“Couldn’t be better. What can I do for you on this bright summer day?”
“I’m having a bit of a problem at the moment. The same problem we spoke about a few days ago when my partner and I briefed you. I am right now, this minute, in the conference room of In the Know talking to Mr. Joel Goodwin, who has been really helpful. He has been very cooperative, so please remember that. I’d like to keep it that way. There is a gentleman in his office named Lincoln Moss, who is threatening the very cooperative Mr. Goodwin. He is promising a full-blown tax audit, closing down the paper, ruining his wife’s reputation, and having his kids thrown out of their respective schools. I’d like you to personally assure Mr. Goodwin that none of that will happen, so he will continue to cooperate with us. Can you do that, Mr. Director?”
“Of course. Mr. Goodwin, can you hear me?” Not waiting for a response, Sparrow kept speaking. “I want to assure you that you have the full weight of the Bureau behind you. Just do what our agent tells you, and you are golden. Thanks for the heads-up, Agent.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Director,” Kathryn said as she ended the call.
Kathryn reached for the coffee cup that had suddenly materialized. She drank it in two long swallows. “You happy now, Mr. Goodwin?” He nodded. The color was coming back to his cheeks.
Pam Warren poked her head in the door, and said, “Mr. Moss said to . . . ah . . . tell you if you aren’t in your office in two seconds, he will make a call to the IRS. He also called you a . . . pipsqueak.”
Goodwin took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Tell Mr. Moss the pipsqueak said to sit on a pointy stick and twirl around. I’ll get there when I get there, or he can leave anytime he wants since he didn’t have an appointment in the first place. Tell him to make his call if that will make his day. Make sure you give him the message verbatim.”
Pam Warren looked like she would rather go two rounds with a two-headed cobra than tell that to Lincoln Moss. She swallowed hard and left to deliver Goodwin’s message.
“Okay, Mr. Goodwin, we’re on the same page here. Just so you know, Mr. Moss will follow through because he is a bully. So I’m going to call Director Sparrow again when I get out to my car and have him alert Mr. Sangelli at the IRS. Now what do you have for me?”
“Jane Petrie’s cell-phone number and the pensione where she’s staying in France.”
“Good! Good! I do love your spirit of cooperation. I think we’re done here. I’ll be in touch. Just don’t take any sudden trips, Mr. Goodwin. If you do, we will find you. Don’t let that ego-driven bastard in your office scare or intimidate you. He puts his pants on the same way you do.” In spite of himself, Goodwin laughed out loud. “Now, is there a way to get out of here without Moss’s seeing me?”
Goodwin pointed to the door at the end of the room. “It will put you in a side hall, take the steps to the end of the hall, and you’ll come out at the parking lot. Is that where you’re parked?”
“No, I’m parked across the street in the Taco Bell lot.”
Goodwin thought that was funny, too. He laughed again. “I get it, that’s where your stakeout is. Smart.”
Goodwin waited a full five minutes after Kathryn left before he felt ready to return to his office. He sucked in his stomach, straightened up, and marched down the hall to his private office. Now that he had the FBI watching his back, he felt like he was King of the Walk. He blasted into his office like he owned it, which he did. “Are we done here, Mr. Moss, or do you plan to threaten me some more?”
Moss narrowed his eyes. Something had happened while the man was out of the room. He hated it when he didn’t have all the facts at his fingertips. And this guy was suddenly too cocky. Before he’d left the room, he’d been in a world of stress.
“We’re done. For now.” The implied threat that there was more to come was there. He turned on his heel and left the office, his fingers hitting the number three on his speed dial, the Director of the IRS, Aaron Sangelli.
“Aaron, Lincoln Moss here. How’s it going?”
“This is the IRS, Lincoln, how do you think it’s going? What can I do for you on this humid hot day in the middle of summer?”
Was it his imagination, or did Sangelli’s voice have an edge to it? He got right to the point. “I’d like you to schedule a full-blown audit for one Joel Goodwin. He owns that political tabloid called In the Know. And the tabloid, too. ASAP. I’d like you to send out the notice to both Goodwin and the paper no later than tomorrow. I’ll owe you one for this, Aaron.” The silence on the other end of the phone brought Moss to full attention. He felt a distinctive flutter in his stomach.
