The Dirty Secret Read online

  “Russians?”

  “Yeah,” Dave reiterated. “He hates their guts. I think he’s watched Rocky IV about a thousand times. Probably jerks off to it.”

  Rikki laughed aloud. “You are one twisted puppy,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I know. I have this terrible fear it’s going to come back and bite me some day when I least expect it. God knows if the sheriff heard me say he jerked off to a Stallone movie, he’d probably rip off my leg and beat me to death with it.”

  “Well, why don’t we keep that as our own little secret,” Rikki suggested.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

  CHAPTER 80

  NEW YORK CITY, MANHATTAN

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 12:45 P.M.

  NEW YORK CITY (AP) – The grassroots political action group Strike Back has called for members of the Electoral College to defy the final election results from their states and “vote their conscience” when casting their presidential ballots on Dec. 15.

  Now that the so-called “Safe Harbor” deadline of Dec. 9 has elapsed with no change in West Virginia’s election laws, the presidential hopes of Sen. Melanie Wilson (D-CA) appear bleak. Despite having won 41,000 more votes than Gov. Jonathan Royal (R-NC) nationwide, Wilson likely will join Al Gore, Samuel J. Tilden and Grover Cleveland as the only presidential candidates in American history whose popular vote victories failed to earn them Electoral College majorities.

  Dmitri Mazniashvili – the billionaire who is Strike Back’s largest contributor and who has largely funded a separate pro-Wilson super PAC – criticized West Virginia’s failure to investigate allegations of voter intimidation and election fraud: “How can the American people have faith in the integrity of their elections when citizens are denied their fundamental rights? When an antiquated institution like the Electoral College arbitrarily and repeatedly thwarts the will of this country’s citizens, it is time for that institution to be abolished.”

  Gov. Royal’s campaign spokesman scoffed at such suggestions. “The Founding Fathers’ wisdom has stood the test of time. The Electoral College is another example of the checks and balances enshrined in our Constitution, and these calls for presidential electors to violate their legal and moral responsibilities demonstrates that Strike Back’s views are far outside the mainstream.”

  Royal’s spokesman added, “Mr. Mazniashvili’s suggestion that presidential electors betray the voters’ trust demonstrates he has no respect for the rule of law. The President-elect remains committed to extraditing this felon to stand trial for his crimes in his native country, and the sooner that task can be completed, the better.”

  - excerpt from FoxNews.com

  CHAPTER 81

  McCALLEN FAMILY CEMETERY

  PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 12:45 P.M.

  About 50 people attended Jack’s graveside ceremony in his family cemetery. Aside from the footpath leading from Jack’s home, a gravel roadway ran from the back of the cemetery down the other side of the hill to the main road. A black hearse sat by the gated entrance with its back doors open as the crowd milled around the newly opened grave, waiting to say goodbye.

  Rikki and her mother stood side-by-side toward the rear. Tabatha sat on a padded red velvet chair directly beside Jack’s grave. Only the neckline of her relatively modest black dress was visible beneath her tailored black wool overcoat, and a sheer widow’s veil covered her face.

  Sitting stoically to her right was Jack’s oldest son, Logan. Wearing a black suit, his thick dark hair was neatly combed and parted to the side as he stared vacantly at his father’s coffin. His younger brother, Brandon, fidgeted in the chair to Tabatha’s left with his jaw clenched shut. His red hair was disheveled, and his balled fists rested on his thighs.

  Eight men clad in dark suits approached the grave in a somber, single-file line, forming a semi-circle around it with one man positioned at the head of the casket and another at its foot. Matching white lambskin aprons, immaculate in appearance, were strapped across their midsections, and their hands were covered with thin white gloves.

  The elderly gentleman standing at the head of the casket solemnly removed the black felt fedora covering his crown. His full head of hair was as white as his gloves, and after scanning the crowd to confirm it was time to start the service, he took a deep breath and began delivering the message he had committed to memory perhaps four decades earlier.

