“I don’t know, Ms. Quinn. Wilson hired her. She’s a terrible housekeeper, but he likes her. He probably hired her as a favor to someone. I can’t believe this is happening so fast.”
Nikki wanted to say she couldn’t believe it either, but she kept that thought to herself. “Remember now, walk out of the house as though you were going shopping or to lunch. Don’t take anything with you. You have your—”
“I have it all. I know what to do. I’ll be out of this house in the next fifteen minutes. Thank you, Ms. Quinn.”
* * *
Livinia Lambert was almost as good as her word. It took her eighteen minutes to gather up her envelope of false identities, cash, and traveler’s checks. She was already dressed, because she was old-school, meaning that she dressed for the day regardless of whether she was going out or staying at home. Nothing she was doing now, or would do in the next eighteen minutes, should raise any eyebrows.
It was hard not to shout at the top of her lungs, to shoot her closed fists in the air, but knowing what was at stake was all the impetus she needed to do things the right way and leave her triumphant feelings unexpressed.
Livinia poked her head into her husband’s study and asked if she could get him anything before she left.
Wilson Lambert clicked off the call on his cell phone and looked up at his wife. He didn’t really care where she was going, but he asked, anyway. It seemed like the thing to do, and he’d been doing it for years. “A day out with the ladies, Livinia?”
“Not really.” She sounded too cheerful, she thought. Toning things down a bit, she said, “Library luncheon, a little shopping. Dinner with our son’s old professor, which I have been putting off. Ella will prepare something light for you. Are you feeling better, Wilson?”
“Actually, I am feeling better. Run along. I have a hundred calls to make here.”
Livinia stood in the open doorway and stared at and through the man she fervently hoped never to see again. He was a handsome man, tall, well over six feet, and he carried his height and weight well. That was mainly because he loved being on camera and needed to present a robust image. He wore shell-rimmed glasses he didn’t need because he thought they made him look scholarly. But it was his crop of premature snow-white hair, with a hint of a wave, that set him apart from his peers. And his year-round tan from the tanning bed he’d installed in the basement. Not to mention the pricey veneers she’d paid for so he could look ten years younger when he smiled into the camera. Wilson Lambert worked hard at looking distinguished, and, given his wife’s money and his own vanity, he managed to succeed.
Speaker Lambert was dressed in a suit and tie, even though he was sick and at home. He said he owed it to himself and the world to dress like he was going to make the world better, each and every day, and therefore he had to dress to look the part. Livinia wanted to tell him that was all a crock of something or other, but she knew it would go in one ear and out the other. The only person Wilson “Buzz” Lambert listened to was himself.
“Is something wrong, Livinia? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No, Wilson, nothing is wrong. I was just thinking that you do look much better today. Your color is coming back. I was also thinking about how you look sitting here in my daddy’s study with all his books, his desk, the chair you’re sitting in. Sometimes I think I can smell my daddy’s presence. I guess it’s because you smoke the same pipe tobacco. Some days, I don’t like it when I see you sitting in my daddy’s chair. Some days, I remember and don’t like that you would never let Jeffrey come into this room when he was a little boy.”
“Well, you need to get over that right now, Livinia. Your daddy’s long gone, and Jeffrey is a grown, married man. What’s gotten into you today?”
What indeed? Uh-oh, I just stepped out of the box. Livinia forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “For heaven’s sake, a person can’t control her memories. Memories are part of our lives, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, I was just woolgathering. I’ll be off now. Enjoy your day. Good-bye, Wilson.” You low-life, bottom-feeding son of a bitch. I am never ever going to set eyes on you again. Enjoy my daddy’s room for now because you are going to be out in the cold on your bony ass within days. How’s that for a memory, Mr. Speaker of the House?
* * *
Nikki’s phone rang at precisely 11:11 that same morning. “I’m about to board a flight to Jacksonville, Florida, under the name Frieda Opala. I’ll call again before I board my next flight. Everything went well.”
Nikki ended the call and walked out to her secretary’s office. “Call Billy and tell him it’s time to head over to the courthouse. Remind him he’s to wait for the signed stamp and bring it straight to me. Which process server are we using? I want him or her up here and waiting to go the minute Billy gets back. Get Ted Robinson on the phone for me, will you?”