“Sorry, Lincoln, no can do. I just got a personal call from the Director of the FBI, and he said there will be no audit of Mr. Goodwin or his paper. He also was kind enough to alert me to the fact that you, as in you, Lincoln Moss, do not tell the IRS what to do, when to do it, or how to do it. He mentioned you by name, Lincoln, and I’ve been around this town long enough to know the man was loaded for bear. So, do you want to rethink that request? Look, if it’s that important to you, you have the ear of POTUS. If you want its getting out to the media, that is. Think carefully, Lincoln. And this conversation never happened.”
“What the hell! When did the Director call you?”
“About six minutes before you did. Listen, Lincoln, I’m late for a meeting. Let’s get together next week for a round of golf. This is not the best place to be discussing any of this.”
“Yeah, sure.” Moss broke the connection and stood still. Who the hell was it in the conference room back at the paper that had the kind of juice to call off the IRS? Who?
Kathryn literally flew into the kitchen at Pinewood, forty minutes late. Lady and the pups greeted her with enthusiasm. She stopped for a few moments to tussle with the dogs before she headed for the war room, where she whooped her pleasure as she waved the slip of paper with Jane Petrie’s information.
“Nice going, Kathryn!” Jack said. “There’s a lot to be said for being at the right place at the right time. C’mon, tell us everything.”
Kathryn was like a runaway train as she recounted word for word what went down at In the Know. “Do you believe that guy? And do you believe all those threats?”
“He is the President’s best friend as well as his cousin from sandbox days. He’s run roughshod over a lot of important people in this town. It’s time he got his comeuppance,” Annie said.
“And we’re just the people who can do it,” Isabelle said, clapping her hands.
“I need two people to go to Paris! Who wants the gig?” Annie asked. Every hand in the room shot upward. “Oh! Well, I guess we’re going to have to draw straws. Who speaks French well enough to get by?” Every hand but Jack’s went down.
“Okay, Jack, you’re it! Pick a partner. I’ll call to get the plane ready. You leave now. Time is of the essence. Myra, call Mr. Sparrow to alert the authorities in Paris and have them pick up Miss Petrie and keep her safe till Jack gets there. On your return, bring the young lady here. You’re still sitting here, Jack. Move!”
“C’mon, Harry, let’s go. See ya, honey,” Jack said, as he blew a kiss in Nikki’s direction. Harry did the same thing to Yoko, who giggled at the look on his face. Everyone in the room knew that Harry was petrified about flying and fretted for days when he and Yoko were scheduled to fly to China.
“What’s next on our agenda?” Myra queried.
“Well, I did my bit,” Kathryn said.
“I’d like to go to the Home Builders Depot to stake out Jason Woods. Follow him and possibly even confront him. I think I can get him to talk,” Dennis said.
“Don’t anyone look at me,” Abner said. “I’m so deep into Lincoln Moss’s business, I can’t do anything else.”
“Listen, Ted and I, along with Espinosa have to get back to the paper. We have a campaign going, and we need to give it some final tweaks. Our Man of the Year contest will hit the paper first thing in the morning. We’re going to be fudging
a lot of it, so I’m warning you all ahead of time,” Maggie said.
“That’s fine, dear. Just make it work,” Annie said, knowing her comment was not needed. Maggie and Ted always made sure things worked. Always.
“I’m outta here,” Kathryn said. “I have three hours of therapy. If you need me, call my cell.” The others nodded.
“Well, I feel like chopped liver all of a sudden,” Nikki grumbled. “What do you want Alexis, Yoko, and me to do?”
“Let’s go topside and make some lunch,” Myra said. She looked up at the dais, where Charles and Fergus were conversing in low tones. She shrugged.
“I’m not liking this one little bit,” Nikki continued to grumble, as they made their way up the steps to the main part of the house. “We’re always in the thick of things. How did this happen?” she demanded.
The others looked as confused as Nikki.
“I don’t know, dear,” Myra said. “Once we sit outside on the terrace in the sun, I am sure we’ll come up with something. I do agree that everyone has something to do but us.”
