Hokus Pokus (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 2)

by Fern Michaels

  She was right and Jack knew it. “You’re supposed to keep the phone on your person,” he said. “I thought you understood that.”

  “I did. I do. I keep it in my backpack. I don’t always have a pocket in what I’m wearing. Look, it happened, Jack. I can’t undo what happened, so just make the damn call already.”

  Jack made his way to the living room to get his encrypted phone. He drew a deep breath, pressed buttons and then put the phone to his ear. He couldn’t resist the impulse to say something witty so he ran with it. “Spain, we have a problem.” Rather than wait for King Charles—that’s how he thought of him—to speak, he said, “Someone heisted Maggie’s encrypted phone and some printouts on Tyler Hughes. Maggie is here right now. I think it was Ted Robinson. Maggie will have to tell you herself who she thinks it was. She moved into a condo the Post maintains for VIP interviews. Ted kicked her out when he spotted her having lunch with Lizzie today at Wintergreen’s. He could be our worst nightmare, Charles.”

  When there was no response, Jack removed the special appliance from his ear, shook it, and then placed it back at his ear just in time to hear Charles say, “I’ll get back to you on this, Jack.”

  Jack clicked off the phone and looked over at Maggie, who was wringing her hands. He shrugged.

  “Wha’d he say, wha’d he say, Jack?”

  “He said he’d get back to me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Maggie flopped down onto the long couch. “You need a dog or a cat,” she said inanely. She bounced up immediately and started to pace the exquisitely decorated living room. “Nice digs. Nikki has good taste. In furnishings, not men. Don’t people wonder about you living here in her house?”

  “Let’s not get personal here and invade each other’s space. That’s another way of saying it’s none of your business.”

  “No, I guess it isn’t. I’ll leave now,” she said, heading for the front door.

  Jack was tempted to ask her to stay but couldn’t get his mouth to work. He followed her. Neither said a word. When the door closed behind her, Jack threw the security bolt and turned on the alarm system. Before heading to the second floor and bed, he gathered up the empty beer bottles for the recycling bin. He turned off all the lights, checked the back and side doors. Safe and snug.

  Upstairs, Jack brushed his teeth before climbing into bed. Once, a long time ago, these sheets had smelled like Nikki. He’d loved getting into bed with her, savoring the feel of her, loving the scent of the bed where they made such glorious love. He knew in his heart of hearts that he was never, ever going to get that time back again.

  Screw you, King Charles.

  Maggie was right. He needed to get a dog or a cat.

  Tomorrow.

  Charles Martin held up his hand. “Before you all say whatever it is you want to say, let me tell you there has been a new development back in the States. It seems that Ted Robinson saw Maggie lunching with Lizzie Fox and he also saw all the others. In a fit of pique, Ted got cheeky and told Maggie she had to move out of his domicile, which she did. I believe I told you all that earlier. She relocated to a condominium owned by her newspaper that is used for visiting VIPs. When she went out to get something to eat, someone entered that condo and stole her encrypted phone and some printouts about Hughes.

  “Maggie went over to Jack’s and apprised him of what happened and he just called me. I think that updates our situation for the moment. Now, ladies, since you asked to gather here at our command center, tell me what’s on your minds.”

  Nikki took the initiative and spoke first. “Before we get to that, does this mean our counterparts back in the States are in danger?”

  “Yes, I believe so. I don’t think I need to refresh any of your memories where Mr. Robinson’s bulldog tendencies lie. Is it serious? Very much so. Jack and Harry are the only two we can count on. I’m not saying Nellie or Lizzie can’t…uh…cut the mustard, as Kathryn would say. Maggie is going to be under a microscope. She’s not going to be much help this time around. This could all fall apart, ladies.”

  “Well, we can’t let that happen, now can we?” Annie asked as she looked from one to the other of the women. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m ready to go right now.”

  “I am, too,” Myra said. “Poor Maggie. All she wanted to do was help us. I’m ready to leave right now, too, Charles.” She purposely didn’t look at the others so as not to influence any of their decisions.

  Charles waited, unaware that he’d been holding his breath when he noticed the others nod their heads in agreement after a slight nod of Kathryn’s head. He felt light-headed when the long-held breath exploded from his body. “Does that make it unanimous, then?” he asked calmly.

  “It’s unanimous, Charles,” Alexis said.

  “Then I had better get to work. Pack lightly, ladies. Alexis, work quickly with your Red Bag of magic tricks. It will be wheels up in exactly twenty-four hours. You will be returning to the States right out in the open by a private tour jet, compliments of…a friend.”

