“But you’re needed at the office site, Isabelle. And as for Bobby, I guess it will depend on whether he was involved in the ugly things that Rosemary did. We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Charles said.
“What about the reporter who came to see me the other day?”
“At the moment, Mr. Robinson is just sniffing around. We have him in our sights.”
We have him in our sights. Nikki felt a chill race up her arms. That had to mean Jack was in their sights, too.
“When do we start?” Yoko asked.
“Right now. Isabelle is heading for her office. Nikki is going to her office. Myra is going to the farm next door. Alexis, here are the directions to the Myers home in Arlington. You can mail the first letter on your way. Kathryn and Yoko, here is the address to the Hershey home. I took the liberty of placing a few necessary objects on the kitchen counter for you. You all know how to disarm a security system so that will be the first thing you do. There are two rather small state-of-the-art metal detectors that will indicate a metal safe. Check all the walls, the floors, the garage, the bathrooms. Go through the place with a fine-tooth comb.”
“How sure are you that neither of the Hersheys will return home?”
“Reasonably sure. I will be outside the Hersheys’ office. If either party leaves, I’ll call you on your cell. I’m assuming they will both be busy getting ready to design the new horse farm since the invitations went out last week. We gave everyone a rather short deadline for just this reason. I think it’s safe to say you have a good two hours. Be quick but be thorough. Good luck, ladies.”
Bobby Harcourt, tie off, shirtsleeves rolled up, turned around at the sound of his office door opening. The stool he was sitting on at his drafting table squeaked as he made a full swing in his wife’s direction.
“What do you think you’re doing, Bobby?”
Bobby’s eyebrows shot upward. “Say again?”
“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”
Bobby looked at his wife and wondered what he’d ever seen in her. “I’m getting ready to start designing a top-of-the-line horse farm, Bobby Harcourt style. Why are you asking? Did you run out of ideas? Or is this where the rubber meets the road? Meaning there are no designs for you to steal?”
Rosemary stomped her foot. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Only one design comes out of this office. Mine. Be very careful what you say, Bobby, because it could come back to bite you in the ass. Do not — I repeat, do not — say anything like that to me ever again.”
The squeaking stool swiveled back around. Bobby reached for his personal invitation. He waved it. “This invitation, personally addressed to me at this office, reads: ‘Dear Mr. Harcourt, you are being asked to submit your designs for my new horse farm.’ Then it gives the specs they want and it is signed by Myra Rutledge. Every architect in town got one. You got one, Rosemary. I saw it in the incoming mailbox.”
“One design goes out of this office. Cease and desist, Bobby, or you’re out of here,” Rosemary snarled.
Bobby laughed. “I’d like to see how that threat holds up in court. You better keep your voice down unless you want everyone in this office to hear you. It doesn’t work that way. I own half of this business. Before you can ask — demand — I already checked with my attorney. I’m prepared to buy you out. If you want, you can make me an offer and I’ll consider it. And, Rosemary, I’ll be filing for divorce before the week is out. I’m going to charge you with all kinds of good stuff.”
“What?” Rosemary screeched. “Buy me out! You’re crazy, Bobby. What do you mean, you’re divorcing me?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Rosemary’s voice rose shrilly. “Oh, I get it. You sleaze! Now that Isabelle is a front-runner with what appears to be money to burn, you’re going to go after her. Well, it isn’t going to work.”
“Oh, yes, it is going to work. I’ve had it with you sleeping around, your backstabbing and all that other shit you pull in the guise of being a top-notch architect. We never had a real marriage. You’ve never been a wife. I wanted kids. You said you did, too. I don’t see any kids, do you? Maybe you think I’ve been asleep at the switch but I haven’t been. My decisions have nothing to do with Isabelle Flanders. I want out because I think you’re finally going to get your comeuppance and I don’t want to be around to see it. And I want to be able to testify if it goes to court. If I’m married to you, I can’t testify. Same principle as hanging with a dog; you’re bound to get fleas. Close the door on your way out, Rosemary.”
