Weekend Warriors

by Fern Michaels

  He knew his beloved Myra was troubled when she lowered herself into one of the his-and-hers chairs she’d bought for them when the girls moved out. More often than not they dined off trays while they either watched or listened to television.

  Life until just recently had been placid, worrisome, and boring.

  “I think we should get married, Charles,” Myra blurted.

  Charles lowered himself into his chair and kicked up the footrest. “That’s probably the best idea you ever had, Myra. Name the date and I’ll be there. Do you want to talk about it or is this just something that came to you in your dreams?”

  “I do dream about you, darling. All the time. No, I’ve been thinking about marriage a lot since we began our little project. The main reason is, I love you. I loved you the minute I spotted you standing at the foot of Big Ben. I took your picture, remember? Then we kept meeting up at different places. Husbands and wives can’t be forced to testify against each other.”

  “That’s because I was following you and the others. I was smitten the minute I saw you. I’ve always loved Americans. I can’t say I loved your parents, though. They wanted no part of me. So, you are worried about this project.”

  “Anxious might be a better way of phrasing it. My parents were not a romantic couple. They were afraid you would coerce me into staying in England. That’s why they whisked me back home. The moment they found out I was pregnant they somehow managed to get Andrew Rutledge to make an honest woman of me. I regret that so deeply, Charles. I wish I had been more defiant. Andrew was a kind man, but so much older. He didn’t have a fun bone in his stodgy body. I felt terrible when he passed on. I tried to find you, to tell you we had a daughter but you were gone. I grieved for you night and day.

  “I still, to this day, remember the moment the call came from your embassy asking all those questions. And then your people came to interview me and to check out our security at the candy plant. They said you would arrive in twelve hours if I agreed to hire you on and never breathe a word of it to anyone. I was so speechless I could only nod. Those twelve hours until you walked through the door were the most anxious hours of my life. You just smiled at me and all those empty years were gone.”

  “I never stopped loving you, Myra.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  “We should have told Barbara. She grew up and died never knowing you were her father. I regret that. We should have told her, Charles.”

  “No. She adored Andrew. You can’t rip a child’s world out from under them. I think in time she grew to love me as a substitute father. That was good enough for me. We’ve had a wonderful life, Myra. I have no complaints.”

  “Charles, don’t you think it strange that Barbara’s beau hasn’t been in touch with us? The last time I saw him was at her funeral.”

  “Ben did call, Myra, many times during that first year, but you were so wrapped up in your grief you would just nod when I told you. Ben Gerrity is a fine young man. He moved to New York shortly after…after the funeral. He works for Goldman Sachs in the city and is doing well. In fact, he’s getting married in June to a lovely young girl who is a physician’s assistant to an OBGYN doctor. They’re going to live in Bronxville in an old Tudor house.”

  “How do you know all this, Charles?” Myra asked in amazement.

  Charles smiled. “I made it my business to find out. It wasn’t that hard. I knew you would eventually get around to asking me and I wanted to have the answers for you.”

  “Whatever would I do without you, Charles?”

  “For starters, you’d have to learn to cook. You’d muddle through, Myra.”

  “You’ll be leaving in the morning. Isabelle left on a four o’clock flight. I’ll be all alone here worrying myself to death.”

  “Nikki will be here, Myra. I gave her enough to do to keep her busy for weeks. She’s such a quick study. You tell her once and she grasps it immediately. By the time this first case is over, she will have complete dossiers and files on each case. She’s worried about Jack Emery. I have to admit I have some doubts myself where he is concerned. I think it was a stroke of genius on your part, Myra, when you had Isabelle draw up plans for remodeling the bathrooms upstairs. You even took it upon yourself to order four bathtubs, four vanities, four toilets and four shower inserts, not to mention the toilet seats, and store them in the garage. That covers us as far as Jack seeing Kathryn’s truck parked here. However, my darling, you goofed up when you said the driver was a man. If he had the presence of mind to run a check on the license plate, he’ll know it was a woman. Unless the plate and truck are registered in Alan’s name.” He slapped at his forehead. “How could I have let that get past me? How, Myra?”