  “Brethren and Friends,” he began in a clear, baritone voice. “It has been a custom among the Fraternity of Free and Accepted Masons from time immemorial, at the request of a departed Brother or his family, to assemble in the character of Masons and, with the solemn formalities of the Craft, to offer up to his memory, before the world, the last tribute of our affection.”

  Rikki watched in amazement as the old man delivered his speech without any notes whatsoever. The other six Masons, including Sheriff Vaughn, Dave Anderson and his father, stood silently with their hands by their sides, listening intently.

  “Our Brother has reached the end of his earthly toils,” the white-haired man declared. “The brittle thread which bound him to earth has been severed, and the liberated spirit has winged its flight to the unknown world. The silver cord is loosed; the golden bowl is broken; the pitcher is broken at the fountain; and the wheel is broken at the cistern. The dust has returned to the earth as it was, and the spirit has returned to God who gave it.”

  As the speech continued, Rikki found herself staring at Dave as he dutifully played his role in the ceremony. His green eyes occasionally strayed from the elderly speaker and fell upon Jack’s boys, and Rikki watched him try to maintain an outward appearance of calm self-control. But his watering eyes belied his true emotional state, as did his occasionally trembling lower lip. As she watched Dave struggle to master his grief-stricken heart and bend it to his will, Rikki suddenly felt a surprisingly intense urge to rush to his side and comfort him.

  What in the world is going on with me? What’s with all this sentimentality I’m feeling? Am I losing my mind?

  The old man’s voice drew Rikki back to reality. “But we have learned of the Great Architect of the Universe,” he asserted with a nod. “We know that in the Universe all is order; although His design is too huge for any mortal eye to comprehend. But if the Great Architect is there, why should we care that we can see no more than our own small piece of the work?”

  The speaker paused, casting his gaze across the crowd. “We know the great building is clear in the Master’s mind, and it is growing toward completion. Our apparent confusion is only the gathering of the material out of which the structure shall rise complete in its beauty and perfection. We can do our work and bear our burden and even endure the pain of disappointment and loss if we have learned to trust in Him. That trust turns the bitter drop to sweetness.”

  Suddenly, the old man’s eyes fixed on Rikki, and her heart skipped a beat. “Friendship is refreshment and sweetness as we pass this way,” he said with a patient smile. “It is much to feel that, wherever we are, we have friends. Although human companionships are temporary in this world of change, let us cherish the comfort they provide, and let us find the strength to forgive our friends when their actions have caused us pain, just as we ask the Great Architect to overlook those instances when our own handiwork has failed to comply with his perfect commands.”

  Rikki felt a lump in her throat and she suddenly had trouble seeing the old man’s face. Didn’t Jack say something like that to me a while back? That carrying around anger can’t be good for me? That being imperfect should not be an unforgivable sin?

  The speaker turned to Jack’s widow and sons. “Our entire fraternity surrounds his loved ones with the assurance of its affection. We offer the support of our sympathy, the comfort of our faith, and the inspiration of our hope, that they may look beyond this hour of grief through the opening portals of the infinite. Let us be unceasingly grateful for every God-given virtue, which
the life of our Brother expressed, and let us be comforted and sustained by the assurance that life goes on unbroken and uncorrupted, and that God alone is the life and light of men.”

  With a nod to Dave’s father, the old man turned his body at a 45 degree angle, facing the Masonic semi-circle. Mr. Anderson took one step toward the speaker and handed him an apron that appeared identical to those the Masons were wearing.

  “This Lambskin, or white leather apron,” the man explained, laying it on Jack’s casket, “is an emblem of innocence and the badge of a Mason. It reminds us of that purity of life and conduct so essential to gaining admission into the Celestial Lodge above, where the Supreme Architect of the Universe presides.”

  A second Mason approached and handed the old man what looked like a big fern leaf. Grasping it his gloved hands, the speaker tenderly placed it beside the apron atop the casket. “This Evergreen is an emblem of our faith in the immortality of the soul,” he declared. “By this we are reminded that we have an immortal part within us which shall survive the chilling blast of death and, springing into newness of life in realms beyond the grave, shall never, never die.”