  The women stared at Charles with their jaws dropping. “How did you know we would agree? What if we had said no?” Nikki asked.

  “Let’s just say I had a small wager going on. Maggie is one of ours now. We have to help, it’s that simple.”

  “What exactly do you mean by being ‘out in the open’?” Alexis asked in a jittery-sounding voice.

  Charles chuckled. “You’re going to be rock stars from Cape Town, South Africa. That will be the originating takeoff for the private tour jet, in case anyone checks. No one will ever think you’d all be brazen enough to return in such a manner.”

  “Rock stars!” the women squealed like teenagers.

  “Yes, from here on in you will be known as the G-String Girls. You will hit the ground running and no one will ever look at the Dixie Chicks again. I hope you are all impressed with my abilities.”

  The women just stared at him. Annie was the first to untangle her tongue. “I suppose you had…uh…help with this, too.”

  “Let’s just say my royal friend Liz is a big fan. Yes, I had tons of help. Now, no more questions. Alexis, I’m printing out a picture of the real G-String Girls. Work quick and fast.”

  Still speechless, the women left the command center muttering about rock stars and talent and skimpy outfits with knee-high boots and belly piercings.

  Annie could barely contain herself as she made her way up the stone steps to the main part of the monastery that was now their home. “I’m so glad you girls agreed to go with Myra and me. We’ll be fine if we work together in sync. I trust each of you with my life. I know Myra feels the same way, don’t you, dear heart? Ooh, I can’t wait to get my belly button pierced. Will it hurt? I heard somewhere you have to put the hot needle in a raw potato. This is beyond exciting. Aren’t you girls excited? My goodness we might pick up a whole new fan base for the G-String Girls.”

  “Annie, shut UP!” Myra said through clenched teeth.

  Myra saw the worried looks on the other faces. “Not to worry, we’ll be fine, girls. Annie and I talked about this earlier. As you can see, neither of us is young so if things go…badly, we’ll stay and take our punishment. It goes without saying we will never divulge your whereabouts. Now, doesn’t that make you feel better?”

  In spite of herself, Kathryn laughed. “Myra, you’re turning into an Annie clone.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment, dear. Now, Alexis, tell us what we’re going to look like when we set foot on American soil.”

  Alexis pretended to think. “Just like this picture! Not that this will mean anything to all of you, but I think we’re going to have to take a crash course in guitar playing on the trip to the States.”

  Within minutes, the women were jabbering a hundred miles a minute. Their excitement was contagious.

  “Oh, Myra, when was the last time we performed on a stage? Back in dance class when we were seven years old, that’s when. Do you think they’ll want us to si
ng or dance? I think I might be a little rusty,” Annie gushed. “That’s all we can do unless we pretend to play a guitar. We’ll have to clip our nails. This is just too much. Way too much.”

  Her eyes as big as saucers, Myra looked up at her friend. “Annie, I can’t quite picture either one of us in any kind of skimpy attire cavorting around on a stage. No one is going to pierce my belly button. I think the girls will relegate us to stagehands. We’ll be carrying clipboards.” Her voice sharpened. “They’re just talking about dressing us up for the trip. No one is actually going to perform. At least I don’t think so. God, I hope that’s what it means. I don’t even know who the Dixie Chicks are.”

  Annie deflated. “Oh, poop.”

  Chapter 8

  Charles Martin sucked in his breath before he pressed in the numbers to a very special telephone in England. He hated that he had to make the call, much less ask for help from the woman he loved almost as much as he did Myra. He knew his favor would be granted, that wasn’t the point. The point was that he was asking, something he had promised himself he would never do. He was going to have to explain the why of it all to his special friend. He knew she would do all in her power to do whatever he asked without asking questions, aware that she was his last resort. He pressed the numbers before he could change his mind.

  The voice on the other end of the phone was friendly, calm and curious. “Sir Malcolm calling,” Charles said quietly. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as the queen queried him on personal issues. There was a smile in the voice. He answered the questions, asked about her dogs and grandchildren. He laughed aloud as she regaled him with some of their antics. And the world thought she was a stiff, unfeeling woman out of touch with the world. He knew better.

  And then as if by some invisible signal, it was down to business. Charles spoke quickly, outlining his needs and apologizing again for asking for help. It took only another moment for the voice on the other end of the phone to agree to lend her support in whatever way that was needed.

  A promise to stay in touch ended the phone call but not before the quiet voice said, “Promise me, Sir Malcolm, to send a video in a plain brown wrapper.”

