Ten
Rosemary Hershey dialed her husband’s cell phone for the fiftieth time since returning to the office. When there was no answer, she tossed the phone across the room. She blinked when she saw the cover break off and rattle across the hardwood floor.
She was alone, everyone from the office long gone. It was almost nine o’clock and she was still here, doing nothing but stewing and fretting. She looked around her office; it was a mess. She should tidy it up but if she did that she would never be able to find anything.
Her intention, after returning from the law firm, had been to start her design for the McLean horse farm. So far she hadn’t made a mark on the clean paper tacked to her drafting table. She knew squat about farms, especially horse farms. She had planned to fly to Kentucky to take a look at Blue Diamond Farms but she hadn’t had time. Then she tried to figure out a way to have a design come out of her office and take the credit for it. Bobby had chopped her off at the knees on that one. Now he was gone. She rather thought he’d come slinking back at some point. Then again, if he was seeing Isabelle Flanders again, that wasn’t going to happen.
White-hot rage ripped through Rosemary at the thought of Isabelle Flanders. How had things gotten off track so quickly? She yanked at the middle drawer of her desk to pull out the three books that she consulted daily. She flipped through the pages till she found what she wanted: today’s date, her sign, which was Virgo, the worst sign of the zodiac according to some people, and today’s message for her.
The first message read: Tread carefully today. All is not what it seems. Rosemary snorted. The second message was: There are unseen forces working behind the scenes against you. The third message sent a chill up Rosemary’s arms. Everything today is colored gray. Be careful all the color doesn’t leave your life.
She shoved the books back into her desk drawer. She slammed it so hard that a container of pencils toppled over. She booted up her computer and waited, then moved her mouse to the icon she wanted. Her horoscope for the day appeared immediately. Why was she doing this? Why was she torturing herself? She’d read the computer-generated message earlier, just as she’d checked the three books the moment she set foot in the office this morning. Her gaze lowered to the screen. An ill wind has swept into your life. Prepare for a storm.
She clicked the mouse to read the forecast for tomorrow, even though she knew what it said. She then checked the three books in the drawer again for tomorrow’s forecast. Her face drained of all color when she reread the forecasts. She slumped back in her chair. That’s when she noticed the pile of mail sitting in her in-basket. How could she have forgotten to check the mail? Bobby’s announcement, that’s how. She rifled through it. Bills, advertisements, announcements, a thank-you card from a client and a white legal-looking envelope with no return address. She ripped at it and pulled out a picture of a toddler with a nimbus of gold hair. A beautiful chubby little girl sucking her thumb.
Rosemary’s hands started to shake. The picture fell to her desk. Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she recoiled into the depths of her chair. It was the child. Well, she wasn’t touching that.
She reached for the phone with a shaking hand. She dialed a number she knew by heart. “James, this is Rosemary. I need an emergency tarot card reading. I know it’s late but you have to do this for me. Please, I’ll pay you double — triple if necessary. I can be there in thirty minutes. You will? Oh, thank you. Thank you, James. Yes, yes, I said triple. I know you prefer cash. It’s not a problem. Bye, James.”
Rosemary grappled in her purse for her sunglasses. She put them on and then fumbled around inside her desk drawer for a pair of tweezers. She picked up the Polaroid snapshot with the tweezers and carried it to the bathroom sink where she burned it. She rinsed the curled black ash down the drain. Then she removed her sunglasses, washed her hands and tossed the tweezers in the wastebasket.
This never happened.
Ninety minutes later, Rosemary slumped back in the chair across from James, the tarot expert. In the dim yellow light, her face was pasty white, her blonde hair straggly, in need of a brush. She struggled to find her voice.
“How…? I don’t understand. How could things turn so…black, so quick? Two weeks ago you told me my cards said I was on the high road with things falling into place just like I wanted them to.”
“Things change, Rosemary. Good winds, ill winds. New people entering your life, old people exiting your life. Change is constant. What does the baby mean to you? There’s never been a baby in your cards before. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know,” Rosemary lied. “What is there to talk about? You just painted everything black.” Her voice turned desperate. “Can’t you read the cards again?”
