Fast Track (Buchanan-Renard 12)

Mitchell shrugged. “I didn’t sign anything. Keep that in mind.”

Beads of sweat were beginning to form on Lester’s forehead. He turned to Spencer. “Let’s talk this through. I know how much you want Rock Point. You said yourself it had great potential. You must have walked over that ground a dozen times.”

Aiden had heard enough. “We don’t work with people whose word is meaningless. We’re through here.”

Lester’s mouth dropped open. “But we . . . we had a solid offer . . . we . . .”

Mitchell didn’t say a word while his cousin sputtered his indignation. He simply watched the Madison brothers leave Lester’s office. Then he strolled over to the bar and poured himself a drink.

“It was a great offer,” Lester muttered. “What have you done?”

“Don’t worry,” Mitchell said, his voice smug. “They’ll be back.”

Lester shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”

“I’ll bet they reach the lobby and turn around. Spencer Madison wants Rock Point, and I’m going to make him pay a premium for it. He’ll talk his brother into negotiating. Just you wait and see.”

“They seemed angry that you broke your word.”

Mitchell shrugged. “They’ll get over it. Saying one thing and doing another . . . that’s all part of negotiating. As long as you don’t sign anything and you’re not being recorded . . .”

“Do you hear yourself? A man’s word—”

“Can it, Lester. Just let it go. I know what I’m doing.”

Mitchell kept his eye on the elevators, waiting for the doors to open and prove him right. The Madisons were probably on their way back up.

Aiden and Spencer had no intention of returning to Chambers’s office. As soon as they reached the lobby they were surrounded by a crowd of men and women holding balloons and cheering. The cameraman was there again, standing behind Kalie, the Channel Seven reporter, who stepped forward with a wide smile of greeting. She held the microphone up to Aiden and said, “And here are the new owners of Rock . . .” She stopped when Aiden shook his head. “You didn’t purchase the land just yet?”

“No,” he answered. He looked directly into the camera as he explained. “Congressman Mitchell Chambers changed his mind. He wanted more money than we originally agreed on. We won’t be buying Rock Point.”

“It’s disappointing,” Spencer interjected. “But we’re going to move on to another property.”

Kalie looked stunned. “Wait,” she pleaded as Aiden walked past her. “Are you saying Congressman Mitchell Chambers stopped the sale?”

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” Aiden answered.

“Then the Hamilton Hotel won’t be built here?”

“No.” His tone was emphatic.

Aiden walked out the door and didn’t look back. Spencer followed. The plan was to fly to San Francisco and stay at the Hamilton there while Spencer checked on the remodel he’d begun three months ago, but the plan changed when they received a text from their sister, Regan.

Aiden retrieved his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked.

“Cordelia’s dad died. Heart attack.”

Shocked by the news, Spencer didn’t speak for a few seconds. The Madison family had known Cordie and her father for almost twenty years, and Mr. Kane had always been so strong and vigorous.

“Andrew Kane was a good man,” he remarked.

“Yes, he was,” Aiden agreed. “Cordelia must be devastated.”

He immediately called Regan to find out when the funeral was scheduled. His sister was crying. “Cordie’s all alone now. Are you coming home? She’ll want you and Spencer there.”

“Of course we’ll be there. We’re on our way home now.”

Spencer opened the car door, then paused to look up at the building they’d just left. All that time wasted, he thought. The engineering reports, the back-and-forth negotiating with two of the most unpleasant men he’d ever encountered—all for nothing.

“Let’s go,” Aiden called out impatiently.

Lester Chambers stood at the window and watched the SUV pull onto the main road and drive away. “They’re on their way to the airstrip,” he said. “And you were so sure they would come right back up here.”

Mitchell went to the bar to freshen his drink. He dropped an ice cube into his glass, causing the whiskey to splash all over his hand. He grabbed a napkin to mop up the mess, then took a sip of his drink.

“They’re not coming back.” Lester continued to stare out the window until the SUV vanished. There was panic in his voice. “It was a damn good offer.”

“Stop whining. I know what I’m doing. I know how people think,” he boasted. “It’s why I make such a great congressman. Believe me. The Madisons will be back. Maybe not today, but soon. I’ll give them a week to come begging.”

