Wedding at the White House: A Jack Houston St. Clair Thriller

By Andrew Delaplaine

The U.S. has recovered from the scandal that erupted when the world discovers the new First Lady stabbed her father to death when she was 16.

Eve is especially wary of her mother, Maggie, nursing her bruised ego back home in Savannah. When Vice President Dex White connects with Maggie during a speaking engagement, they strike up a relationship.

Pozo has succeeded in getting $15 million into offshore accounts for his "retirement fund." He is on track to get to $100 million, when he will disappear to a place where no one in Havana will ever find him. But he doesn't know that his regular hooker is sleeping with one of his top people, the lawyer Julio Aponte.

Jack enlists his trusted part-timer, the gay D.C. hair stylist Teddy Puckett, to handle the delicate task of following Rolando, Jonathan's boyfriend.

When Sam's mining partner comes to Washington a few days before the wedding, a major secret is revealed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gramercy Park Press
• Release date: Nov 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386771241

Andrew Delaplaine

Delaplaine lives on South Beach, Miami’s Billion Dollar Sandbar. He writes in widely varied fields: screenplays, novels (adult and juvenile) and journalism. He also has a series of Long Weekend Guides covering some 50 cities around the world. Email: [e-mail] He writes several series: The “JACK HOUSTON ST. CLAIR” political thriller novels. “THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES IV,” a series of novels starring the great-great-grandson of the famous consulting detective. “THE ANNALS OF SANTOPIA” series, an epic that follows a Santa born in 1900 through to his death 82 years later. The AMOS FREEMAN police thrillers. Other novels: “The Trap Door” follows a boy who is taken back in time to 1594 and Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. “The Meter Maid Murders,” a comic look at a detective trying to nab a serial killer on South Beach who only murders meter maids. Has written and directed three features (one doc, two narrative features), as well as several short films and won several awards for his film work. (See imdb.com for details).  His latest film, “Meeting Spencer,” starring Jeffrey Tambor, won the prestigious Milan International Film Festival Award for Best Screenplay.  DELAPLAINE’S “LONG WEEKEND” GUIDES These no-nonsense guides contain Delaplaine’s recommendations and advice for travelers visiting these places for 3 or 4 days. As "The Food Enthusiast," he writes a series of restaurants guides, updated annually. He has no hobbies.

Book preview

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 1

EVE HARRINGTON CAME out of the elevator on the ground floor of the White House where an assistant waited to walk with her to work in the East Wing.

Months before, she had made that walk for the first time.

She remembered that day because she had admired the rich blue-gray worsted wool fabric of Carter Graydon’s impeccably tailored suit as she walked with him side-by-side down the East Colonnade which led from the main White House building toward the East Wing, the traditional domain of the First Lady.

I can’t believe you and I are walking into the East Wing like this, said Carter.

That makes two of us.

He gave her a sideways glance and a ready smile, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

I also can’t believe I was making passes at you and all the time you were—

She stopped and he turned back toward her, not realizing for a split second that she had stopped on a dime.

He suddenly wondered if he’d talked out of turn.

Carter, it wasn’t like that.

I didn’t mean to say—

I know you didn’t. She resumed walking and he picked up the pace. I didn’t know what was happening when I first came to the White House. You were very sweet, very attentive—she raised an eyebrow and shot him a glance—"and very attractive. So I was taken off my guard. The only way I knew how to react was to push back a little."

Of course, I understand.

She wondered if he did.

If I’d started dating you, well—

He gestured toward the East Wing as they approached the entrance.

None of would have happened, he said with a slightly arched eyebrow.

He was right, of course. None of this would have happened. She wouldn’t be just days away from marrying the President of the United States.

So this is where I ‘go to work’ every day?

This is it, he said, nodding just ahead to the Visitors’ Foyer. The East Wing is a kingdom ruled only by the First Lady.

Well, she wasn’t the First Lady yet, but she would be soon.

Although she was walking right next to Carter, she felt like she was floating a few feet off the ground. She heard the footsteps her feet made on the heavily shellacked brick floors, but she didn’t feel anything. She was in a dream state.

Me! A June bride, she thought. It sounded like the cliché of clichés.

But it wasn’t a cliché. It was the real thing. She was entering uncharted territory for someone like her, a simple girl from Savannah. If Flagler Hall had seemed like a completely foreign world, this was a different universe entirely.

She could tell by her stomach.

Her stomach had been convulsed with a relentless case of butterflies ever since that night three months ago when Sam had blindsided her in front of all the guests at Flagler Hall who’d gathered to welcome him home on his first trip to Miami since the Inauguration.