James looked at the clock on his desk. “It’s late, Rosemary. Why don’t you go home, think about this and come back tomorrow?”
“I won’t be able to sleep. Please, read them again. I’ll pay you the same, triple, to read them again.”
“Rosemary, that’s six hundred dollars. Are you sure you want me to do this again? You’re very upset. Are you sure you can handle this?”
Rosemary shrugged out of her suit jacket. She ran her fingers through her messy hair, making it worse. “You just rocked my nice beautiful world from under me. Of course I’m sure. I’m tougher than I look. Now do it!”
Forty minutes later, James gathered up his cards as Rosemary burst into tears. “What the hell does all this mean?”
James struggled for a soothing tone. “It means this is a time of transition for you. It’s up to you to make sense of it all, Rosemary. I can only tell you what the cards say. Do you want me to drive you home?”
Rosemary gathered herself together. “No. I don’t live that far away. I just can’t believe that there wasn’t one positive in the whole reading. I’m beginning to think this is all a bunch of claptrap. Mercury is in retrograde. That might account for some of the negative aspects.”
She counted out six hundred-dollar bills. “I can’t believe I’m paying you six hundred dollars for you to tell me my life as I know it is about to be ruined.”
James pocketed the money. “Sometimes the readings are temporary, Rosemary. Sometimes they are meant as a warning to give the person time to…to…rectify certain situations.”
“Well, that would be peachy-keen if I knew what the hell you were talking about, James. Rectify what? I don’t know what any of this is all about,” Rosemary lied again as she fished around in her bag for her car keys. “I feel like evil forces are out to get me.”
James debated for a few seconds before he responded. “Rosemary, that’s not what the cards said. Weren’t you listening? The cards indicate that there is an evil force whirling about you. You have to find a way to purge it or succumb to it.”
“That’s garbage. Do I look evil to you? Well, I’m not. I never heard such rubbish in my life. I guess I should thank you for doing this so late at night.”
James shrugged. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow when he would go back to work at his nice normal job in the deli department of the Publix supermarket where he didn’t have to deal with people like Rosemary. Tarot card reading was just a sideline for him, something he really enjoyed doing for friends. It was an easy way to supplement his income. He had to admit that the two readings he’d conducted tonight were the two worst he’d ever done. Rosemary wasn’t the only one who was upset. Who was this strange woman who wanted to have her cards read every ten days or so? When he had finally bolted the door behind her, he slumped against it. He hoped she would never come back. He sprinted toward his bedroom, shed his clothes and hit the shower.
A while later, a towel wrapped around his middle, James gathered up the cards, tossed them into a trash bag and carried it out to the hall and the laundry chute. Now, he was rid of her. First thing tomorrow morning he was going to call the phone company and request an unlisted number.
Rosemary let herself into the house. She walked over to the alarm pad an
d was stunned to see that it wasn’t armed.
“Bobby! Are you here!” she shouted, not caring if she woke him up. When there was no response, she ran through the house calling her husband’s name over and over. She blinked when she saw his empty bedroom. She ran to the office, turning on lights as she went. His side of the home office was even neater than before because everything was gone.
Bobby was gone! And he hadn’t bothered to set the alarm. He knew how paranoid she was about the security system. He never forgot to set the alarm, nor did she. This was Bobby’s way of thumbing his nose at her.
Rosemary sat down, still wearing her coat, still holding her purse. Her gaze dropped to the bottom drawer of her desk. She opened it with her foot, looked inside. It didn’t look like anything was disturbed. Or was it? Weren’t the sticky pads stacked up the last time she’d opened it?
