“Guess the dark stuff hit the fan, eh?”
Nikki leaned across the table. “Jack, they fucking broke into my office during the night! I have to tell Myra and Charles and you know what that means,” she hissed.
Jack nodded glumly as he swigged at his beer. “I don’t know what other body part Robinson can live without.”
“Right now, I don’t care. Damn!” Nikki yanked at her cell phone, looked at the number of the incoming call. She hated people who talked on their cell phones in restaurants. She got up, walked behind one of the lush Fica trees and returned the call to her office.
“It’s Nikki, Maddie. What’s up?” She listened. Her slumped shoulders squared imperceptibly. “I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, call Isabelle, her number is in my Rolodex. Tell her to call the kennel trainer and arrange for the guard dogs to be returned to Pinewood, ASAP. I’ll get back to you shortly.”
Back at the table, Nikki looked at Jack. “It was Maddie. Ted called the office to speak to me. I told her I’d call her back in fifteen minutes. Time, Jack, is of the essence. I can’t wait for them to do something. I have to take control. I’m going to invite the two of them out to Pinewood.”
Jack set his beer bottle down with a thump. “And…”
“There is no…and. They will become our…guests.”
Jack made wet circles on the pristine tablecloth with his beer bottle. “Have you thought this through, Nikki?”
“No. I can’t have them running around loose flapping their tongues. Jack, those two can destroy us. You, too. Don’t even think you can talk them out of this. I’ve got them red-handed and I have to act on it. Charles…Charles won’t have it any other way. Neither will the others. There are no other options and you know it.”
A young waiter with a spiked hairdo appeared. Without looking at the menu, Nikki said, “We’ll both have the special, whatever it is.”
“How long can you…hold them as your…ah, guests?”
“Indefinitely,” Nikki said coldly. “The guard dogs will be back this afternoon. Only a fool would even think about tangling with them. Forever if necessary.”
Jack squinted and looked into his empty beer bottle. He held it aloft and wiggled it to get the waiter’s attention. “What about their families, their jobs, their pets?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Nikki gulped the last of her drink in one long swallow. Her eyes started to water as she excused herself to go behind the Fica tree again. Jack slumped in his chair as he waited for her to return.
Nikki was all lawyer when she sat back down at the table. Her voice was cool, professional and brisk. “My clients will meet me at Pinewood at six o’clock this evening. Ah, here’s our lunch. I wonder what it is.”
“Is that it?”
“That’s it, Jack.”
On her way back to Pinewood, Nikki made two phone calls. The first was to Isabelle, the second to Myra. She stated her business the same way she’d made her final comment to Jack, brisk, cool and professional. When she clicked off, she slid a Bruce Springsteen tape into the CD player. It was her way of shifting her emotions into a neutral zone.
“Not a bad decision since you made it on the fly.”
“Barb!”
“Yeah. Hey, slow down and lower the volume. You can’t hear yourself think.”
“That was the object. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t let them run around loose. Those two reporters could bring us all down.”
“That’s true. Mom wouldn’t look good in prison garb. You probably should put them in the apartment over the garage. The dogs will be deterrent enough.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Isabelle and I will get their pets, pack a bag for them. They’ll be more than comfortable until Charles gets back and we decide what to do with the two of them. It isn’t kidnaping if they agree to stay. I’ll make sure we record everything they say. Do you think it will work, Barb?”
“I don’t see why not. What did Mom say?”
“I think I rattled her. She was cool, though. She told me to do what I thought was right. Isabelle agreed. I still can’t believe they were brazen enough to break into my office. I’ll never feel safe until I know there are no other copies out there. They can tell me anything they want. I will have no choice but to believe them. If I was in their position, I’d make sure I covered my ass one way or the other.”
“That’s you, Nikki. Yes, Maggie and Ted are bold and brazen, but when it comes to breaking the law the journalistic privilege does not exist. They’re dead in the water if you go public and they know that. No reputable paper would represent them. They’d have to go the tabloid route”
“Going public means we all go down. I can’t go down that road. I can threaten but that’s it. Or, I can have Charles do what he does best. I don’t want to go down that road either. Damn, how the hell did this happen?”