Rosemary glared at her husband. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she thought Bobby could hear it. She needed to have the last word. “One design goes out of this office. Mine.”
“Fine. I’ll rent office space somewhere else until we settle things with the business.” To prove that he meant what he said, Bobby started to pack up his things.
Speechless, Rosemary could only sputter as she stomped her way back to her own office. Blind with rage, she slammed the door so hard she thought she’d broken the stained-glass panel she’d personally installed. She started to pace and then a knock sounded on the door. Was it Bobby, wanting to apologize? Not in this lifetime.
Rosemary jerked on the doorknob, a vicious comment on her lips, and saw a tall gangly man staring at her. She knew him from somewhere. Whoever he was, he probably wasn’t important, otherwise she would remember him. “What is it?” she asked.
Ted Robinson flipped out his press card. “I’m doing a human interest story on Patty and Thomas Myers. I wonder if you would care to comment?”
Rosemary looked genuinely puzzled. “Who?”
Bobby took that moment to open his office door. “The people you killed a few years back, darling. Tell your lawyer to call my lawyer if you need to reach me.”
Whoa! What had he just stepped into? Ted looked at the couple. The pair of them looked like two spitting alley cats. He tried to blend into the woodwork, hoping the couple would throw caution to the wind and give him something juicy. Instead, Bobby hoisted the box he was carrying up to his shoulder and walked down the hallway. Rosemary then slammed the door in Ted’s face.
“Hey!” He turned the knob and opened the door a crack, not sure if the angry architect would slam it on his nose. “You didn’t give me a comment. Should I print your response?”
“What response, you jackass? I didn’t give you a response.”
“You sure did, ma’am.” Ted flipped the button on his mini recorder. Rosemary’s puzzled, “Who?” was loud and clear, followed by her husband’s explanation. “I can go with that,” Ted said, smiling.
“Do that, you vulture, and I’ll drag your ass through every court in the land. Now get out of this building before I call the police. From this moment on, you’re trespassing.”
The door slammed in Ted’s face again. Satisfied that he’d stirred up a hornet’s nest, he grinned as he made his way to the tastefully decorated lobby, the walls of which were lined with built-in fish tanks. If he remembered correctly, Bobby Harcourt was the one who designed those fish tanks. Maggie had done a feature story for the Sunday edition. She’d even named the colorful fish. Impressive article as he recalled. And Bobby had won an award of some kind for the design.
Outside, in the frosty February air, Ted was reminded again of how much he hated this particular month. The raw gray day grated on his nerves. It must be true what they said about sunshine versus gray, cloudy days and the effect they have on one’s emotions. He felt like picking a fight with someone.
Across the street and out of sight, Charles Martin debated for all of five seconds. Should he follow the reporter or Bobby Harcourt? Bobby Harcourt, of course. He’d promised the ladies of Pinewood that he would keep Rosemary and Bobby in his sights. Just to be on the safe side, he called Kathryn on her cell phone to tell her he was following Bobby but didn’t know what Rosemary’s agenda was. “Stay alert,” was the best advice he could give under the circumstances. They were pros now, and would do whatever they had to in order to get
away unscathed in the event that Rosemary Hershey decided to go home in the middle of the day.
Eight
Alexis steered the Mini Cooper up the narrow driveway and parked. It was a neat-as-a-pin piece of property. She knew in the spring the flower beds would be a rainbow of color and the old trees with the gnarled trunks would create beautiful shade for the little Cape Cod house. Now, though, it looked barren and lonely. She climbed out of the car and made her way to the front porch. There wasn’t a doorbell that she could see. She knocked on the door and waited. When it opened, Alexis stared at a tall, gangly woman with steel-gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses who was wearing a flannel robe.
“Yes,” she said.
“Mrs. Myers?”
“Yes, honey, that’s me. What can I do for you?”
“My name is Pamela Nolan. I’m with the insurance company that covered your son when the accident happened. I need to talk to you. We’ve decided to reopen the case.”
