“He did?”
“He did.” Tom entered the living room, tightening his red-striped tie. Kary ran to him, tail wagging, and the retired FBI agent picked him up. “It’s complicated by the fact that the FBI hasn’t yet figured out how to proceed with this case. We’ll get you to Atlanta, and Jeff will take it from there. But I want you to know that if anything happens to you along the way, you can reach out to us for help.”
“Thanks.”
“And now, Kary and I have an appointment with a fire hydrant. Don’t we, boy?”
“How about some breakfast?” Jojo inquired as Tom and the dog got ready to go out. She led me into the kitchen and offered me a choice of oatmeal, blueberry muffins, frozen waffles, and coffee. Five minutes later, I carried my plate of waffles and a glass of orange juice to the table.
“Let me just get a handle on what your strengths and weaknesses are, and then we’ll get started on your hair.”
“My hair?”
“We have to change it, Marigold, just in case the bad guys are using a photo of you.” She pulled on a lock of my long, auburn hair. “Normally, I’d dye it a different color and give you a haircut, but your ear is still healing, so we’ll have to think outside the box on this one.
The morning went quickly. The support services coordinator led me to the master bathroom and took a closer look at my ear. Removing the bandage, Jojo decided it needed to be examined by a medical professional. Rather than take me to a clinic, she called a friend who worked locally as a visiting nurse; Kitty promised to stop by on her way to call on a bedridden patient.
“Come on in,” Jojo greeted her half an hour later at the door. “Meet my brother-in-law’s niece, Laura. She’s in town, waiting to catch her flight to London. Laura, this is Kitty Pelcher.”
“Hi, Laura.” The cheerful smile the fifty-something nurse with the short gray hair flashed at me was comforting. I felt myself relax a little, even as I felt guilty posing as the fictional niece.
“Thanks for checking me over,” I replied.
“Oh, we can’t have you jetting to jolly, old England with an infected ear.” She was half a head shorter than me, with a wiry build. “I’ll need more light to examine her, Jo.”
The FBI coordinator limped into the kitchen and turned on the overhead light, giving the nurse a chance to see the wound. Kitty scrubbed up at the kitchen sink, carefully drying her hands on paper towels, and then she got to work. I could feel her probing fingers applying light pressure to the skin, and at one point, I flinched, as unexpected pain hit me.
“Were you wearing a hat?” she wanted to know.
“I was,” I admitted, “because of the cold.”
I didn’t add that I needed to wear a hat to disguise myself. Maybe I should go back to the turban.
“It doesn’t look infected, just irritated. Sometime the weight of a hat can create problems. There’s friction when the bandage rubs against the stitches. Make sure you don’t scratch the ear while you’re sleeping. Do you have a prescription for antibiotics?” the nurse wanted to know. Before I had a chance to answer, Jojo was interrupting her friend.
“Good heavens, Laura’s got so many pills to swallow; it’s enough to make your head spin. And who’s that physician you’ve got that appointment to see at London Bridge Hospital?” As she turned to me, giving me a look that suggested I think fast and spit out something that made sense, I uttered the only thing I could think of to say.
“I can’t remember the doctor’s name, but I have it written down on my paperwork.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Kitty told us, attaching a new gauze pad to my ear with paper tape. “Sounds like you’re all set for your trip.”
“I am.”
“In that case, I’ve got to run. Mrs. Quigley is expecting me.”
Once our goodbyes were said and the door shut behind Kitty, Jojo and I breathed a collective sigh of relief. She shook her head and chuckled. “That was close.”
Half an hour later, six inches of auburn hair was on the floor of the master bathroom and I had bangs to go with my new shoulder-length hairdo.
“Do you wear glasses?” Jojo wanted to know.
“Just for reading,” I replied, “or computer work.”
“Any chance you have your glasses with you?”
“No. They were lost when I had to run. But they’re just drug store ‘cheaters’, if that helps.”
“Believe it or not, it does,” she nodded.
