here tomorrow to prepare. On such short notice, with limited opportunity for reconnaissance, they are extremely uncomfortable with the president’s son out in public at such a well-attended event.”

  “They want me in tomorrow to talk about it?” I asked, still not understanding.

  “Better than that,” Doug said, sounding amused. “Because the Service hasn’t had the chance to fully prepare, they want you and Josh to go incognito.”

  “You mean wear disguises?”

  “A consultant will be here tomorrow morning at eleven to outfit you.”

  “Wait,” I tried again. “Are you serious? A disguise?”

  “Tomorrow. Eleven A.M.”

  I sighed. “Got it.”

  Erma and Bill must have been watching from their home, because the moment I closed my phone, they hurried over. That is, Erma hurried; Bill ambled. “I suppose you’ll be taking off soon,” Erma said. She reached out to grasp both my arms. “I packed up a few bottles of wine for you. They’re already in your car.” She hesitated, then continued, almost shyly, “We’re so glad to see Gav happy again. He deserves it after all he’s been through.”

  I glanced back up the hill. Gav and Yablonski were making their way down, and they still seemed pretty darned cheery. “I’m very lucky,” I said, meaning it. “You’ve known him for a long time?”

  Erma slid a glance toward Bill.

  “Gav’s a good man,” he said gruffly. “We’re right proud of him.” With that, he turned and headed back toward the house.

  Yablonski and Gav were still a ways off, but Erma stepped closer as though afraid they might overhear. “Gav told you about…his past?”

  Maybe it was the way she said it, maybe it was the pain in her eyes; I suddenly knew who these people were. “Oh,” I said, reaching out to grab Erma’s hand. “I didn’t put it together. Your daughter…” Gav had been engaged twice before. Both women had died tragically. Erma was undoubtedly mother to one of them, but there seemed no way to tactfully ask which.

  “Jennifer,” she supplied, sparing me further awkwardness. “We were devastated when she—” Erma took a breath. “After all these years, it still hurts to think about.” She dug a tissue out of her apron pocket and held it tight in her fist. “But your Gav never forgets. He’s like a son to us. We were so happy for him when he got engaged again. And then…” Her words trailed off.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She forced a smile. “Gav doesn’t bring anyone around for us to meet unless he’s serious. And I can see by watching you two together that you’re good for each other. You’ve got that way about you.”

  As the two men drew closer, she leaned forward and hugged me tight. “He’s your Gav now,” she whispered.

  “I think maybe,” I whispered back, “he’s both of ours.”

  She released me, looking embarrassed by her show of emotion and said, “I’d better be off. Don’t be a stranger.”

  Hurrying away, she stopped Yablonski and Gav in front of her house and talked to them for a few moments before reaching up to give Gav a hug. I was touched by their evident affection. Up until now, Gav’s past had been only what he’d told me. Meeting Erma and Bill brought his life into sharper focus, allowing me to see the three-dimensional flesh-and-blood individuals who’d helped shape him.

  I wondered if that w
as how he’d felt meeting my mom and nana. Given his foster care upbringing, Erma and Bill could very well be the closest thing to Gav’s parents I’d ever encounter.

  Gav left his friend in front of the house and jogged over to meet up with me. I waved good-bye to the well-connected yet mysterious government man. “Isn’t Yablonski leaving now, too?”

  “Yablonski?” He laughed. “You can call him Joe. No, he prefers we go ahead so that no one notices us leaving at the same time.”

  “This guy is careful,” I said.

  Gav held the door open for me, an amused expression on his face. “How old do you think he is?”

  “I don’t know.” I waited for him to shut the door, walk around the front of the car, and get in. “I’d guess fifty-eight?”

  “Sixty-seven,” he said. “At least thirty of those years were spent in deep-covert operations across the globe. Being careful has saved his life. Literally.”

  We pulled out, the gravel pinging under the car’s carriage as we bumped along. “Bill didn’t say much, but I liked Erma. She’s great.”

  Gav glanced sideways. “She tell you who she is?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I had an inkling, though.”

  “I thought you might.” He nodded. “They’d lived in Maryland all their lives. That is, until Jennifer was killed. After that they couldn’t stay there anymore. Too many memories. Relocated here.”

  “You’ve helped them, haven’t you?” I asked. “Having you in their lives is like holding on to their daughter.”

  “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  I thought about it. “No. They love you, Gav. You’re family to them.”

  “As they are to me.”

  “What about Morgan’s family?”

  Sadness settled over the car, but these were conversations we needed to have. “I keep in touch. But not like this. It’s different. You may meet them someday, too,” he said. “You may not.”

  We were silent for about four miles. “So…” I said, “this Yablonski fellow…”