Lethal Justice

by Fern Michaels

  The next morning, Jack thought he and Nikki had created a hell of a memory to carry him through the coming days.

  Nikki hunkered down in the war room with Charles, a dozen books spread out in front of her as she tried to make sense out of Spanish law. Charles was so busy at his bank of computers that he hardly noticed her presence.

  It was late afternoon and Myra was headed for the District to have an early dinner with Judge Easter. Isabelle was at the Barrington farm and Kathryn had accepted a short overnight run to Pennsylvania to deliver bales of peat moss and pine straw.

  Thirty miles away, Alexis Thorn stared at the last entries she made in her computer before she typed up a bill to send to her client. Personal shopping didn’t pay much but it did pay the rent. She would drop the bill off at the post office on her way to Yoko’s nursery where she had agreed to dress the little woman for her date with Harry Wong.

  She adored Yoko and liked that she was becoming less inhibited. These days she would even start an argument and usually win. Of all of them, Yoko had made the most personal progress. Isabelle was slowly coming out of her self-imposed exile and was learning to laugh all over again. Myra was more upbeat and Nikki, now that she was back into her relationship with Jack Emery, was proving to be a true sister. Kathryn was combative as ever, just as outspoken, but was struggling to find her lighter side. A man might help but she wasn’t sure. Kathryn’s emotions were simply locked up too tight. Time, Alexis told herself, was what Kathryn needed.

  That left herself, Alexis Thorn. When, she wondered, would she ever again call herself by her given name, Sara Whittier, or was Sara Whittier dead, never to be resurrected?

  Alexis swerved into the parking lot and gave a light tap to her horn. Yoko ran out of the flower shop and over to the car. “I am so happy you were not too busy to come, Alexis. This is so important to me. Come, come, I have to tell you about last night. I was…I was…superb! I was!”

  “Well, good for you! Let me get my Red Bag. Are we having tea?”

  “Yes. Tea. It is steeping. I bought honey because I know you like honey. Oh, hurry, Alexis. I am closing the shop early. No one comes at this time of day.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. This is all going to work. You need to be serene, in control. If you go off half cocked, you’re going to blow it. Bet you’re glad you got those new boobs, huh?”

  Yoko giggled. “You bet,” she said smartly. “Before I forget, Alexis, Mr. Emery was at the Dojo last night. He tried to make himself invisible, and I pretended not to see him. Since Nikki told us he is more or less one of us, I wasn’t worried. What does worry me is, do you think he will tell Harry about me? Now, let me tell you how I came out on top.”

  Alexis listened, her eyes popping from time to time. “Wow! I would have paid to see that. Congratulations! Mr. Emery won’t tell,” she said confidently as she pulled out the huge red bag and threw it over her shoulder. “We have four hours, Yoko, till your date.”

  “And we will need every minute of that time. The bubble bath takes a long time. I must meditate beforehand. I wish to serve you dinner. I hope you like sushi.”

  Inside the flower shop, Yoko locked the door, pulled the shade down over the window and turned the sign that said open, to the side that said the shop was closed. “Come,” she said. Alexis followed her to a beaded doorway.

  Alexis looked at the colorful beads and knew somehow that Yoko had made them herself. She’d been here once before but only in the shop area.

  “I have never invited anyone here before,” Yoko said, suddenly shy.

  “Then I feel honored to be the first person to cross your threshold.”

  The colored beads parted to show a large room sectioned off with more colored beads. Alexis felt stunned at what she was seeing. For some reason she’d expected either a Japanese or Chinese decor but that wasn’t what she saw. The tiny kitchen area was old, the appliances sparkling clean but antiquated. A small table with two chairs sat in the corner. The small living room held two chairs that looked deep and comfortable. A television sat on a small table in the corner. It had the old fashioned rabbit ears. A dark green fiber carpet covered the middle of the floor. There was one picture on the wall of a beautiful woman. She assumed it was Yoko’s mother but she didn’t ask. The bedroom area had a sleeping mat and a dresser. A fiber carpet matching the one in the living room was on the floor but it held a huge gray-white cat who was sound asleep. A pot of white lilies sat in the corner. Stark, simple, but so clean, Alexis knew she could have eaten off the floor.

