Chapter One Robert Magellan stood on the front steps of his Tudor-style mansion and looked over the crowd gathered on the paved circular drive that was wide enough to accommodate three vehicles. "I want to be able to park three cars across," he'd told the contractor, and that's exactly what he got. Today there were people, not cars, lining the driveway. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Robert's personal assistant and right hand, Susanna Jones, asked from just inside the front door. "It's a great idea," he assured her. "You've always avoided the press," she reminded him. "Yes, but this time I have something important to say." "There were those who thought you might have had something important to say when you sold your stock in Magellan Express a few years back," she said dryly. "My ex-partner talked enough for both of us," he recalled. "There wasn't much for me to add." And of course, he'd had little enough to say to the media when his wife and son went missing two years earlier. At the request of the police, he'd made the televised pleas for anyone with any knowledge of their whereabouts to call the numbers that flashed on the screen, but beyond that, he'd been silent. His reluctance to speak on camera about his family had led some to speculate that perhaps he'd had a hand in their disappearance, but no one who knew him took that seriously. Robert had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and even now, speaking publicly about Beth and Ian was acutely painful, something he'd rather not do. "Mr. Magellan, if you're ready . . ." The young assistant to the head of the public relations firm Robert had hired to organize his press conference placed the microphone on the podium that had been brought in that morning. "Let's do it." Robert smiled and stepped up to the mike. "Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming today on such short notice." As if anyone from the local newspapers or television stations would have missed the first press conference Robert Magellan had ever called. His gated property had hummed with a buzzing undercurrent for the past hour. "What do you suppose he's up to? Think he's going to announce that he's starting up another business?" The whispers floated on a light late spring breeze. "What do you think it is this time? Energy? Or do you think he's sticking with technology?" "Whatever it is, I'm calling my broker and telling him to buy me some of whatever it is he's selling. Everything he's ever touched turned to gold." "Well, except for that business with his wife and kid . . ." "Yeah, that was tough. Still haven't found either of them." "You think maybe that's what he's--" "Shhhh. I want to hear what he's saying." "Recently, my cousin, Father Kevin Burch of Our Lady of Angels parish here in Conroy, reminded me of an oath we made to each other when we were kids." Robert made eye contact with Trula Comfort, who, as his late grandmother's best friend, had been invited to come along for the ride when he made his fortune. Trula winked, knowing, he suspected, how he planned to introduce his latest venture. "?'When I grow up, I'm going to make a lot of money,' we promised ourselves and each other, 'and I'm going to use it to help people who can't help themselves.' Well, I grew up and did, in fact, make a lot of money, and Kevin has devoted his life to helping others. But until now, I haven't done a whole lot of good fo Excerpted from Cry Mercy by Mariah Stewart All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