“You underestimated them.”
“Yeah, yeah, I did. Shame on me.”
“It’s going to be okay. My money is on you, Nik. Hey, gotta go.
Nikki shook her head to clear her thoughts. Well, now, she had a plan. Sort of. Kind of. She turned the volume back up and felt a little better as Bruce entertained her the rest of the way home.
Isabelle was waiting in the kitchen when she got to Pinewood. She’d made a pot of coffee and changed out of her work clothes. “I’m all yours. Just tell me what you want me to do.” She poured coffee the minute Nikki sat down.
“Okay, we have to stock the pantry and the fridge for our guests. That means dog and cat food, too. One of us has to go to Safeway. We also have to clean the apartment over the garage. Take your pick.”
“We don’t have to go grocery shopping. We can call in the order, they’ll deliver and carry it up the steps. We just have to tip big. The two of us can clean the apartment. It will be ready for our guests when they arrive. What say you?” Isabelle said.
“Works for me. Call in the grocery order and don’t forget the kitty litter and some pee pads in case they can’t take the dog out. There’s a verandah on the back of the building so the dog can go out there. Order enough for…let’s say two weeks to be on the safe side. I’m going to change my clothes.”
Isabelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re actually going to help me clean?”
Nikki whirled around. “Of course. Myra made Barbara and me learn how to clean. We had to scrub our bathroom, do our own laundry and make our beds. We had to muck the barn, too. And, we raked leaves, mowed grass, and planted flowers. Oh, yeah, Myra made us iron our own clothes. I know how to do it. I cleaned my own house for years until my hours got so long. Then, I had to hire someone. However, I refused to buy an iron. The cleaners worked for me.”
Isabelle looked perplexed. “Guess you used a mop, huh?”
“Are you kidding. It was on your knees scrubbing. It was a good thing, Isabelle. We didn’t mind. I like cleaning my own house, I just don’t have the time.”
Isabelle laughed. “Since you’re such an expert, you get to do the bathroom.”
“You got it. We should have heard something by now, don’t you think?”
“It’s only three o’clock. Soon, would be my guess.”
“Isabelle, do you see any other way?”
“If you’re referring to the reporters, no, I don’t see any other way.”
“I have a real bad feeling about this.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Isabelle said.
Chapter 18
Roland Sullivan sat at his desk, his eyes on the small digital clock on its top, a gift from his wife. The desk set was from his wife, too. The book case across the room, under the window, held pictures of his family in the early years. He was sad to note there were no later photographs. Maybe that was because he was never home to be included in family pictures. He regretted his absences more and more these days.
The thick file on Anna Ryland de Silva sat in front of him. He wondered if he should go through it again. What was the point? Either the
woman would hire the firm or she wouldn’t. Being last to be interviewed didn’t do much for his ego.
Arden knew the file inside out. If anyone could clinch the deal, it was his partner. The mere thought of her rubbing it under his nose made his stomach jump. He was waiting for her now, trying to imagine how she would look. Professional, sexy, charming, aloof. All of the above. He, on the other hand, had paid attention to de Silva’s likes and dislikes. He’d dressed down, going with creased khakis, tasseled loafers and a button down Oxford shirt. No power tie today. He’d chosen his jacket with care, finally choosing a light tweed that was one hundred percent cashmere. He hadn’t even bothered to get a haircut. Arden had chastised him about that.
Roland looked at a picture of his wife waving into the camera. What a beautiful smile she had. His stomach jumped again when he remembered how he’d tried to get her to talk to him last night. He’d practically groveled, saying he needed her advice. She’d chopped him off at the knees with one look. “You gave up the right to ask me for anything, a long time ago, Roland.” Calling him Roland had been the last straw. She always called him Rolly. A pet name from the early days of their marriage. Calling him Roland meant she was beyond angry.