  “A senior moment?” Myra quipped. “Nikki’s heart is breaking, Charles, and I feel responsible. If it wasn’t for Marie Lewellen, Jack might have put the ring on her finger by now.”

  “You can’t think like that, Myra, nor can you blame yourself. It’s better she finds out now how power hungry Jack Emery is and to what lengths he’ll go to achieve that power he craves. Sex,” Charles said, looking up at the ceiling, “isn’t everything.”

  “How long do you think he’ll keep at it before he gives up on Marie Lewellen, Charles?”

  “People like Jack never give up. The Lewellens are safe where they are in the Amish country. In a month’s time they’ll adapt. It’s as good as it gets, Myra.”

  “I’m going to miss you. What should I do while you’re all gone? If I just sit here and think, I’ll go out of my mind.”

  “You could act on what Yoko told you on the phone last night about Kathryn and her little dream house. Or, you can see what you can do about buying back Alexis’s house for her. On the other hand, my dear, you could do both. Vienna or Fairfax would be a nice area for Kathryn. You might want to think about possibly going a little further out to Culpepper. More land out that way. I’m not sure about water. If necessary you could build her a pond and put some ducks in it.”

  “That’s an absolutely brilliant idea, Charles. Do you think I should arrange some surveillance for Mr. Emery?”

  Charles threw back his head and laughed, a deep belly laugh that made Myra smile. “I already took care of that. It never ceases to amaze me, Myra. You think like I do. Just when I think I one-upped you, you come up with the same idea a short while later. The reports will be coming in over the computer. Nikki is aware of it.”

  “Why did Nikki go back to town this evening? Did she say anything to you, Charles?”

  “Nothing, other than there were some loose ends at the office. I think she wanted to check for bugs. She said she’s going to be staying at the farm for a while. I know that makes you happy.”

  “Oh, it does. I understood why she had to move back to town. The commute is long and often she has to be in court very early. Then there was Jack. I hate to see her paying that sky-high rent, but she said it’s necessary. I wonder if Jack knows or is aware of Nikki’s financial situation.”

  “When people are in love, they tend to share such things, Myra. I think it’s safe to assume he’s well aware of Nikki’s holdings. Just like I’m aware of his. The man’s got dick, Myra. He’s maxed out on his credit cards and has a hard time making his lease payments on his Lexus. Nikki told me a while back that he wanted to move in so they could share the rent. She said no.”

  “Thank God,” Myra sighed. She covered her mouth in a delicate yawn. She hoped Charles wouldn’t insist on watching one of his favorite western movies.

  Charles looked at his watch. “I think we should head off to bed, Myra. I have an early morning flight. I’m issuing an invitation here, Myra.”

  “And I’m accepting it,” Myra twinkled.

  Isabelle Flanders adjusted her floppy-brimmed straw hat and dark glasses as she stepped from the taxi. She paid and tipped the driver. She waited another moment until a bellboy loaded her baggage onto a cart to take indoors.

  A headache hammered away at the base of her skull and before lo
ng she was going to have a full-blown migraine. If not a migraine, then one of the hateful visions that had plagued her since the car accident. She didn’t know which she hated more.

  At the registration desk she handed the desk clerk Kathryn Lucas’s Visa card. She scrawled Kathryn’s name across the bottom of the reservation form and waited for her key. She mumbled a muffled “thank you” when the desk clerk slid the key along the marble counter.

  She turned to follow the young man and her luggage to her private cottage. She was grateful that the walk was a short one. Later, after the migraine or the vision, she would check out her surroundings. For now she needed water and some aspirin. She tipped the young man and waited for him to leave.

  “This is a swinging place, miss. We have five tennis courts, every water sport you can think of, and our nightly entertainment is the best on the island. The Seahorse Pub is where everyone meets in the evening unless they want to go to town. We have a mini-bus if you don’t want to walk up and down the hills. The health club is new. The guests like to dance under the stars on the beach terrace. If you need anything, just call the front desk. Enjoy your stay, Miss Lucas.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Isabelle said, handing him a twenty dollar bill. For sure he would remember Kathryn Lucas as a good tipper.

