In Plain Sight

by Fern Michaels

  “We understand. We know how busy a man like Mr. Moss is,” Ted said, tongue-in-cheek.

  “The guy got the drop on us. We must be slipping,” Espinosa groused. “I got some good pictures of him, and he didn’t even know what I was doing.”

  “He did not get the drop on us,” Maggie seethed. “What he did was sneak up on us in that golf cart he was driving. Golf carts do not make noise. So far, so good. If Moss doesn’t come down here, then I say we run the picture of the guard with whatever caption we can come up with.” She looked down at her phone. Still no returning text from Lincoln Moss.

  They waited, the minutes ticking by.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ted said, “This sucks. I say we leave. The guy obviously is not coming. Why give him the satisfaction of sitting here cooling our heels? Let’s take a vote.”

  It was three to one to leave. Maggie wanted to stay.

  “Let’s give him five more minutes,” Maggie said.

  Exactly five minutes later, Ted said, “Okay, we’re outta here.” He was backing up the van when the monster iron gates opened slowly to allow the golf cart carrying Lincoln Moss, with Paul Prentice doing the driving, to emerge.

  Everyone hopped out of the van and stood silently, watching to see if Moss would get out of the golf cart to shake hands. He did not. What he said was, “Make it quick, folks, I’m right in the middle of mixing some cement for some planters I’m building.”

  Maggie was appalled at Moss’s attire. He looked like the hired help next to Paul Prentice. He wore ragged, cutoff shorts, a dirty, sweat-stained T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Just one of the guys. He looked sopping wet from his own sweat. He was also as deeply tanned as Prentice was.

  “It looks like you have the lead this year in our Man of the Year contest. How do you feel about that, sir?” Maggie asked.

  “Humbled. Appreciative. I’m sure there are others out there more worthy of the honor than I am.”

  Maggie mulled over the response and knew it was a crock. She forced a smile, and said, “That is so generous of you. All of the nominees are top-notch. In other words, you are in excellent company. Do you object to a few pictures?”

  Moss showed genuine surprise at the question. For a moment, he looked confused but recovered quickly. “Well, if you don’t mind the way I’m dressed, then I guess I don’t mind either.” He hopped out of the golf cart and stood with his hands jammed into the pockets of his ragged shorts.

  “We caught the Director of Homeland Security building a tree house for his grandson. His attire was similar to yours, sir,” Ted said. “We also captured Congressman Doolittle in a Speedo at the YMCA teaching a class of tadpoles how to swim.”

  Moss quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head, and offered up a smile for Espinosa.

  Maggie fixed her gaze on Moss, and said, “They say clothes make the man, but I think that’s a myth. What designer tux will you be wearing for the gala Saturday night? And our readers will want to know what that gorgeous wife of yours will be wearing. Care to share that with us?”

  Moss’s smile was gone in a nanosecond, replaced with an ugly look in his eyes. He looked to Maggie’s eyes like he was going to explode, but he got himself under control. “I’m not sure I will be attending, Miss Spritzer. My wife is in France, and I don’t like to attend these sorts of functions without her. However, I did sponsor a table. Now, if that’s all, I need to get back to my cement. Oh, all of my tuxedos are by Hugo Boss.” Moss slid back onto the seat of the golf cart, and said, “Go!”

  “Mr. Moss! Mr. Moss! Wait a minute! Please. I don’t think I got my wires crossed, but I have it on good authority that Mrs. Moss sent her RSVP confirming she was attending the gala. Ooops. Oooh, I hope I just didn’t give away a surprise. If I did, I am so sorry. Your wife must be planning on surprising you. That makes sense, right? Please don’t give me away,” Maggie pleaded.

  Whatever the little group was expecting as a response was lost on them as Moss’s back was to them when Maggie let the cat out of the bag. Their only hope was that Espinosa had managed somehow to capture some kind of reaction.

  “Okay, you dropped the bomb. We need to get out of here. Anyone pick up on anything?” Ted asked as he straightened out the van and switched gears.

