4. The Jury

by Fern Michaels

  Nothing was what it seemed. Not even the picture of “her mother” on the mantel.

  Alice scratched against the door as Cecil tried to nip her ear. Olivia opened the door, towel-dried the dogs, handed each of them a treat. She should think about her own dinner. She reached for a box of Cheerios and carried it back to the great room. She set the box down and made a fire.

  Olivia was a little girl again as she hugged her knees to her chest and watched the flames dance behind the ornate grate. She picked at the dry cereal, sharing it with the two dogs sitting next to her. She had to think, but her brain suddenly wasn’t working.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Liar! Liar!

  Both dogs crawled into Olivia’s lap and snuggled with her. How warm and comforting they felt. Suddenly, a red-hot streak of rage, hotter than the fire she was looking at, ripped through her. What kind of mother would…would…ignore her daughter for thirty-four years? Who was the woman who left her entire estate to a daughter she’d ignored all her life?

  Well, the only person who could answer those questions, other than possibly the attorney, was her father. And only he could tell her who was in the picture on the mantel.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Olivia got to her feet and rummaged between the sofa cushions for the portable phone. For some reason she always stuck it between the cushion and the arm. Most times the battery was dead and she had to recharge it or use her cell phone. She took a mighty, deep breath and dialed her father’s cell phone. She wasn’t surprised when Lea answered, sounding happy and relaxed. Well, why the hell shouldn’t she sound happy and relaxed with her father and all that warm sunshine?

  “Lea, it’s Ollie,” she said, using her father’s favorite nickname for her. “Is he there?”

  “Honey, you sound…funny. Are you all right?” Do you have a cold or something? If you do, you need to start taking care of it. I saw on the news that it’s very cold and snowing in Winchester.”

  “Or something,” Olivia responded. “Is Dad there?”

  “He was until about ten minutes ago. He’s down on the pier watching some fisherman haul in a huge marlin. Can I have him return your call, or would you like me to go get him? I don’t think he’ll be too long. Let’s face it, how long can you stare at a dead fish.”

  Olivia knew she was supposed to laugh at Lea’s little joke. She didn’t. She wondered if she would ever laugh again about anything. “No, that’s okay. Tell him to call me when he gets in. It’s important, Lea.”

  “Is there anything I can do, honey?”

  “No. But thanks for asking.” Olivia clicked the OFF button and replaced the phone in its stand instead of letting it slide down between the cushions. She walked back to the fire, carrying an armful of pillows. She was so cold she ached. The dogs curled up next to her, eating the crunchy cereal, she fed them one morsel at a time.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  another Sisterhood book,

  SWEET REVENGE,

  which is Isabelle’s story,

  coming in October 2006.

  Prologue

  Isabelle Flanders walked out of her apartment, careful to lock the door behind her. She sniffed the cold February air, then drew a deep breath. The fresh air smelled wonderful. It was midmorning and it was Valentine’s Day. Always a romantic, she smiled. She wondered if she was too old to hope for a special valentine from a special someone. Yep, she was too old. She took another moment to savor the crisp, cold air.

  She’d been confined to her apartment for the last three weeks with a gruesome case of the flu. It had all started at New Year’s with both Myra and Charles coming down with the miserable bug. Then, one by one, the sisters had all gotten the flu. She was the last to recover and she knew her colleagues were waiting for her at Pinewood to start her mission, which was already five weeks past schedule.

  While she was in a hurry to get to Pinewood, it was still Valentine’s Day, and she had something she had to do. Something she had done on this day every year since the accident that had rendered her helpless for longer than she cared to admit.

  Isabelle started the engine of her Honda and waited for the heater to kick in before she slipped the car into gear. She knew she was punishing herself by driving past her old office today of all days. So what if fellow architect Bobby Harcourt, her one-time fiancé, bought into her downfall and then dumped her after the dark stuff hit the fan? So what if Bobby ended up marrying the very woman who brought about her downfall? So what? That was then. This was now. Now, with the aid of the Sisterhood, she was finally going to get her revenge for what Rosemary did to her. Bobby, too.

