“Can’t say that I blame you. Be careful. They’ll waylay you somewhere else if you piss them off. You know they’re a law unto themselves.”
“Now, how would you know that?”
“My DA’s instinct, that’s how. Come on, get off your high horse and talk to me. I didn’t lie to you, Ted.”
“Yeah, you did. You’re just better at it than Nikki is. The lady still blushes and she blinks a lot when she lies. I pick up on shit like that because I’m a reporter.”
Ted looked up at the waitress holding a plate with a piece of chocolate cake. “Wrap it up to go, OK?” He flipped some bills on the table.
Jack half stood, his eyes and voice miserable. “What the hell do you want from me, Ted?”
“Just the truth, Jack, just the truth.”
“I told you the truth.”
Ted turned around and walked back to the table. He smacked both palms on the tabletop and said, “You know what, Jack? You are so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown.”
“Fuck you, Ted, and the horse you rode in on.”
Maggie appeared out of nowhere. She reached up to take the to-go bag from the waitress. “You’re both acting like stupid little schoolboys. Grow up and act like the men you’re supposed to be.”
“Stay out of this, Maggie. This is between Jack and me.”
Jack knew when to keep his mouth shut. He just stared at the feisty young woman. He was stunned a moment later when she turned and came right up to his face. “If I ever find out you snookered Ted, I’ll hunt you down and I’ll personally slice off your dick. You hear me, Jack?” she hissed in his ear.
Jack looked into Maggie’s menacing eyes and nodded. He could already feel the pain.
Sixteen
Ted wondered at how cold it had become since he and Maggie entered Squire’s Pub. Where was the sunshine and blue skies he so hungered for?
Maggie, dessert bag in hand, steered Ted around the corner to get out of the wind. “I’m going to try to track down Rosemary Hershey. Listen to me, Ted. There’s no way we’re going to be able to follow all those women from Pinewood. If you’re certain Hershey is on their to-do list, then it makes sense to stick to her. Eventually, they’ll show up to do…whatever it is they plan on doing, and bam, we nail them all at one time. How does that sound?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, she rattled on. “As soon as I locate Hershey and see that she’s going to stay put for a while, I’ll try to get Isabelle Flanders in my crosshairs. If you tackle Bobby Harcourt, we just might have something to discuss tonight. Your house or mine?”
Ted decided he liked the way that sounded. “I have to check on Mickey and Minnie. My place if you aren’t afraid of unwanted, unwelcome visitors. I’ll even put clean sheets on the bed. I was going to do that today anyway, so don’t go getting excited at the prospect of ravaging my body. You have to stop thinking I’m easy. I’ll try to track down Bobby. My place at seven, then? I’ll buy dinner at the Boston Market.”
“Deal,” Maggie said, high-fiving him. She was gone a minute later.
Ted stood on the corner for a moment before he crossed the street. With Maggie Spritzer on her trail, he almost felt sorry for Rosemary Hershey.
Her teeth bared, Rosemary ripped at her astrology books. There wasn’t one promising word in the whole week’s forecast. Wild-eyed, she looked around, wondering why her world was crumbling around her. Why now? Why out of the blue like this? After so long, wasn’t it better to let sleeping dogs lie? At her feet was the latest mailing, an article and a picture of the elder Mrs. Myers wiping at her eyes before she made a comment for the carnivorous press. “There is no justice for people like me. Just people like her.” The article went on to say how Mrs. Myers had pointed to architect Rosemary Hershey. Then there was another quote from Mrs. Myers. “I didn’t believe a word that woman said on the stand. It’s my opinion, and I am entitled to my opinion, that the woman committed perjury. That’s all I have to say.”
Rosemary glared at the paper with its yellow highlighted quote. Somebody knows, she thought. Somebody who was now stalking her. It had to be Isabelle Flanders. The Myers woman was too old, and all talk anyway. Old people didn’t play mind games. It could only be that bitch Isabelle.