  The old man turned his attention to his counterpart at the foot of the casket and gave a nod. The other Mason returned the nod, took one step toward the coffin and bowed his head.

  “Most Glorious God,” the man began. “Pour down Thy blessing upon us, and strengthen our solemn engagements with the ties of sincere affection! Endue us with fortitude and resignation in this hour of sorrow, and may the present instance of mortality draw our attention toward Thee. Enable us to look with eyes of Faith toward that realm whose skies are never darkened by sorrow; and after our departure, may we be received into Thy everlasting kingdom, to enjoy the just reward of a virtuous and well-spent life.

  “Amen.”

  As she opened her eyes at the end of the prayer, Rikki heard the other seven Masons intone as one: “So mote it be!”

  The old man at the head of the gravesite smiled peacefully and placed his fedora back on his head. Gazing around at the crowd, he announced, “This concludes our service. May God grant his loyal servant, Jack McCallen, the eternal peace and joy he so richly deserves, and may God bless you all.”

  With that, the lead Mason strolled over to offer his condolences to Tabatha and the boys while the crowd dispersed. Rikki watched Bart McCallen walk up to Dave and wrap him in a bear hug. With clenched eyes and flaring nostrils, Dave pounded the palm of his right hand against the man’s back twice and said, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Bart. You need anything at all … anything … you give me a call, and I’ll be there for you.”

  Bart loudly sucked air through his mouth, trying to control his breathing. He gripped Dave tightly and fought back tears. “It’s not fair! Those boys need their dad, damn it! How can they grow up to be men when the only role model they’re gonna have around the house is Tabatha, for God’s sake?”

  Dave pulled away from Bart and stared him square in the eyes. “They still have their Uncle Bart. You know the kind of men Jack would have taught them to become. You are the kind of man Jack would want them to become. Don’t give up.” Dave placed both of his hands on Bart’s arms and gave them a slight shake. “No matter how hard she tries to make it on you and the boys, Bart, don’t let her beat you down. Those boys are sharp as tacks. Soon enough, if you keep reminding them of the ways Jack taught them right from wrong, they’ll be able to look around and figure out who’s doing right by them and who isn’t.”

  Bart pursed his lips and blew a big breath out his nostrils. With moist eyes, he glanced at his nephews and nodded. “You’re right. I can do this. It’s what Jack would have wanted.”

  “And it’s what Logan and Brandon deserve,” Dave added.

  Bart hugged Dave again and said, “You’re a good friend, Dave. Thanks for talking some sense into me.”

  Dave lightly patted Bart on the back. “Any time.”

  Bart drew away from Dave and his wife, Melinda, subtly put her hand inside the crook of his elbow. “Thanks for everything, Dave,” she said softly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to get home and start moving on with our lives. We can’t grieve forever.”

  “You guys take care.”

  Bart and Melinda waved goodbye, walking toward the gate and the line of cars that had circled around the cemetery and faced back toward the main road. As Dave watched them leave, Rikki approached and stood just behind his right shoulder. “Hey. How are you doing?”

  Dave glanced at her and exhaled. “That was tough. Wading back into the crossfire of Beltway politics will feel like a vacation.”

  Rikki nodded. “When are you headed back?”

  “First thing in the morning. The transition team meets at noon tomorrow, and with this protracted election battle, we’re way behind schedule in getting his administration organized.”

  “Well, be careful going home. I’ll get word to you if there are any new developments in Jack’s case.”

  Dave smiled wearily. “Thanks, Rik. I appreciate that. I know it’s way beyond the call of duty for you.”

  Opening his arms, he asked, “So can you give me one more hug for old times’ sake?”

  Rikki rolled her eyes and leaned in to his proffered embrace. Feeling his arms wrap around her gently, she placed her hand on the middle of his back. Life is too short, a voice whispered in her head.And you may never pass this way again.