At ten, right after Kary went out for another loop around the courtyard with the limping Jojo, she and I took the elevator down to the parking garage; I followed as she hobbled down the long row of empty parking spaces. Pointing her remote fob at a silver sedan, I heard the whoop-whoop of the car unlocking and saw the tail lights flash twice as we approached.
“Climb in,” she encouraged me. Jojo maneuvered her way into the driver’s seat, wriggling this way and that, grunting and groaning. I wasn’t even sure she’d be able to pull her booted left leg into the Dodge Dart, but she managed at last. “One of the drawbacks of being five-foot ten with a boot on your foot. Okay. Here’s what happens next. We’ve got to go shopping. You’ll need a briefcase and a dog crate that fits under the seat, because Kary is going with you, and a new wardrobe.”
Starting at Ann Taylor, we spent the next few hours moving through clothing stores in Tysons Corner, picking out business attire Jojo decided would suit my cover as a pharmaceutical rep for Pfizer.
“How about a lunch break?” she suggested just after one. We grabbed a couple of salads and ice teas at Cafe Deluxe in the mall while she talked me through the ins and outs of maintaining an alias while traveling.
Shoes and a purse were the last items on the list. Right after lunch, we managed to find a rainbow snakeskin clutch and a pair of purple suede pumps at Nine West, and a pink laptop bag at Levenger. By the time we got back to the Savoy, it was close to three.
“How handy are you in the kitchen?” Jojo wanted to know.
“Not bad. Why?”
“I’ve got to get to work on putting together all your documents and booking your flight. Think you can manage to make us something to eat? Tom’s usually home by six.”
“Sure.”
She left me to putter about in the kitchen, taking stock of what she had in her pantry. With potatoes, eggs, cheese, onion, and bacon in plentiful supply, I decided to make a Spanish omelet. When I had the basic ingredients measured, my vegetables cooked, and my eggs beaten, I put the mixture in the fridge and got busy on a salad, steaming a bag of frozen broccoli and tossing it with chopped onion, red pepper and mandarin orange slices. I made a tangy citrus vinaigrette and poured it liberally over the vegetables.
Jojo made her way to the kitchen as I was cleaning the pots and pans. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the thermal carafe on the counter.
“Help yourself,” she encouraged me. “How’s the dinner prep going?”
“I’m done. Everything’s ready to go when Tom gets home,” I replied, grabbing a cup from the cabinet.
“In that case, I’d like you to sit down and search for some medical articles on Pfizer pharmaceuticals. I want you to be able to hold an intelligent conversation, should anyone ask you about your job. Print some of these up, so we can put them in your briefcase.”
“Sure.” I followed her to the sofa, my coffee mug in hand. Kary was sprawled out, napping. “Does it matter what the articles are about?”
“Find something that captures your attention, because if you’re intrigued, you’re more likely to retain and recall the information.”
“That makes sense.”
She handed me a notebook and a pen. “Take notes, so that you have something in your own handwriting to show your area of interest. The laptop is hooked up to the printer in the study. Print the articles you think will help you with your cover.”
It wasn’t hard for me to find articles that captured my attention. Pfizer had recently released studies on a new drug for breast can
cer that was showing real promise. Palbociclib, also known as PD-0332991, was considered a breakthrough therapy drug that offered significant improvement for patients.
As I read article after article, I recognized some advances in treatments for the disease that defeated my mother, and I felt a tug of sadness, wishing that she had survived long enough to take advantage of them.
“Marigold, are you okay?” the FBI support services coordinator asked me forty minutes later. I was in the middle of reading an article about Novartis’s Afinitor, a similar new breast cancer drug that was competing with Palbociclib. “You look upset.”
“What?” Glancing up, I saw a look of concern on her face. “Oh, I’m fine. I was just reading about breast cancer.”
“I know. I saw the articles,” she sighed, handing me a stack of papers. “Tough topic. My sister has it. She’s currently in remission, but it’s been tough for her.”