  She was driving now, mindful of the time and how long it was going to take to drive out to Pinewood in McLean, Virginia. First, though, she had to rub her nose in her own stupidity one more time.

  How could she have been so wrong about Rosemary and Bobby? Back then, she’d been on top of the world with her business, her engagement, and the rosy life that lay ahead of her. Being Architect of the Year gave her every right to expect things to progress accordingly. How wrong she’d been.

  Isabelle pulled the Honda to the curb and parked. She stared out the window at the building where she’d labored eighteen hours a day to build her business. It was now a real estate office. She wondered if any of the employees of that real estate office ever slept there at night the way she used to sleep on the sofa when she was under the wire. Did it matter? Those days were gone.

  Still, she didn’t move, her mind wandering back to what she called her lost years. Years spent trying to earn a living, trying to forget Rosemary Hershey’s betrayal — Bobby’s too. In the beginning, after the trial, after Rosemary Hershey, she’d cautioned herself to take it one day at a time. But that hadn’t worked, so she’d taken the physical route — exercising, running, hiking and biking. She knew now that all those things had kept her going, kept her sane, kept her alive to fight another day. And always in the back of her mind was the hope, the desire, the determination to get her license reinstated so she could go back to the work she loved.

  Now, if things went the way she hoped they would, she’d climb back to the top. She had the guts to do that. She was prepared to claw her way back if she had to and, in the end, she’d make Rosemary Hershey and Bobby Harcourt sorry they had ever tangled with her.

  Revenge was going to be so sweet. Her eyes sparkled with what was to come.

  The next stop was St. Andrew’s Church, where she had expected to marry Bobby Harcourt on Valentine’s Day. A lifetime ago? Damn close.

  Isabelle watched an elderly lady wearing a black shawl over her head trying to maneuver the steps with her walker. Isabelle opened the car door and sprinted forward to offer help. The woman smiled up at her.

  “What a sweetheart you are for helping me. I can do it but it takes me forever. I come here every day, as I live just around the corner.”

  The steps safely conquered, Isabelle returned to her car. Sitting here wasn’t going to do anything for her. Right then, she made a promise to herself that she would never go down this section of Memory Lane again.

  Her eyes still burning, she turned on her signal light and moved slowly into the traffic. An hour later she cruised through the open gates of Pinewood and pulled up next to the row of parked vehicles. All of the women were here. Parked next to Alexis’s Mini Cooper was Kathryn’s eighteen-wheeler. Next to Kathryn’s rig was Nikki’s BMW and beside that was Yoko’s nursery van. All present and accounted for. Well, almost. Julia wasn’t here, would never join them again. And yet she was here; her spirit was with them all.

  The kitchen door opened. A grin blossomed across Isabelle’s face when she saw Myra and the rest of the Sisterhood with their arms outstretched in welcome.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” she shouted as she ran forward.

  One

  The women laughed and hugged each other as Myra and Charles stood to the side, beaming with pleasure. Myra reached
for Charles’s hand and snuggled her own with his.

  “Just in time for lunch,” Charles said. “In honor of this cold, blustery day, we have vegetable soup and homemade bread. Unfortunately, Myra tells me it isn’t quite as good as the bread she received as a tip in Kalorama during Nikki’s mission. But she did say it was good. I regret to say I didn’t churn the butter, but it is soft.”

  “I’ll take it,” Kathryn said. Everyone knew about Kathryn’s ravenous appetite. It was said that she would eat anything that wasn’t nailed down.

  Charles added two more logs to the kitchen fireplace and Myra carried one of her heirloom soup tureens to the table.

  “It smells heavenly, dear,” she said, real happiness ringing in her voice. “Charles started the soup at five o’clock this morning. He made an apple pie, too, with apples from the root cellar. Remember when you girls picked them in the fall?”

