The Rings of Hesaurun Page 7

  Paris considered Stone’s theft of a cop car as a shot across the bow. The girl’s eighteen now. It’s time to take evasive action, he realized. The time had come to remove the girl to a safer location, and he knew just the place. He believed he had the Dunne’s support but knew a lot was being asked of them, especially of Angela, who wouldn’t be likely to allow Valerie to go without a fuss. Yet Paris knew he would win in the end because they weren’t ignorant of the risk Stone presented.

  The decision was made. Paris intended to be inside the Dunne house and waiting for the girl when she returned home from school. He hoped to have her on the road within minutes. When Paris dialed Jim’s cell number, he picked up on the second ring.

  “It’s time, Jim,” Paris declared.

  “I know, I’m nervous as a cow with a bucktooth calf,” said Jim, his voice anxious.

  “Valerie’s usually home by 3:30. Can you get off early today?”

  “I’ll go home for the day at lunchtime. I can talk to Angie about it then. She is going to have a hard time with this.”

  “I figured. We need to get Valerie out of here tonight,” Paris insisted. “She needs to be relocated to a safer place. Don’t let Angela talk you out of it, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Jim assured.

  “Good. But for your own safety, I won’t tell you where that is. If Stone gets a hold of her before she’s ready, there’s no question he’ll kill her. I can feel him. He’s in the area.”

  Jim took a moment before responding. Paris is right about one thing, he thought, Valerie is an easy target as long as she is allowed to walk to school unprotected. That had to change immediately. He agreed with Paris on that point. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to send Valerie off with Paris without knowing where they were going—and this would be a major sticking point with Angie.

  “We have a graduation party planned for next weekend,” Jim admitted.

  “Gee, I’d hate to see her miss the party!” Paris said sarcastically. “Do you really think we should hang around waiting until she graduates? I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that’s exactly what Stone is waiting for; he has to know she graduates in two weeks. That’s probably the only reason we haven’t seen him yet.”

  “Alright,” Jim finally conceded. “We’ll talk about it this afternoon. Around 2 PM?”

  “We will have her bags packed. See you then.”

  Hanging up, Jim retreated into his thoughts. He understood it would be best for everyone if Paris took charge of Valerie at this critical time. She needed a mentor and time to learn unhindered by outside threats. But he doubted Valerie would be willing to miss her party or graduation day with her friends. One more hurdle to cross was Angie, who Jim suspected would fight tooth and nail to keep her niece home as long as possible.

  Jim wasted no time calling Angie to tell her he would be home for lunch. Once they had eaten, Jim broke the news to her of his conversation with Paris. Hearing the plan, Angie agreed wholeheartedly, which surprised him. Colin and Janet’s violent deaths remained fresh enough in her mind that she was willing to make any sacrifice to avoid a similar outcome for Val.

  Valerie arrived home that afternoon to find a black four-wheel-drive Suburban with blacked-out windows parked on the street in front of the house. Surprise showed on Valerie’s face as she entered the Dunne home. Time stood still when she discovered her bags had been packed and were waiting for her in the entryway. Time resumed when voices in the next room alerted her to this new reality. No one had to tell her everything was about to change. As she came into the kitchen, she found Jim and Angie seated at the dining room table with a man she didn’t recognize.

  “Val, come meet Corell Paris,” Jim said, standing as she entered the room. Valerie put down her school bag, seated herself at the table, smiled widely, then focused momentarily on the visitor playing with her cat.

  That’s weird, she thought. The usually-reserved Orson seemed to be so comfortable playing with this stranger as if they were old friends.

  “So, where are we off to, Mr. Paris?” Valerie asked dryly. Everyone laughed at her directness, which melted tension in the room. However, the question remained, and it required an answer.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Paris admitted reluctantly. “I can’t tell Jim and Angie, either. No one can know where you are going or when you will be back.”

  “Why not?” Angie objected, this having been an area of contention for the past hour.

  “If you want Valerie to be safe, that is the way it has to be,” Paris explained.