“My mom died of the disease.”
“It’s hard not to meet someone who hasn’t been touched by the experience, isn’t it?”
“These drugs seem to offer the first real hope of long-term survival,” I told her. I briefed her on what I had learned about the developments from both companies, and what the differences were between the drugs as best I could. When I got done, I was rewarded with a big smile.
“Well done! You picked a topic that has meaning for you and you already have some personal experience with the subject. Just remember, if anyone starts a topic out of your depth, distract, distract, distract. Change the direction of the conversation to the personal cost of breast cancer.”
“That won’t be hard. My mom belonged to a support group and I used to sit in on the conversations when she was too weak to drive herself. I met some wonderful women, some of whom didn’t survive. I’ve got plenty of anecdotes to last a lifetime, unfortunately.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jojo went back to her desk in the other room. I could see her sitting there, chatting on the phone. Every once in a while, she interrupted the conversation and typed something into her computer.
I went back to my professional reading, flipping through articles on the hunt for relative terms. Whenever I found something, I’d jot down a note or two. Kary, curled up by my side, nuzzled my hand, hoping for some attention. I scratched him behind the ear and he settled back down beside me, his little body pressed against my thigh.
Just before six, Kary went on alert. He sat up, listening keenly as a key went into the lock. He cocked his head this way and then that way before he leapt down and trotted to the foyer for a closer look. By the time Tom let himself in, the Shih Tzu’s long tail was wagging in anticipation of seeing his old friend.
“There’s my buddy!” he exclaimed, reaching down to pat the pooch. “How was your day?”
Jojo came limping in from the study in time to observe the exchange. Shaking her head in mock disappointment, she teased Tom.
“Well, I must say, husband of mine, I can’t recall you ever greeting me with such enthusiasm!”
“Alas, I can’t recall you ever meeting me at the door with your tail wagging.”
“Touché!” She picked up Kary’s harness and leash, holding it out to him. “Will you be a kind gent and do the honors?”
“Only if I get a proper kiss first,” he insisted. Ignoring the dog scratching at his leg for a moment, he pressed his lips to hers. “Now that’s more like it!”
I got busy on the Spanish omelet while Jojo set the table. She uncorked a bottle of Spanish Godello and poured each of us a glass of the white wine.
“Tom and I usually have a glass before dinner. It’s a tradition we started when we got married.”
“When was that?” I inquired.
“Two years ago.”
“You’ve only been married two years? I’m surprised, Jojo.”
“Ah, that’s understandable. When you get to be my age....”
“No, it’s not that,” I responded quickly. “I just thought that you two have that easy-going kind of relationship that makes you seem like you’ve been together for a long, long time. You finish each other’s sentences and you....”
“We worked together a long time, so we knew each other very well as friends. After Tom’s wife died five years ago, we just sort of fell into the habit of hanging out together.”
“And one thing led to another?”
“Not so much,” she shook her head. “The man was absolutely as thick as a brick. I watched him go through one woman after another, unsatisfied. He did nothing but complain about how they just didn’t appreciate him for who he was.”
“What changed, Jojo? He suddenly realized he had a good thing going with you?”
“Heavens, no. I started dating another man, one who was going through a divorce. Tom insisted I was wasting my time. He told me the first woman a man takes up with after a divorce never lands him, but I thought he was full of donkey juice. Sure enough, my hot-and-heavy affair went wonky a couple of weeks later, and while I was busy crying on his shoulder, he tried to cheer me up by telling me what a wonderful woman I was and how any man would be lucky to have me. He was so successful at selling the idea of that, he talked himself into falling for me. We’ve been together ever since.”
“What a sweet story,” I sighed.
“Sometimes the stars align and people suddenly see what’s been in front of them all along. Me? I was too much of a romantic dreamer, in love with the idea of love. But with Tom, I had a friend who loved me for me, so I felt safe falling for him. I knew he had my best interests at heart and he wasn’t a stranger. And, to tell you the truth, Marigold, when that spark ignited, it was better than anything I’d ever known before. My advice to you, my dear, is hold out for the real thing.”
