her father’s funeral. The once proud and strong Leone family had been fractured beyond any hope of reconciliation.
“You still on the outs with her?”
“Why does it matter?” Keeping things compartmentalized was practically a Leone genetic trait. Frankie’s personal life didn’t intersect with her professional life. She never discussed her parents with anyone. Clearly, this man knew the family dynamic, though the situation was fairly obvious. Her mother lived and worked in Seattle, while Frankie lived and worked here, as far away as possible. She still periodically checked for jobs in Key West, Florida. There were questions she knew she’d never get answered, so Frankie clung to the simple truth that distance preserved the peace.
“It doesn’t.” John leaned back as the coffee and tea arrived. When the waitress walked away, he continued. “Look, I know you were close to him and I know he was proud of your career.”
“Thanks?” His well-informed statements didn’t put her at ease. They only made her more uncomfortable. She stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea and went on the offensive, eager to hurry this along. “Any decent search of the internet could give you that much,” she said. “When I was first attached to the SEAL team, they did a write-up in the local paper, got a glowing quote from him.” She set the spoon aside. “Tell me why we’re here.”
The man’s brown eyes were sharp as he studied her. “Because your father was a hero and someone turned him into a scapegoat.”
Whatever his real name, she agreed with John on that much. Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t been there for her dad during the ordeal. Injured or not, she resented that she’d never had a chance to tell him she believed he was innocent, or that she loved him despite the stones thrown from all sides. There hadn’t been any tender farewell phone call or last words in a note. When her father made a decision, he followed through. He’d killed himself shortly after the guilty verdict, before she’d regained her ability to walk unassisted.
The memories of hearing the news swamped her and she raised her tea to her lips, the cup shaking slightly. Sophia, with no trace of emotion, had explained her husband’s suicide and told Frankie what would come next regarding services, the will and estate, and the rest of it. In the days immediately following the tragedy, Frankie had tried to talk to her, hoping to make sense of the senseless. Her mother had been too wrapped up in the legalities and had quickly moved on as though a lifetime of marriage and family had meant nothing.
“He’d be happy to see you strong and healthy again.”
John’s quiet voice brought Frankie back to the present with an unpleasant jolt.
“I like to think so.” She carefully placed the cup in the saucer.
“You’ve done well reestablishing yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” She toyed with the handle of her cup. “You said you had something for me?” She didn’t want to talk about her father or her new life. Not with a therapist, not with a friend, and definitely not with a stranger.
“Yes.” He reached into the pocket inside his sport coat and fished out a small gray envelope. “This matches a safe-deposit box in Tucson,” he explained, his voice no more than a whisper. With one finger he pushed the envelope, which presumably held a key, halfway across the table. “No one mattered to your dad as much as you did. He can’t tell you in his own words, but the answers you’re after are there.”
Answers. Frankie blinked away the rush of tears blurring her vision. She’d expected dog tags, or maybe her dad’s class ring from West Point. Answers were a thousand times better. She hadn’t been prepared for someone who believed her father had been railroaded, and wanted to help her ferret out the truth. She caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and fought valiantly for composure. There would be time for emotions later. “How do you know what answers I’m after?” she asked, using his phrase. “Dad’s case is closed.” It was hard to believe this could be the break she needed to clear her father’s name.
John left the envelope on the table, pulling his fingers back and drumming them on the rim of his coffee cup, watching her closely. “The case is officially closed, but it’s nowhere near done for you. You take that and you’ll have a chance to right a wrong.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from that slim gray envelope. “Why don’t you do what’s necessary with the information?”
He shook his head. “This is for family. I’m just the messenger.”
Frankie sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean what those words implied. She’d learned that her mother’s testimony had come into play during her father’s trial, though Frankie had never understood why it hadn’t helped. Sophia refused to discuss the matter, which left Frankie with more questions than answers at every turn.
“From where I’m sitting I’d say you got that stubbornness and tenacity from your dad,” John said, urging her on in his quiet way.
Frankie covered the envelope with her hand, pulling it closer to her side of the table. Either she hadn’t been as discreet as she should have been or John had the depth of access that went with the cloak-and-dagger routine. She thought of the inquiries she’d made after her father’s funeral. All of them had turned into frustrating dead ends. Hope surged through her that this key would unlock the secrets about General Leone’s final missions overseas.
She peered into the envelope before tucking it into her pocket. Taking it didn’t mean she had to do anything about it. She studied John’s inscrutable face. “How can I reach you?”
“You can’t.” His gaze moved systematically around the coffee shop. “My being here, even for a few hours, puts you in jeopardy. This has to be our only communication.”
She gave a short nod as her mind reeled. This man was the first person who showed any sign of agreeing with her about her father’s innocence.
John pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “You don’t have to go and you don’t have to be in a hurry,” he said. “In fact, I recommend you take some time and think it through. What’s inside the box isn’t going anywhere.”
She knew she had to go. She couldn’t ignore this opportunity. A flight to Arizona was nothing in the bigger picture. Her family had imploded under the treason accusation. Knowing her father had died disgraced and alone, Frankie still felt an ache in her heart. If there was any information that would cast a light of truth into those dark final days and clear his name, she meant to find it. “I’ll go.” As soon as she could arrange a few days off work.
Getting to Tucson was the easy part of the equation. There was no way to tell what would come next until she’d seen the contents of the box for herself. After the last lead dried up a few months ago, she’d been less aggressive in her private inquiry, resigned that she might never learn who’d set up her dad. Cautiously pushing hope aside, she considered that this meeting and the trip to open a safe-deposit box could be nothing more than an elaborate ruse or distraction, though she didn’t know who would gain by such a tactic.
“What you discover could make things worse,” John warned.
“Thanks,” she whispered, stunned by the dramatic shift her morning had taken. The key in its envelope felt like a stick of old dynamite in her pocket, shaky, volatile and ready to blow her life apart without any notice. “Unless you have more insight, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.”
“Whatever
