Blindsided (7 page)

Cee stared at her sister in the glow of the firelight. She fingered the area where she'd had a Botox injection earlier that morning. She tried to frown, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. The area
felt
lumpy, and it
looked
lumpy. Unusual, because Ethan always massaged the area after an injection for just that very reason. To her chagrin, her face looked like she'd been stung by a bee.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Cee?”

“I'm trying to decide if we should go on red alert or not. This injection site feels lumpy. It even looks lumpy. It's never been lumpy before. I'll kill Ethan if he screwed me up.”

Nessie threw her hands in the air. “For God's sake, Cee! All you have to do is massage the area. That's what you've always said. This could be serious, and you're worried about your vanity.”

“There's nothing we can do at the moment, now is there, Nessie? I said in the morning we'll drive around and see if we can spot the car. Someone could have gotten lost. As to the reporter at the
Baywater Weekly,
I will call them in the morning and ask some questions. What that means, Nessie, is there's nothing we can do right now, so it's perfectly all right for me to worry about this lumpy area by my eye. Enough said!”

“Okay, okay, try this on for size, sister dear. I wasn't going to say anything because it was just a weird dream, but it all ties in, in a crazy kind of way. I had a dream about Peter last night. It was so real I couldn't go back to sleep. I spent the night in the kitchen drinking coffee trying to figure out why would I dream about Peter at this point in time.”

Cee's voice was so cold, Nessie shivered and clasped her arms across her chest. “I thought we agreed to never discuss Peter. He's dead.”

“Only to
us
.
We
declared him dead. He's
not
dead as in dead, Cee. He's out there somewhere. He can come back anytime he wants and get his pound of flesh. It was just a dream, but dreams have a way of . . .”

“Coming to pass? Is that what you're trying to say? We had him declared dead. We even have a death certificate. Have you been thinking about Peter and what we did, Nessie?” Cee asked as she massaged the injection site at the corner of her eye.

“No, not really, and certainly not recently. I won't lie. I do think about him from time to time. If he ever comes back, you and I will spend the rest of our lives in prison.”

“Peter won't come back. He hates us as much as we hate him. He's out of our lives—get that through your head. This damn lump is simply not moving,” Cee whined.

“He has to hate us for what we did to him. There is no court in the land that wouldn't side with him. We hate Peter because Daddy did that old-fashioned, Southern thing and left everything to the firstborn son. And we stole it all away from him. Therein lies the difference.”

“Why are we having this conversation, Nessie? Because you had a bad dream? A guilt-ridden bad dream? Or is it the article in the paper or the clunky car you saw? I thought we agreed never to discuss Peter because he is dead to us.”

Nessie picked at a rice noodle that had dropped to her lap. She looked over at her sister. “Aren't you the one who always says we need to pay attention to things that happen out of the norm? To pay attention to gut instinct? That's what I'm doing. You should be doing the same thing instead of stewing and fretting over a lump by your eye. It will smooth out. We go through this every time you get a Botox injection.” Nessie's tone turned ominous when she said, “Everything happens in threes, you know that. The article in the
Baywater Weekly
no one warned us about was number one, the clunker car following us was number two, and my dream of Peter is number three. Say something, Cee.”

“I'm going to put a hot compress on this lump.”

“You do that, Cee. I'm going to bed,” Nessie snapped. She poked at the fire, then closed the glass doors to make sure no sparks worked their way through the fire screen.

Nessie stomped her way out of the room. Cee watched her go as she worked the skin around her eye. Nessie was so emotional. Then her eyes narrowed as she thought about her brother, Peter, and how much her parents had loved him. At least that's what she and Nessie had been told as they grew up. She stopped just short of adding, And how much our father hated Nessie and me because our mother died giving birth to us.

M
aggie turned off the ignition, her weary shoulders slumping. She looked out the windshield and realized it was now totally dark though it was only five-thirty. She had hoped to arrive earlier, but she'd gotten sidetracked. Now she was home. She continued to stare out the window at the total darkness. It was all so normal. The streetlamps casting a yellow spill over the sidewalks, a man walking a small dog, two giggling girls walking arm and arm, drivers looking for parking spaces. Just the way it was every day when she'd lived here a few years ago. The end of the day for tired workers. She wished then that she had taken the time to get to know her neighbors, but when she'd last lived here in Georgetown, she was up and out of the house by six in the morning and rarely got home before eight or nine in the evening. That didn't leave much time for getting to know one's neighbors.

Maggie got out of the car and looked down the street, to where Nikki and Jack Emery lived. Just five houses away. She squinted in the darkness to see if there were any lights on in the house, but she couldn't tell. She turned back to her own house and smiled in the darkness. Her tenant had left the porch light on for her. As far as tenants went, William Yost was ideal. He paid his rent on time and if anything needed fixing, he had it fixed and sent on a bill with his rent check. He had promised to take care of her house as if it were his own. She hoped he had done that.