  “His name is Riff Raff,” Yoko said. “He found me, I did not find him. He never leaves the shop. I think he is afraid of the world. I moved in here after my husband left to save money and because I did not like the house we lived in. I know it is…not much but it is all I need. I can save for that wet day.”

  Alexis laughed. “You should see the dump I live in. I tell myself it isn’t worth fixing up because I don’t plan on staying there. This is nice, Yoko, it suits you.”

  “I have a dog, too. He is outside during the day but he comes in at night to be with me. His name is Hawthorn. That is what his collar says. He, too, found me. I tried to find his owner but I could not locate anyone. Hawthorn and Riff Raff are my family. Come, come, I will make sushi for you and we will have girl talk. Do you know how to do girl talk?”

  “Oh, yeah. What would you like to talk about?”

  “You. I do not want to know about prison. I want to know who you are.”

  Alexis sat down on one of the two chairs. “My grandmother raised me. She never actually came out and said my mother was no good or that my father was worse, but I knew. I don’t know where they are or if they are alive or dead. My grandmother was a wonderful woman. She was heavy on the bible and she was real handy with the paddle. She made sure I did my homework, always had clean clothes, made me brush my teeth. She could peel an apple and not break the skin. I always marveled at that. She loved me with all her heart and I loved her. When I graduated from college, she cried her eyes out. When I started making serious money, I tried to help her but she wouldn’t take a penny. I tried buying her a big TV but she said it made her dizzy to look at such a big screen. I would try to take her out to dinner but she said she didn’t belong in such places. The only time she would accept presents from me was on her birthday and Christmas. When she…when she died and I had to go through her things, I found all those presents in her chest. It broke my heart. I think I would have died if she’d been alive when I was sent to prison.”

  “I am so sorry, Alexis. We will fix all that for you. Are you ever going to tell us your real name?”

  “My real name is Sara Whittier. On the drive out here I was wondering if Sara was dead, never to be resurrected. It’s hard to believe that I will be avenged. Those two smarmy people are so slick, so smart. Because they are con artists themselves, they’ll be able to smell a con a mile away. I can only hope Charles knows who he is dealing with.

  “Now that I spilled my guts, how is it none of us knew about your martial arts expertise?”

  “You never asked,” Yoko smiled. “I did not think it was important. We are taught the art of self defense as soon as we learn to walk and talk. It is normal for us, not something out of the ordinary. I do not like talking about myself. When it is my turn, I will tell you anything you wish to know. Tell me about the smarmy people.”

  Alexis drew a deep breath. “Arden Gillespie is probably one of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She has incredible green eyes and they are not enhanced with contact lenses either. She’s a natural blond and her hair has a wave to it. Spectacular is the only word I can think of. Every day she would have a new hair style. She looks like a well-fed super model, which means she is not skinny. She has a perpetual tan and always looks like she just came back from some sunny beach. She’s smart as a whip, graduated from the Wharton School of Business. And, she’s evil.

  “Roland Sullivan I believe, started out being a respectable broker. All my
research bore that out. When Arden came on the scene, he changed. When she became a partner, he changed even more. They both worship money. Once, during the trial, I saw Roland looking at me. I could be wrong but I think he had tears in his eyes at what was happening to me. Tears or not, I went to prison. I think he’s just as evil as Arden is. I hate them both. My grandmother is probably spinning in her grave for me saying such things. She taught me not to hate, to turn the other cheek. Sometimes you just can’t do that.”

  “I hate them, too. Your honor will be restored. Would you like a big cup of tea or a little cup?”

  “Big cup. Oh, this is good. I haven’t had sushi in a long time. So, where are you and Harry going this evening?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps a movie. Dinner. Maybe the Asian market,” Yoko giggled.

  “Well, that poses a bit of a problem. How can we dress you if we don’t know where you’re going?”

  Yoko shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to fly with it.”

  “Wing it.”

