Alexis smiled. “This is nice, Yoko. Being surrounded by beautiful flowers and plants all day has to give you a good feeling. Are you busy?”
“Not really. Valentine’s Day was our busiest time. Things taper off after that. My workers are busy in the greenhouses with the seedlings so they’ll be ready for the first spring rush. Would you like some tea, perhaps coffee? We can go to the back, in my workroom, and one of the girls can handle the register and phone. Is something wrong?” Yoko whispered.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Myra asked me to bring something to you. Today is Friday and she needs you to deliver it this afternoon. I brought some things for you, too. Can you get away?”
“It will not be a problem. Coffee or tea?”
Alexis looked around at the fica trees by the front windows, the tall rubber plants and an extremely large banana tree with three green bananas hanging off it. “Is there a market for banana trees?”
Yoko giggled. “Unfortunately, no. It was an expenditure of my husband’s. I just keep moving it around. Do you see anything you like?”
Alexis smiled. “I like it all. One of these days I’m going to have my own house with all kinds of flower gardens. I’m partial to English gardens. I have — had — tons of catalogs before…you know, before. Depending on the size of my yard, I plan on some statuary, a fountain and tons and tons of flowers. I want the gardens to scream my name. You know: Alexis Thorne lives here and she loves flowers. But that’s somewhere down the road and I try not to think about it too much.” She sighed as she followed Yoko through a door that led to a massive work area. Everything smelled earthy and pungent.
Yoko opened a mini refrigerator and popped two bottles of root beer. She handed one to Alexis. They clinked their bottles in a silent toast. Yoko motioned to a high stool. “Now, tell me what it is you brought me.”
“Everything is in the car. Myra wants you to deliver a set of blueprints to Rosemary Hershey’s office. You’ll be going as Mrs. Kim Yee again, so I brought a new outfit for you to wear, along with Myra’s bag of diamonds. I haven’t had root beer in years and years. This is really good.”
Yoko leaned forward. “Whose blueprints are they?”
“I’m not sure, but if you want my guess, I’d say they’re Isabelle’s. You are to tell Miss Hershey that as you were leaving Mr. Harcourt’s office he asked if you would mind dropping off the prints, since it was on your way, and you agreed. Other than that, I know nothing. Listen, I’d love to stay and hang out here but I have to get back to the farm. I’m expecting a lot of deliveries. My red bag is almost empty and we can’t have that, now can we?”
Yoko giggled. “Absolutely not. I’ll walk you to the car.”
Outside in the bright sunshine, Alexis popped the trunk of the Mini Cooper. Between the two of them they managed to carry the blueprint cylinder and the various boxes and bags that Myra had said Yoko would need.
Alexis was about to close the trunk when Yoko looked at a pile of pink froth in the corner. She pointed, her eyes alight with laughter. “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s for my red bag. I got the idea when you told me what you saw in Rosemary’s closet. You know, all those ballerina costumes. I thought having one in my bag might come in handy. I had this crazy idea…never mind.”
“Oh, for a minute I thought you…you had a date…you’re right, never mind.”
Maggie Spritzer was right behind Rosemary Hershey as she stalked her way out of the Publix supermarket having just created a scene with James, the tarot card reader. What the hell was that all about? Maggie wondered.
She didn’t bother trying to hide or sidestep the architect this time. She could have been lit up like a neon sign and Rosemary wouldn’t notice her. The manager of the supermarket had threatened to call the police and ordered Rosemary to leave the premises.
Rosemary drove erratically, running yellow lights and driving over the speed limit. Where were the cops when you needed them? Maggie didn’t sweat the situation, knowing Rosemary was headed for her office because it was her sanctuary.
