“Not only are you an idiot, Annie, you’re a fool. Nothing this little group has done has been easy. Each mission has its own set of problems and this one will be no different. Remember, I’m the one who said it. Now, I’m going back to the monastery to take a nap.”
“Only old people with…with gray pubic hair take naps,” Annie shot back. “Go ahead, be an old poop, see if I care. I want my fifteen minutes of fame, even if it’s anonymously.”
Myra jittered and twitched all the way back to the monastery.
Chapter 10
Maggie headed for the nearest deli where she plopped down on a spindly chair at a high bar table. She placed her order and then opened up her laptop. She had one email from Tyler Hughes offering her his cell phone number with the words “Call me.” Maggie closed her laptop, and plucked her cell phone out of her pocket. She identified herself and waited to see what kind of response Hughes would give her. She was more than surprised when he said, “I can meet you in fifteen minutes at the coffee shop in my building but I have to warn you, I don’t have much time. Is that doable, Miss Spritzer?”
He sounded macho, arrogant and full of himself. Maggie said, “Yes, it’s doable, Mr. Hughes. I’ll see you in a bit.” She slapped some bills on the table but not before she grabbed her toasted bagel and stuffed it in her pocket. If she ran all the way, she could just make the meeting. A taxi would take three times as long with all the traffic lights. Well, she was a runner, wasn’t she?
Thirteen minutes later, at a dead run she sailed through the revolving door of the think tank and almost landed on her face. She got her wits together, tried to smooth down her wild bush of hair while she struggled to even out her breathing. A multitask person she wasn’t. She was breathing like a long-distance runner when she introduced herself to Tyler Hughes, who looked so good she wanted to lather him with jelly and scarf him down. Talk about eye candy! She enjoyed watching him flinch when she stuck out her hand to offer up a bone-crunching handshake. She did love a good handshake.
“Coffee?” he asked as he held her chair in the small coffee shop. “They serve Kona coffee here. The owners fly in the coffee from Hawaii twice a week. Beats Starbucks any day of the week.”
Well, that was more than she needed to know. Maggie looked around. It was a nice little shop, decorated with good taste. She wondered if she would have the guts to pull out her bagel and chomp down. No, she decided, not with this dude. She wondered if he had his very own silver spoon in his pocket to stir his coffee. In the end it didn’t matter, he drank it black.
“I don’t want to rush you, Miss Spritzer, but I don’t have much time. Tell me what this is all about and how I can help you.”
“Well, I’ve been assigned to do a human-interest story on Justice Barnes. I know she’s your ex–mother-in-law but I do want to be fair when I write my story. Just anything you can tell me about your relationship. What kind of mother-in-law was she?”
“Distant. With my hours, her hours, we didn’t see all that much of one another except for family functions. She was always polite and courteous to me. There were times when I felt I didn’t measure up, but that could have been my own insecurities. I wasn’t born a blue blood.”
Maggie scribbled furiously for effect. Her recorder was whirring softly in the pocket of her jacket. No reason to spook him this early on. “Was she a good grandmother?”
“If spoiling my daughter Mandy constitutes being a good grandmother, then the answer is yes.”
“Did you like her?”
“That’s a very loaded question, Miss Spritzer. I always respected her abilities. Were we ever warm and fuzzy? The answer is no.”
“Did she like you?”
“I don’t think so. She thought I wasn’t good enough for her daughter. That can play hell with a man’s ego, you know. My wife had to juggle us. I didn’t like that and Pearl didn’t like it, either. Beka was caught in the middle. In the end the strain was simply too much and the marriage crumbled. I’ve moved on and so has Beka. I really don’t follow Pearl’s life these days.”
Maggie continued to scribble. She stopped and looked up at the handsome man sitting across from her. She wondered how he was in bed. Would he be afraid to muss his carefully blow-dried hair? Was he the missionary type? She didn’t know how she knew, but she suspected he was the type that would make an appointment with his wife to have sex and then choreograph the event right down to the cigarette afterward, when he would ask, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
“Were you ever involved in Justice Barnes’s charitable activities? Not much is written about what she does in her private life. Can you shed any light on what she does outside of her professional life? I know you’re removed from the family situation, but rumors spread like wildfire in this town.”