“I’ll get right on it. Take a break, boss. You’re looking a tad frazzled right now. We’ll get this done just the way you want it done. You want some coffee?”
“Guess what, I feel as frazzled as I look, and, yes, I want coffee, but I’ll get it myself. Take care of business. Buzz me when you have Ted on the line.”
A minute later, Nikki was breathing evenly, her mind as sharp as a steel blade, as she spoke into the phone. “Ted, it’s Nikki. Listen, Lizzie Fox is in town. She just left my office and is headed for the farm. We all plan to meet tonight at Myra’s. Around seven, I think. No one mentioned dinner, so you might want to nail that down. But the reason I’m calling is to tell you that Maggie is probably going to be discharged tomorrow and will have home rest with a home health aide to help her out. A home health aide, Ted, not you. I think it might be a good idea to plan a little welcome-home party for her, say around three or four. That means you need to get in touch with everyone and put them on alert. Order in some food, whatever Maggie likes. Get some balloons, some streamers, you know, party stuff. I think that if you go to the hospital right now, you’ll be allowed to see Maggie. Lizzie made everything right, thank God.”
“Oh, man, I am so on this, you have no idea. I’m going to take a selfie of me and Hero to pave the way. Thanks, Nikki. I guess I’ll see you out at the farm tonight.”
Nikki stared at the phone in her hand. Dead air. Ted could move fast when he wanted to. When it came to anything to do with Maggie, he literally galloped. In spite of herself, Nikki laughed out loud. If ever two people were meant for one another, it was Ted Robinson and Maggie Spritzer. They both knew it, but still they fought it. Why? She had no clue.
“Ms. Quinn?”
Nikki swiveled her chair around. “Oh, Billy, I didn’t hear you come in. You ready to go? You know what to do?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nikki made shooing motions with her hand until the young man figured out she meant for him to leave ASAP. Which he did, wondering what all the fuss was this time.
Nikki sighed. She was going to do something. What was it? Ah, yes, she was going to get some coffee. Which she really didn’t need, but would drink, anyway. To her surprise, she found Alexis seated at the table, nibbling on a dry bagel.
“Everything okay, Nikki?”
Nikki quickly brought Alexis up to date. “I don’t think I ever moved this fast on a divorce complaint in my entire career. It’s just that the minute it’s recorded, the leaks and gossip will start. I want the Speaker served before it gets out. Otherwise, he’ll go to ground to avoid it. At least I think that’s what he’ll do. As we speak, our client is on the way to the airport and out of harm’s way. I hate to admit this, Alexis, but this really kicked my fanny. I am going to figure this out one way or another.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer. I’m excited for Maggie, that she’s going home tomorrow. Are we going to video her for the meeting tonight? Abner knows how to set that up so she can talk and be part of it all. Of course, the hospital has to approve, but my money is on Maggie. I think she can get them to cooperate. And then a surprise party for her homecoming. Just perfect. I cannot
tell you how much better I feel now that all of that is in the past. I hope we never have to go through anything like that again.”
“Me too. It’s like Lizzie always says. When all is said and done, things will end just the way they are supposed to end. I’ve never known her to be wrong, have you, Alexis?”
“Nope. If Lizzie says it, then it’s gospel. Gotta run. I have that guy who makes me see red coming in about his eminent-domain case on a piece of property. The man refuses to take my advice or to listen to anyone else who tries to help him. He’s not even complaining about the whopping bills he’s getting from the firm. Some days like today, I cannot help but wonder if I really am supposed to be a lawyer.”
Nikki laughed. “Trust me, you are meant to be a lawyer. This is just one of those days we all have four days a week. Wanna go to lunch, say around one?”
“Sure. You buying?”
“Nope, but the firm is.”
“Well, then, okayyyyyyy,” Alexis drawled.
Chapter 10
Boarding pass in hand, Livinia Lambert was on the third leg of her journey with her third phony ID. She’d traveled as Frieda Opala from Washington, D.C., to Jacksonville, Florida, where she boarded a flight to Houston, Texas, as Teresa Lyons. She was now about to board her third flight, out of Houston, as Mavis Journeyman. Her final destination, Honolulu, Hawaii.
