After a moment he set the picture back on the stack. “It’s probably best you don’t see that man again,” he said stiffly.
He gestured for Congressman Dern to follow him into his private office, leaving Marianne to stare after him in bewildered confusion.
Luke’s jaunt beneath the ice turned out to be more troublesome than expected. He didn’t catch pneumonia or anything drastic like Gray had feared. It simply sapped his strength beyond all reason. He spent the next few days buried underneath a mound of blankets in his bedroom, as it seemed each time he emerged from beneath the covers, he got the shivers again.
What an irony. For fifteen months he’d been locked up in a Cuban jail cell, sweltering in the relentless heat and tormented by fantasies of a tall, ice-cold glass of water. God must have a strange sense of humor, for now Luke never wanted to experience ice water again.
By Monday he was ready to take possession of the new office. The faster he could get the Washington bureau for Modern Century magazine established, the quicker he could launch his bid to knock a handful of congressmen out of office. The November elections seemed a long way off, but researching these men’s weaknesses and beginning the subtle campaign to take them down would need careful planning.
His desk, the meeting table, and the shelving had already been delivered to the new office, but the books, typewriter, telephone, and office equipment all needed to be lugged in. The most difficult item to navigate up the twisting stairwell was the six-foot bulletin board. Luke banged his shin three times on the journey to the third floor.
“Where do you want it?” Gray asked when they finally got the bulletin board inside the office.
“On the wall behind the desk.”
It was a large room with two windows overlooking a working-class part of town. The desk was on one side of the office, the table in the middle, and the hip-high bookshelves lined the walls beneath the windows. There was a separate table for a telephone and typewriter. For now Luke was the only reporter, but if the Washington bureau proved fruitful, there might someday be more.
The board was soon hung, and the first thing Luke tacked onto it was a list of five congressmen’s names. Beside it he pinned a postcard of the Philadelphia skyline.
Gray cocked a brow as he studied the list of congressmen. “I already know why you want Clyde Magruder out of office, but what’s wrong with the guy from Michigan?”
“He’s in Clyde’s back pocket,” Luke replied. “All these men are following Magruder’s lead in blocking reform of the food and drug industry. If any congressman looks the other way while manufacturers dump chemicals into the nation’s food supply, I’m going to ensure he loses the next election.” He gave an angelic smile and placed a hand over his heart. “My civic duty.”
Gray stared at the postcard of Philadelphia, his face suddenly sad. “Luke . . . I think you need to ease up. What happened to those people in Philadelphia wasn’t your fault.”
Philadelphia would forever represent Luke’s greatest shame. Five years ago, their family had briefly tried to forge a truce with Clyde Magruder. Luke had been chosen to lead the charge because there was too much bad blood among the other members of their family. The Delacroixs and the Magruders would never be friends, but the hope was to ease the tension with a modest joint venture. The plan would combine the Delacroix reputation for quality with the Magruders’ ability to mass produce food. Clyde Magruder proposed a line of pricey coffee, using the Magruder packaging facilities but branded with the Delacroix name. Both companies stood to gain.
Luke held his nose and worked with Clyde on a distribution plan. Gray imported the finest coffee beans from Kenya, and the Magruders did everything else. They rolled out the new line of coffee in Philadelphia, a city famous for its fine coffeehouses.
Luke should have known better than to trust Clyde Magruder, who adulterated their top-notch coffee with cheap ground chicory and artificial flavorings to mask the chicory aftertaste. The resulting coffee tasted fine, with a smooth flavor and enticing aroma, but the cannisters bore no indication that there was anything but coffee inside. The chemical combination proved fatal to three people within a week of the coffee going on sale. While most people could easily digest the cheap concoction cooked up in the Magruder factory, some people had sensitivities to chicory root that proved fatal.
Three people died because of that coffee. All of them had family, friends, and children. The devastation left in the wake of the tainted coffee would ripple through those people’s lives for decades, and no, Luke couldn’t blithely forget about it.
“Could you help me with this box of books?” Luke asked. He didn’t really need help with it, but he’d do anything to divert the conversation from Philadelphia.
Gray moved the box over to the bookshelves. “You’ve been taking risks and pressing your luck ever since Philadelphia. You practically killed yourself in Cuba. When are you going to move past it?”
“Maybe when those five congressmen have been booted out of office. Maybe when there are finally laws to stop the Magruders from polluting their food with fillers and adulterants. That would be a start.”
“Luke, what happened in Philadelphia wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. You tried your best.”
“And my best resulted in three dead people.” He wandered to the window, staring out over the bleak view of wet concrete and melting slush. “Whenever I start to laugh, I think about them,” he whispered. “When I hear beautiful music, I am reminded that they can’t hear it too. They are three ghosts who sit on my shoulder wherever I go.”
“And are they good ghosts or bad ghosts?” Gray asked.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, they’re ghosts, Gray! The kind who wake you up at night and steal your joy and make you pray to God for forgiveness. That kind of ghost.”
Slow footsteps indicated Gray was coming up behind him, but Luke kept staring out the window, even when his brother laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then you’re going to have to defeat them. Or turn them into something that inspires you to be a better man.”
Luke pushed away from the window and began unpacking the books. For years Gray had been trying to nudge him toward a life of safe, law-abiding good sense. Obey the rules, stay within the lines, don’t rock the boat. It wasn’t in his nature.
“I really hate the Magruders,” Luke said. “They never paid a dime to those people in Philadelphia.”
“But we did,” Gray said. “Those families were all compensated and signed off on the legal settlements.”
“You paid them. The Magruders got off scot-free. They’ll do anything for money, so I intend to strike where it will hurt. First I’ll knock Clyde out of Congress, then I’ll go after their company. I’ll burn it down and force them to start over.”
“Absolutely not!” Gray lashed out.
Luke let out a snort of laughter. “Don’t be so literal,” he teased. “Of course I won’t actually burn down their factory. I bet it’s fully insured, so where’s the advantage in that? I’ll expose the Magruders for who they really are, ruin their business, and change the laws so that they can never exploit those loopholes again.”
Across the room, Gray still looked at him with that mournful, somber expression. While Luke used to tease Gray about his overly protective ways, Gray had been a hero over the past year. Luke wouldn’t have survived the crucible of imprisonment in Cuba if Gray hadn’t made repeated visits to keep his flagging spirits alive. They were complete opposites, but over the past year Luke had learned to love and admire his older brother.