Maggie could see the alarm in Hughes’s eyes. She plunged ahead. “There are rumors circulating,” she said vaguely. She watched the alarm spread across his face. His handsome features seemed to pull inward.
“I’m afraid I can’t, Miss Spritzer,” he said. “Rumors in this town are 99 percent fiction and 1 percent innuendo.”
Maggie leaned across the small table. “Does that mean you have or you haven’t heard any rumors?”
“I’ve had no contact with Pearl. I really don’t have contact with my ex-wife, either. On my visitation days the housekeeper meets me at the door with my daughter and opens the door for Mandy when I take her back. Other than that I have no knowledge of what goes on in that family. It works for all of us.”
His voice had turned cool and his fingers were tapping on the table, a sign he was not liking the interview. Maggie had to wonder why he’d agreed to do it in the first place.
Maggie stopped writing long enough to look at him thoughtfully. She decided to go for the jugular. “How much truth is there to the rumor that Justice Barnes paid you in the high seven figures to get out of her daughter’s life?”
“I thought you said you wanted to talk about Pearl. I’ve tried to answer your questions in a gentlemanly way. I have no ax to grind where Pearl is concerned. My divorce has nothing to do with her. I’m going to call your paper and lodge a complaint. I think this interview is over.”
Maggie sighed. “If that’s your final word, I guess I can quote you on it or say you refused to discuss the payoff to get you out of her daughter’s life. You know that old saying, the paper trail or always follow the money. That’s the way it went down, isn’t it? And there are those out there who are saying you do have an ax to grind. Those same rumors are that you gambled the money away and are in dire straits. Do you care to comment on that even though it’s a rumor?” Maggie was stretching the truth a tad.
Tyler Hughes wasn’t so smoking hot now. Maggie thought he looked meaner than a snake at the moment when he flipped her the bird. The Devil goaded her on. “Be sure to spell my name right. It is S-p-r-i-t-z-e-r.” She yanked the dried-out bagel from her pocket and bit into it. She sipped at the dark black coffee and grimaced. He was wrong. Starbucks was so much better.
As Maggie made her way on foot back to the Post, she tried to figure out what, if anything, she’d gotten out of the short interview with Tyler Hughes other than to piss him off. From a journalistic point of view she was back at square one.
Maggie was relieved forty minutes later when she entered the newsroom to see Ted’s empty chair. The first thing she did was call Jack Emery to tell him about the interview. She was prepared for his response.
“So you got squat. Now what?”
“You tell me. You seem to be the outside brains of this outfit. Tell me what you want me to do. By the way, when do I get my magic phone back?”
“Take it up with Charles. Justice Barnes has fallen off the grid. Vanished. You have any clues on that? I’ll take a half-baked idea if you have one.”
The reporter in Maggie kicked in. “How do you know that? Give me something with some meat to it and I’ll run with it.”
“It seems Justice Barnes’s sig
nificant other went to the FBI on the QT to see his brother-in-law, Elias Cummings, and told him to check it out quietly. That’s all we have on it. You can call Cummings and ask for a comment before you print it. I can’t do it, Maggie. You have the credentials to pull it off.”
“Okay, I’m on it. What do you think happened? Was she snatched or did she disappear on her own?”
“She’s too smart to get snatched. I think she left on her own but with Nellie’s help. You have the credentials to check that out also. Why are you still on the phone with me, Maggie? It goes without saying you did not get this information from me. Time is of the essence.”
“Eat shit, Jack,” Maggie said, breaking the connection. She was getting sick and tired of Jack Emery. She knew he didn’t trust her and she wasn’t turning herself inside out again to try and convince him she was on his side. Today she hated men. All men.
