“I don’t know,” I answered. “But it makes sense to me that Beryl would have copied the manuscript when she copied the letters. I can’t imagine her leaving her book with PJ unless she had a copy.”
“After having met him, I can’t imagine her doing so, either. PJ’s not exactly what I’d call a reliable custodian.”
“Actually he is, Mark. He’s just a little carried away tonight.”
“Fried is the word.”
“Maybe that’s what my appearance did to him.”
“If Beryl copied her manuscript and carried it back to Richmond with her,” Mark continued, “then whoever killed her must have stolen it.”
“Frankie,” I said.
“Which may explain why he next went after Gary Harper. Our friend Frankie got jealous, the thought of Harper in Beryl’s bedroom driving him crazy–crazier. Harper’s habit of going to Culpeper’s every afternoon is in Beryl’s book.”
“I know.”
“Frankie could have read about that, known how to find him, figured it was the best time to catch him by surprise.”
“What better time than when you’re half crocked and getting out of your car on a dark driveway in the middle of nowhere?” I said.
“Just surprises me he didn’t go after Sterling Harper, too.”
“Maybe he would have.”
“You’re right. He never had the chance,” Mark said. “She spared him the trouble.”
Reaching for each other’s hands, we fell silent, our shoes quietly scuffing along the sidewalk as the breeze stirred the trees. I wanted the moment to go on forever. I dreaded the truths we had to face. It wasn’t until Mark and I were in our room, drinking wine together, that I asked the question.
“What next, Mark?”
“Washington,” he said, turning away to look out the window. “In fact, tomorrow. I’ll be debriefed, repro-grammed.”
He took a deep breath. “Hell, I don’t know what I’ll do after that.”
“What do you want to do after that?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Kay. Who knows where they’ll send me?”
He continued staring out at the night. “And I know you’re not going to leave Richmond.”
“No, I can’t leave Richmond. Not now. My work is my life, Mark.”
“It’s always been your life,” he said. “My work is my life, too. That leaves very little room for diplomacy.”
His words, his face were breaking my heart. I knew he was right. When I tried to speak again, the tears came.
We held each other tightly until he fell asleep in my arms. Gently disengaging myself, I got up and returned to the window, where I sat smoking, my mind obsessively turning over many things until dawn began to pink the sky.
I took a long shower. The hot water soothed me and reinforced my resolve. Refreshed and robed, I left the humid bathroom to find Mark up and ordering breakfast.
“I’m returning to Richmond,” I announced firmly, sitting next to him on the bed.
He frowned. “Not a good idea, Kay.”
“I’ve found the manuscript, you’re leaving, and I don’t want to wait here alone expecting Frankie, Scott Partin, or even Sparacino himself to show up,” I explained.
“They haven’t found Frankie. It’s too risky. I’ll arrange for your protection here,” he protested. “Or in Miami. That’s probably better. You could stay with your family for a while.”
“No.”
“Kay–”
“Mark, Frankie may already have left Richmond. They may not find him for weeks. They may never find him. What am I supposed to do, hide in Florida forever?”
Leaning back into the pillows, he didn’t respond.
I reached for his hand. “I won’t allow my life, my career to be disrupted like this, and I refuse to be intimidated any longer. I’ll call Marino and arrange for him to meet me at the airport.”
He wrapped both of his hands around mine. Looking into my eyes, he said, “Come back with me to D.C. Or you can stay at Quantico for a while.”
I shook my head. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Mark.”
He pulled me close. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Beryl.”
Neither could I.
We kissed good-bye at the Miami airport, and I walked quickly away from him and did not look back. I was awake only during the interval when I changed planes in Atlanta. The rest of the time I slept in my seat, physically and emotionally drained.