What she would do when she got home, she had no idea. Maybe cook or bake something, take a bubble bath, call Cricket and talk for a few hours if he wasn’t busy. Or…
Lizzie whipped out her cell phone the minute she settled herself in her car. She scrolled down and hit the number she wanted. She smiled when she heard the cranky voice of retired judge Cornelia Easter Cummings, Nellie to those near and dear to her heart.
“Nellie, I know this is late notice, but I was wondering if…you would like to have dinner with me. I was thinking of our favorite little Italian restaurant,” Lizzie said, without mentioning the name.
“Oh, you dear sweet child, there is nothing I would like more. Elias is in bed with the flu, and I simply cannot consume even one more drop of chicken soup. That’s a myth, you know. I have never seen a more cantankerous curmudgeon than my husband. I’ll tell you what else is a myth. Men say they want to be left alone when they’re sick so they can suffer in silence. Actually, my dear, that’s a bald-faced, outright lie. This man, this relatively new husband of mine, is running me ragged, and he hasn’t even peaked yet. What time?”
Lizzie laughed, but Nellie picked up on the strain in the young lawyer’s voice. “Whatever works for you, Nellie.”
It was Nellie’s turn to laugh. “It will take me a little while to get Elias settled, fluff up his pillows, lay out this and that so he doesn’t exert himself, fix him a thermos of chicken soup and one of hot tea. Strap the remote to his wrist so he doesn’t have to move too much. You know the drill. Sixish works for me if it works for you. Casual, right?”
“Absolutely casual. Sixish works for me, too. It’s been raining all day here in the District, so wear your boots. The temperature went way up today, and it’s water and slush everywhere. I’ll see you at six, Nellie. Give Elias my regards. You might want to tie a string of garlic around his neck, or is that a myth, too?”
“Yes, Mother. I’ll give it a shot.” Nellie cackled. “I moved to the spare room, so the garlic won’t bother me.” She let loose with another boisterous laugh before she broke the connection.
Lizzie let her mind wander on the drive home. She wondered how Cosmo would be if he got the flu and was confined to bed. She would love to wait on him hand and foot and for him to look at her with his big brown eyes, knowing she was going to make him all better with her undying devotion. She knew, just knew, in her heart that Cosmo Cricket would blow his last breath into her body if he thought she was in danger. When she had a headache, he wanted to call the paramedics for her. God in heaven, how she loved that man, even if he had kept a secret from her.
Lizzie parked her car, gathered up her purse and briefcase. She was still smiling as she made her way into her house. She turned off the alarm, locked the door behind her, then turned up the heat. She headed straight for the kitchen, where she made a pot of coffee before heading upstairs to change her clothes. On her return trip to the kitchen, she made a fire in the living-room fireplace that would be blazing when she returned to chill out with her coffee. First, she would make a few personal calls; then she’d call Cosmo.
Ever mindful of the time, Lizzie called the mountain, spoke via speakerphone with everyone, then called Maggie, who sounded harried and out of sorts. That call was short and concise. Lizzie shrugged and called Jack, who said he was pumping water out of the basement and would call her back. Harry’s voice mail said he was either in the middle of a class or was unavailable, and to leave her number and he’d return her call. That left Bert and his voice mail. There was only one name left on her mental to-call list aside from Cosmo. The person she should probably have called first: ex-Justice Pearl Barnes.
Then again, maybe she shouldn’t even be thinking about calling Pearl. Pearl was way out there, running her underground railroad to help save mothers and children. She didn’t need Lizzie and her problems. In the end, after several moments of indecision, she talked herself out of making the call.
A smile on her face and in her voice, Lizzie hit the speed dial that would connect her with her husband. She wanted to cry when the call went to his voice mail. Her shoulders slumped, Lizzie made her way back to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. She was back in front of the fire within minutes. She had half an hour to think before it would be time to leave for Morellie’s, where she was to meet up with Nellie.
