Part Three--by Pat

     The bullet blazed through the glass toward Jennifer.  In that instant, Jonathan moved closer to her, the bullet tearing into his left shoulder.  As chaos ensued in the Hart’s livingroom, Durenga dropped his gun to his side and muttered, “Damn.”  He disappeared through the hedges.

     In his 20 years undercover, Jack Durenga was not accustomed to being chastised by his superiors, but Kyle Rothenberg was not happy with the recent events at the Hart household.
     “You were sent to the Harts to perform a mission and you failed,” said Rothenberg in measured tones.
     Jack played with a match cover and cleared his throat.  “I thought it would shake him up if I grazed her...”
     “You thought?!!!,” interrupted Rothenberg.  “You thought?!!!...I don’t pay you to think.  Because of you, we may have lost valuable ground.  I expect you to continue with your assignment until the job is complete.”
     Durenga knew this was an ultimatum. It was time for Plan B.

     Jennifer sat in the hospital room watching her husband sleep.  She examined his handsome face, stroking his hair to the side.  The events during the past 24 hours had been something of a nightmare, and she was frightened.  Had Jonathan moved any closer to her that night, the bullet would have killed him.  She pushed the thought from her mind.  Right now, they had to get to the bottom of this mess so that their lives could return to normal.  She was also worried about the strain on her father.  Although he was still an active man, the recent turn of events were clearly taking its toll on him. 
     Jonathan stirred and opened his eyes.  His gazed immediately locked on the woman he so loved.
“Did you get the number of that bus?” he said, grinning.
     Jennifer broke into a smile. Pressing her finger lightly to his lips, she whispered, “Don’t try to speak.  You need all your energy to get better... I’m here and everything’s going to be OK.”
     “Where’s Steven?, ” Jonathan asked, still groggy.
     “He’s on the phone with Conny, trying to sort things out.  The police are searching the house and yard trying to find clues.  So far they haven’t turned up anything.  Apparently, whoever did it took great pains to trip the alarm system and cover their tracks.”
     “I need to talk to Steven...” Jonathan murmured, but the sedative was overpowering him.   As he drifted from consciousness, he seemed to remember that Steven had more to tell him.

     Steven sat with his daughter in the private waiting room at Cedars Sinai Medical Center where they had spent the last 24 hours.  Luckily, Jonathan’s injuries were not life- threatening, and the bullet was removed without complication.  He shuddered at what might have happened had Jonathan not moved at that precise moment.  Steven knew that that bullet was meant for Jennifer:  They had to act quickly to get Jennifer out of danger.
     “Jennifer, darling, we need to move you and Jonathan somewhere where you’ll be safe for a while,” said Steven cautiously.  He knew his daughter would not agree to this easily.
     “Dad, I’m not going to play into this maniac’s wishes...and I’m not going to leave you.”
     “You don’t realize the full implications of what happened yesterday.  This is not a foiled burglary attempt.  This is very serious business.  I have every reason to believe that you are in serious danger, and until I find out what’s going on, I want you safe, do you understand me?,” he said sternly.  It was a tone of voice he hadn’t used in a very long time, but he knew of no other way to make his point.
     Jennifer sat back in her chair and gazed out the window, pondering her father’s warning.  “But, where will we go?”

     Claire Townsend was deep in thought as she stroked the canvas with swirls of blue and green watercolors.  She could not stop thinking about the mysterious phone call she had received from her brother-in-law, Steven.  She had not spoken to him in years, although she always received notes from him at Christmas time, telling of Jennifer’s latest journalistic endeavors and the various offspring from his mares at the ranch.  She felt so removed from the family, living the life of a recluse in Bordeaux, France for the past 25 years.  Her life here was much less complicated, and she could turn her full attention to her artwork.  To have Jennifer and her husband stay with her would be interesting, indeed.  She hadn’t ever had visitors stay with her while living in France.  She would need to move all of her canvasses out of the guest room tomorrow for their late afternoon arrival.