  “I think it’s safe to say the guy was pissed to the teeth. Of all the things in the world you could have said to him, that just never entered his mind. I think about now he is going nuts, and that cement he was talking about is going to turn into a rock,” Espinosa said out of the corner of his mouth as he scanned the digital pictures he’d snapped one after the other, hoping for at least one good shot. “Aha! Got the schmuck. Look at this. He looks like he saw a ghost and ran into a brick wall at the same time. Oh, this is good. You got to him, Maggie. I bet he starts calling you in short order. You might want to turn off your phone so his calls go to voice mail. Unless, of course, you want to undergo a third degree. Also, don’t be surprised if he shows up in person at your house or at the paper. I think you need to lie low,” Espinosa warned her.

  Maggie turned off her phone and patted herself on the back. “Hey, did anyone notice that Moss didn’t ask where I got his super-duper private phone number?” When there was no response from her colleagues she laughed.

  Some days things just worked out right.

  Chapter 15

  Myra toyed with the spoon in her teacup, watching out of the corner of her eye as Annie stared out the kitchen window at the young people on the terrace. “You’re up to something, I can tell. You might as well tell me now, so I don’t have to pester you all day. Besides, I know you’re dying to tell me, so spit it out, Countess.” While Myra’s tone was playful, Annie recognized the ring of steel in the words. She needed to share.

  “Well . . . um . . . I spoke to Avery Snowden yesterday and he sort of . . . kind of . . . mentioned that the young man, Jason Woods, the one who helped our guests, has had a tough time of it, working a backbreaking job and going to school. He’s paying for his education himself. He has bills. A lot of them. He is also taking night classes during the summer. His other friend, Stacey, is . . . um . . . in more or less the same position young Jason is in. And with all that going on, he still found time and energy to help Rosalee and Amalie. Not to mention digging into his tuition money to help them.”

  “So you paid for the balance of their education. Anonymously, of course, knowing you. That’s wonderful, Annie. So why is a good deed like that bothering you?”

  “Well because . . . because young Jason’s heart belongs to his friend Stacey, who works in the paint department, not our guest Rosalee. Jason considers Rosalee a friend, nothing more. No one is sure what Rosalee’s feelings are. One of Avery’s people, a female operative, wormed her way into the break room at Home Builders and posed as a new hire. Girls talk, you know how it is. The whole thing is actually a comedy of errors. Jason introduced Stacey to a guy named Jackson. They date. Stacey introduced Jason to Rosalee. They just hung out because Rosalee couldn’t really date when they were on the run. The thing is, both Stacey and Jason have a ‘thing’ as the young people say today, for each other, but for some strange reason, neither one will admit it. It’s not like the company has a policy where employees can’t date each other.”

  “Uh-huh,” Myra said, wondering where all this was going.

  “You see, the thing is, Myra, Rosalee wants to invite Jason to the gala Saturday evening. I don’t know if it’s just because she doesn’t want to show up without a partner or if she actually cares for Jason or cares for him on another level.”

  “And this is your problem, why?”

  “Well, now that you ask, Miss Smart-Ass Rutledge Martin Sutcliff, I had Dennis all picked out for Rosalee. They would be perfect together. And don’t tell me you disagree either because I won’t believe you. It’s like Amalie is going to be so perfect for Jack Sparrow. They just don’t know it yet. I need to work on that,” Annie fretted.

  “You’re meddling, Annie.”

  “I am.
I admit it. I need help, Myra.”

  Myra clapped her hands. “I thought you’d never ask. Sit down and let’s plot out a . . . whatever it is we can do.”

  Outside on the terrace, Dennis had finally managed to snag a seat next to Rosalee when Kathryn got up to stretch her legs. He grinned at the pretty young girl and made some inane comment that made her laugh. “Tell me about yourself, Rosalee. You know, before you went to work for Amalie. Where are you from? About your family, your friends. I like to know about people we help. Are you ‘a thing’ with Jason Woods?” There, he’d asked the question that had been bugging him since he set eyes on the dark-haired girl.

  “Jason and I are just friends. I was and am grateful for his friendship. Once we went into the railroad program, neither Amalie nor I could have friendships. By that I mean meaningful friendships.