Lester’s receptionist rushed into the office. “Sir, one of the secretaries . . . Jenny just mentioned that Channel Seven was in the lobby.”

Mitchell let out a loud, long-suffering sigh. “They’re here for me. I’ll let them wait a little longer before I go down and do the interview.”

“No, Jenny said the channel’s crew just left but that we should all watch the five-o’clock news.”

“They probably got tired of waiting for you,” Lester told his cousin.

Mitchell agreed. “I can’t be everywhere all the time,” he excused himself. He reached for the remote on the desk and turned the television on. It wasn’t quite five yet, so Mitchell put the sound on mute and sat on the sofa.

“Did you know Mayor Green is running against you?” Lester asked.

Mitchell snorted. “Of course I knew. She’s wasting her time and money. She doesn’t stand a chance. I’ll bet I get ninety percent of the vote.”

“The primary is not that far away,” Lester reminded him.

No one was going to take his job away. Mitchell loved being a congressman. He loved the power, the position it garnered, and the respect, though admittedly the public didn’t think much of Congress these days, probably because they knew so many of them were corrupt or just inept. There was talk of term limits. Mitchell had promised to push for those if elected, but once he was in office he changed his mind. Besides, no one in Congress was ever going to vote for that, and Mitchell planned to stay in office until he was well into his eighties. The governor had handpicked him for the job, and as long as Mitchell played ball and voted the way the governor wanted, he would remain a congressman.

“You know it was Mayor Green who got Spencer Madison interested in Rock Point,” Lester commented.

“So she says.”

“Oh, there she is. Turn the sound on. I want to hear what our mayor has to say.”

The segment lasted a good ten minutes without a commercial break, which was unheard of. The last footage Kalie showed was Aiden Madison explaining why they wouldn’t be building a Hamilton Hotel on Rock Point. He placed the blame squarely on Congressman Chambers’s shoulders.

Then the mayor was on again, telling the viewers what the hotel would have meant to the community: the new jobs, the improved schools, the revived economy. All these were gone now. She ended her speech with a promise that things would change once she was elected to Congress.

“Congratulations,” Lester said with a snide smirk on his face. “You’ve just lost your reelection.”

FOUR

They would be talking about Andrew Kane’s funeral for months to come, maybe even years.

Alec and Jack dropped Regan, Sophie, and Cordie off at the funeral home much earlier than necessary. It had been decided that Regan and Sophie would ride with Cordie in the limousine behind the hearse, and Alec and Jack would meet them at the church.

It was an unseasonably warm day. Cordie wore a sim

ple sleeveless black sheath dress with a square neckline and black heels. She didn’t wear much jewelry, just a pair of diamond studs for her ears and a Hermès watch her father had given her for her last birthday. She didn’t try to do anything fancy with her hair but left it down. Her natural curls were straightened by its length, just past her shoulders.

Sophie and Regan, who sat on either side of her in the limousine, were also dressed in black.

Regan held on to Cordie’s hand. “When we get to the church, I’ll take your cardigan and your clutch. Is your phone in there?”

“Yes,” Cordie answered.

“Make sure it’s turned off.”

“I already did.”

“I can’t believe your father’s gone,” Regan whispered.

“What did he tell you just before he died?” Sophie asked. “You said there was one surprise, remember?”

If there was a secret, Sophie had to know what it was. She couldn’t help herself. She worked for a newspaper and was always looking for the next story. Her dream was to be an investigative reporter, but for now she was in charge of the food section and wrote about new recipes. Regan and Cordie thought the irony was quite funny since Sophie didn’t know the first thing about cooking. She had learned how to make one pasta dish that was passable, but that was it.

Smiling, Cordie said, “I also remember telling you that I would explain what the surprise was after the funeral. Today is about his life. Tonight I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Still fishing for a hint, Sophie said, “It must be a big deal. Otherwise you would have told us. You tell us everything.”

Both Regan and Cordie laughed. “That’s you,” Regan said. “Of the three of us, you’re the one who can’t keep a secret.”

The friends fell silent as the somber procession turned off the main thoroughfare and made its way through the streets of run-down apartments and dilapidated houses toward St. Matthew’s.