     The Harts and Steven Edwards boarded a private jet bound for Paris the next day.  Steven had insisted on coming with them to make sure they arrived safely.  Then, he would return to Washington, DC to investigate the case further.  Jonathan was uneasy because he still hadn’t been able to finish his discussion with Steven.  He wanted to know more about the sculpture, about the CIA’s involvement, about Suzanne Edwards’ death.  He and Jennifer spoke very little about it since the shooting, keeping a low profile and speaking in hushed tones, in case they were being watched or overheard about their plans.  He had even hired security to follow their every move.
     Steven hadn’t shown Jennifer the photos that he had brought with him - the ones of Jennifer - that had been sent to him anonymously.  After Jonathan’s close call, they had decided to wait until they were safely at Claire’s before Jonathan told her the full story.  He didn’t want his wife any more upset than she was already.  The photo of her mother, in particular, would be extremely disturbing to her, and he wanted to be sure that he was there to support her.
     “Dad, how come I never heard very much about Aunt Claire when I was growing up?,” Jennifer said, breaking the silence.
     Steven reflected on the question and finally spoke, “Well, Claire is a bit of an eccentric.  She wasn’t really into the family, so to speak.  She consumed herself with her painting.  It’s not that she didn’t care about the family... it just wasn’t her focus in life. She and your mother were fairly close growing up, despite the fact that they were so different.  In fact, Claire had a severe bout of depression when your mother died and had to be hospitalized.  Shortly after, she moved to France and has made her living selling her artwork in small galleries,” Steven continued.  “She’s quite talented, actually, but doesn’t let many people see her paintings.”
     “Well,” Jennifer asserted,” at least something positive is coming out of all this.  At last, I might get to know my mother’s sister.”

     Durenga sped along the French countryside, smoking his last Camel.  He had everything he needed:  maps, binoculars, camera, tapes, rope...and, ah yes, his gun.  He was determined to make Steven Edwards plead for his daughter’s life and give him the information he needed.  The fact that the Harts were staying with Claire Townsend was a stroke of luck.  Durenga was determined to prove himself not only to Rothenberg, but to his father as well.

     Claire opened the door of her bungalow to the three weary travelers.  Jennifer was instantly delighted to see that she was not the only redhead in the family.  Despite her 70 years, Claire’s hair was an eclectic mix of red, chestnut, and white, which she wore long and tied back in a scarf.  Her dress was a flowing, floral chiffon that could have been one of her own canvasses wrapped around her petite frame.  Jennifer smiled broadly and immediately felt like she had come home.
     “Well, for heaven’s sake, come in! Come in!,” Claire said, ushering them in and gazing at Jennifer.  “I haven’t seen you, Jennifer, since you were ten years old.... You have your mother’s eyes.”
     “And your hair, apparently!,” Jennifer remarked.
     Claire smiled warmly. “Yes.”

     Claire showed them around the bungalow and brought them to their rooms, where they deposited their luggage.  Jonathan sat down on the bed wearily.
     “I hope you won’t mind, Claire, if I take a short nap.  I’m still pretty worn out,” Jonathan said, his eyes feeling very heavy.  Jennifer leaned closer to him and massaged his neck.
     “He’s still recovering from the surgery.  He really should sleep....did Dad tell you what’s been happening?,” Jennifer asked.
     “Yes, and what a fright that must have been for you.  I’m so glad that Steven thought to bring you to me.  It was a complete surprise, but I’m delighted,” she said, meaning it.  “Why don’t you get some rest and come out to the patio later to join me for some dinner.”

     Claire closed the door behind her, as Jonathan and Jennifer sat on the bed together.  Jonathan yawned, stretched out, then winced in pain.  The throbbing in his arm had returned, but he didn’t have the energy to look for his medication.  Jennifer immediately darted into the bathroom to get a glass of water and the pain-killers for him.  He took them hastily.  She hated seeing him in any kind of pain and knew he wouldn’t tell her how bad it truly was.
     In moments, Jonathan was fast asleep.  She tenderly removed his shoes and covered him with the soft angora blanket at the foot of the bed.  Sighing, she kicked off her own shoes and slithered under the blanket next to him.  The warmth of his body next to hers and the sound of his breath relaxed her.  She snuggled closer and drifted off.  When she awoke two hours later, Jonathan was still fast asleep.  She quietly put on her shoes and a sweater and headed for the patio.