Eve thought back to that night when Sam had surprised not only her, but the world as well. She was still reeling from his proposal in the Blue Onyx Room. She thought she would have a few days to compose herself, to clear away the cobwebs that had suddenly frozen into place in her addled brain, but no.

No.

Sam had simply put it out there and that was that. 

And then he had followed this show of bravura with the declaration that she had accepted.

Although Bedelia was the one who fainted when he broke the news, she felt like she couldn’t be far behind the poor old cow.

As soon as they’d shared that first glass of Champagne, Eve had turned to see Jack sitting on the far side of their table, his jaw propped up by both his hands as he laughed and shook his head from side to side. But he was up quickly enough and rushing over (like the rest of the world) to wish the newly engaged couple the very best.

Brother Rafael—handsome enough to eat—had actually gotten to her first. He gave her a big hug, then a kiss on the cheek.

So you’re gonna be my step-mom? he said, eyes twinkling.

Sam had pushed him away.

Don’t talk to my girl like that, OK? Sam had laughed.

Jack was standing right behind them, waiting his turn to offer his best wishes.

Dad and I have had an awful lot of Scotch tonight, but he always makes the best decisions after two or three drinks.

Make that four or five drinks, added Sam, coming over and throwing his arm around her shoulder. He called out to Santi to bring over more Champagne, and within minutes waiters were popping so many corks that it sounded like a fireworks display had erupted in the main dining room.

Carlos Rodriquez had come over to say something to Jack, and when Sam saw him, he beckoned him over.

You’ll have to tell the detail chief that we have another member of the family to protect, OK, Carlos?

Yes, Mr. President.

Sam thrust a Champagne flute into Carlos’s hand, and he pretended to drink, but didn’t. When Sam turned away, Carlos leaned in to her.

Congratulations, Eve.

Thank you, Carlos, thanks very much. It’s all a bit of a surprise.

You have no idea what you’re in for, he laughed.

She saw that Jack had just come up behind her.

Carlos is right about that, Eve. You have no earthly idea.

Eve saw that Jonathan, Tony Verges and a couple of waiters were busily trying to hoist Bedelia up from the floor where she’d collapsed and into a chair. She heard Tony call for a doctor, and two men rushed up and said they were both doctors. Patricia and Matt were standing with them, trying to assist. 

She just fainted, said one.

Get me some Tabasco sauce or vinegar, said the other.

Maître d’ Luis brought over some Tabasco and after waving it under Bedelia’s nose like smelling salts (did they still have smelling salts? Eve wondered), Bedelia coughed once, sneezed twice and then opened her runny eyes.

Are you all right, Mother? asked Jonathan.

Bedelia, say something, said Patricia.

Once Bedelia’s eyes focused, it seemed as if she turned a laser beam onto Eve. She raised her arm and pointed to her, as though some ghost or other supernatural apparition had suddenly appeared in their midst.

You!

Eve made her way over to Bedelia and leaned down.

Bedelia..., I, uh...

There’s nothing you can say, Bedelia spat.

Sam was suddenly looming over them. He and Bedelia looked at each other, their faces hard and set, but Sam didn’t say anything.

Bedelia turned away from Sam’s gaze.

Jonathan, get me out of here. I need to lie down.

Of course, Mother. We’ll take her to my room.

Secret Service agents, as well as Carter, were there to help her to her feet and escort her out.

Just before she left, she turned.

I hope you’re both very happy.

She offered a wan smile and allowed herself to be led away.

Eve caught a glimpse of Carter staring at her wide-eyed. He was speechless, which was not something usually to be said about Carter Graydon.

Jonathan nodded to the Secret Service agents to take her out the side door so they wouldn’t have to parade her through the throngs of people rubbernecking to see now she was doing.

Jonathan leaned over to whisper to Eve before following his mother out of the room.

I do wish you every happiness, Eve, he smiled. My mother might have made a great First Lady, but she couldn’t make Sam as happy as I know you’re going to make him. I’ve never seen him so revved up.

Thank you, Jonathan. I’ll do my best. And I want to see Bedelia when we both recover from the shock.

He smiled, nodded and was gone.

Women clustered around Eve and asked her a million questions.

I really can’t talk right now, was all she got out before Jack and Rafael came to rescue her.

Jack saw that Sam was off to the side regaling a group of people with whatever story he was telling them. He came up behind Eve and touched her on the elbow.

You need to get out of this room, said Jack.

I don’t often agree with my brother, Eve, but tonight, he’s right.

They took her to Santi’s office, which was the closest private room they could reach without too much trouble, a couple of Secret Service agents following close behind, Carlos among them.

I’ve been detailed to look after Eve, Carlos told the boys.

Maybe this will be enough to get you transferred out of Tampa, Rafael laughed.