“Mmm....” I muttered as I stirred the broccoli salad.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re a believer.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that I’ve been...um, my life is rather complicated by circumstances beyond my control. Every time I think I might just find love, something terrible happens and it all just seems to vanish in front of my eyes.”
Jojo gave me a sympathetic glance as a slight smile played across her lips. “So, it’s like that, is it? It’s not easy to live a double life, is it? The person you were born to be doesn’t get to be the person whose life you’re living.”
“I always seem to be entangled in someone else’s troubles,” I groaned. “I’m afraid I’m doomed to be forever on the outside, looking in, like some poor little match girl.”
“You can’t think of yourself that way, Marigold. If you do, you’ll never give yourself a chance to actually find love, because you’ll believe it’s out of reach.”
“But....”
“Don’t make excuses and don’t second-guess yourself. Real love doesn’t settle for second best. It finds a way, even if that way isn’t always what we expect. There’s much to be said for knowing that you’re not alone, that you’re loved.”
A big lump formed in my throat. I swallowed hard, hoping to keep the pain down, knowing that I couldn’t tell Jojo my story. That didn’t stop me from wanting to share it, and that inability to tell her about my lonely life made me lonelier still.
“Marigold?”
“Yes?” I tried to avoid eye contact, but Jojo wasn’t having any of that.
“If you’re trying to avoid love, in order to avoid pain, maybe you’ve never really been loved, because I promise you, there’s nothing like it in the world.”
“It’s not that. I...I lost someone I loved.”
“Oh.” She put an arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Forget what I said. I’m an idiot.”
“Oddly enough, there’s a part of me that wants you to be right. Even though I can’t see how it can possibly happen for me, I’d love to find someone with whom to share my life.”
“That’s a good sign, love.”
“Is it?”
“Indeed.”
When Tom returned with th
e little dog, we sat down to dinner. He and Jojo kept me amused with tales of their FBI adventures over almost three decades. Even though it seemed like their goal was to boost my confidence and convince me that everything would be fine, I finally admitted to them I was apprehensive about the scheduled flight to Atlanta.
“Not to worry, Marigold. You’ll be in good hands tomorrow. Jeff’s a great guy.” Tom poured me another glass of wine. “He may not be in law enforcement the way his brothers are, but he’ll look after you just fine.”
“Brothers?”
“Sure,” Jojo replied. “Did we forget to tell you that Jeff is Jack and Linc’s brother?”
“Yes, you did,” I nodded. Was that relief I was feeling? How many Cornwall boys are there? It’s like they have their own private WitSec network. “Jefferson...Lincoln...Jackson....They were all named after American presidents?”
“Indeed. Papa’s a history professor,” the retired FBI agent replied, “and a presidential scholar. He was hoping his boys would follow in his footsteps, but that just wasn’t to be.”
“Oh,” I laughed. “That figures. But why do I think I know the name Jefferson Cornwall?”
“He’s the best-selling author of several thrillers. On the Job, Dangerous Deception....” Jojo began to list the titles. That’s when it hit me.
“He wrote Pull Up the Covers,” I exclaimed. “I read it last year, the one about a husband-and-wife team of undercover cops who have to convince the bad guys they’re who they say they are, even though they’re lying through their teeth.”
“That’s his biggest seller. It went all the way to number two on the New York Times best seller list, and number three on USA Today,” she gushed with the enthusiasm of a teenage groupie. Tom rolled his eyes towards the heavens, shaking his head as his wife gave him an impish grin. “Jeff is in Atlanta as creator and producer for the new series that’s being developed for the Fox network based on Pull Up the Covers.”
“Really? That sounds exciting.”
“He interviewed me three times, just so he could get the details right about undercover work. And he hired Tom to be their technical adviser when they finally start to film.”
Reluctant Witness Page 11