     Steven was on the phone, as Jennifer headed out to the patio where Claire was having tea.  She waited in the doorway, listening to what her father was saying.  The expression on his face did not console her.
     “Conny, did any of those names check out?”, he said, just noticing Jennifer.  His expression softened.
     “Well, three of them are dead, one is in a convalescent home, which leaves three of them:  Simpson, Crenshaw, and Mulligan.  I checked them all out and I can’t see why they’d be involved.  All of them are retired,” Conny reported.
     “Have them watched, just the same, and report any suspicious activity.  Get your best investigators on it....so far, they’ve made it here safely, but they can’t stay for long.  We’ll have to keep them moving, until we get to the bottom of it.  I’ll call you from D.C. tomorrow.  I’m catching a late flight back tonight,” Steven said, hanging up.
     Jennifer’s eyes welled up with tears, realizing that their ordeal was not nearly over.  The thought of having to move again, especially with Jonathan still recuperating, was depressing.  If they could stay with Claire until Jonathan was fully recovered, she would feel better, but she just didn’t know what the future would hold.
     Jonathan came up behind Jennifer and embraced his wife.  She turned around to face him and he looked deeply into her eyes.  “How are you feeling?”, she said softly.
     “Much better.  The nap was just the thing,” he said.  He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips.       “My father’s heading back tonight.  It’s too much for him.  Will you try to convince him to stay?  I’m worried about him.”
     “Darling, I think he has to go back and be in direct contact with the investigators.  There’s so much more we need to find out before we can find out who’s doing this,” he said, caressing the small of her back.  “In fact, your father and I need to fill you in on some more details...we got interrupted the other night.”
     “There’s more?”, she asked hesitantly.
     “I’m afraid there is.  But it may give us the clues we need.”

      Claire poured everyone tea after dinner and they gathered around to discuss what was happening.  Steven took the manila envelope out of his briefcase and gave it to Jennifer.
     “You need to look at these photos, Jennifer.  They were delivered to my door last week.”
     Jennifer took out the glossy 8 x 10’s and laid them on her lap.  She looked at each one silently. Jonathan leaned closer to her, his eyes studying her reaction carefully.  Finally, she cleared her throat.
     “Someone’s been following me,” she said, looking at her father.  “Do you know who?”
     “I don’t....I’ve also received threatening notes and phone messages.  They say ‘return the mother and child or she’ll die too’.”
     Jonathan spoke up.  “And you seem to believe there’s a connection between the threats to Jennifer and the sculpture you were telling us about?”  He leaned forward, putting his arm around the back of Jennifer’s chair.
     “Yes, well, at first I was puzzled about ‘returning the mother and child’- what did that mean? - and then, I remembered the sculpture...the one I was telling you about.  It was a sculpture of a mother cradling a child!”
     Jennifer looked quizzically at her father.  “They said ‘or she’ll die too’...was someone that you know murdered?”
     “Yes...well...Jennifer,” Steven stammered and wiped his brow.  “You see, there was a photo that was sent with these photos...a photo of your mother.  It was taken at the accident scene when she was killed...clearly taken before police arrived.”
     Jennifer sat, horrified.  She looked at Jonathan, whose eyes reflected her anguish.
     “You mean my mother was murdered?”

     Claire’s face went white.  A forty-year-old wound was opening again.

     That evening, Jonathan and Jennifer said goodbye to Steven as he took a taxi back to the airport.  He was headed back to Washington, DC to check on the whereabouts of some undesirables he had remembered during the time the sculpture was being sent.  It was his only lead, but perhaps Conny would have more information when he returned.  He could only hope. The other thing that worried him was finding that sculpture.  It had never made it to his gallery.

     The Harts retired to their bedroom quietly.  Jennifer sat on the edge of the bed and sighed.  Jonathan sat down beside her and reached for her hand.
     “This is all a terrible nightmare.  It just doesn’t seem real,” she said.
     “It doesn’t,” Jonathan said, turning her to face him.  “Darling, I want you to know that I love you more than anything else in the world and nothing, nothing that we uncover is going to change that.  I’ll always be here for you...always.”  His dark brown eyes seemed to penetrate her.
     He kissed her lightly, his hands stroking her auburn hair.  She kissed him back with an aching to be close to him, to love him totally.  He looked into her eyes, seeking permission to go on.  She slowly unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall to the bed.  Jonathan inhaled the scent of lilacs in her hair, while she sent a trail of sensuous kisses down his neck to his shoulders.  His muscles tightened, and then relaxed as she kissed his shoulder wound.
     Within moments, their bodies were rhythmically moving in unison;  their love- making never so tender and passionate.  Jennifer moaned in pleasure, and Jonathan followed.  They fell asleep in each others’ arms.