Ten minutes later, Maggie mentally patted herself on the back when she saw Rosemary’s Mercedes in the parking lot of her office. She managed to park two spots away. She hoped the architect hadn’t locked the car door this time so she could replace the things she’d taken out earlier. All she could do now was wait and use up some of the time calling some of the politicians and power brokers on her list. People who, according to Violet and the other Domestic Divas, Rosemary had slept with. She’d ask for a comment. She slid a CD into the player and leaned back against the headrest, her eyes never leaving the entrance to the building as she proceeded to make one phone call after another. Little did she know that by making her phone calls she was aiding the ladies of Pinewood in their quest to bring Rosemary Hershey to justice
Inside, Rosemary Hershey stomped around her offices, cursing and yelling at her employees. “Today is Friday! Friday, people! Those designs were supposed to be finished last night! Are they finished? No!” she screeched. “They are not finished! That…that crap is not going anywhere. You call yourselves architects! You’re a disgrace to the profession. You’re all fired! Now, get out of here. You take nothing but your personal belongings. Now means now, people! Go! That goes for you, too,” she said, shaking a finger at her secretary and receptionist. “And don’t think you’re going to collect unemployment either! I’ll fight it!”
When the office cleared, Rosemary walked around trying to figure out if anyone had managed to smuggle anything out. She started to cry as she made her way back to her office with the sheaf of blueprints in her hand. There was no way she could go to dinner at the Silver Swan now. If she showed up with no entry, she’d look like a fool. The prints were supposed to be ready at four o’clock to be picked up by a messenger who would then transport them to Myra Rutledge. That wasn’t going to happen now.
Crying and blubbering, Rosemary paced her offices. She was in this pickle because of Isabelle Flanders. She should kill her. But killing her was too good. She knew in her gut that Isabelle was going to win on Sunday night. She’d be back on top, with Bobby at her side, just the way it was before the accident. She’d like to kill Bobby, too.
Rosemary started to cry again. She wasn’t going to kill anyone. She already had three deaths under her belt and didn’t need to increase that number. Maybe she should cut and run. Maybe it was time to clear out, leave everything behind and start over somewhere else. It wasn’t too late. She was still young, still beautiful. She could get a facelift, repair the damage these past weeks had wrecked on her person. All she had to do was go home, clean out her safe, pack her clothes and leave.
The phone rang. Rosemary waited and then remembered she’d fired the receptionist. She picked it up and barked a greeting. She reared back, panic rushing through her at the voice on the other end of the line.
“This is Connor Daniels, Rosemary. Listen to me, young lady, and listen carefully. I just had a call from some reporter at the Post asking for a comment about our affair. My question to you is: who did you blab to? I won’t tolerate this, Rosemary. I have a family and I don’t want any kind of scandal. You better take care of this, and I do mean immediately, or I’ll be forced to use other measures. We had an agreement. Are you listening to me?”
Rosemary clenched her teeth. “Yes, I’m listening, Connor. I’m not the kiss-and-tell type. You need to look to your own end. Don’t ever make the mistake of threatening me again. If I wanted to blackmail you or get even with you over something, I would have done it a long time ago. You do remember all those dirty little secrets you used to whisper in my ear, don’t you? You used to love pillow talk. Don’t call me again, and like I said, don’t threaten me. I kept a diary. Enough said. Goodbye, Connor.”
Rosemary was shaking so badly she had to sit on her hands to stop them from trembling. When the phone rang again she almost jumped out of her skin. Connor wouldn’t be stupid enough to call back. Her arm snaked out. Her greeting
this time was more subdued.
“Rosemary, this is Dwayne Hickman. I just got a call from some reporter at the Post asking for a comment about…our past relationship. Of course I denied everything other than having worked with you on our beach house. What’s going on? If this gets out it is going to hurt you as much as me. I have teenagers. I want you to take care of this, Rosemary. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate me when it comes to protecting my own. I want to hear you say something, Rosemary.”
Rosemary thought her head was going to twist right off her neck. “If I knew what to say, Dwayne, I’d say it. I don’t know how it happened. No one has been in touch with me. I never, ever, confided in anyone about our little affair. You do like to babble when you’ve had too much to drink. Don’t blame me for this. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”
She slammed the phone back into place. She ran to the lavatory, closed the door and then slid down to the floor. She hugged her knees to her chest. Hard, bitter sobs ripped from her throat. She could hear the phone ringing off the hook. How long, she wondered, would it take for the reporter to go through her list of paramours? All day, she decided.