Once they were in the manager’s office, things settled down. For one thing, it was quiet.

You OK? asked Jack.

Want anything? asked Rafael.

Eve shook her head.

I think, actually, a cup of coffee. Hot black coffee.

Rafael looked to Carlos, who nodded.

She needs some Cuban coffee. That’ll set her right.

Carlos opened the door and told the agents outside to send for the coffee and then closed the door.

Not to be nosy, Eve, said Jack, but where the hell did all this come from?

Jack, I’ll tell you the truth. This came right out of the blue. I had no idea Sam felt this way about me. Not till tonight, that is.

Eve? said Rafael. When did you two even have time to develop a history together?

Eve nodded.

That I’m not going to tell you, Rafael, because I don’t think Sam would want me to.

The last thing she was going to tell Rafael was that Sam had seduced her—or she had seduced Sam—looking back, she couldn’t be sure which was the case—in the Blue Onyx Room during the same hour that his mother had died in the room above them. No, this was not something she was ever going to tell Rafael.

Or anyone.

Ever.

A tap at the door.

Carlos snatched it open, only to see Sam taking a small tray from a waiter and walking in with it.

I presume this is for Eve, but I see several cups.

I got one for all of us, said Carlos.

Good, said Sam, pouring out the first of two cups and handing one to Eve.

Carlos took the tray and poured out cups of espresso for himself and the others.

Sam took a long sip from his cup, not coming up for air till he’d drunk the whole thing.

Carlos, order some more.

Yes, sir.

And tell your head of detail I want you transferred to Eve’s detail.

Yes, sir! I already did, Carlos said, perking up noticeably.

He opened the door and barked out an order for more coffee.

Sam sat down next to Eve and took her hand in his.

I know this is a shock, Eve, honey, but everything’s going to be OK. We don’t have to do interviews. We don’t have to answer questions, we don’t have to do squat.

It’s not going to be that simple, Dad, said Jack.

I know, Jack, but it doesn’t have to be a three-ring circus, either, not if we don’t make it one.

Dad, the performance you put on tonight wasn’t exactly a modest way to announce your engagement, Jack smiled. You looked like the ringmaster under a very big circus tent.

Sam shrugged and winked.

I was afraid she’d say No unless I nudged her over the edge.

Nudge? Rafael laughed. That was more like a shove from behind.

Sam looked back to Eve, who hadn’t said a thing.

The liquor’s wearing off a little, Eve, he said. You can always back out if you want. I know I was riding roughshod over you in there, and I apologize.

Eve leaned over and kissed him.

We can make it work, Sam. I do love you.

Then we’re all set. That’s all I needed to hear from you. You’ll come back to Washington with me and we’ll start making plans.

Wouldn’t it be a good idea to let Eve pull herself together down here for a few days before heading up to Washington? asked Jack.

You might have a point there, Jack. The White House press corps will eat her alive if they get a chance. We have to be careful about access.

She’ll have to put together a team pretty fast, too, said Rafael.

Yes, there’s that as well. She’ll need to put together a staff.

A staff? said Eve. I don’t know anybody. How can I put together a staff?

We’ll figure that out over breakfast! Sam exclaimed jovially. Everything will work out just fine!

If you say so, said Eve.

I say so. Sam kissed her once more, got up and nodded to Carlos to open the door. Now let’s go out for a civilized nightcap and show everybody we’re not afraid of anything they throw at us.

Eve had taken a deep breath before they went out. They did have a glass of Champagne. Two, in fact. When she finally went up to her room, took a shower and slipped into bed, she was certain she’d be up all night, worrying.

She had plenty to worry about.

She had to worry about how the media would look into her past. There were things buried there Sam didn’t know about. Not good things.

And then of course there was her mother, Margaret, her dear mother, Maggie the Cat.

Eve could only imagine how her mother would respond when she heard the news. She wondered how she would possibly keep her mother at bay, at arm’s length. Even with all the Secret Service protection in the world, Maggie would find a way to get into the White House, even if a battalion of Marines surrounded the place, even if she had to hitch a ride in Santa's bag of gifts when he came down the chimney on Christmas Eve.

No, there was a major problem with Maggie. A major problem. And Eve wasn’t quite sure the best way to deal with it.

Eve thought about it and considered that Maggie was an even larger problem than the secrets of her past, and they were definitely interwoven. At least the horrible things that had happened all those years ago—those horrid things she’d done—at least they were in the past.

Maggie was very much in the present.

Eve was jolted back into the present herself as she and Carter entered the Visitors’ Foyer and saw Patricia Vaughan across the shiny pink and white square checkerboard marble tiles that covered the room. She was surprised that the large empty room didn’t have a single piece of furniture in it—just a few very oversized portraits of 19th Century presidents gazing down on a wide expanse of expensive marble that she would later find out was quarried in Tennessee.