She sat down and nibbled at her ruined manicure. She should call James. Maybe the cards had changed. Was Mercury still in retrograde? Too bad there wasn’t someone she could call up to ask, since she’d just mangled her astrology books. She ground her heel into the paper on the floor until it was nothing more than slivers of paper. She couldn’t take this anymore. There was no way she was going to let Isabelle Flanders ruin her life.
Rosemary was like a charging bull when she stomped her way out of the office, not saying where she was headed, leaving her staff bug-eyed at her strange behavior.
Maggie, her engine running, followed the wild-eyed architect when she sped off in her Mercedes sports car. For ninety minutes she followed her until they reached a gas station, where Hershey caused a scene that called for police intervention. From there she tailed her to Nails Are Nice where, even from her car, she could hear Rosemary screaming at the Vietnamese manicurist who, bowing and fluttering, tried to explain that the shop was busy and that Missy Rosemary had no appointment.
Deciding this was too good to miss, Maggie got out of her car and went into the salon. Pretending to pick out nail polish, she listened to the tirade.
“Well, you’ll never see me here again!” Rosemary screeched. “Don’t I tip you well? Didn’t I refer customers to you? Why can’t you squeeze me in? Look at my nails! Well?”
“Missy Rosemary, you do not have the appointment. You come back later. We fix your nails at four o’clock.”
Maggie plunked down five dollars and fifty cents for a bottle of Strawberry Slush nail polish. She was out the door and in her car in seconds, ready to follow the architect again. Finally, muttering and cursing, Rosemary ran back to her car.
Ten minutes into the drive, Maggie knew Rosemary was headed for Isabelle Flanders’s office. For a few brief minutes, Maggie actually toyed with the idea of alerting Isabelle to her approaching visitor. She negated the idea almost immediately. This was one conversation she wanted to hear. On the other hand, she’d already gambled twice — at the gas station and the nail salon. Even though Hershey was in a tizzy, sooner or later she’d put two and two together and remember that she’d seen Maggie twice already. Undaunted, Maggie pulled ahead and hit the gas pedal. She arrived in the parking lot behind Isabelle Flanders’s office a good five minutes before Rosemary — just in time to stuff her red hair under a baseball cap, add a pair of plain glasses, and change into a light-blue wind-breaker. What she hoped to accomplish with this limited disguise was beyond her. Go with the flow, she told herself.
Maggie bolted from her car the moment she saw Rosemary swerve into the lot and come to a screeching halt. She made a beeline for the entrance, showed her press credentials, signed her name in an illegible scrawl then scooted across the lobby and made the elevator just as the door was about to close. Winded, she leaned against the wall to watch the numbers overhead. When she reached Isabelle’s floor, she tried to look dignified as she opened the plate-glass doors. She smiled at the receptionist and said, “I’m early and I’m waiting for my mother to join me. I’ll just sit over here till she arrives. You know mothers, they’re always late.”
The receptionist nodded and smiled.
The plate-glass doors didn’t just open. They blasted apart like two linebackers had shouldered them. Maggie had no chance to admire the pricey decor before Rosemary stomped her way to the receptionist’s desk. “I’d like to see Isabelle Flanders.”
The pretty blonde looked up and smiled. “Your name? Do you have an appointment?”
“My name is Rosemary Hershey and no, I do not have an appointment. Where is her office?”
“If you’ll take a seat, Miss —”
“Don’t tell me to take a seat. If I wanted to sit down, I would. I want to see Isab
elle right now. Where is she?”
“Miss Hershey, you can’t go back there. I’ll have to call security,” the receptionist said, getting up to follow Rosemary down the hall. Maggie was up in a flash, sprinting after them. The gods of luck were on her side as she ducked into a door right before Isabelle Flanders stepped into the hall to see what the commotion was all about. Maggie closed the door softly but she could still hear the architects’ raised voices.
Maggie’s eyebrows shot upward when she heard Isabelle say, “Either calm down and talk civilly or I will call security. You might want to think about how that will play out on the evening news, Rosemary. Lower your voice this instant.”
The door closed. Maggie could see the receptionist making her way back down the hall. In the blink of an eye she made the decision to listen outside Isabelle Flanders’s door. Since Isabelle’s offices were the last two rooms at the end of the hall, it was unlikely anyone would be coming this way. If she got caught, Ted would just have to eat his Boston Market chicken all by himself.