As Livinia shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her gaze kept going to the huge airport clock hanging on the wall almost in front of her. Her flight from Houston had been late, so she’d had to scurry, which didn’t leave much time for phone calls to the Quinn Law Firm. There were too many people around now to make the call. Perhaps once she was seated in economy class, she’d have a minute before the pilot ordered all cell phones to be turned off. Had Wilson been served? Was he pulling that lush white hair on his head out by the roots? She also needed to call her son at some point, but not right away. Maybe she’d have Nikki Quinn make the call to Jeffrey. She wouldn’t put it past Wilson to pull out all the stops and find a way to check Jeffrey’s phone records.
The time was four o’clock, central time, when Livinia, aka Mavis Journeyman, settled back in her seat in economy class as the huge Boeing aircraft rose to a cruising altitude of thirty thousand feet. It was an hour later, six o’clock back in Washington, D.C., when Hunter Wayne, the process server for the Quinn Law Firm, rang the doorbell at 2301 Clements Ferry Road, the home of Livinia and Wilson Lambert. In his hand, he held a brown manila envelope, complete with a red wax seal. The red wax seal meant nothing and was for effect only. The red wax was from a birthday candle he’d melted, then jammed his thumb in the soft wax to make it look official. Hunter Wayne knew every trick in the book when it came to serving papers on people who did not want to accept service, because to do so invariably meant a lawsuit of some kind was in their future.
Hunter was dressed in what he called his “server suit.” It was an off-the-rack suit, but he’d paid top dollar for it. He was spit and polish from the top of his groomed head to the shine on his black shoes. He could have easily passed for a Wall Street broker, a banker, or even, God forbid, a lawyer. Or even one of the civilian workers from the Pentagon or a denizen of the halls of the House or the Senate. He drove a Mercedes C-Class car—not too high end, but not low end, either.
Hunter stepped back when the door opened just as the porch light sprang to life. “Yes, can I help you?” the staff member wearing a gray uniform with a white apron asked in a reedy-sounding voice.
“I certainly hope so, ma’am. I have a delivery for a Mr. Wilson Lambert.”
The lady reached out to take the envelope. Hunter took another step backward. “I’m sorry, ma’am. My instructions are to personally hand this envelope over to Mr. Lambert and take a picture showing me doing so.”
“Mr. Lambert has been ill. I can sign whatever it is that needs to be signed. I really don’t want to disturb Mr. Lambert.”
“Nothing needs to be signed, ma’am. I told you, I need to take a picture of Mr. Lambert accepting this delivery. I can leave and come back another time, but I have the feeling, and I do not know this for sure, that this is a very important delivery. Why don’t you check with Mr. Lambert, just to be sure, before I leave?”
“Who is it from?”
“I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am. See this seal? Something pretty official, I’d say.”
The housekeeper looked at the red wax seal under the porch light, then said, “Wait here. I need to speak with Mr. Lambert.”
Hunter mentally patted himself on the back. He quickly slid his nail under the red wax seal, and the envelope opened in a second. His cell was in his other hand, all set to snap the obligatory picture. Ho hum, he thought, just another day in my life as a process server.
The door swung open, just as he knew it would. The Speaker of the House literally filled the open doorway with his presence. “What do you have for me, young man? Isn’t it kind of late to be making deliveries?” Wilson Lambert eyed the envelope and the red seal and stretched out his hand.
“Are you Wilson Lambert?”
“I am. I am the Speaker of the House.”
“I need to take your picture accepting this delivery, sir.” Phone in place with one hand, as the other hand withdrew the contents of the envelope, Hunter Wayne had the situation under control.
Click.
“You have been served, Wilson Lambert!”
Done!
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Lambert.”
“What the . . . Come back here! What is this?” Lambert barked. Hunter Wayne walked as fast as his legs would carry him. He did not look back.