She should be on top of the world, but she wasn’t. She wished she knew the why of it all. Was it because she and Cosmo each had a secret from the other? Yes, she realized, that was part of it, but there was something else, which she couldn’t quite pin down. Maybe talking to Nellie would help.
The fine hairs on the back of Lizzie’s neck moved, signaling something was amiss. She blinked. Pearl Barnes. Pearl was the one she needed to talk to. Absolutely, she needed to talk to Pearl. Why had she talked herself out of the phone call? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Lizzie looked down at the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. She had to leave to meet Nellie in fifteen minutes. Assuming she was successful in connecting with Pearl, would it be a long or short call? She would prefer a long one, but Pearl might not be able to oblige. Maybe she should call and set up a time that would be convenient for both of them. Before she could talk herself out of the call, Lizzie used the special encrypted phone Charles had given to all of them. Even Pearl, who just worked on the periphery for the vigilantes, had one. She was stunned when Pearl picked up on the first ring. Her voice was cautious as always, and Lizzie knew better than to mention names, or even places, for that matter. She said hello, hoping Pearl would recognize her voice. She did.
Lizzie cut to the chase. “When would be a convenient time to speak? I’ll need, or I should say I’d like, at least thirty minutes of your time.”
“This phone needs to be charged. I’m in the same time zone. Will after ten work for you? Crucial, deadly, urgent?”
“Probably all of the above. My side, not yours.”
“Later,” was Pearl’s response before the connection was broken.
Lizzie sighed as she got to her feet. She finished her coffee in one long gulp, banked the fire, and closed the glass doors to the fireplace before she headed to the kitchen. She rinsed out the coffeepot, prepared a new one because she knew she would need some strong brew when she made contact with Pearl later in the evening.
It was rush-hour traffic when Lizzie exited her house, but she had to go only six blocks. It was still raining. On a nice day she would have opted to walk to her favorite Italian restaurant. Tonight, though, with all the flooding, walking wasn’t even a consideration.
The minuscule parking lot behind the tiny restaurant held thirteen parking spaces and woe to anyone who parked there who did not belong. Two spots were reserved for the owners, Rosalie and Rocco Morellie, and had their names. The spot next to Rocco’s simply said SG, which meant “special guest” in this case, Nellie Easter Cummings. The remaining ten spots were for the diners. It was early, so Lizzie had no problem parking.
Morellie’s was your typical Italian restaurant, right down to the red-checkered tablecloths and curtains. Chianti bottles were on all the tables. Everything sparkled. But it was the wonderful aromatic smell of the different cheeses that hung from the rafters in the kitchen, the roasted garlic, the heady aroma of the sauce that bubbled 24-7 that drew you in and wouldn’t let you go. There were only ten tables, and on a weeknight the Morellies turned the tables over twice before they called it a night. On weekends they turned the tables over four times at night. If they had wanted to, they could have stayed past eleven and worked through the nights, and the tables would have remained full, but plump little Rosalie had declared early on that she had a life beyond the eatery during the week. Weekends, she said, she had to defer to the almighty dollar. Rocco wholeheartedly agreed.
When the bell over the door tinkled, the little lady bounded out of the kitchen to embrace Lizzie in a bear hug. Rocco was hot on her heels and almost crushed Lizzie. Husband and wife gibbered in Italian, then finally settled for English as
they led Lizzie to her favorite table just as the bell tinkled again and the Morellies rushed to greet Judge Easter.
The bell over the door continued to tinkle until all the tables were full. Then Rocco Morellie flipped the sign that said the next seating wasn’t until eight thirty.
No one, however, got the greeting that Lizzie and Judge Easter had received.
Wine appeared, along with a basket of garlic twists, which had both women drooling. Everything was made from scratch. Rosalie made the sauce and the garlic twists, and Rocco made the pasta. No one was sure, but it was speculated that Rocco also made the wine in his basement wherever it was he lived. It was tart, robust, and flavorful. Lizzie and Nellie clinked glasses as they eyed one another over the rims of their goblets.