  The moment the door closed behind the young man, Isabelle ripped off the sunglasses and straw hat. She rummaged in her purse for her aspirin bottle and gulped down four of them with a swig of water from the mini-bar. She walked out onto the lanai and sat down under the shade of an umbrella. She closed her eyes and waited. Either the headache would come on with force or the vision would appear behind her closed lids.

  Why couldn’t she be normal like everyone else? Because Rosemary Wexler ruined your life, that’s why. She could hardly wait till it was her turn so she could rip Rosemary’s face to shreds.

  It came then in the form of jagged streaks of bright light and then the grainy, gray forms she didn’t recognize that were people. This time she saw a car and something that looked like a black marble. The gray form was sticking the marble under the bumper of a BMW. And then it was over. She rubbed at the corners of her eyes with the knuckle of her index finger. For some reason her eyes always teared after a vision.

  The first time it happened, she’d gone to a doctor thinking she’d torn her retina or perhaps something worse. The eye doctor had sent her to have her arteries tested, saying possibly a piece of plaque might have broken off. The test had shown nothing wrong, at which point the doctor told her not to worry, her eyes were fine. When she’d gone back a second, a third and then a fourth time, the doctor had lost patience with her and referred her to another doctor who basically said the same thing. There was nothing wrong with her eyes.

  The day she’d ruled out all medical reasons, she’d gone to the library and researched all things paranormal. She saw things but she never knew what they meant. She never recognized the places or the gray, grainy people that appeared before her. Until today. She’d seen the BMW clearly. What did it mean?

  With nothing on her hands but time, Isabelle headed for the shower. It was such a relief to take off the heavy, red wig.

  An hour later, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and sandals, her own hair piled high on her head, the straw hat on top, Isabelle fixed herself a stiff drink and carried it out to the lanai.

  As she sipped at the scotch and soda, she wondered if she would be able to enjoy herself on this brief vacation. It had been six years since she’d gone on a vacation and even then the vacation had only been a four-day-long weekend with a man she thought she would one day marry. After the accident he’d disappeared, the way her business and bank account had disappeared. A businessman in town, he didn’t want to be tainted with the same brush. “Screw you, Steve Whitmore!” she muttered. “And screw all the rest of you who believed Rosemary Wexler’s line of bullshit. My day is coming!”

  Isabelle downed the remains of her drink and eyed the mini-bar through the sliding glass doors. Why not? She was on vacation. She could use a little glow in her life, even if it came from alcohol.

  “Shit! Damn it, I was supposed to call Myra.” Her movements were frantic as she fumbled through her purse for the cell phone Charles had given her. She screwed her face into a grimace as she tried to remember Charles’s instructions. She finally got it on the third try. “Hi,” she said.

  “Well hi yourself,” was Myra’s response.

  “I should have called sooner but it’s incredibly hot here and I wanted to take a shower. I had…one of those…you know.”

  “And?”

  “I saw something I never saw before. A detail. In the past, everything was always vague, unidentifiable. This time I saw a man doing something with a marble to a BMW. I don’t know what it means, since I don’t know anyone who has a BMW. I can’t seem to function after…afterward.”

  “I think you do know someone who has a BMW. I want you to think about it when we hang up. Sit back and relax. Eventually it will come to you. I assume, then, you had no problems with your flight or check-in?”

  “None at all. It’s very hot here. Oh, I said that, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine here. Enjoy your vacation…Kathryn.”

  Isabelle walked over to the mini-bar and reached for one of the small bottles of Dewars. She replenished her glass and headed back to the lanai.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes. Whom did she know with a BMW? No one. BR or, before Rosemary, she knew several clients who tooled around town in BMWs. Somehow she didn’t think that was what Myra meant. Then what did she mean? She brought a mental picture of the parked cars in Myra’s oversized, circular driveway to the forefront of her mind. Pricey cars. The truck. The square black car, what was it. A BMW. Whose? The Jag belonged to Alexis and was leased. The Bentley was Julia’s. The Benz belonged to Yoko and her husband. The Honda Civic was hers. Who did that leave? Nikki! Nikki drove a BMW. Okay, who was the man and what was he doing with a black marble?