It wasn’t just his wife who was upset. The kids treated him like a guest, a rare visitor whom they treated with courtesy. Courtesy, for God’s sake. Well, screw it.
Sensing a presence, Roland looked up and did a double take. “Arden?”
The willowy blonde whirled and twirled. “What do you think? Is it too much? Do I look real?”
Roland could only gawk. The lustrous blond hair was slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her earrings looked like they came from a discount store, as did the strap watch on her wrist. The manicured nails were minus the blood red polish she loved and were cut short with a coat of clear polish. Her outfit was a denim skirt with matching jacket and a white tee. He knew she’d picked it up at a thrift shop because it looked worn in and a little wrinkled. Any other time, Arden wouldn’t be caught dead dressed as she was now. Her shoes weren’t the Chanel or Ferragamo that she usually wore. He made a bet with himself that they came from WalMart.
“Well, you’re definitely dressed down.”
“We should leave now. I borrowed a car from a neighbor of mine. It’s a four year old Saab but it still looks good. Maroon in color. You can drive a stick so you’re the driver. Ohhh, Roland, I can smell our bank accounts filling up.”
Roland thought he’d never seen his lover and partner so giddy. “There’s an old saying, my dear, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”
“For God’s sake, Roland, do you always have to be so negative? If I listened to you and those little ditties of yours where would we be now? Certainly not a contender for the de Silva account. And…you wouldn’t have that little Hawaiian vacation spot or that ski chalet in Aspen.”
Roland’s voice dropped several octaves. “That’s true, but I’d probably sleep a lot better at night.”
“Take a sleeping pill,” Arden snapped.
Roland moved like lightening. He reached for Arden’s arm and pulled her into the room. He moved his big hand till he had his partner’s neck in his grasp. He literally dragged her to the wall and shoved her face up against the photo of Sara Whittier on the wall. “Don’t ever tell me to take a sleeping pill again.” He dropped his hand. “We should be leaving. Miss de Silva frowns on tardiness. I read that in her file.”
Arden’s eyes glittered. “Will you stop with that Sara Whittier crap already. It’s over and done with. Get over it. How many times did you go to Aspen and Hawaii last year? I rest my case.”
The short drive to Manassas was made in silence. From time to time, Roland looked down at the small map he’d taken off the Internet, courtesy of MapQuest. Twenty minutes later, Roland steered the Saab onto the long driveway leading to the house. He slowed and came to a complete stop at the guard house. He blanched slightly as did Arden when they saw the beefy guard with a gun at his waist. It was impossible not to see the rifle hanging on the wall inside when Arthur stepped toward the car, his hand on the gun butt.
“Two forms of I.D., sir. You, too, ma’am.”
Roland opened his wallet, removed his driver’s license and a credit card with his picture on it. Arden handed her cards to Roland who handed them to the guard. Before Arthur retreated into the guard house, he said, “Roll your window up, sir, and leave it up until I tell you to roll it down.”
“What is this, Fort Knox?” Arden demanded angrily. “She’s just a rich old lady, why does she need all of this?”
“Because she can afford it and probably because she wants to keep people like us out of here. She’s a multi billionaire. If you were in her position you’d have helicopters hovering over your residence and don’t deny it.”
“It’s so…over the top. It’s like she’s stressing her importance,” Arden sniped.
“And yet she’s a recluse,” Roland sniped back.
The phone inside the guard house buzzed to life. The guard picked up the phone and moved out of sight. “Yes, ma’am, they’re here now. I’m checking their I.D.’s. You want me to open the gates at precisely 2:27. Yes, ma’am.”
Arthur returned to the Saab. Roland lowered the window to accept their identification cards. “The gates will open at 2:27. Raise your window.”
Arden sniffed. “He acts like he’s Gestapo.”
“Stop it, Arden. The man is doing his job. You just don’t like it when other people are in control.” He handed the cards back to her. He almost laughed at the tacky looking purse she carried. He wondered where she got it. Not that it mattered.