  “Yes, wing it. No kimono, though. I want to look like a slick chicken.”

  Alexis laughed. “Slick chick, and I think I can arrange that. I see you aren’t eating so why don’t you go take that bubble bath and I’ll clean up here.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Alexis sat in the little kitchen, her eyes on the beads that separated the kitchen area from the living room. It must have taken Yoko forever to string the beads and then make a knot between each bead. Maybe Yoko was one of those people who had to keep busy all the time, kind of like herself. If you kept busy, you didn’t think or worry.

  Chapter 12

  Arden Gillespie fished around in her Prada bag for her compact. She tilted her head this way and that to see if her makeup was as flawless as it was when she applied it hours ago. She added a dab of lip gloss, smacked her lips together, smiled, revealing a fortune in porcelain caps. One manicured nail touched the three carat diamond stud in her ear. She wondered if there as such a thing as a five carat earring. Even if she had a five carat people would probably think it was Diamonique from the shopper’s channel.

  The blue eyes her colleagues said were the color of blue bells, dropped to the letter on her desk. She sucked in her breath. She’d been sitting here going over her personal finances, when her secretary walked into the office and handed her a crisp white envelope saying it was marked personal and had been delivered by a messenger. That in itself was nothing new or strange since mail arrived hourly by various means. It was the return address that made Arden sit up straighter. Anna Ryland de Silva. Everyone in the world knew who Anna Ryland de Silva was.

  Arden licked at the gloss on her lips. Why would someone like de Silva be writing to the firm? Unless…For the first time since becoming a full partner, she wished she was the sole owner. Whatever was in the envelope would have to be shared with Roland Sullivan, her partner and her lover.

  The word “share” was not in Arden Gillespie’s vocabulary. Other people shared. She wasn’t one of those other people.

  If the word “share” was in her vocabulary, she wouldn’t be sitting in this palatial office surrounded by priceless antiques, thanks to one of Washington D. C.’s top decorators.

  With that thought in mind, Arden slit the envelope with an ornate letter opener.

  The paper crackled. That meant it was expensive, Arden’s favorite word. At first she thought it read like an invitation which in a sense it was. It was short and concise.

  Anna Ryland de Silva cordially invites you to her home in Manassas to show, if interested, how your firm would handle her holdings.

  The favor of your reply is requested within forty-eight hours and no later than nine o’clock, Wednesday morning.

  The letter was signed by Ellen Markham, personal secretary to Anna Ryland de Silva.

  Arden’s index finger traced the colorful crest at the top of the paper. She wondered how much it would cost to get such a crest. As she’d learned, anything and everything was available if one had the money to pay for it. Her finger continued to trace the crest as her mind soared. If she could work up a presentation and somehow manage to snare the de Silva account, she would be set for life. Even sharing with Roland Sullivan she would be set for life. And if the wimpy little weasel would divorce his wife and marry her, she’d have the whole ball of wax at which point she’d make his life so miserable he’d be willing to allow her to buy him out and ride off into the sunset.

  So much to do, so little time.

  Arden pressed a button and spoke softly. “Bring me coffee, Opal. Has Mr. Sullivan returned yet? Ask him to come to my office the minute he arrives.”

  Three minutes later, a bespeckled, rosy cheeked Opal brought coffee in a fragile bone china cup on a silver tray. The Kona coffee was flown in weekly from Hawaii for Arden’s private consumption. Roland and clients were served Maxwell House coffee in Crate and Barrel mugs.

  Arden lit a cigarette, her first of the day. She used a smokeless ash tray that didn’t really work and turned on a specially designed exhaust fan that guaranteed a smoke free room. Roland favored cigars and refused to give them up. His exhaust fan was larger and actually worked.

  Arden rang for her secretary again. “Opal, stop whatever you’re doing and get me everything that has ever been printed on Anna Ryland de Silva. Get as many people as you need to help you. I want everything. Call all the papers, the television stations, anyone you can think of. Find out who her friends are. Get addresses and phone numbers. I can’t be sure of this but I think I read once that her husband was a count which means she’s a countess. ASAP, Opal. Where the hell is Roland? Did he at least call in?”