  Maybe it wasn’t a black marble at all. Maybe it just looked like a black marble. As hard as she tried, nothing else would surface. Maybe after a few more drinks she’d be relaxed enough that she might remember something else.

  Dusk settled quickly and before she knew it, the world outside her villa turned midnight black. She looked around as little lights sprang to life on the lanai, casting everything in a dim yellowish light that was not unpleasing.

  She probably should think about ordering something from the kitchen. She’d only had a bagel at the airport, but that was over twelve hours ago. Maybe some popcorn shrimp, a garden salad, a slice of cake and then she could go to sleep. In the morning she could think about BMWs, black marbles, and Rosemary.

  Back in Virginia, Myra paced up and down her bedroom as she tried to figure out what Isabelle’s vision really meant. She longed for Charles, who would undoubtedly have the answer. What did black marbles have to do with Nikki’s car? Was someone putting them in her gas tank? Someone! My foot, someone. More than likely that someone was Jack Emery. Would he do something that stupid and hope Nikki would call him for a ride or ask him to pick her up? Myra shook her head. That scenario was too ridiculous for words.

  She wished now that she had paid more attention to all the spy shows Charles was so addicted to, particularly the reruns of I Spy and Mission Impossible. That had been Charles’s world for so long. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He was certainly in his element now with everything he’d conjured up.

  Myra looked at the little clock on her night-stand. Nikki would probably still be awake. Should she call her or shouldn’t she? If anything happened to Nikki, she would never forgive herself. She didn’t stop to think. She picked up the phone and punched out the numbers to Nikki’s un-listed number. She would be so relieved when Nikki moved back to the farm tomorrow.

  “Hello, darling, how are you? I just called to say good night. Did you finish everything you wanted to get done? I would like it very much if you’
d do me a favor, Nikki. Ever since that ugly storm my car has been acting up. I was wondering if you’d lease a car and drive it out here tomorrow. It doesn’t matter what kind of car you get. Either Charles or I will drive you back to the city to get your own car. By the way, dear, do you remember my friend, the one who ‘sees’ things? She called earlier and said she had a vision. I don’t believe in things like that, do you? I feel just plain old silly even mentioning it. She always makes me nervous when she brings things like that up. Sleep tight, dear. I appreciate you doing this for me.”

  Myra stared down at the phone. Was she being silly? Would Nikki pick up on her subtle warning? Of course she would, Nikki was smart. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She thought about the conversation she’d just had with Nikki. It sounded like something out of a bad spy novel. And yet, Charles had seemed more than a little worried about Jack Emery. His words were, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

  Now that she was here alone in her bedroom, the house silent, she could give way to her fears with no one the wiser. She wondered what she would look like in an orange jumpsuit with shackles on her wrists and ankles. She flinched at the thought. On visiting days, Nikki would cry and Charles would wring his hands. She’d probably cry herself and say something noble like, if I had it to do over again, I’d still do it.

  Charles said everything he’d done was foolproof. Nikki backed him up. And yet, things had a way of going wrong at the last moment. A dog could upset a foolproof plan, a stranger could appear out of nowhere and screw things up. The human element was one thing impossible to foresee.

  If she kept this up, she was going to go out of her mind. She needed to do something and she needed to do it now. What? She looked around as though searching for her answer. She saw it in the pile of comforters on the chaise longue in the corner of the room. She didn’t stop to think. She gathered them up and in the hall she tossed them to the foot of the steps. She peered over the bannister to see if they had fallen on top of one another. They had. A second later she was sliding down the staircase, whooping in glee. She hit bottom none the worse for wear. She might do it again later on or in the morning. She smacked her hands together in satisfaction.