Roland crawled up the driveway, parked, got out, went around to open the door for Arden. “Guess we go to the front door.”
“Obviously. We aren’t servants or trades people.”
“Ladies first,” Roland said as he stepped aside to allow her to lead the way.
The door was opened almost immediately. Yoko stepped back and bowed her head slightly. “I am Sumi Takamuro, Miss Markham’s assistant. Follow me, please, Miss Gillespie, Mr. Sullivan. Miss Markham is waiting.”
Arden was so busy eyeing all the antiques and priceless objects of art, she kept tripping over her own feet. Roland had to steady her twice by reaching for her elbow. He knew his partner was impressed beyond words. He wasn’t. He liked modern houses with clean lines, lots of glass and raw wood. He could never live in a mausoleum like this one.
Sumi knocked once on an ornate mahogany door and opened it at the same time. She stepped aside and said, “This is Miss Gillespie and Mr. Sullivan, Ellen.”
Kathryn Lucas got up and walked around her desk. The cut of her business suit was so severe, the material so exquisite, it shrieked dollar signs. The white linen blouse under the jacket was unwrinkled and so beautiful, Arden had to suck in her breath. “Ellen Markham,” she said, extending her hand. Her grip was bone crushing and Arden winced. Roland matched the pressure.
“Please, be seated. I’m Miss de Silva’s personal assistant. I can give you exactly twenty-seven minutes today.” She looked over at Sumi and said, “Set the clock.”
Arden was stunned to see the Asian woman set the time on a three dollar kitchen timer.
“Shall we get right to it,” Kathryn said. She opened a folder and pretended to read the contents. “I’ve studied this at great length. I have to wonder how you can guarantee half of what’s in here.”
“When it comes to investments, Miss Markham, we never use the word ‘guarantee’. You have to give your broker credit to know when to buy, when to sell and when to hold tight. Our record, as you can see, is impeccable,” Roland said. “We’re not in business to lose money. Our object, our goal is to make everyone as rich as possible. I have no intention of blowing smoke in your direction. At times, things go awry. We can’t predict what’s going to happen so we hedge our investments and are on top of them twenty-four-seven. We’re only a phone call away, again, twenty-four-seve
n.”
Arden decided it was time to jump in. “We might be a small house but we deliver quality. That, we can guarantee.” How much did she pay for that suit?
“Admirable,” Kathryn said coldly. “Have you studied our bottom line on the P&L report?” Both brokers nodded. “Well?”
“We’re prepared to pay three percent if the balance drops below your present bottom line.”
“Five!” Kathryn said. “That five percent would have to be in an escrow fund. Five percent of our bottom line.”
“That would be impossible, Miss Markham. We’d have to mortgage our business, liquidate our personal holdings and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
Kathryn leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers just under her nose. “Banks love to lend money. If Miss de Silva were to decide to go with Sullivan and Gillespie, banks will stand in line to loan you money. Five percent.”
Arden looked at Roland. Roland looked at Arden. Kathryn watched them both and fought not to laugh. Yoko turned away so she wouldn’t burst into giggles. In the end, greed won out.
Arden’s voice was shaky. “Are we to understand you are considering our firm, or was that a hypothetical?”
Kathryn let them squirm for a full two minutes before she replied. “The decision is mine to make. I will be honest with you, the larger firms had a problem with the percentage. I would need confirmation from the bank. Meetings will be required. Miss de Silva’s name will be on the escrow account. Do you have a problem with that?”
Hell yes, she had a problem with that. “No, not at all,” Arden said quickly.
Kathryn thought Roland Sullivan looked sick. She looked straight at him waiting for his response. He couldn’t seem to make his tongue work so he nodded.
Kathryn looked over at Sumi, her eyes a question.
“Seven minutes remain, Ellen,” Yoko said.
“There is one other thing.” Kathryn opened a folder and withdrew a stack of newspaper clippings. She pushed them across her desk. “I need an explanation for this lawsuit and the young woman who worked for you. It stands in your way.”
Lethal Justice Page 15