  “We’re not going to tell anyone, so why can’t you tell us?” Angie pleaded.

  Paris hardened his stare. “And if Stone was to show up? What then? You don’t think he would know you were lying?” Paris’ eyes glowered, looking to each one of them for an answer. But they remained silent, knowing what he implied was true.

  “Ignorance is not easily feigned,” Paris added. “Your ignorance protects all of us.”

  “What about us? Who is going to protect us while you are gone?” cried Angie. Jim gave Paris a hard look, undoubtedly seeking an answer to the same question.

  “I am concerned about that, too,” Paris admitted. “So I’ve taken steps to protect both of you. I cannot tell you exactly what, but you can rest assured that you are safer than you have ever been.”

  “Alright,” Angie sighed, “if you cannot tell us how we are safer than we’ve ever been, tell us why we should believe you.”

  “I have connections in high places.”

  “Really,” Angie challenged, still pushing back.

  “Yes, I do,” Paris added. “Very high places. Do you understand?”

  “I get it,” Jim broke in. Then turning to Angie, he smiled. “Give it a rest, will you Angie? He can’t tell us that, either.”

  Angie nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared, afraid for Valerie and afraid for us.”

  Paris understood. He spent the next few minutes presenting his plan and answering questions. Once Valerie understood the circumstances and what he expected of her, she surprised everyone by having no objections.

  Why should I complain? Sure, graduation parties sound like fun, Valerie thought.But I would probably feel like a wallflower the moment I arrived. So far as graduation day formalities go, I can take it or leave it. I care a lot more for Jim, Angie, and my friends than I do for that piece of paper with my name on it. Protecting them has to come first. Anyway, the diploma will be valid whether it is handed to me or put in the mail.

  So it was decided; Valerie would go with Paris, and nothing more was said about where she was going, when she would be back, or what steps Paris had taken to ensure Jim and Angie’s safety. The issue settled, they set about agreeing on a cover story to explain Valerie’s sudden disappearance. Teachers, friends, and neighbors would want to know where she’d gone and why she’d disappeared, so a plausible excuse was needed; one that was both simple and believable.

  “Here’s one,” Valerie offered. “I got pregnant and went to live with relatives in Ireland.”

  Corell laughed. “That’s a good one!”

  “Really?” Angie said, taken aback, clearly against any such notion.

  “Anything like that would raise more curiosity than we’d want,” Jim asserted.

  “Yeah, then everyone would want to know who the father is,” Valerie moaned. “Hey! What if Uncle Jim got me an internship with a senator or something like that?”

  “That sounds good to me,” Angie exclaimed, turning to her husband expectantly. “I like it. Jim?”

  “I like it, too,” Jim admitted. “Just one problem, though. Things like that take time to arrange and require security clearances. Additionally, it’s something we all would have been talking about, which we haven’t been. That by itself casts doubt on its veracity.”

  “That’s lawyer-speak for he doesn’t like it,” Valerie said, elbowing Paris.

  “What you said reminded me of something,” Paris reflected. “I have a
friend, a retired lawyer in fact, and doomsday prepper. He moved to Montana recently to get away from people, and he took his grandson with him. They’re both preppers, competitive shooters, and hunters—a couple of real Nimrods. The rest of his family is not at all happy about it because they don’t know where his place is; he keeps it secret.”

  Paris thought for a moment, then continued. “What if we adapted their story for Valerie and me? I would be her grandfather. You could tell people Valerie’s gone to Montana for the summer to stay with her off-thegrid, doomsday-prepping grandfather. And that is why you don’t know when she will be back. And better yet, grandpa keeps the location a secret.”

  “I like it,” Jim admitted, smiling broadly. “Val?”

  “Works for me.”

  “Me, too,” Angie said, sounding relieved. “It’s a lot better than saying she got pregnant and moved to Ireland!”

  Everyone laughed at that, but it was apparent Angie was relieved to have squelched that idea.

  “Agreed then,” confirmed Paris. “That’s the story; just be sure to keep it straight.”