Small talk first was always essential, and there was no need to order. Both women always had the same thing. Lizzie had the baked ziti, and Nellie had the lasagna. Before they left the restaurant, the Morellies would hand them each a shopping bag with enough spaghetti and meatballs to last them a whole week. They always included bottles of their special wine and Ziploc bags of the garlic twists, which only had to be heated. It was a ritual. And at the end of the evening there was never a bill, because, as Rocco put it, Lizzie and Nellie had saved their fat hides when a crooked landlord had tried to demolish the neighborhood. Lizzie had taken the case pro bono, and Judge Easter had heard the case. The Morellies now owned their own building, as did all the other store owners on the block.
“So, how is Elias?” Lizzie asked.
“He thinks he’s going to die, but he isn’t. I assured him when I put the garlic necklace around him before I left that he’d be better by the time I got home. He believed me. He wanted me to set the heat at ninety. I just dumped all the cats on the bed to keep him warm and turned the heat down to seventy-five. The cats were licking at the garlic, so who knows how that’s going to go.”
“That’s certainly one for YouTube.” Lizzie laughed.
“I told Elias the garlic necklace was your idea, and you know how Elias thinks you can do no wrong, so he will be better before I get home. I guarantee it.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, Nellie. Just so you know, I can eat and talk at the same time. Tell me what you know about the nine justices on the Supreme Court.”
“I’ll be happy to tell you what I know, which isn’t all that much. You really should talk to Pearl Barnes, if you can manage to locate her. For sure, she would be a wealth of information, since she served on the court for more years than I can remember. Can I ask why you want to know, Lizzie?”
“It’s personal, Nellie. Right now I’m not comfortable confiding in you or anyone else, and please don’t take that the wrong way. If you aren’t comfortable talking about the justices, that’s okay, too. And their spouses, assuming you know anything about them.”
“Actually, Lizzie, Elias, as the former director of the FBI, probably knows more than I do. All of them are qualified, or they wouldn’t be sitting there. Personally, I wouldn’t have voted for Regions or Taylor, but that’s just me. I’ve never heard a whisper of any kind of negative gossip. For all intents and purposes, they’re clean as the driven snow, which is pretty hard to believe, but there you have it. The wives…they’re all older, grandmothers and mothers. None of them are into publicity. Actually, they shun it. They’re normal and dealing with the aging process, like the rest of us. Once in a while they poke their heads out for one charity or another. I remember hearing not that long ago that they all meet for a United Way luncheon or something like that. It’s held once a year. Can you be a little more specific, Lizzie? A question might trigger something I know and can’t quite remember.”
“Have you heard anything about one of them retiring anytime soon?”
“Lizzie, dear, no one retires from that court unless he’s dying, and according to the last report I heard, they all passed their medicals with flying colors. No one leaves. They have life tenure. Except for Pearl, and we all know why Pearl packed it in.”
Lizzie nibbled on her lower lip. “What about their spouses? What if one of them was sick, like in the case of Sandra Day O’Connor’s husband?”
“That, Lizzie, was an exception to the rule. O’Connor was one of a kind. As far as I know, all the wives and husbands are in good health. Is there some kind of rumor going around about one of them wanting off the court?”
Instead of answering Nellie’s question, Lizzie asked another one. “Hypothetically, if one were to leave, who do you think it would be and why?”
Nellie closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, she shook her head in bewilderment. “I have no clue. You and I both know sitting on the Supreme Court is every lawyer’s dream. Just the nomination alone is something to aspire toward. Once you reach that exalted position, you aren’t going to leave unless something catastrophic happens. I’m sorry I’m not more help. You really should think about calling Pearl. I know she keeps up with what’s going on with the justices and the court. Back in the day, she was very friendly with one of the other justices, but I can’t remember which one.”
Lizzie moved slightly so the waiter could set her plate in front of her. She closed her eyes and sniffed. She knew she was going to eat every bite of the food in front of her, even though she’d already had four garlic twists.
“This certainly beats chicken soup for five straight days,” Nellie said, digging into her lasagna.