  “He went to his son’s school this morning, Miss Gillespie. The boy is getting an award for some class project. Mr. Sullivan said he wouldn’t be in till eleven-thirty. I thought you knew, Miss Gillespie. He said no matter what, we were not to call him because the school frowns on cell phones.”

  “Oh,” was all Arden could think of to say. She did vaguely remember Roland saying something about the boy’s award but since she didn’t like children, his or anyone else’s, she’d ignored the comment.

  Arden continued to puff on her cigarette knowing she’d have to replace her lip gloss but she didn’t care. It was all about her and if other people forgot that, even for a moment, she had no trouble reminding them. Now, if she could just get rid of that ugly picture on the wall by the door, things would be even better.

  The picture. That’s how she thought of it. The picture was the reason she was sitting in this scrumptious office with her priceless antiques. A duplicate hung in Roland’s office. A reminder that they were both responsible for sending Sara Whittier to prison. The picture was of Sara Whittier being taken off to prison after her trial. Arden had argued, cried, threatened, and finally had to give up when Roland remained adamant about the picture. To remind them of how low they’d sunk. The picture remained, a daily reminder of her greed. Proof of her guilt in framing Sara. But only Roland knew that because he’d been her willing partner and shared in the money. That part didn’t bother her but she knew it bothered Roland. He’d actually said he lost sleep over what they’d done and gone on to say that his wife, who liked Sara, had said there was more to the whole thing than met the eye. Arden had just laughed at him and his Martha Stewart wife.

  Arden finished her coffee and crushed out her cigarette. She rang again for Opal who trotted in, knowing the drill: take the cup and saucer, wash the crystal ashtray, spray the room with a deodorizer guaranteed to get rid of the cigarette smell. She did it seven times a day, on the hour.

  The minute the door closed behind her secretary, Arden turned on her computer and set to work. By the time Roland waltzed into the office, she’d have something concrete to show him. Forty-eight hours was just that, forty-eight hours. She eyed the picture of Sara Whittier on the wall for a full minute before she deliberately thumbed her nose at it.

  The black SUV approached
the guard house that led to the Ryland homestead in Manassas. The guard house had its own bath, sitting room, and kitchen along with well stocked book shelves and a large screen TV. The fieldstone building looked like something out of a Thomas Kincaid painting except for the bars on the windows. Myra pulled up, stopped, rolled her window down and said, “I’m Anna de Silva. I understand from the agency that you are Arthur. Thank you for coming to work for me.” She rolled down the window in the back. “These are my assistants, Ellen Markham, Sumi Takamuro, and Carol Sterling.

  “Did the agency explain your duties? No one is to come through these gates unless I tell you beforehand. The agency said you were authorized to carry a weapon. I’d like to see it, please.”

  The guard opened his jacket to show Myra his shoulder holster. Then he pointed to the inside of the guard house where a high-powered rifle could be seen on a rack on the wall. “My replacement is Gerald, ma’am. We’re twelve on and twelve off.”

  “Thank you. If you need anything, call the house number and one of my assistants will fetch it for you. I don’t want you to leave your post unless I authorize it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Myra closed the window, shifted gears and roared through the open gate. She could see in her rearview mirror that the gate closed immediately.

  “Wow! This is some place! And no one lives here! How big is the house?” Kathryn asked as the others gaped at the lush landscaping, the vastness of the estate, the mile long driveway lined with the tall poplar trees.

  “It’s huge. I haven’t been here in years. Annie doesn’t come back here anymore but she makes sure the place is maintained. Her grandparents made their money in cotton and tobacco. It’s a typical southern home with wrap-around verandas, floor to ceiling windows. Ten chimneys or so, and of course the tin roof. Nothing on the inside has been changed except the bathrooms and kitchen. The floors are heart of pine, the wainscoting is intact as is the crown molding. Growing up, we weren’t neighbors but our parents knew one another. I suppose in today’s time you would say our parents arranged play dates for us. We did go to the same schools. Friendships made when very young tend to last a life time.”