  Although the story seemed far-fetched, it was just strange enough to ring true. Nevertheless, fear of the unknown pressed in on Valerie.

  Then Jim pushed a sealed legal-sized Dunne & Morgan Law manila envelope across the table to her, who immediately set about opening it. Inside, there were two sealed envelopes, which she shook out onto the tabletop. The first contained a document. The second package was smaller but substantial enough that it hit the table with a thud.

  Valerie opened the document envelope first. Inside was a formal letter written on Dunne & Morgan Law letterhead, stating that Corell Paris was authorized to serve as Valerie’s legal guardian. Although Valerie was eighteen and of legal age to go wherever she chose, Jim insisted on providing the letter and keeping a copy on file should the issue of guardianship arise at any time.

  Valerie raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. After returning the statement to the envelope, Valerie picked up the other bundle. Peering inside, she gasped at what she saw there—two thick bundles of one-hundred-dollar bills. Each band indicated the amount as ten-thousand dollars.

  “Uncle Jim, that is way too much money! I can’t take it!” Valerie blurted out.

  “You can and will take it,” Jim insisted. “It was withdrawn from your trust, so it’s your money. Colin and Janet were diligent about investments and executing your trust—which,” he added, “has grown significantly in the past fifteen years. Now that you are eighteen, you have access to the account. You need to be able to get by on your own and travel without being traced. The only way to do that securely is with currency. Credit and debit cards are too easily traced, so don’t use them.”

  Concern colored Jim’s face as he reached out to touch the girl’s shoulder. “One more thing, Val,” he continued. “We don’t know when you will return. We want you to have enough cash to last you a while. Just take care, so it lasts. When it runs out, let me know and I’ll get more for you.”

  Valerie nodded, her eyes welling up again. At her feet, Orson purred. Rubbing away the tears, Valerie reached down and plucked the cat into her lap.

  “I am eager to get going,” Paris interjected.

  “You’re right,” Jim agreed, then to Angie said, “we need to let them get going.”

  “Before we go, just one more detail,” Paris added. “No communication between any of you until Valerie returns. Agreed?

  Valerie nodded. With the decisions made and the discussion over, she hurried upstairs to her room, cradling Orson. There she grabbed a few personal things and an animal carrier for the cat. But before leaving, she stood in the center of her room, surveying the things she was leaving behind.

  This will never be the same for me, she realized, as her throat tightened. Valerie felt saddened to think everything she lived for was in this house, in this room, and that she was voluntarily walking away from it. To think it might never be her home again hit her hard, but she hugged Orson tight, dutifully turned, and pulled the door shut on that part of her life.

  ________________________

  Downstairs, the adult discussions continued. “We shouldn’t allow anyone to see Valerie getting in my Suburban or see her leaving,” Paris said to Jim. “Do you mind if I back into the garage so we can load up with the door shut?”

  “Alright,” Jim said, “let me move my car.” Jim pulled his car out of the garage, parked it on the street, and then guided Paris as he backed the black Suburban into the garage. Jim closed the door and then set about helping Valerie, who had been dragging her feet, feeling glum about leaving her family, home, and friends behind.

  Ever the doting aunt, Angie loaded the travelers up with homemade cookies and brownies for the trip. Although her eyes were wet, she helped to hurry things along and remained supportive.

  “Valerie will be well taken care of, you can count on that,” Paris assured as he shook hands, first with Jim, and then Angie. Yet in his gut he felt like they were brushing him off. He saw the hesitation in their eyes and knew what was holding them back.

  “Just remember,” Paris reminded them. “There can be absolutely no communication between any of you until Valerie returns. That means no phone calls, texting or emails. Let’s be specific—nada communicion,” he said, gesticulating. “Nikto, aucne, keiner, none! Do we agree on this?”

  No one answered. Jim, Angie, and Valerie stared down, avoiding his gaze. All three remained silent as Paris turned from one to another seeking support.