She slid off the chair, removed the drawer and stared down at the floorboards. They didn’t look like they’d been touched. Unwilling to take any chances, she lifted them up and stared down at the safe. Her cold fingers turned the dial. When she saw that everything was as she’d left it, her sigh was so loud, it startled her. Satisfied, she closed the safe and returned the drawer to the desk. She ran down the stairs and out to the foyer to set the alarm. Bobby had stacked the mail on the foyer table. She shrugged out of her coat, gathered up the mail and walked back upstairs. It was past midnight; time to go to bed. If she took a couple of Xanax she might be able to relax enough to fall asleep.
Her nerves twanging all over the place, she ran a bath. While the water was running, she poured in almost a full bottle of avocado bath salts, which were guaranteed to eliminate stress completely. She didn’t believe it for a minute. While the bath foamed and bubbled, she went back downstairs for a bottle of wine and a fine crystal glass. She rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers where Bobby kept his cigarettes. She stuck them in her pocket as she headed back up the stairs. She didn’t smoke but tonight she needed something.
Diane. That was the toddler’s name. The name that wasn’t on the aged Polaroid. The name she’d deliberately blocked from her memory. A name she never ever said aloud. And now she couldn’t get the name out of her mind.
Rosemary was about to step into the deep tub when she remembered the mail. Naked, she walked back to the office to pick up the slim bundle. It was probably all bills. Still, opening bills was normal. It was something she did most nights when she took the time to run a bath instead of taking a quick shower.
Sinking down into the silky wetness, Rosemary sighed. Now, if she could just shift her tortured emotions into the neutral zone, maybe the Xanax, the wine and a cigarette would help. She flipped through the mail, seeing nothing that needed her immediate attention, until she saw the plain white legal-looking envelope. The same kind of envelope that had come to the office. She sat bolt upright, bubbles all about her as she ripped at the envelope.
It was a newspaper clipping this time. A picture of her walking up the courthouse steps with a cane and a brace wrapped around her neck, a brave smile on her face. Someone had scrawled the words liar and thief across the article in red ink. She felt the same white-hot rage that she had experienced at the office. In the blink of an eye, Rosemary was out of the tub. Dripping water and bubbles all over the floor, she ran to the toilet, ripping the article to shreds. She flushed it, her eyes murderous. Then, when the water ran clear, she flushed it again and again before she crumpled to her feet, beating at the tile floor, crying hysterically.
Who was doing this to her? Isabelle Flanders, that must be who. But maybe it wasn’t Isabelle. Maybe it was Bobby. Or maybe that crazy grandmother who had cursed her out in court that day…No, it was Isabelle Flanders trying to make a comeback at her expense.
She reached for a wad of toilet tissue and blew her nose. “Well, we’ll just see about that, Isabelle! I’m one person you don’t want to mess around with. You should have learned your lesson the first time.”
The wine, the Xanax, and the cigarettes forgotten, Rosemary went into her bedroom to get a nightgown. She cursed when she realized she hadn’t dried off. Bubbles were still stuck to her body. She stomped back to the bathroom and rinsed off in the shower. She dried off, powdered herself and then pulled on a fresh nightgown. She was finally about to crawl into bed when the phone rang. Her eyes narrowed, her hands shaking, she picked up the receiver. She didn’t offer a greeting.
“Whoever this is, it had better be good; it’s after midnight.”
“I’m returning your calls, Rosemary, all fifty of them. What is it you want?”
“Oh, it’s you!” Rosemary screeched. “Where are you, Bobby? Do you know what time it is? Why are you sending me that garbage in the mail? I want an answer and I want it right now!”
Bobby’s voice was soft, almost gentle. “Why is it always about what you want, Rosemary? It’s none of your business where I am. You never cared before. Of course I know what time it is. You said you wanted me to call you as soon as I got your message. I just checked my messages. My cell was off, being charged, so I didn’t have it with me — not that that’s any of your business. I haven’t sent you anything in the mail. Why would I send you something in the mail? So, there’s your answer. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to bed. You should go to bed yourself. Don’t you need your beauty sleep?”
“You’re with her, aren’t you? You sneak! You sleaze! How dare you humiliate me like this? How dare you, Bobby! Another thing, why didn’t you turn on the alarm when you left today? This is my house and you know how I feel about keeping the alarm on.”