Mrs. Myers bit down on her lower lip. “I thought that was all over and done with. What good is it going to do to reopen the case? But, yes, come in. I’m just getting over a bad bout of bronchitis. That’s why I’m home today. I really don’t see how I can help you, Miss Nolan.”
Alexis seated herself in a deep, comfortable, tweed chair. She looked around. The inside of the house was just as neat as the outside. The mantel was covered with photographs of little Tommy and, she assumed, Big Tommy, his dad. She cleared her throat. “I think it will be easier on both of us if you just tell me what you know, from the time you were notified until the end of the court case. I don’t take notes but prefer to use a recorder. That way nothing gets lost. If you object, I can take notes.”
“The recorder is fine, miss. The police came to the door. I was playing checkers with Tommy. I was babysitting. They told me what happened. It took the police three hours to get here. The accident happened ten miles away. My son and his little family had been dead for three hours and I didn’t even know it. I was…I was playing checkers. To this day I don’t understand how I didn’t feel something, sense something.
“It was a lady officer who came to the door. She was so young and I could tell she didn’t want to have to tell me the bad news. She said my son ran a stop sign and hit the lady architect. I said that had to be wrong. My son was a very cautious driver, especially when he had the baby in the car with him. My son was a wonderful father and husband and he always treated me with love and respect. A mother knows her son, Miss Nolan. But no one would listen to me. I had to get a lawyer. He sided with the police. He billed me an astronomical amount of money. In the end, the car insurance did not pay. We sued the lady architect. There were two of them in the car. That lawyer wasn’t any better than the first one. In the end, when it got to court, I had to sit there and listen to one lady say all kinds of terrible things about my son and the other lady in the car. The jury gave her a lot of money. They awarded little Tommy half a million dollars. But by the time the second lawyer took his fee and I paid off the first lawyer there was only forty thousand dollars left. I was able to put thirty-one thousand into a college fund for Tommy. The reason I kept the remaining nine thousand was to pay for…for the funerals. Are you here to tell me you want to take the money back?” Tears gathered in the eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses.
“No, ma’am. I’m here to tell you we think there was something wrong. We aren’t going to close out the case. We keep pending files for six years. We…I agree with you that something was…wrong. What that means to you and Tommy is that we are going to reopen the case and do another investigation. Tell me something. Is this where you lived when the accident happened?”
“Why, yes it is. Oh, I see, you think because the address on all the legal papers was my son’s address it might make a difference? I told you, my lawyer wasn’t very good — or thorough. He didn’t even have a secretary. This address never appeared on any of the legal papers. By the time the case came to trial, my son’s house had gone into default. I just didn’t have the money to pay the mortgage and the utilities. It’s all I can do to keep up with this house. I was hoping to retire this year but my meager pension won’t support both Tommy and myself. I have to take him to a free medical clinic for poor people because I can’t afford the insurance. And before you can ask, I can’t bring myself to touch the money in the bank. My son wanted his children to go to college and Tommy is going to go, no matter what. Oh, there’s the school bus. Excuse me, I have to get his cookies and milk ready.”
Alexis felt like crying. She wished Rosemary Hershey was standing in front of her so she could jam her foot down her throat.
The door opened and a little boy with blond hair and eyes the color of cobalt bounded into the room. “I’m home!” he bellowed before he noticed Alexis. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Tommy Myers.”
“Hi, Tommy. I’m Pam Nolan and I have a present for you. Here,” she said, holding out the gift box.
The boy made no move to accept the gift. “I’m not allowed to take gifts from strangers.”
“That’s a good thing, but I’m not a stranger. I think your grandmother will let you accept it. Why don’t you go in the kitchen and ask her?”
“OK. What is it?” he asked curiously.
“A surprise!” Alexis laughed. “I think it’s something all little boys want.”
The boy scampered off and returned within minutes. “She said yes.”
“There you go,” Alexis said, handing over the gift box.
“Oh, wow! A Game Boy! Grandma, the lady gave me a Game Boy!”
“Did you say thank you, Tommy?”