Big decision: go to the FBI or call? Eyeball to eyeball was the way to go. You could see when someone was trying to snow you, even a director of the FBI. She was up and off her chair a moment later. Now she had a mission.
This time Maggie took a cab to the Hoover Building. God, how she hated this place. The memory of being grilled by the former director was still a sore point with her.
Maggie adjusted her backpack, tipped the cab driver and entered the Hoover Building. She spent another fifteen minutes with security, emptying her backpack and getting lots of reaction to the G-String Girls’ publicity folder. Finally she was on the fourth floor talking to Cummings’s secretary, an old bat who wore drugstore ’50s Evening in Paris perfume and orthopedic shoes.
“You don’t have an appointment, Miss Spritzer. Director Cummings does not see anyone without an appointment. Do you want me to make one for you?” She pursed her lips as if she’d just finished sucking on a lemon and waited for Maggie’s response.
“No. I need to see him right now. It’s an emergency. I thought he worked for the little people and wanted to hear from them. I distinctly heard him say that on a television interview. Well, I’m one of the little people, so chop-chop here. Tell the big man the Post waits for no man. If he doesn’t want to talk to me I’ll just talk to the little people and put my own spin on it. What’s it going to be?”
“Just a minute.” Maggie waited while the woman opened the door directly behind her. She was back within seconds. “The director can give you five minutes. Be quick.”
Maggie grimaced as she hopped to it. Director Elias Cummings looked like a nice grandfatherly man—gray hair, wire-rim glasses, shrewd gray eyes. Neatly dressed, spit shine on his shoes. He was holding out his hand. Maggie did her thing and smiled when he openly flinched.
“I’ll get right to the point, Mr. Director. Your secretary said she would only give me five minutes.”
The director grinned. “She thinks she’s my personal dragon slayer. She says that to everyone. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell everyone who comes into this office. You have as much time as you need. Now, what can I do for you?”
“You can tell me what happened to Justice Pearl Barnes. I hear she’s disappeared and Grant Conlon came here to discreetly ask for your help. True or false? I know Conlon is your brother-in-law so it’s understandable he would come to you.”
Cummings’s expression stayed exactly the same. He was good, Maggie had to give him that. Instead of answering the question, he asked one. “You know this how?”
“Sources. I don’t have to tell you a reporter never divulges his snitches. It’s been verified. I believe what Conlon said was, ‘Pearl fell off the grid.’ Do you care to comment?”
“No, Miss Spritzer, I don’t care to comment.”
“I can work with that, you know, put my own spin on it.”
Cummings turned and walked back to his desk. He motioned for her to take a seat. Maggie sat and crossed her legs. She waited.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Why? Are you saying it isn’t true? Surely it’s not a threat. Can I quote you on that?”
Cummings waved his arm around. “This office is swept twice a day for bugs. There are no moles, so to speak, on my staff. That leads me to think you’re fishing for information and we both know I can’t help you.”
“Then how is it I know what I know and so do two other sources? We can, of course, camp out around Justice Barnes’s home and stake her out. Come on, Director Cummings, give me a break here. I know she’s missing. What I want to know is if it’s by choice or was Justice Barnes kidnapped?”
This time the director’s expression did change with the use of the word “kidnapped.” Let’s see how you weasel out of this, Mr. Director. While she waited for him to respond, Maggie looked around. Nice digs. Quality paneling, Berber carpeting, Naugahyde chairs that were actually comfortable, a few lush plants, PR pictures with various presidents on the walls. A TV and DVD player along with a monstrous assortment of legal-looking books took up an entire wall. A nice enough place to spend eight to ten hours a day when you’re trying to protect the good guys from the bad guys.
When there was no response, Maggie said, “I interviewed Justice Barnes’s ex–son-in-law a short while ago. He met me in a small café in the lobby of the think tank where he works. He’s not too fond of Justice Barnes. At least that’s what I got out of it.”