Maggie popped the trunk and started to unload everything to the narrow sidewalk. Then she ran up and opened the door with her old key. A warm blast of air greeted her. She sniffed appreciatively. She smelled lemon polish, floor wax, and window cleaner. It was not an unpleasant scent, more like it used to smell when she would take a day off to clean house.

It took her seven trips to carry in all her belongings and what Annie called her gear. For now, her plan was to leave everything in the foyer and get Ted or Espinosa to carry her heavy suitcases up to the second floor at some point. Knowing herself, she estimated it might take at least a year to unpack all the boxes and bags. She shrugged.

Maggie walked around, turning on lights, her eyes popping at how neat and clean everything was. There was even a laid fire. She couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. She walked into the kitchen and sniffed. Food! She saw the bottle of wine, the small vase of fall flowers mixed with colorful autumn leaves. She picked up the note on the kitchen table and read it.

It was signed
Bill.

Talk about the perfect tenant.

Maggie kicked off her shoes, uncorked the bottle of wine, then looked in the oven. Ah, stuffed pork chops, new potatoes with baby carrots. She could smell the rosemary sprinkled on top of the chops. On the bottom shelf was a berry pie. She knew it was a berry pie because some of the juice had spilled over onto the sheet of tin foil under the pie plate. She could hardly wait to dig in because if it tasted half as good as it looked and smelled, she would be in food heaven. Bill Yost must like to cook. Even before she opened the refrigerator, she knew she would find juice, eggs, bacon, milk, and some fresh fruit. Her fist shot in the air. “You are some kind of guy, Bill Yost!”

An hour later, stuffed to the gills, a little woozy from half the bottle of wine, Maggie tottered into her living room. She struck a match to the laid fire, turned on the TV, and flopped down onto her favorite chair.

If she was smart, she'd go out and walk around the block; but right now, she didn't feel smart, just felt full and content. Why spoil a good thing? She settled herself more comfortably in her recliner, pressed the
MUTE
button, and closed her eyes, not to sleep but to think.

The past week had moved slowly in her opinion. Charles was still working down in the catacombs, trying to come up with enough background to get her mission under way. It bothered her that it was taking so long. Ted and Espinosa agreed, and they were as anxious as she was to get things moving. Then there was Abner. Abner never took this long to get back to her. A week was actually unheard of where Abner Tookus was concerned. Maybe she needed to cut him some slack. He was married now to Isabelle, so his life probably wasn't the same as it had been. She thought back to his call in the middle of the week, when he asked her if she realized what a hornet's nest she was diving into. She remembered how she'd shivered and passed the question on to Ted and Espinosa, whose eyes had gleamed as hers had. The words
juicy
and
dangerous
came to mind. The stuff all reporters lived to write about.

Maggie cracked an eyelid and saw Nancy Grace on the big screen. As she was debating whether to turn the volume up or not, her cell phone chirped in her pocket. She pulled it out to see Abner's code name,
Speed
, on the caller ID.

The voice was hesitant. “Maggie?”

“It's about time, Abby. What's going on?” Maggie said, getting right to it.

“Maggie, it's only been a week. Aren't you the one who told me on more than one occasion to get a life? Well, I finally took your advice, and I got a life. A really good life. I'm an old married man, and with that goes all the things a husband does. I'm liking it, in case you care. But to answer your question, I go back and forth to upstate New York to see Isabelle. My work no longer consumes me night and day. I actually keep regular hours these days. I sleep at night and work during the day. And this will probably surprise you even more, but there are days when I don't work at all. I will admit you are a favorite client, so I always cut you breaks and bust my ass to do what you want.”

“Yeah, well, busting your ass had its rewards. You probably own the most oceanfront property in the whole world, all thanks to me.”

Abner laughed. “You do have a point.”

“So, what do you have for me? Tell me you are going to make me happy.”

“Oh, I'm going to make you happy, Maggie. Is your fax working?”

Maggie didn't know if her ancient fax machine was working or not. She decided to take a gamble since she was sure Bill Yost would have let her know if it wasn't working. “Yes. Fax away. Do you care to give me any highlights?”

“I think it's all pretty straightforward. If you have any questions, call me. By the way, all that oceanfront property . . . guess who owns the neighboring lots on some of those properties! I've been approached many times to sell off some of it, but I never responded to the inquiries. Now, having said that, if you want me to, I can make a personal inquiry of my own, you know, to see if the owners are still interested.”

“The Ciprani twins?”

“Right on, Maggie. Who knew they'd crop up in my personal life at this particular moment in time?”

“Is it undeveloped land, or are there structures on those plots?”

“Both.”

“And your bill?”

“It will be with the fax.”

“Ah, Abby, after all that, did you form any opinions?”

“Oh, yeah,” Abner drawled.

“You gonna make me pull it out of you? What?”

“Be careful and watch your back. Those two women make their own rules, and they rule by fear. I know you're going to say you're fearless, but let me tell you I don't think you've come across anyone of their ilk before. Just be careful, Maggie. Gotta run now. I always call Isabelle around this time.”