     The next morning, Claire had fixed an enormous breakfast for her houseguests.  She had not slept well the night before and was up early to begin cooking.  The Harts’ appetite had returned, and they were delighted to see eggs benedict, fresh fruit, and warm croissants awaiting them.
     “How did you sleep, Jennifer?”, Claire asked.
     “I slept well, actually,” she said, glancing at Jonathan.  “As upsetting as it is, I still feel so distant from it all.”
     Claire poured coffee for them.  Jennifer noticed the delicate way Claire had of serving them, the graceful way she moved.  She wondered if her mother had been like this.
      “Claire, what was my mother like?”
     Claire sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, “She was a beauty...inside and out.  And she was a good sister.  You know, I had my share of problems, but Suzanne always stood by me.”  Looking off in the distance, she continued, “We were very different.  She was determined to get an education.  She loved languages - much like you - and she loved to travel.  She wanted to marry an accomplished man, and she did.  Our parents were very proud of her.”
     “And you, Claire?”
     “Proud of me?  Well....let’s just say, I didn’t quite measure up to their expectations...but, they loved me, I know they did....and Suzanne, she always stood up for me.”
     “I remember missing my mother so much when I was growing up, especially when I was a teenager...there was so much I wanted to talk with her about,” Jennifer said softly.
     “I’m sure you did,” Claire said, reaching over to clasp her hand.
     “She just seems like such a blurry memory. I wish I could see her face...The only photographs I had of her were destroyed in the housefire.  Now there’s nothing.”
     Claire sat silently, feeling sorry for her niece.  Suddenly, she was struck by a thought.  “Jennifer!  I just remembered something...I have some items of your mother’s in my basement.  I can’t remember what’s down there now...some wood carvings she had purchased in Africa, jewelry - not worth anything really, but favorites of hers, letters, maybe some pictures..and god knows what else.  Suzanne gave them to me years and years ago when she and your father were moving to Maryland.  She wanted to store them somewhere and never got around to bringing them back....Would you like to see them?”, Claire asked excitedly.
     Jennifer’s heart quickened. “I’d love to!”

     Jonathan sat in a chair, reading the newspaper, while Jennifer and Claire descended the cellar stairs.  “Let me know if you run into my old friend Boris down there,” he yelled down to them, doing his best Vincent Price.
     “Very funny!”, Jennifer yelled back.

There were stacks of canvasses leaning against the wall, as well as old furniture, lamps, and file cabinets. Claire lead her to a corner with 3 boxes stacked up.  She pulled down the first box, peered in and pulled out a small carving of an elephant.  “Look at that...trunk up.  That’s a good luck omen,” Claire announced.
     There were several old photos.  Jennifer pulled them out, as tears welled in her eyes.  There were photos of her mother holding her as an infant, and others of Jennifer as a young child picking wildflowers in a field, holding her cat, and making faces into the camera.  There was also a locket with a small picture of Jennifer in it.  Claire moved closer and put an arm around her shoulder.
     “Hey, look at these!  It looks like some old love letters from your father!” Claire said, handing a stack of letters to her, trying to lighten the mood.
     Jennifer smiled.  She remembered the stories her father told her of when they had first met and how much in love they were.  She knew that her parents must have had a marriage like hers and Jonathan’s.  She arbitrarily opened one of the yellowed letters and began reading.

     My Dearest Suzanne,

     I think about you constantly.  I’m forever filled with images of your beautiful eyes and lovely hair.  Every time I turn a corner, I think I see you, but it turns out to be someone else.  I miss you desperately.  Paris just isn’t the same without you.  I’ve been in more meetings the past few days, trying to decide how to proceed with the Prime Minister.  It’s been daunting.  How I wish you were here with me, holding my hand, loving me the way no one else ever could.

     Smiling, Jennifer turned the note over, and much to her horror, she read:

               With All My Love,
               Conny

     Steven’s hands were shaking so much, he could barely hold the phone.  Finally, Jonathan answered.
     “Jonathan, you and Jennifer need to leave immediately,” Steven blurted.  “I just received another photo in the mail.  It’s a photo of Jennifer and Claire on the patio.”