“No, Grandma, I didn’t. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Then run along to the kitchen for your cookies and milk. I need to talk some more to this lady.” The boy disappeared in seconds. “That was very nice of you, Miss Nolan. Tommy wanted one for Christmas but it just wasn’t in my budget.”
Alexis hated lying to this nice lady. Still, she had a job to do, and she hoped the woman would forgive her when things were made right. “I need to take some pictures of you and Tommy. Do you mind?”
“If it will help you, not at all. Do you really think there’s a chance you can clear my son’s name? I don’t care about the money.”
“Mrs. Myers, I think there’s more than a good chance I can do that. I need to ask you to do something for me. If anyone comes around asking questions, I don’t want you talking to them. Even though what you say might seem harmless, it could ruin our investigation. We need to be very clear on that. Tommy, too. Children tend to chatter.”
“I can do that. Tommy is very good about obeying the rules, just like his daddy was when he was little. We’ll do whatever is necessary. Goodness gracious, if you’re planning on taking my picture, I better get dressed.”
“The robe is fine, Mrs. Myers.”
Thirty minutes later Alexis, armed with a stack of Polaroid shots, climbed into the Mini Cooper and was on her way back to Pinewood.
Meanwhile, Kathryn picked the lock on the Hershey house and immediately went to the alarm panel on the wall. Charles had said she had exactly one minute to disarm the system. A blizzard of numbers raced across the high-tech gizmo that spit out the code in twenty-seven seconds.
“Done! How stupid is a code of zero-seven-one-one? She must have gambling instincts.” She looked around. “Looks like no one lives here. A little too stark for my taste. How about you, Yoko?”
“It’s an architect’s dream, I guess. Sharp lines, lots of chrome. I don’t personally care for stark black and white. I like color. Which floor do you want?”
“I’ll take the second floor; you cover this one. There’s no garage so that makes it easier.” The women separated, each carrying a metal detector.
Kathryn made her way down the upstairs hallway looking in one room after the other. Four rooms and two full baths. Well, what have we here, his and hers bedrooms? First she tackled Bobby Harcourt’s bedroom, liking the coziness of it. The bed was neatly made and
nothing was out of place. His closet was just as neat, his suits and casual wear carefully aligned. Shoes, polished and shined, sat on shoe trees. The drawers were just as neat. No hiding places here. Everything was so tidy it was suspect. And yet, there was no sign that a maid worked here. Maybe the couple had a once-a-week cleaning lady. Kathryn hoped today wasn’t the day a domestic showed up with a bucket and mop.
Bobby Harcourt’s bathroom was as neat as his bedroom. There was no water on the sink, no toothpaste specks on the mirror over the vanity. Shaving gear neatly stowed in a zippered leather bag. Today’s wet towel was hung up neatly. No water on the floor. The toilet seat was down. His mother must have trained him well early on. The linen closet held burgundy towels, bedsheets and bathroom supplies, extra aftershave, soap and shampoo. All were neatly arranged. The medicine cabinet was almost empty. A bottle of Advil, a prescription bottle of penicillin with two tablets left in it, a bottle of mouthwash and some breath mints were the only things it contained. No hiding places here.
The couple’s joint home office was next door. Kathryn walked around, opening drawers and closets. The closets held supplies. The drawers held more supplies. Bobby’s desk and drafting table were tidy whereas Rosemary’s looked like a work in progress. Kathryn waved the metal detector over the walls. She listened intently for a beep to signal that there was metal somewhere. Nothing so far.
Yoko appeared in the doorway. “The downstairs is clean. Nothing in the freezer. They must eat out a lot; there are a lot of takeout containers in the refrigerator. Nothing in the washer, the dryer or the microwave — the places where people tend to hide things. The foyer closet has nothing but winter wear. There are no boxes anywhere. There’s nothing in the kitchen cabinets other than dishes and pots and pans. I checked the fireplace and there are no loose bricks, nothing hidden. No pictures on the walls. This place is cold and stark. Did you find anything?”
“No, not yet. Take Rosemary’s bedroom. I’ll finish in here.”
Sweet Revenge Page 7