“When we get to the church . . . ,” Cordie began, and then hesitated.

“Yes?” Sophie asked.

“Eight of the students my father worked with are going to be the pallbearers. They had a special place in his heart, but I want you to know they can be a little territorial with one another.”

“What does that mean?” Sophie asked.

“They’re at-risk kids,” Regan answered.

“Some are,” Cordie agreed. “There might be some pushing and shoving. You know, boy stuff. Nothing to worry about,” she assured them.

“Do you think many students will attend?” Sophie asked.

“No,” Cordie answered. “It’s a Saturday. They’re kids. The last place they want to be is in church. I don’t expect—” She stopped abruptly. The limousine had just turned onto Grant Street, and there in front of the church, filling the sidewalk from corner to corner and spilling out into the street, were the students of St. Matthew’s High School. It looked as though most of the student body had turned out, and all the boys wore their school uniforms: khaki pants, white shirt, and navy blazer with the school emblem on the pocket. The boys were waiting quietly, their expressions solemn. Each class stood together, with the seniors in front. The second the limousine driver turned the motor off, two students stepped forward to open the door. The taller boy pushed the other aside to get to the handle. A transfer student named Victor won the push and shove. One of Cordie’s favorite students, he was a math whiz but thus far hadn’t developed a lick of sense. He opened the door, grasped her hand, and yanked her out. Her feet actually left the ground, but fortunately she landed feetfirst on the sidewalk. Sophie and Regan were given assistance as well. It didn’t matter if they wanted help or not. Both were hauled out and deposited next to Cordie.

Alec and Jack were waiting on the church steps. When they saw the crowd engulf the women, they rushed down and pushed their way through the teen mob.

“That guy has a gun,” one student whispered loud enough for Cordie to hear.

Before she could explain who they were, another student said, “Both of them have guns.”

“How come they get to bring guns into the church?”

Cordie whirled around. “They don’t get to,” she said. “They’re FBI agents. It’s their job to carry guns. They also have badges.”

“Why is the FBI here?” another student asked in a loud whisper. Cordie didn’t recognize the voice, but his tone was hostile. “We didn’t do anything, and I’m not going anywhere without a warrant.”

Cordie explained before more of them could get riled up. “They’re my friends,” she said. “And they were my father’s friends, too.” She handed Regan her cardigan and her purse and said, “You and Sophie go inside now. The pallbearers will sit in the front row, so sit behind them.”

Sophie nudged Regan. “Let’s go.”

Jack and Alec didn’t follow their wives. They stood where they were, watching the crowd of restless boys. Several teachers were trying to get the students to go inside, but none of them would obey. In fact, they squeezed closer to Cordie until they all but swallowed her up like a swarm of bees around a hive. Jack and Alec immediately went into defensive mode, but Cordie raised her hand to let them know she wasn’t in danger. Alec hesitated at first, then, realizing the boys’ behavior was protective, not threatening, he motioned to Jack, and the two stepped aside.

Aiden and Spencer arrived and, spotting Alec and Jack, made their way around the throng. Aiden looked in all directions and asked, “Where’s Cordelia?”

“In the middle of the crowd,” Alec said.

“I don’t see her,” Aiden said, frowning.

“How is she doing?” Spencer asked.

“Remarkably well,” Alec answered.

The muttering from the boys got louder, and then suddenly the mood changed. As though a signal had been given, the pushing and nudging and shoving stopped. The boys straightened to their full heights and stood silent. Parting to allow Cordie to get to the front, they watched the coffin being removed from the hearse. Two men from the funeral home placed the coffin on a rolling gurney, then covered it with a white linen cloth that nearly reached the ground. After carefully placing a long spray of deep-red roses on the coffin, the men began to push the gurney up the gentle incline to the church entrance, where Father Patrick Anthony waited with an altar boy who held a gold crucifix that was considerably taller than he was.

Jerome Smith, the senior class president and her father’s constant shadow when he was at school, stepped forward. “Now?” he asked Cordie.

“Yes,” she answered.

Seven young men separated from the others and followed Jerome up the steps. They quickly moved to flank each side of the coffin, a couple of them noticeably fighting back tears.