“That young man is a twit. He doesn’t have a clue what it means to be a husband and a father.”
Maggie chewed on her lower lip. Well, if that’s all she was going to get she might as well go back to the paper. She’d planted the seed Jack asked her to plant. If and when it would sprout would be anyone’s guess. She stood up. “I think my five minutes are up. Thank you for talking with me, Director Cummings. I’ll be sure to spell out your no comments properly.”
The director got up, buttoned his jacket and walked Maggie to the door. In a low voice that was barely above a whisper, he said, “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Miss Spritzer. I’ll be speaking to your editor shortly.”
“I’m sure you will, Mr. Director.”
Maggie waved to the secretary and was gone a moment later. Downstairs in the lobby she called Jack Emery and reported the facts of her interview. “Is this what they call ‘plausible deniability,’ Jack?”
Jack said something she couldn’t quite hear before the connection was broken.
Maggie walked to the curb to flag down a cab. While she waited, she looked to her left to see Ted Robinson staring at her. For the first time in a very long time, she felt her blood run cold.
Chapter 11
Charles stood by the cable car, his eyes moist. If he wasn’t careful a tear was going to roll down his cheek. He brushed at the corner of his eye. His voice was gruff, unlike his normal upbeat British tone. “Ready, ladies?”
The women nodded as they looked around at what they were leaving, this beautiful mountain that was their sanctuary. Fortunately it was a bright sunny day and everything looked golden and lush. When the sun shone things didn’t look so grim.
“Everything has been taken care of. I’ll be waiting for all of you at Big Pine Mountain when your mission is completed. I’ll be leaving here the moment I welcome the new occupants to our mountain. We’ll be in touch hourly. I wish you all luck. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them.” Charles waited and when no one spoke, he smiled.
Alexis whirled around, panic in her eyes. “Where’s my Red Bag?”
“I sent all your gear down earlier. The padre has it and it’s on the way to the plane as we speak.” Charles pressed the button that opened the gate to the cable car. The girls filed in, Myra the last to enter. Her hands fingered the pearls at her neck. She made no move to swipe at the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Charles leaned forward to kiss Myra’s cheek. “Stiff upper lip, old girl.”
Myra did her best to smile but failed miserably. All she could do was nod before she stepped into the cable car.
Annie wrapped her arm around Myra’s shoulders. “This
is just a place, Myra. It worked for us when we needed it the most. Home from here on in will be wherever we all are. One mountain is pretty much the same as every other mountain, in my opinion. Charles did say Big Pine Mountain will put our little habitat here to shame so that has to be a good thing. We’ll be home, dear, in the good old U.S. of A.”
The others crowded around Myra, who until now had always been their rock. That she was crumbling was hard to take.
“Everyone is allowed a few moments of…of…self-pity. I don’t want any of you worrying about me. I’m fine now and I won’t let you down. I’m actually looking forward to…to…decking myself out in…in costume.”
Kathryn pummeled Myra on the back. “Atta girl, Myra. You have to think of this as just another road trip. Remember how antsy you were when you rode shotgun for me on that road trip in my eighteen-wheeler? In the end you had the time of your life. This will be no different. Trust me.”
And then they were all talking at once. Excitement took over when the cable car came to a smooth stop. A small group of dark-skinned men, along with the padre, waited to greet them. Annie called each by name, asked after their families and then led the procession to an old white bus that would take them to the airport.
“Go with the angels, my children,” the padre said, blessing each of them.
Nikki looked dubiously at the ancient bus. Annie leaned over and whispered, “It’s the engine that counts, dear. And the tires. Look a little more closely and you’ll see what I mean. There’s brand-new horsepower under that hood. The tires are the best money can buy. And there are seat belts inside. Charles took care of all that. We elected to leave the chassis just the way it is for…for security reasons.”
Nikki grinned. “Now, why didn’t I figure that out? Good old Charles.”
“Yes, good old Charles. What would we do without him? Get on board, dear. It’s going to start to rain any minute now.”
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