Just a few minutes ago she’d had a plan. What was it? Did she even care what it was? Rosemary curled into the fetal position and went to sleep. Outside the lavatory, the private phone rang and rang and rang.
Promptly at two-thirty, mindful of the time, Yoko got out of the chauffeur-driven town car. Carrying the blueprints in their colorful container, she went into the building feeling like she’d entered an alien minefield. There was no sound, no sign of a human being. She looked over at the fish tanks that lined the walls. The fish moved from one end of the tanks to the other in lazy, graceful motions. It was way past lunchtime. Where was everyone?
Yoko licked at her dry lips as she crossed the small waiting area to the hall leading to the main offices at the back of the building. As she walked along, she called out Rosemary’s name. She kept calling until she got to the doorway of Rosemary’s office. Then she stood in the doorway, chills racing up and down her spine. Something was wrong. Suddenly she decided she didn’t want to be here, but she was here and she had to follow through. She called out again. When the door of the lavatory opened, Yoko took a step backward. She hoped her expression didn’t betray what she felt at the sight of the architect. No one alive looked like this. Then again, no dead person she’d ever seen looked like Rosemary Hershey, either. Yoko fought the urge to run.
She pasted a smile on her face and said, “Miss Hershey, Mr. Harcourt asked me if I would mind delivering this to you on my way home. I said I didn’t mind. I apologize for coming straight through here, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the building. Mr. Harcourt seemed quite anxious that you have this before four o’clock.” She held out the colorful cylinder.
Instead of stepping forward to reach out for it, Rosemary backed up. Suspicion ringing in her voice, she asked, “What is it?”
“I do not know. Mr. Harcourt just said you would need this by four o’clock. He did say he hoped it would put a smile on your face. I must leave now.”
“Wait. Wait. Bobby actually said that?”
“But of course. It was nice speaking with you again, Miss Hershey. I’ll just lay this on your desk. Goodbye.”
Rosemary rubbed her hands together as she chewed on her lower lip. She eyed the cylinder and then the phone when it started to ring again. She ignored the phone as she gouged at the round clip holding the contents of the tube secure. She broke two nails as she tried to pry it off. Finally, she used a letter opener. The lid shot in the air but Rosemary barely noticed. The phone continued to ring. She yanked at the contents and pulled out a thick wad of blueprints, which she carried over to her drafting table and spread out for easier viewing. The Barrington farm. She let her gaze travel down to the bottom right-hand corner where it said: ROSEMARY HERSHEY, ARCHITECT.
“Oh, God! Oh, you dear, sweet man! You did this for me!”
Rosemary flipped the oversized sheets, marveling at her husband’s expertise. She literally swooned with happiness. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby, this is too wonderful for words. You came through for me. Thank you, thank you. I’ll find a way to make this up to you. I will, I swear I will.”
The phone continued to ring. Finally, she picked it up, listened for a moment, then said, “Go to hell, you weasel!” It began to ring again the moment she broke the connection. Finally, she yanked the wire out of the baseboard jack.
She was back in the game. Without a doubt she was holding a winning hand. The designs were pure genius. Pure Bobby. Wonderful, sweet Bobby who had just saved her skin.
Rosemary spent the next fifteen minutes hunting down a new cylinder for the designs that bore her name. She spent another ten minutes typing up her submission letter. She was just about to clamp the lid on the cylinder when she realized she needed to make a copy of the prints, and used up another ten minutes doing that before it was time to slide the original into the cylinder. She knew the phone was still ringing because she could hear a faint fuzz, even though she’d ripped the cord out of the wall.
Rosemary felt giddy as she gathered up the blueprint container and carried it out to the waiting room to wait for the messenger who was due to arrive at four o’clock.
While she waited, she picked through the stack of mail that was sitting on the receptionist’s desk. She sucked in her breath when she saw the two familiar white envelopes. She didn’t have to open them. Why torture herself?