With slow, measured steps, the priest led the silent procession down the main aisle of the church. Cordie walked behind the coffin and was followed by the students of St. Matthew’s. The side pews were already filled with mourners, and by the time the boys filed into the pews behind her, the church was packed.

Cordie sat on the end and left room for Jack and Alec to join their wives. As the priest turned to face the mourners and the organist began to play the first hymn, she glanced around at the congregation, and that was when she saw him. Aiden, followed by Spencer, was taking a seat several rows back on the other side of the church. A rush of emotions swept over her. She was happy he was here yet angry at herself for the old feelings that surfaced at the very sight of him. He glanced in her direction, and for a split second their eyes met. He gave her a sympathetic smile, and she smiled in return. The old Cordie would have wanted him sitting next to her, holding her hand, but no longer. Things were different now. She was different now. With renewed resolve she turned around, sat up straight, and focused on the ceremony.

It was a beautiful Mass, and the priest’s remarks about her father were heartfelt and quite lovely. At least

a dozen people had offered to give eulogies, but if all of them had been allowed to speak, the funeral would have lasted hours, so it was decided that three of her father’s closest friends would talk. Their speeches were short—no more than a few minutes each—and focused on what a kind and loyal friend Andrew Kane had been. As the last man was finishing his remarks, Cordie heard a rustling behind her. At first she thought the students were just getting restless, but then she noticed several of them nudging one of the boys and urging him to stand up. He was a sophomore and a transfer from Truman High School. She hadn’t had him in class, but based on the number of times he’d served detention, she knew he was one of those kids who liked to skate on the edge.

The boy finally gave in to the prodding and, rising out of his seat, headed toward the pulpit. Uh-oh, Cordie thought, this was not planned. She suddenly felt uneasy. There was no telling what he had in mind. As he stepped up to face the congregation, his hands firmly planted in his pockets, he looked at his feet and shuffled back and forth as though he was searching for something to say, and then he began.

“My name is Jayden Martin, and I’ve been at St. Matthew’s High School since last November when I was . . . you know . . . asked to leave my old school because of a misunderstanding. My favorite class is auto shop, and my favorite teacher is Mr. Kane. I mean he was my favorite teacher until . . . you know . . . he died.”

Several students nodded, and Cordie had to force herself not to smile.

Jayden paused for several seconds, and she thought he was finished, but he continued to stand there looking unsure of himself. He suddenly straightened as though he’d just made a very important decision and said, “Mr. Kane told me a story about this kid who wanted a car . . . you know . . . for transportation. He was sixteen, and he had a driver’s license, but he didn’t have any money to buy a car, so he did something really stupid and stole one.” He paused to look around the church to gauge his audience’s reaction, and seeing that everyone was intently listening, he continued. “It was a sweet ride, a five-year-old Camry in mint condition, like it just came off the showroom floor. Anyway, this kid took the car from the front of this old guy’s house—he had to be almost as old as Mr. Kane—and he drove it around for a couple of miles, but then something happened . . . I don’t know . . . maybe his conscience kicked in, and he realized he shouldn’t have taken it. I mean, I . . . he could go to prison for stealing a car, right?” Several students nodded in agreement. Because his classmates were hanging on his every word, Jayden relaxed. Draping one arm over the pulpit, he leaned forward as he continued. “So what he did was drive the car over to Mr. Kane’s house, and he told him what he had done. Mr. Kane was real angry, and he yelled at the kid for doing something so stupid, but once he calmed down he said he’d help fix it. He had him wipe his fingerprints off the car handle and everywhere else he touched, and he followed him back to the old guy’s house.” Jayden couldn’t keep from grinning a little. “The funny thing was, another car had parked in front of the house, so Mr. Kane had the kid park the Camry across the street. If he hadn’t been so scared, he might have waited until the old guy came out to get in his car just to see the look on his face. Would the guy think he had parked it across the street and just forgot? Mr. Kane said he would probably just scratch his head and go on about his business, and I guess he was right because there wasn’t anything in the local news. Mr. Kane saved that kid from going to prison. At least, that’s what I think.” He stopped and looked down at his feet again. When he finally could speak, his voice cracked. “Mr. Kane was okay.” With his hands back in his pockets and his head down, he hurried back to the pew.