Eve ran up to Patricia and gave her a big hug.

Thank God you’re here.

Patricia gave Carter a kiss on the cheek.

We’ll get you organized, Eve. It’s just a matter of getting started.

Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, Patricia.

This way, ladies, Carter said with a gesture.

Carter led them down a short corridor to an elevator, which they took to the second floor.

When the elevator door opened, they were met by the commanding presence of a large African-American woman.

Eve Harrington, please meet Charlese Browning, said Carter as they came out of the elevator.

Pleased ta meet-cha, Ms. Harrington, said Charlese with a Southern drawl as they shook hands. 

Charlese, you already know Patricia Vaughan.

Yes, of course. How are you today, Ms. Vaughan?

I’m fine, Charlese, just fine, thanks.

Charlese took over the administrative duties of the East Wing shortly after President Norwalk’s wife died, so she’s been in the position for—

About five years, Charlese added.

And when President St. Clair was inaugurated, there being no First Lady to take charge, Charlese has continued filling in where needed to make sure the whole East Wing doesn’t collapse.

It’s nice to know I’ll be learning from somebody who’s had on-the-job training.

I’ve had plenty of that, Ms. Harrington.

I’ll leave you, then. Charlese will show you around and give you an idea what you’re up against. Right, Charlese?

I’ll tell her just enough so she won’t break off the engagement, Carter.

They all had a good laugh as Carter retreated to the safety of the elevator.

Come this way and I’ll give you a short tour, Ma’am.

Lead on, Charlese.

Over here we have the White House Graphics and Calligraphy Office, Charlese began, leading them to an open door across the hall from the elevator. They went in and Charlese introduced Eve and Patricia to the staffers working away preparing invitations to upcoming events.

A couple of doors down, in a large office, was the office of the social secretary.

We don’t have a social secretary at the moment. I’ve been handling these duties until the President decided how to fill the position.

Then she led them into a couple of other offices where she met more of the East Wing staff.

The last stop was the biggest office on the East Wing second floor.

In here is the First Lady’s office. Charlese led them over to the bank of windows facing the White House. It overlooks the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, which is full of bloom right now.

Eve looked down onto a mass of pink tulips massed against the East Colonnade. Little leaf linden trees were under planted with ageratum and neat rows of boxwood. Along the brick walkway were bronze colored spoon chrysanthemums.

Thank you for the tour, Charlese. What’s the next step? Eve asked.

How about we get some coffee and talk about that, OK?

Sounds good to me, said Patricia.

After a butler served them coffee around a low table and sofas in a corner of the First Lady’s office, Charlese explained the next steps.

We have temporary assistants in place handling everything that falls on the First Lady. I would be your chief of staff, but you can replace me or anybody else up here anytime you want. We serve at your pleasure. You also have a director of communications, a press secretary, a director of strategic planning, a director of special projects and a social secretary, whenever you decide to appoint one.

Why do I need all these people? Eve asked.

Charlese glanced at Patricia.

It’s just that certain functions over time have gravitated to the First Lady and the East Wing to handle. The social secretary, for instance. She will be your point person for the hundreds of social events that take place at the White House every year, said Patricia.

Sometimes four or five events a day, even more, added Charlese.

Eve sank back into her lushly upholstered chair.

I don’t know if I’m up for all this.

You can handle it, said Patricia.

And you have us, all those people you just met. Once you get settled in, we'll show you everything we do so it won’t be such a mystery.

Patricia leaned over toward Eve.

You know how many women would slit your throat to be in your place?

Offhand, I can think of only one. There was a little pause. Your mother-in-law.

Patricia started laughing and didn’t quit. Charlese tried to hold it in, but even she let out a few giggles. Finally, the absurdity of it all got to Eve and she, too, started to laugh.

Patricia, I want you to be my social secretary.

Me?

Why not? You could do it, certainly.

Well, sure, I guess I could.

Well, think about it at least.

After enduring two more hours of Charlese’s crash course in how to run the East Wing, Eve and Patricia left her and went back down in the elevator. When the door opened and they entered the Visitors’ Foyer, they were the only ones in the large room.

Sam asked us to have lunch with him. Do you have time?

Do I have time? Patricia laughed. No. I’ve got a crucially important appointment for a manicure. Of course I have time. Let’s go, girl.

Eve shook her head.

I forget where I am, Patricia. It’s still too much like a dream.

You’ll come back down to earth, Eve.

Eve looked at the huge portraits lining the austere formal walls of the Visitors’ Foyer.

"You know, Patricia, I