  “I come from a very large family. I have seven sisters and four brothers. My mom never worked outside the home, how could she? My papa has a lawn-maintenance company. My brothers all work with him. None of us went to college; we had to work, but that doesn’t mean any of us are dumb. We all read, we all study things that are important to us. My brothers could probably be horticulturists. They, along with my papa, know more about trees, plants, and growing than men with degrees. And they stand behind their work. If something dies, they replace it at no cost. My mom could be a fabulous cook in a big, five-star restaurant. Four of my sisters are married with children. There are still three teenagers at home. We all give money to our parents to help out. That’s why I took the job with Amalie because the pay was so good and for the health insurance Mr. Moss provided. I have seventy-six cousins and many uncles and aunts. Twice a year, we have a reunion, Christmas and Labor Day. I’ve missed so many of them, and that makes me sad because I have a wonderful family.

  “When things got really, really bad for Amalie I asked my family for help. And here we are. They didn’t ask any questions. Family never asks questions, they just help.”

  Dennis digested all of this, wishing he belonged to that big, wonderful, loving family. “So what are you going to do when this is over? Will you feel safe going back to your family?”

  “Of course I will feel safe. All of my family is very protective of each other. I guess I’ll have to look for a job. Does that answer your questions?”

  Well it did and it didn’t. “I was thinking, Rosalee, if you change your mind and don’t ask Jason to the gala on Saturday, would you consider going with me?”

  Rosalee looked at Dennis’s beet-red face and laughed. “Are you asking me for a date, Dennis, because if you are, the answer is yes, I would love to go to the party with you. No, I have not asked Jason. Even if I did, he would feel obligated to go, and I know him well enough to know he would not be comfortable at such an affair. I don’t even know if I will be comfortable.”

  “You would! Really! Wow! This might be a good time to tell you I can’t dance. I have two left feet,” Dennis confessed, his face even redder if that was possible.

  Rosalee laughed out loud. Dennis loved the sound, knowing there hadn’t been much laughter in her life these past few years. “That’s okay, I can’t dance either. No time to do things like that growing up. And then, when school was over, I had to get a job. I always thought maybe I could teach myself. Amalie said she would teach me back in the beginning but . . . well, it just never happened. I understand you can fake it on the dance floor if you just shuffle your feet and sway to the music. I read that in a magazine. I think that might work. We could shuffle together, and maybe no one will notice.” Rosalee giggled.

  I like this girl, Dennis thought to himself. Eat your heart out, Jason Woods, he thought smugly. Your loss is my gain. He was instantly sorry for his uncharitable thought but not sorry enough that it bothered him. He convinced himself it was a guy thing, and all was fair in love and war.

  “It’s definite then, we have a date for Saturday night?”

  Rosalee smiled. “It’s definite, Dennis, we have a date for Saturday night. I want to be a nurse!” Rosalee blurted. “When I leave here, I’m going to look into it. I realized when I was taking care of Amalie, or nursing her through her . . . you know, that I want to help people. I have to save up the money for the tuition first, though, so it might take me a while.”

  “I only have eighty-eight dollars in the bank, or I’d loan it to you,” Dennis said craftily as he watched Rosalee’s reaction.

  “I have $216. I’m frugal. I know how to pinch pennies. I learned that from my parents. And the other thing they taught us all is only buy what you can afford. Sometimes, I wish I had a credit card, and I could just shoot the moon. I don’t like debt.”

  “Yeah, yeah, credit cards are good for emergencies but sometimes just knowing you have one and you can use it for something frivolous can get you into a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s what my papa said. He’s never wrong. Oh, well, maybe someday I’ll get one. Right now, that isn’t important.”

  Dennis felt like he’d been hit with a bolt of lightning. This was meant to happen. He wanted to shout out his good news. Who should he tell first, Ted, his idol at the paper, or Harry who he considered a big brother?

  Dennis was saved from a decision when Rosalee asked him to tell her about himself. He made quick work on the tale of his life, ending with, “I’m just a reporter. I love gathering news and sharing it. Someday, I hope to be as good as Ted and Maggie.” He purposely did not divulge his inheritance or how very, very wealthy he actually was. That was for another time. Then again, maybe never. Only time would tell.