  “Come on—it’s for your own good,” he pleaded. “If Stone, or anyone else, was to ask you where Valerie is, you can honestly deny having any knowledge of her whereabouts. Actually, not knowing the truth makes your story more believable. Don’t you see that? It’s a good story, too!”

  Paris’s words were met with stone silence. Soon, however everyone was nodding in agreement, although reluctantly. Obviously, no one in the family liked it, but they all knew it was for the best, so they agreed to his conditions.

  After a prolonged family hug and more than a few kisses, Valerie climbed in the Suburban and buckled herself in. Angie sobbed inconsolably on Jim’s shoulder as Valerie waved goodbye from the passenger seat. As the big SUV rolled out onto the road, the garage door went down.

  Chapter 4

  Eagan Seamus Stone. November 1938.

  “W

  hat?!” Stone answered the phone gruffly. “Say that again!”

  “It’s Chad Evers. I have something for you. Can you be

  at my office in an hour?”

  “It’s five o’clock in the morning. What’s the rush?” “It’s almost six, but who’s counting,” Evers said

  dismissively.

  “It’s early. This better be good, Evers,” Stone warned,

  rubbing his bloodshot eyes and glaring at his watch. “I’ll

  be at the Market Diner in twenty minutes,” he barked,

  then slammed the phone down on its hook without

  waiting for an answer. Evers knew the place and where

  it was, so he saw no need to fret about it.

  The towering man in a well-worn black overcoat,

  hat, and boots tramped through the darkened streets

  like a man on a mission. It was still dark, so the glowing tip of the Lucky Strike cigarette smoldering in the

  corner of his mouth provided the only evidence of his

  passing. A devotee to time and punctuality, Stone’s eyes

  shot to his wristwatch. It said five minutes to six, which

  meant he still had a couple of minutes to spare. He was

  making good time.

  The unevenness of his gait became more evident as he walked down the slope towards the Farmers Market, immense in the cold morning darkness. He hobbled, almost invisibly, the hitch in his step resulting from an old back injury worsened by time and the damp Seattle air. Low hanging clouds diminished the city lights, magnifying the gloom. Situated within walking dis
tance of the piers, the Farmers Market was vast, a multi-leveled arcade for local farmers, fishermen, and artisans. Seven days a week, fresh fish, meat, and vegetables were unloaded, unpacked, cleaned, cut, and prepared for distribution to the restaurants, markets, and residents of the bustling city.

  Stone heard voices through the gloom and mist, shouting instructions to workmen, and the rumble of delivery trucks unloading their goods. As he turned on to First Avenue, he became merely one among many in a sea of men moving purposefully about their Mondaymorning business.

  A huddle of delivery men in oilskin coats clutched cups of coffee in their gloved hands. Above them, the thirty-foot FARMERS MARKET sign was posted on the rooftop. Across the street, glowing like an open fireplace against the surrounding darkness, was the Market Diner. Open twenty-four hours a day, it was a closet-sized harbor of greasy food and Asian pastries.

  Hungry as always, Stone turned at last, with pleasure, into the diner’s familiar grease-laden atmosphere of frying eggs and bacon. Evers’ not here yet, he grumbled. The sparse little eatery had a row of booths lengthwise along one wall, metal tables, and chairs opposite. A timeworn Asian woman sat at the cash register, seemingly indifferent to anything or anyone. Two men in overalls had just vacated a table leaving an open booth. Stone maneuvered his bulk into the small space and sank into it with a grunt of satisfaction.

  No need to order he was a regular. The waiter placed a thick white mug of coffee in front of him, along with a pair of doughnuts. Within moments the doughnuts disappeared, replaced by his usual breakfast of bacon and eggs on an oval platter.

  Already tired of waiting, Stone swallowed his food. He blended well with the steady flow of men making their way in and out of the diner. Exceptionally tall, broad, and rough-looking, his high-domed forehead was punctuated by a broad boxer’s nose, coarse brows, and long hair dark hair secured behind his head with a leather tie. The unshaven jaw covered in stubble, combined with his deep-set eyes, provided the merciless collector for bookies with an appropriate appearance, considering his occupation.