“Well, I’m all for stirring up some trouble,” Annie snapped. “Put your thinking caps on, girls! Go along outside, and Myra and I will bring lunch out. Tuna melts with fresh strawberries in sugar. The sweet apple tea is in the fridge. You girls can take it and the glasses, along with the ice bucket. We won’t be but a few minutes. Scoot now.”
Nikki lowered the retractable awning Myra had installed in the early spring. It covered the entire terrace and helped keep the potted plants from wilting. Normally, Myra or Charles lowered it early in the morning and had their coffee out here while the dogs romped through the yard. They must have been busy this morning, she thought.
“Ah, that’s better,” Alexis said.
“So, here we are. With nothing to do. I’m all charged up, and I’m standing, or in this case sitting, still. There must be something we can dig into,” Nikki continued to complain.
Alexis reached down into her oversize bag and pulled out the before and after pictures of Amalie Laurent Moss. “I’ve heard the fashion world describe Amalie as looking like a Botticelli angel. Personally, I wouldn’t go that far, but she certainly is beautiful, there’s no getting around that. The after picture is still beautiful, but something’s gone from her face. I can’t pinpoint it exactly. If I saw the new Amalie on the street, I am quite sure I wouldn’t recognize her as Amalie. To me that means she’s safe. But to her husband, now that’s a whole other ball game. What do you all think?”
“I agree,” Nikki said. Isabelle nodded.
“What are you all agreeing to?” Myra asked as she set a platter of sandwiches on the glass-topped table. Alexis explained. Myra nodded in agreement, as did Annie.
“What does all that mean? To us,” Alexis asked as she reached for a sandwich. She popped a cherry tomato from a side dish and chomped down.
“Not a darn thing,” Nikki said.
“Maybe we should be concentrating on Lincoln Moss. If Kathryn is right, and we have no reason to think she’s not, then Moss has his jockeys in a knot about now. I’m up for taking him on. I hate those high-powered Washington insiders who think they can get away with anything. Oooh, I can’t wait to end this guy’s career,” Nikki said as she bit down into her crisp sandwich.
As an afterthought, she asked, “Do you all think it’s true that he has a black book? Kind of the way J. Edgar Hoover kept all those files on everyone? I think he does. I think he has something on every single person in Knight’s administration. Why else is he so powerful? Why is everyone so afraid of him? It sure explains how he practically lives at the White House, calling the shots.” The others said they agreed.
“I might be able to help with that,” Annie said suddenly, excitement ringing in her voice.
“Oooh, are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking, Annie? Of course you are, I can read you like an open book, and it’s not a black book either.” Myra laughed.
Myra turned to the girls. “I’ll show you!” She ran into the house and returned with a cream-colored envelope. “This is an invitation I received three weeks ago to a gala at the Four Seasons this weekend. All you need to get in is this invitation, which you present at the door. Annie has one, too. I’m sure with very little effort Charles can come up with some extra, and we can all go. Tell me, is that brilliant or what?”
“What’s it for, and how do you know Lincoln Moss will be there?” Isabelle asked.
“It’s for children with disabilities, a pet project of the First Lady. I saw the guest list in the paper this morning, and Lincoln Moss’s name was on it. Annie agreed to buy a table for ten. I’m not sure if the committee will send six additional invitations or exactly how that will work, so we’ll have Charles work some magic just to be on the safe side.”
“Oh, Myra, that’s a great idea,” Nikki said, as she bit into a crunchy celery stick. “We can pepper him with questions about his wife and watch him lie. I bet you five dollars he’s going to want his picture taken with the Countess de Silva!”
“And of course, the countess will demur and make him work for the picture. I think it’s doable. It pays to brainstorm. Now, doesn’t it?” Myra laughed.
“Will you wear your tiara, Annie?” Isabelle asked. “And your cowgirl boots?”
“We can vote on my attire later, dear. Now, let’s work out a plan.”
Chapter 8
Nikki and Kathryn arrived at Pinewood at almost the same moment, Nikki riding a motor scooter across the field and Kathryn in her MINI Cooper with the top down. They looked at each other and at the exact same moment said the exact same words, “We missed something.”
“I was up all night, couldn’t sleep, and believe it or not, it wasn’t my leg bothering me. We missed something, Nikki. Sure as shooting we did.”