Hunter continued to ignore the Speaker and climbed into his C-Class Mercedes and barreled down the long, winding driveway. At the end of the driveway, as he waited for a break in traffic to make a left turn onto the highway, Hunter sent a two-word text that said, Lambert served. The picture he’d taken accompanied the text. Ninety-five dollars for serving the papers and a fifty-dollar bonus for serving the papers so expeditiously. One hundred and forty-five bucks for one hour’s work. Minus fifty-nine cents for the birthday candle. All in all, he was more than pleased with himself.
Back at the Quinn Law Firm, Nikki was waiting by the door for Alexis when the text, along with the picture of Wilson Lambert, came through cyberspace. Nikki’s fist shot in the air. She quickly sent off a text to Livinia Lambert that Livinia wouldn’t see until she landed in Hawaii. Far enough away so that Wilson Lambert couldn’t get to her.
Nikki and Alexis high-fived each other when Nikki showed Alexis the text and picture.
“What do you think the illustrious Speaker of the House is doing right now, Nikki?” Alexis giggled.
Nikki laughed. “This is just a guess on my part, but I kind of think right now he’s snuggled up with Jim Beam as he’s dialing the Chessmen for a conference call.”
If truth be known, Nikki was only half right in her assessment of what Wilson Lambert was doing.
Fifteen miles away as the crow flies, Wilson Lambert tilted the bottle of Jim Beam and guzzled till his eyes burned and he thought he would black out. He had read the complaint three times until he had it committed to memory. When he felt like he had himself under control, he swore like he’d never sworn before.
“Son of a goddamn bitch!” he bellowed. He wanted to rip the papers on the desk, Livinia’s daddy’s desk, but he knew he couldn’t. Then he was tempted to throw the same papers into the blazing fireplace, but he knew he couldn’t do that, either. He started to pace then, the bottle of Jim Beam still in his hand. His eyes were wild and crazy as he stared at the room that he considered his own. Thirty days to vacate the premises. Thirty days! Thirty days to respond to this . . . this piece of crap. He’d be the laughingstock of the town. The White House was not going to like this. His face would be plastered all over the world. He had to do something. What? He tilted Jim Beam again and took a mighty swallow.
Wilson stopped his frantic pacing. He was drea
ming. That’s what this was all about, or else he was delirious from all the medication he’d been taking. He pinched himself. It hurt. His eyes narrowed as he recalled Livinia’s standing in the doorway earlier in the morning. She’d talked more to him in that little window of time than she’d talked to him in years. And she’d actually said good-bye. Why hadn’t he picked up on that? And all that talk about her daddy, and this being his room. That should have been a clue right there. He’d flubbed that, too. He bellowed for Ella, the housekeeper, who came on the run. “Has my wife gotten back yet?”
“No, sir, she’s not home. Do you need something? Dinner is almost ready, chicken and rice, so it will be easy on your stomach. Some nice mint tea. Tell me when you want me to bring it in. I know how you like to eat by the fire.”
“I’m not hungry. Don’t look at me like that. Take the rest of the evening off, Ella.”
The minute the housekeeper was out of sight, Wilson bolted from the study and ran as fast as he could to the second floor. He literally flew down the hall to his wife’s bedroom. It smelled like her, all powdery and dry. He felt like a wild man as he tore through the room, looking for any sign that she was gone for good. Since he hadn’t stepped foot in this room in years, he had no idea what he was looking for. Everything was neat and tidy, just like Livinia herself. The bed was perfectly made. The desktop was neat, with nothing out of place. All the clothes were neatly arranged in the huge walk-in closet. Luggage was on the top shelf. It didn’t look like any of the matched set was missing.
The suite of rooms was so empty, felt so empty, that Wilson was positive that his wife was not coming back. Not while he was still in the house. She’d simply walked out of the house this morning, never to return. She was genteel enough, however, to say a final good-bye. And he’d been too stupid to pick up on it, and this was the result. He tipped the bottle of Jim Beam once again.
Livinia couldn’t have done this, planned it all on her own. She had to have had help. Jeffrey! Of course. Jeffrey was in town to file for his own divorce. The two of them must have planned this together. He needed to call his son and straighten this out right now. Right this very minute. The only problem was he didn’t know his son’s phone number. Now, that was a sorry state of affairs.
Crash And Burn Page 10