  As they separated, Rikki looked at Dave’s face, examining it searchingly. Although a tad worse for the emotional wear of the graveside service, he actually looked surprisingly serene. And for some strange reason, Rikki suddenly realized she did not want her time with him to come to an end just yet. “So what are you doing for dinner this evening?” she casually asked.

  Dave shrugged. “Probably heating up leftovers. Mom has choir practice tonight, so Dad and I are fending for ourselves.”

  “Well, I have a better idea.”

  He looked confused. “What’s that?”

  “Why don’t you stop by my place? One of my clients owns a beef farm, and he gave me a big box of steaks for Christmas. I could throw two on the grill, and we could kick back, have a few beers, and do some catching up. After all,” she added with a grin and an elbow to his ribs. “It’s only been … What? Fifteen years or so?”

  Dave chuckled. “Give or take a few days.”

  “So what do you say?” Rikki asked, folding her arms across her chest and shivering slightly. “It’s getting cold out here, and you know I don’t deal well with the cold. My ancestors were sweltering in a hot river delta while yours were snowshoeing across the Scandinavian tundra, buddy boy.”

  He laughed aloud. “Fine. What time?”

  “How about six? And do you even know where I live?”

  Dave scoffed. “Of course. This is Pleasants County we’re talking about; everybody knows where everybody lives around here! Plus – aside from an oil and gas lawyer who charges way too much money for her services – there aren’t a whole lot of people around here who could afford that sweet spread you have overlooking the river.”

  Rikki scowled. “I’m not even going to respond to that. You bring the beer and I’ll provide the steaks. Deal?”

  “Deal. See you at six.”

  CHAPTER 82

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 7:20 P.M.

  Dave reclined and extended his legs. “Holy cow! That was an awesome meal, Rikki.”

  She grinned mischievously. “Of course it was,” she replied snarkily. “Would you expect anything less from me?”

  “Ha! Who do you think you’re talking to? I still remember when my exotic-looking girlfriend lured me into inviting a bunch of my UVA classmates over for dinner, assuring me she could cook homemade Indian food as good as her Momma’s!”

  Rikki smiled widely and giggled. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you still remember that debacle!”

  “How could I forget watching you freak out
after you burned everything to a crisp? Then I had to rush to an Indian restaurant and bring back Styrofoam boxes of food we could pawn off as your creations.” Dave cackled so hard his whole trunk shook. “I can’t believe they actually fell for it!”

  “Personally,” Rikki added. “I loved it when your friend said, ‘This girl of yours sure is a great cook,’ and you shot back …”

  “She sure is something all right,” they said in unison, then burst into laughter.

  Dave grabbed his empty beer bottle and shook it lightly. “I think I could use a refill.”

  Rikki slowly stood up. “Me, too. Let me take that and I’ll get us two more.”

  “Much obliged.”

  Rikki strolled into the kitchen, dropped the two empties into the recycling bin, and grabbed another round. Returning, she playfully brought a cold bottle into contact with Dave’s neck.

  “Whew!” he exclaimed, bolting upright. “That’s freezing!”

  Rikki grinned and handed him the bottle as she sat down. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Dave sipped the beer. Gazing around the house, he nodded approvingly. “This is a nice place, Rikki. Awfully big for one person, but beautiful, nonetheless.”

  “Well, I’m not moving any time soon, and it’s big enough for Mom to move in when she can’t take care of herself anymore.” She grinned again, devilishly. “Plus, if I ever find a man smart enough to handle me, he can move his pretty little self in here, too.”

  Dave chortled. “That’s a tall order there, Rikki. Personally, I’d be happy if I could find someone I get along with. Someone who might not necessarily understand my quirks but at least could smile, shake her head, and accept me the way I am.”

  Rikki clanked Dave’s bottle with hers. “That’s a nice way to put it. I might steal it.”

  “I’m happy to share it with you,” he said. Then, the look in his green eyes turned more serious. “I figure that’s the least I could do, considering how I …”