  “I’ve read some of your stuff in the papers. That was all Amalie and I had in the way of leisure activities while we were in the . . . ah . . . program—reading. You have a way with words. I think you must love your job to write so convincingly. What’s it like, Dennis, going to work at a job you really and truly love? I liked my job with Amalie. I didn’t like her husband, and I certainly didn’t love that big old mansion they lived in either. It was cold and . . . I don’t know the word. Help me out here, Dennis, your command of the English language is better than mine.”

  Dennis flushed and basked in Rosalee’s praise. He did love his job, he loved it with his whole being, and he loved the people he worked with and the people who were now his other family. “I think what you want to say is there was no warmth or sense of family in the structure where you worked and lived for a while. You could live in a run-down shack, but if there’s love and warmth, the condition of the building really doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly. My mother’s house is full to overflowing. There is stuff everywhere. Mind you, it is not dirty; you could eat off my mother’s floors. My family lives in the house. A house takes on the personality of the people who live in it. My family laughs and sings and cooks and cleans. It’s how we live. I so miss that. Growing up, we had triple-decker bunk beds, two sets to each bedroom. And, somehow, we still had plenty of room.”

  Dennis could feel himself blushing, but for the first time, he didn’t care if anyone saw his red cheeks and ears or not.

  And in that moment in time, on a beautiful summer day in July at 1:07 in the afternoon, Dennis West fell in love with a dark-haired, dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl named Rosalee Muno.

  Rosalee stared across the table at her new friend and the look on his face. She thought it was endearing. At that precise moment, at 1:08 on a beautiful summer day in July, one minute after Dennis West fell in love with her, Rosalee Muno fell in love with the sandy-haired, blue-eyed, blushing reporter named Dennis West. The realization was so startling she didn’t know what to do, so she just smiled. And kept on smiling.

  Dennis grinned. Life was suddenly looking really good. Oh, yeahhhh.

  From the kitchen window, Myra poked Annie on the shoulder and laughed. “I think, if I’m not mistaken, those two figured it out themselves. I think those two young people just fell in love with each other. Think about it, Annie. We always say over and over that everything happens
for a reason. That God works in mysterious ways. I guess this was His plan for those two young people. Everyone was at the right place at exactly the right time for those two to meet. Yes, there was a tragedy but it wasn’t deadly. People, meaning Pearl and ultimately us, were there to help. Rosalee was placed there to help Amalie, then here we are bringing up the rear to create a happy ending. Tell me, my dear friend, is there not something magical about what we do.”

  “Spot on, Myra, spot on. Now we need to move on to Director Sparrow and Amalie.”

  “You never give up, do you, Annie?”

  “Well, Myra, my dear soul sister, if I did give up, where would that leave you?”

  Annie’s voice was so intense, so serious, Myra felt light-headed. “How’s this for a response, Annie? I don’t ever want to find out, so keep on doing what you’re doing, and I’m right at your side, your BFF.”

  Annie laughed. “Come along, BFF, and let’s join the party on the terrace.”

  Amalie Moss watched the two women whom she now thought of as her saviors walk up the steps to the terrace. She didn’t know how she knew but she knew that somehow, some way, these two women were going to change the rest of her life. A calm settled over her, knowing that with them watching over her, she was truly, truly safe for the first time since the day she had met Lincoln Moss. She knew in her heart she would never question either woman, she would simply accept what was in store for her and follow the path laid out for her by all these wonderful people.

  Their plans to talk woman to woman, friend to friend, with Amalie were cut short when both their cell phones buzzed at the same time. Annie looked at Myra, and Myra looked at Annie, then at the girls. “Abner needs us. Keep Amalie company while we see what needs to be done.”

  “I hope it’s to discuss the tapioca banana pie I asked Fergus to make for dinner,” Kathryn said, smacking her lips.

  “We’ll ask, dear,” Myra called over her shoulder. To Annie she said, “I don’t think Charles has ever made a tapioca banana pie before.”