“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep either, and it had nothing to do with Jack’s being gone. It wasn’t Goodwin, I think he leveled with us yesterday. That only leaves . . .”
“Pam Warren!” Kathryn snarled. “Five bucks says that skunk Lincoln Moss got to her. We need to go there right now. Hop in, girl!”
Myra and Annie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Where are you two going? You just got here!”
“I screwed up!” Kathryn shouted. “We’re on our way to fix it! We’ll be back as soon as we can get here!” In the blink of an eye, she had the MINI whipped around and was blasting out of the gate, tires smoking on the little compact car.
“What do you think that was all about?” Annie asked.
“Kathryn screwed up,” Myra said, shrugging her shoulders. “The only place she went yesterday was to the tabloid paper. At least as far as I know. They said they got what they went after, so I don’t have a clue what Kathryn was talking about or what she meant about screwing up. If they’re going back there, then it’s obvious something has happened there since yesterday and that Kathryn is involved. We’ll just have to be patient and wait till they get back for the details.”
“I just hate being on hold,” Annie grumbled. “What are we going to do now, Myra? Everyone is out doing something, and here we sit.”
“I thought we were picking out our outfits for the gala this weekend. You’re the one who said we needed to knock everyone’s socks off with our outfits. So, since time is of the essence, we had best get back to work.”
“That is so humdrum. We need to be where the action is. Think, Myra, what can we do?”
“By do, do you mean like visit Nellie and Elias or possibly pestering Pearl? Define the word do, Annie.”
“That’s the problem, Myra. I don’t know. All the bases seem to be covered at the moment. We are at this point in time at ground zero and empty-handed. Unless you have some ideas.”
“Let’s have some coffee. We think better with coffee. Charles can pick our outfits. For some reason, he has good fashion sense, and no, Annie, I have never figured out the why of that.”
While Myra prepared the coffee, Annie paced the confines of the
kitchen. “I think we should concentrate on Lincoln Moss. Who do we know who knows him? Think, Myra. I’m sure I must know someone. Do you think Charles knows anyone? Or better yet, do we know anyone who knows . . . or knew his wife?”
“Off the top of my head, the answer is no. But let’s run it up the flagpole and see if either one of us can salute it. There has to be someone. How much have you read up on Moss, Annie?”
“Pretty much everything. Self-made. Private person. Loves politics. Best buds with the President. POTUS, according to the political gossip, doesn’t make a decision until he clears it with Moss. Moss sits in on top-secret meetings. So that has to mean he’s got clearance. He’s a dollar-a-year man. Which brings up the question of why the President didn’t give him some high-ranking political job or, at the very least, a title. He attends all the White House functions, usually alone. I think I read somewhere that his wife only attended four functions. Because, according to Lincoln Moss, she has a career, and he wouldn’t dream of interfering with her career, which keeps her in France a good many months out of the year. Oh, one other thing, he’s into physical fitness. Works out, runs the Tidal Basin. Lifts weights, all that macho stuff. As the young people say today, he is buffed and ripped. I would assume that for a man in his fifties, that is about as high as you can go, compliment-wise.
“And yet he manhandled that beautiful wife of his. To the point where she had to get away from him. She gave up her career in the process. So it had to be pretty bad. That’s my opinion,” Annie said. “It isn’t making any sense, Myra.”
Myra poured coffee. “I agree. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong, Annie. The man has to have servants. Do they live on the premises? I think Abner said they do, and he has a lot of them. Maybe we could get to the cook or the housekeeper. They have to go to the market because the man has to eat. We could stake out the house and do a snatch and grab. Or if that isn’t feasible, we could try to bribe them. You know money talks and poop walks as they say.”
“That’s a possibility. I’m sure Moss has private security. Not Secret Service. Security he pays out of pocket. So that lets that out of the equation. I say we call Avery Snowden and ask him to arrange a stakeout unless you want the two of us to sit in the bushes and wait for the housekeeper to go to the market. Ah, I see by your expression that’s a no. Okay then, I’ll call Avery and arrange it. He can then follow her and call us, at which point, we’ll take over. You okay with that, Myra?”
In Plain Sight Page 8