Her ear pressed to the door, her eyes on the hallway, with two slips of paper on the floor at her feet, Maggie listened to the caterwauling going on inside Isabelle’s office.
“What are you doing here, Rosemary? I don’t want anything to do with you. You’re a liar, a cheat and a thief. You got what you wanted; you ruined me. You got Bobby, too. I don’t have anything else to give up to you. I want you to leave and I don’t want you bothering me ever again.”
“You fucking bitch! Like I care what you want! Why are you hounding me like this? Do you think if you resurrect that garbage you can make it back to the top? It’s not going to work. Don’t think that sending me newspaper articles every day is going to change a thing. You aren’t going to get away with this. I’ll get you once and for all!”
Hands on her hips, Isabelle glared at her adversary. “What are you talking about? I think you should leave before one of us does something we’ll regret.”
“Oh, you’re going to regret it all right. I’ll show you! Who do you think you’re messing around with? Didn’t you learn a lesson the first time? You can’t scare me, Isabelle. Where’d you get all this?” Rosemary said, waving her arms around her.
“It’s none of your business where I got all of this. I certainly know who I’m messing around with. How could I ever forget? You were driving that day, Rosemary. You had two glasses of wine at lunch. You ran the stop sign. You killed that family; not me. You stole my designs and put your name on them. I got my memory back once it was all over. If I was going to do anything to you, I would have done it back then. That’s all in the past. I’ve moved on. I suggest you do the same thing. Oh, and one other thing, Rosemary. The dandiest thing happened to me when I got my memory back. I became psychic. I have these visions. I see things. I hate to say I can predict, but guess what? I can. I’m not going to tell you what I see in regard to you, because you won’t be able to handle it. It’s not pretty, Rosemary.”
Rosemary felt her knees start to buckle. “Psychic! Yeah, right! Don’t think I’m going to fall for bunk like that. Bobby is probably telling you all kinds of things just to get back at me. He knows I’m sick of him. He can’t be without a woman so he came slinking back to you and you fell for his slick line. You want him back, is that it?” Rosemary screamed. “Go for it.”
“Bobby belongs to the past, just the way you do, Rosemary. I don’t want anything to do with either one of you. If you’re worried about your husband, I’d like to make a suggestion: look in the mirror. You look…deranged. I’m only going to say this one more time. Leave or I’ll call security. Do not come here again. I mean it, Rosemary.”
“Deranged! Is that what you said? You wish! I know what you’re trying to do. It wouldn’t surprise me one little bit to know that Bobby is helping you. I’m going to the police. Let’s see how you like going a few rounds with them…again. I’ve also consulted an attorney. Be warned, Isabelle, get off my back and stop with the harassing mail.”
Outside the door, Maggie decided the discussion she’d been listening to was about to come to a close. She whipped around and ran down the hall. Just before she headed out the door, she shouted to the receptionist. “I think my mother must have forgotten our appointment. I’ll call to reschedule when I find out what happened to her. Bye!”
Rosemary Hershey peeled out of the parking lot, hit the curb and took the curve on two wheels. Maggie was right behind her but using all four wheels of her car.
Where was Hershey going? Was she just blowing smoke by saying she was going to go to the police? If Maggie were a betting woman, she’d bet no. No sense in opening herself up to more angst. Maybe she was going back to the office or home. Maggie gambled and headed for the office. She parked at the far side of the lot and felt like cheering that her instincts were on the money when, only a few minutes later, Rosemary barreled into the lot, tires screeching. She parked and didn’t even bother locking the door. How perfect was that?
Maggie waited a full five minutes before she opened the car door. Her adrenaline pumping, she got out of her car and nonchalantly sauntered over to the Mercedes. She hoped she didn’t look as apprehensive as she felt when she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. So, this was a Mercedes. Humph. She’d take her Honda and her good gas mileage, not to mention the comfortable driver’s seat, over this car any day.