Why did Bobby give her his designs? She smiled at what she thought was the answer. Going out on his own he had limited time. Mrs. Yee must have hired him, which wouldn’t leave him much time to work on a design for the horse farm. Whatever it was, she was the happy recipient of his generosity. She made a mental note to send him a colossal Christmas present as a thank you.
The messenger was a young kid with saddlebags on his bike. He reached for the blueprints, ripped a receipt off a pad, initialed it and took off.
Nineteen
Jack Emery twisted sideways to throw another log on the fire. It was a pure reflex action on his part because he didn’t want Nikki to see the shock he was feeling at what she’d just told him. Sometimes, like now, he wished he’d never agreed to be a silent partner to the ladies of Pinewood. He dusted his hands as he squirmed back into position. He wished he could turn the clock back to a time when he was just a struggling ADA in love with a rich girl who just happened to be a lawyer. Before…before so many things that haunted him these days.
“Why so serious tonight, Jack?” Nikki asked as she traced her index finger up and down his cheek.
Jack tried to shrug but it was hard since his head was in Nikki’s lap. They were propped up in front of the fire on mounds of pillows. They’d just toasted weenies and marshmallows and were on their second bottle of wine. The evening had started out with such promise but now the glow was gone and even drinking three bottles of wine wasn’t going to bring the mood back.
“No particular reason. I saw Ted today at Squire’s Pub and he thumbed his nose at me. I’m having a hard time with that. You know how I feel about friendships. They’re hard to come by and should be treasured. He wants to take a poke at me so bad to make himself feel better.”
“Jack, the reason Ted keeps going to the pub is to see you, not to eat. He knows you go there all the time. Sometimes people don’t know how to say they’re sorry. I think Ted is as miserable as you are about your friendship. You could step up to the plate and make nice. You’re not playing in a sand-box these days. You’re all grown up, so start acting like the grownup you are.” When Jack didn’t respond, she continued. “Why do you guys have to turn everything into a pissing contest? So what if you blink first? So what? The next time, and there will be a next time, Ted will blink first, and you’ll be even. But that’s not all of it, is it?”
Jack tried to shrug again but was unsuccessful. He rolled away and propped himself up on one elbow. “No, that’s not all of it.”
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Nikki’s tone sharpened. “Is it what I told you about Rosemary Hershey that’s bothering you? She killed three people, Jack. She ruined Isabelle’s life. She has to pay for that.”
“The law…”
Nikki’s tone took on a hard edge. “Don’t talk to me about the law, Jack. Hershey was tried and acquitted. Three people are still dead. A little boy is growing up without a mother and a father. His grandmother is elderly. What’s going to happen to that child when she passes on? Isabelle can never get back her lost years or her reputation. The law isn’t going to do a damn thing for those dead people, for that little boy or for Isabelle. You and I both know the law is seriously flawed. The prosecutor didn’t do his job. If he had, Hershey would have been found guilty — and don’t even think about blaming the jury.”
“You made your point, Nik. I can’t change the way I think, OK? Driving someone crazy is…”
“A bit over the top? Would you rather we had made it an eye for an eye, that kind of thing, which of course would mean we would have to kill her? We aren’t murderers.”
Jack watched a shower of sparks shoot upward in the fireplace. Normally he loved the snap and crackle of a good fire, but he wasn’t enjoying this one. “Hell, no!”
Nikki stood up. “If we keep this up, one of us is going to say or do something we’ll regret. I’m going back to the farm. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for us and I don’t want to give Myra any cause for worry. As it is, I think she pretty much knows what’s going on between us.”
Jack didn’t get up. He felt like he’d just been punched in the gut. He hated being Nikki’s dirty little secret. The room was almost dark apart from the flames from the fire. He could see tears glistening in Nikki’s eyes before she turned and headed for the front door. He should get up, walk her to the door, kiss her good night. That’s what he should do. He rolled over onto his stomach and banged his head on the floor. When the door closed behind Nikki he wanted to throw a tantrum the way he had when he was a little boy. She hadn’t even said good night.
5. Sweet Revenge Page 16