  They ate lunch and chattered like magpies, happy to be together again after their long hiatus. And then it was time to adjourn to the war room to begin business.

  Myra Rutledge called the meeting to order and then Charles stepped down from his bank of computers that would have been the envy of the White House war room itself if they had ever known this particular room existed.

  “Let’s run through old business first. Before you can ask, Nikki, there is no news on the Barringtons, who were to be your original mission. I personally take responsibility for that fiasco. I’m not giving up on my attempts to locate them, nor do I want you to give up hope either. The main thing we can be grateful for is that all the horses are safe and the Barrington farm is deserted. Not only is it deserted, it is crumbling to the ground. Five days ago, the property went up for sale. From what I’ve been able to gather, it appears that the property was turned over as a quitclaim deed and the new owner immediately put it up for sale. Myra has placed a bid on the property, but we haven’t yet heard if that bid has been accepted or not. The reason I’m telling you all of this is because it enters into Isabelle’s mission. But before I get to that, do any of you have anything to say? Any questions?”

  “Is there any news on Paula Woodley or her husband, the National Security Advisor?” Alexis asked.

  Charles allowed himself a brief smile. “It’s not beneficial to any of us to continue a dialogue with any of the parties after a mission is completed. When we walk away, we walk away completely, never to return. However, I did pick up a few tidbits on the Internet. Mr. Drudge seems to have information that had not previously been released.”

  “And that would be…what?” Kathryn asked.

  “That the NSA is back in the loving arms of his wife. He resigned his post with the administration — under pressure, according to Mr. Drudge. In addition, it seems the President has not seen fit to call or visit his NSA. Mr. Drudge speculates to the why of that, but has no concrete answers. It appears we will have to stay tuned for further informative gossip.”

  “What about the three special agents found in the NSA’s backyard? The President’s secret little force?” Nikki asked cautiously.

  “‘Hogwash,’ says the President. The three men in question did not belong to a special Presidential squad as was reported, since no such squad exists. The President said the three men were in fact FBI agents. The Post’ s star reporter, Mr. Ted Robinson, says he has proof that what he reported is not hogwash. His proof is being held by the Post. It’s over and done with and we’re all moving forward now. It won’t behoove any of us to dwell on the past. Having said that, I suggest we get down to business and decide how best to help Isabelle with her case.”

  Myra pointed to the orange folders that had been placed in front of each of the women. “We can follow along with Isabelle, but I think it will be better if she tells us in her own words what happened to her and what she wants done.”

  Isabelle took a deep breath as she looked around at the women. She cleared her throat. “As you all know, I’m an architect. I had my own business, which I worked at eighteen hours a day. I designed shopping malls, high-rises, churches…You name it and my name was on it. I moved three times to accommodate my business as well as my staff. At the time, I was also engaged to a man named Bobby Harcourt. I was supposed to get married on Valentine’s Day. That was several years ago…

  “I hired a young woman called Rosemary Hershey. She had just passed her boards and I thought she was just right for our office. She was a real go-getter. Dedicated, beautiful, made a great impression. She was a sharp dresser and a hell of an architect, with great, innovative ideas.” Isabelle looked over at Nikki. “Rosemary was my Allison Banks, the woman who almost ruined you. Almost is the key word in your case. In my case, Rosemary Hershey did ruin me.

  “In less than six months, Rosemary became my right-hand woman. I started to depend on her more and more. In a way it was a godsend because it freed me up to spend more time with my fiancé.” Isabelle’s voice turned wistful. “I was so happy during that time. Then I came down with a vicious head cold that ended up settling in my chest. I started to doctor myself because I was stupid and didn’t want to take the time to sit in a doctor’s office. I was a hair away from giving a presentation to pitch for the contract for a new shopping mall in Pennsylvania. Everyone in the office worked together to help, including Rosemary.