“Jeez, Abby, I'm sorry. I meant to . . . I wanted . . .”

“Maggie, Maggie, I understand. Don't sweat it. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. I'm not good at stuff like that, and knowing you, I thought you wanted to be alone. I knew you'd call if you needed me. So now that we're both clear on the past, let's just move forward.”

“Okay,” Maggie said, a catch in her voice. “Give Isabelle my love.”

“I will, Maggie. She said to give you a hug if we met up. You wanna do lunch one day next week, call me. I'd love to see you.”

“Okay, but I'm not sure if I'll be going to Baywater next week or not. Gotta wait to see what the others want to do.”

“You be careful, you hear?”

“Always, Abby.”

“Okay, see you, Miss Reporter. I'm about to hit the
SEND
button. Watch for the fax. Any questions, call me tomorrow.”

Maggie didn't realize how tense she was until she leaned back and closed her eyes. She tilted her head toward the doorway leading to the stairs to the second floor. She could hear the faint ring tone of her fax machine. So, it was working. She let loose with a loud sigh before she forced herself out of the recliner. She looked toward the TV and saw Nancy Grace still on the screen, which meant it wasn't yet nine o'clock.

Maggie walked out to the foyer, grabbed a small overnight bag and her backpack, and made her way to the second floor. It smelled just as clean as it did on the first floor. She dumped her bags in the bedroom, looked around, and smiled. Home. She peeked into her bathroom, which smelled clean and fresh. She smiled again as she made her way back out to the hall and the spare room she'd converted to a home office. The fax was still slowly inching out sheet after sheet of paper.

Maggie sat down in a deep, comfortable chair and watched the papers creep out of the fax machine. An extensive report. A one-of-a-kind report. The kind of report only Abner Tookus could provide. She could hardly wait to read it.

While she waited for the last sheet of paper, Maggie called Myra, told her the report was coming through and to call a meeting for the following day. Myra agreed, set the meeting for midafternoon of the following day, and said she would notify everyone.

Maggie's second call was to Ted. She explained about the fax coming through and said she would fax it to him the minute she finished reading it. “I'm going out to Pinewood tomorrow, so I'm thinking we can head out to Baywater the day after tomorrow if everyone agrees.”

“Read fast. I'll alert Espinosa” was Ted's response.

“C'mon, c'mon,” Maggie mumbled as she pulled the sheets out of the fax. She really needed to update this machine to one like she'd had at the
Post,
which would spit out forty-two pages a minute. This pathetic archaic fax machine was enough to drive anyone up a wall. Especially someone like her, who had no patience to begin with. Already it looked like she had close to a hundred pages, and they were still coming. She stopped and placed another call to Charles and repeated verbatim what she'd told Ted. She told him she'd alerted Myra to call a meeting for tomorrow. Charles's response was the same as Ted's—
Read fast.

 

 

Myra greeted her guests the way she always did, with warm hugs and a big smile. She looked at Martine Connor, questions in her eyes.

“I'm just me, Myra. Martine Connor, private citizen. I can come and go as I please, and no one is watching me. I took my security detail out to dinner, gave them all a parting gift, thanked them for watching over me, and we parted ways. There are no words to tell you how good I feel. I'm not the retired leader of the free world any longer. Someone else has that responsibility. I slept the sleep of the dead the first night. I even slept in the next morning. I felt . . .”

“Like you could fly if you wanted to,” Nellie said, finishing Marti's sentence for her. “I know the feeling; been there, done that.”

“Where's Pearl?” Annie asked.

“I think she just got here,” Myra said, craning her neck to see out the kitchen door. “I wish there was something we could do about the people watching her. She's under such pressure, and stress is not good for someone who has episodes of gout.”

“It's not the same as a security detail,” Marti said. “The people watching Pearl suspect but can't prove that she was operating the underground railroad. Those people never give up, I can tell you that. Can you imagine the fallout if somehow they were able to nail her and prove that a retired Supreme Court justice was doing something like that!”

The silence that followed put everyone's teeth on edge. Pearl took that moment to walk into the kitchen. She looked at the women and winced. “What? Did something happen?” she asked, anxiety ringing in her tone.

“I was just telling everyone that I am now a free citizen, my security detail is a thing of the past, thanks to Lizzie Fox. That led to a discussion about the people watching you. Is it still so obvious, Pearl?” Marti asked.

“Some days it is, and some days it isn't. I think they want me to know I'm being watched. I'm afraid to even use my cell phone these days. I know how that works. I'm sure I was followed here, and if they're watching me, then they've seen you all coming here, too.”

“Our weekly or twice-weekly bridge game.” Myra motioned for everyone to sit down at the kitchen table. “Charles isn't ready for us, and Maggie isn't here yet. We have fresh sweet tea. Annie, you get the glasses, and I'll pour.”