Maggie quickly pawed through the contents of the glove compartment. Nothing useful there. Two pens, a notebook, a road map, a packet of tissues, some chewing gum and a flashlight. The console between the seats held nothing but a cigarette lighter and an unopened pack of cigarettes. “Well, this was a bust,” she muttered. But maybe not. People usually kept their stuff in the trunk as opposed to the inside of the car so people like her couldn’t go through their things — or, worse, steal them.
With a fancy car like this, there should be a button to pop the trunk somewhere; but then again, maybe the trunk had a separate key. She looked over the busy dashboard until she found the button she was looking for. Careful not to draw attention to herself, Maggie climbed out of the car, walked around to the back and raised the top of the trunk. The mother lode. Yessiree. Golf clubs, golf shoes, tennis racket, sneakers, gym bag. Six bottles of Evian water. A bag of nutrition bars. Cosmetic bag. A brown accordion file and a briefcase.
Maggie didn’t think twice. She picked up the file and the briefcase. At the last second, she helped herself to a bottle of water. She slammed the trunk shut and moved over to her own car, her heart slamming against her ribs. No one called her name. No one shouted for her to stop. She was safe. And she’d done it in broad daylight. “Eat your heart out, Ted Robinson,” she mumbled as she drove out of the parking lot, her foot shaking on the gas pedal. It looked like she just might get to eat that Boston Market chicken after all. The thought of digging into the mashed potatoes and gravy left her almost giddy.
Rosemary Hershey’s heart pounded in her chest as she made her way to her office. Isabelle Flanders, a psychic! How ridiculous! Isabelle said she wouldn’t like what she could see. What the hell did that mean?
“Psychic, my ass!” she muttered. But oh, God, what if she was telling the truth? In the past, Isabelle had never been a liar. Actually, she was one of those in-your-face, tell-it-like-it-is kind of people. Fear unlike anything Rosemary had ever experienced coursed through her now. She could feel the panic start to set in.
Deranged. Isabelle said she looked deranged. Rosemary ran to the little lavatory at the side of her office. She turned on the light and gasped, horrified, at the reflection glaring back at her.
She needed a plan. A foolproof plan of some kind. And she needed to put that plan into effect right now before what was left of her world washed away. Think. Think. Think. She fought her panic as she looked around. Everything she had, or ever hoped to have, was because of Isabelle and her own ingenuity. That included Bobby. She wished now that she’d treated him better, been a better wife.
Bobby was ide
alistic, full of principles and integrity. He was just like Isabelle in that respect. Bobby always tried to see both sides of everything. And exactly what was that going to get him? Freedom, that’s what he was going to get. Freedom to go back to Isabelle Flanders.
Rosemary washed her face and combed her hair. She didn’t look one bit better, nor did she feel better. Her head up, her shoulders back, she marched into the drafting room where a team of young architects were hard at work on the new designs for the farm out at McLean. She walked around, peering over her employees’ shoulders. Suddenly she jabbed a finger at the design in front of one young architect.
“Ceil, what the hell is this?”
Rosemary could see the young woman’s shoulders start to quiver. “It’s…it’s a barn, Rosemary.”
“A barn! A goddamn barn! Anyone can design and build a barn. We’re known for our innovation. I want spectacular. I want eye-popping. This,” Rosemary said, jabbing her finger at the barn, “is not what I want. Time is running out. These designs have to be submitted by the end of the week. To you that means noon on Friday. The winning design is going to be chosen Sunday evening at the Silver Swan dinner. There is no way I’m submitting this…this crap!”
Rosemary continued with her tirade as she walked around the room. “I can’t believe I pay you what I pay you. A ten-year-old could do what you’ve just wasted a week doing. I’m going to tell you this once, get your asses in gear, scrap this garbage and design something that will make us all proud. If you can’t cut it, leave. The pickings are pretty slim out there at this time of year and this office won’t be kind in its references, either, so please take that into consideration. I want you here twenty-four-seven. Order in. You get one trip home for a change of clothing. Bring your own towels and use my shower. The next time I walk through here I want to see results. Results, ladies and gentlemen.”
5. Sweet Revenge Page 14