Bobby never lost his patience, knowing his calm voice would only irritate his wife further. “I’m not going to dignify that ridiculous question about Isabelle with a response. I didn’t turn the alarm on because it was turned off when I went into the house. I thought you didn’t want it on. You were the last one to leave this morning, so I assumed you left it off for a reason.”
“You liar! I distinctly remember setting the alarm. Do you know how I remember? I remember because I nicked my new manicure and I got angry over it. What do you have to say to that, Bobby Harcourt?”
“Not much. The alarm was off, that’s all I can tell you. I’m going to hang up now. From here on in, it’s not a good idea to call me. Have your lawyer talk to my lawyer. Good night, Rosemary.”
Rosemary hung up the phone. Damn, now she had a full-blown headache. She sat on the edge of the bed, her head clasped on her hands. If there was one thing she could say about Bobby, it was that he wasn’t a liar. If it wasn’t Bobby who sent the picture and the article, then it had to be Isabelle.
“You bitch!” Rosemary seethed as she struggled with the covers and her pillow. “You just don’t know who you’re messing with, Isabelle Flanders.”
Eleven
Ted Robinson, his eyes on the weather outside his apartment, slurped at his morning coffee, his two cats cuddled in his lap. He could stay home today and work — if there was anything to work on. Life and news in the city had been so boring for the entire month, it was as though Washington had taken a break from life. Even Maggie complained about the lack of political gossip — unless you counted the newsworthy item that made the front page of the Post when Senator Candice Mitchell’s button gave way on her slacks, revealing that she wore zebra-striped thong underwear. Another two lines explained that Senator Mitchell was fifty-eight and if she kept a secret like thong underwear, what else did she keep secret from the Hill and her constituents? Maggie Spritzer said she was almost embarrassed to report the tripe but hey, she said, the world has a right to know what the senator from Delaware wears under her clothes.
They should have had a good laugh over that but they didn’t. Maggie was following him, sneaking around, trying to get the goods on him. He’d always been vigilant when covering or investigating a story, but with Maggie in the picture, creating his sexual epiphany, things were not going smoothly.
Then there was Jack Emery. Ted sneezed and scow
led deeply. He knew he was catching a cold and it was all Jack’s fault. Everything he was going through was Jack’s fault, and that included his sexual epiphany.
His coffee finished, Ted dumped Minnie and Mickey on the floor. They hissed their disapproval before they leaped back onto the couch. Ted shuffled to the kitchen to refill his cup. He added three sugar doughnuts to his plate and two cat treats laced with catnip. The cats were still hissing when he plopped back down on the sofa. Everyone knew the sofa belonged to Mickey and Minnie; the chair belonged to Ted. Both cats refused the treats as they eyed the doughnuts.
“All right, all right, I’ll move. You can have the couch. All these cat hairs are making me sneeze anyway.” He tossed the two cat treats onto the sofa and then moved over to the chair that for some reason the cats didn’t like. He ate and drank, his thoughts on what had happened the night before, his eyes on the stormy weather outside.
The phone rang just as Ted stuffed one of the mini sugar doughnuts into his mouth. He grabbed for the receiver and made a noise that sounded like some kind of alien greeting.
“It’s Maggie, Ted. I was wondering if you’d like to catch some breakfast?”
Jack Emery’s words of advice of — play hard to get once in a while — sounded in his brain. Not that he ever paid attention to what Jack said. Ted swallowed the doughnut and said, “Can’t. Sorry.” Never, Jack said, ask for a rain check.
“Oh. Aren’t you going in today?”
“Nope. I’m hanging out with Mickey and Minnie. It’s Friday,” Ted said as if that explained everything. “Besides, it’s raining like hell out there and I think I’m catching a cold.” According to Jack, this was where she would volunteer to bring him some aspirin and chicken soup.
“Are you afraid you’ll melt in the rain? Do you want me to bring you some chicken soup?”
5. Sweet Revenge Page 9