As if by some unheard signal, both women switched their conversation to mundane things, the weather, the rising temperatures, the flooding, when precisely spring would arrive, and plans for the summer.
“Elias wants to go on a cruise. I do not. All you do is eat on cruises and play shuffleboard. I’d rather go to Wyoming and some ranch. We’ll argue it out, I’m sure. What about you, Lizzie? Do you and Cosmo have plans?”
“Not really. I hope to be out of the White House by the end of June. I gave the president only six months. I don’t even know why I agreed to do it to begin with.” Lizzie dropped her voice, her fork poised in midair as she leaned forward. “I have this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that Martine is not going to honor her promise to the vigilantes.”
Nellie stopped chewing and said, “Please tell me you didn’t just say what you just said.”
“I wish I could, Nellie, but it’s out there. I spoke to her COS late this morning, and he said she was like a cat on a hot griddle. She’s at war with her advisors. I played it cool and didn’t ask any questions, but I’m certain that’s what it’s all about.”
“I don’t think I want to go there right now with this,” Nellie said. “And suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.”
Lizzie laid down her fork. “I don’t know what to do, Nellie.”
“When I don’t know what to do, dear, I do nothing and watch it play out.”
“Would you do that if it involved the vigilantes, Nellie?”
Two words exploded from Nellie’s mouth like gunshots. “Hell, no!”
The other diners raised their heads and looked around, then went back to their meals.
“My point exactly,” Lizzie said.
Just as Ted Robinson and Joe Espinosa were unbuckling their seat belts and waiting to disembark, Maggie Spritzer was on the phone with Charles Martin to bring him up to date on Abner Tookus’s latest reports and Ted and Espinosa’s visit to interview Florence Leonard. She signed off by saying, “See ya in a few hours.”
Charles peered over his glasses at the women, who were arguing loudly among themselves. Even from where he was standing, he could see the hackles rising on the backs of Murphy and Grady. Annie was sputtering now; Myra, trying her best to defuse whatever was going on.
Charles let loose with a sharp whistle. The dogs looked at him, then lay down, their coats smooth once more. The girls looked embarrassed, even Annie, who started to apologize for what she called her “attitude.”
“Everyone needs to calm down,” Charles said soothingly. “I have a small amount of news t
o share, compliments of Maggie.” He ran through the report quickly.
“So that just confirms what Yoko and Harry said earlier. I’m not liking this at all. How could the president do that to Lizzie and to us after all we’ve done for her? How? Someone tell me how?” Nikki bellowed.
“Dear, it isn’t going to do any good to get agitated,” Myra said quietly.
Annie felt like beating her breast in frustration. She eyed Myra and said, “Nikki has the right to express her displeasure over all of this. I’m about to express my own. But since you are so calm and collected, Myra, tell us right now what you would have us do to correct this…this shitful problem.”
“Yeah, Myra, tell us,” Kathryn snarled. “She promised the pardons. She’s going to kick Lizzie in the gut? There’s something wrong here. She used us, and that is totally unacceptable.”
Myra fingered the ever-present pearls at her neck; then she sat upright and looked around the table. “I thought it was obvious, girls. We will have to invade the White House and snatch our pardons right from under the eyes of everyone present.”
“Myra, you damn well rock!” Annie chortled happily. She clapped Myra so hard on the back, Myra’s chair lurched forward, and she almost fell off.
“All we need is a plan,” Isabelle said, excitement ringing in her voice.
“I think Harry has a plan. He’s going to talk to us this evening, when he gets here. I think we can do it!” Yoko said.
Charles, his mouth open, stared at his chicks, as he thought of them. “No! You are out of your minds. You cannot just march into the White House and…and steal your pardons. No!”
“Why not, Charles? The pardons belong to us. If your intel is correct, they are signed. Technically, that means they now belong to us. And while we’re on such a roll, we’ll make sure that Justice Leonard really does retire and Lizzie steps into his place, providing that’s what she wants. We can do this,” Nikki said.
Charles replied, “I’d like to see you get that past the sniff test in a court of law. No!”
Game Over Page 10