  “The day I had to make my presentation I was sick as a dog and was swigging cough medicine by the bottle. I was also running a fever, so Rosemary drove me to the presentation. On the way, there was…there was an accident.” Isabelle licked her dry lips as she struggled to continue. “I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and I couldn’t remember a thing about the accident. Then I developed pneumonia. They told me the alcohol content in my blood was…was high, that I was drunk and had run a stop sign. A family…a mother, a father and a little girl of two were killed, and Rosemary was severely injured, too. Everyone sued me. I believed what they said, that I had been driving. Bobby made himself scarce and finally disappeared altogether. I lost everything trying to defend myself.

  “When I didn’t think it could possibly get any worse, it did. Rosemary said I’d stolen her design for the shopping mall. She said we were arguing in the car and that’s how I ran the stop sign. I couldn’t prove otherwise. Rosemary saw to that. In the end they believed her and I lost my license and my business.

  “It took almost a year for my memory to return, and even then it was just in little bits and pieces. But by then all the damage had been done. Another year went by as I tried to earn a living. I went to see Rosemary, to plead with her. She laughed in my face. When I was leaving her big, plush office, I ran into Bobby and found out that he and Rosemary were engaged. He couldn’t look me in the eye. A couple of months later, I saw in the paper that they’d got married. Of course, I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Shortly after that, I went to see Nikki. Without any kind of proof, there was nothing her firm could do for me. She helped me get a job that paid the bills, but I couldn’t work in my field again.”

  “And you didn’t scratch that bitch’s eyes out?” Kathryn barked, outraged.

  “I knew if I touched her, I would have killed her. The only thing I could do was walk away. Rosemary is at the top of her game now, clients standing in line to hire her. Bobby is her partner. Since Charles got my license reinstated, I’ve started over and actually have several small clients. I have to supplement my income with odd jobs just to make my rent, but I’m surviving.”

  Myra tapped her pencil on the tabletop. “What would you like to see happen to this awful woman, Isabelle?”

  “I’d like her to tell the truth. Then I want to see her stripped of everything she holds dear. Including that miserable husband of hers. I don’t want to believe he was in on it with Rosemary, but common sense tells me she needed a cohort. By the way, the two of them took all my clients. Something also needs to be done for the family who was killed. My insurance didn’t pay the family’s heirs that much. Rosemary got there first with her lawsuit and got just
about all of it. My umbrella policy was for three million dollars. She got two and a half million and the family got the other five hundred thousand. When I went to see Rosemary, I asked her if her conscience bothered her about that family. Do you know what she said to me? She said, ‘Get real, Pollyanna.’”

  “We’ll just have to make Ms. Rosemary eat those words, now won’t we, girls?” Alexis drawled. The others nodded.

  Charles stepped down from his computers and said, “Myra and I have come up with a plan. We would like you to consider it when you think about Rosemary’s punishment. Our plan depends on the sale going through on the Barrington property next door, so at the moment it is nothing more than an idea.”

  Nikki settled herself more comfortably in her padded swivel chair. “Let’s hear it then, Charles.”

  Charles looked like a Cheshire cat as he smacked his hands together. “Since Myra has the wherewithal,” he said, referring to Myra’s vast fortune, “to do pretty much as she wishes, we took the liberty of renting a very posh, high-end suite of offices on K Street in the District. It will be the new offices of Isabelle Flanders, architect. Anyone wanting to confer with Ms. Flanders can only do so by appointment. Since you’ve had your license for a year now, Isabelle, we’ve managed to give you an impressive résumé to match your offices. Courtesy of some of my friends,” he added, false modesty ringing in his voice.

  If the women wondered about the why or the how of what Charles was saying, they didn’t mention it out loud. They knew better. In their eyes, Charles, a former MI6 operative, could do anything, thanks to his network of spooks, spies and the covert world he’d worked in until his cover was blown. When Myra had told the girls that Charles was on first-name terms with the Queen, they never again questioned anything he did or asked of them.