  Laughter rippled from Charles’s lips and his step was lighter when he mounted the two steps that led to the bank of computers where he worked like a wizard for the benefit of the Sisterhood. He flexed his fingers before he lowered them to the keyboard. The result was a blizzard of outgoing emails. Fifteen minutes later a return blizzard of emails came through. He shifted and collated the emails before he began to speed-read them. A second later his fist shot in the air.

  Upstairs, the women were laughing hysterically at the pictures Alexis was passing around showing the glorious bodies of the real G-String Girls.

  Annie clutched Myra’s arm. “Myra,” she whispered, “when I was nineteen I never looked like that. Those young women don’t have sagging breasts or cellulite.” Myra didn’t bother to respond, she simply clutched her grandmother’s pearls that she was never without. Recognizing the panic in her old friend’s eyes, Annie nearly swooned.

  “Easy does it, Mom. It’s all going to work out.”

  Myra whirled around. “Oh, darling girl, if I ever needed you it is right now. I don’t think…Oh, dear, I had no idea…Dear girl, we’re old.”

  There was a hint of laughter in her spirit daughter’s voice when she responded.

  “Mom, you always said age is just a number. Run with it, have some fun for a change. Trust Charles. Trust the girls. Mom, just go with the flow. Don’t frighten the others, okay?”

  “Is it going to be all right, darling girl?” Myra whispered.

  “Mom, trust me, okay?”

  “I do, darling. I do. I really do. Trust you, that is. I don’t even know what a G-string looks like.”

  “Turn around and you’ll see.” The laughter was back in Barbara’s voice.

  Myra whirled around, her eyes big as saucers as Nikki held up a glittering G-string. “Are those diamonds?” she asked in a strangled voice.

  “Nope. Zircons, I’m thinking,” Nikki said, peering closely at the G-string. “Or rhinestones. What are the pasties made of?” she asked Alexis.

  Myra knew it was Annie’s voice when she squeaked, “Pasties?” because she was looking at her. “Didn’t you hear me when I said our boobs sag? And, don’t forget the wrinkles. We look like weathered road maps.”

  “Not to worry, Annie. I can hike your boobs up to your ears if you want me to. Relax,” Alexis grinned. “I can work miracles with latex.” The others laughed when Nikki passed the G-string around the circle. Then it was like old times, when they’d planned a mission back in the States. Their adrenalin was pumping as they high-fived each other. “And, girls, we have VIDEO!” Alexis said, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

  Annie looked around at the others, her eyes bigger than saucers. Her shoulders squared and she waved her arms wildly when she said, “I think, girls, we’re in business. Now, let’s get to it. Alexis, show me how you can hike my…uh…breasts up to my ears. And while you’re at it, tell me how you’re going to hike up our rear ends? In precise detail, dear.”

  Jack Emery clicked on his email and read his most recent message. In the Subject line the word “URGENT” glared up at him. He clicked on READ and then cringed again. His boss was asking for volunteers to help the District police cover the Russian delegation that was to arrive sometime within the next thirty-six hours. Like that was going to happen. Working twelve hours a day as it was, he needed to get his sleep sometime. He kept reading and then whistled. Well, he might seriously consider moonlighting to protect the G-String Girls, who were due around the same time as the Russians were. Interesting detail, and time and a half wasn’t bad, either. What the hell, every cop worth his salt would be volunteering for that particular detail. He could hardly wait to call Harry to see if he was interested in partnering up.

  Jack read the rest of his emails and then went back to the first one from his boss. Then he called Harry.

  “You just trying to yank my chain, Jack? No. No! And No! Those girls are obscene! What the hell are they doing coming to the States, anyway? I read an article where they said they would never come Stateside because distance adds to their allure. Soon as you can’t book a group, they become so in demand they start throwing money at you. So much money you can’t be true to yourself. It’s all about money, Jack. One more time, no! That goes for the Russians, too.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t own any of their albums or CDs, too!”

  “So I own one. I wanted to see what they were all about. Yoko likes their music. How many do you own?” Harry asked slyly.

  “None,” Jack lied.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Have you heard from Yoko?”

  “Three days ago for five minutes. Nikki call?”

  “Yesterday morning. Like you, five minutes. The shit hit the fan with Maggie.” Jack quickly brought Harry up-to-date. Harry whistled in surprise. “I’m waiting to hear back from Charles. I’m going to call Maggie when I hang up from you. I know in my gut Ted is responsible for her break-in. We just might have to flatten his ass, Harry.”

  “Say the word and it’s done. Of course if we make an issue of it he’ll know it’s us.”

  Jack snorted. “And we should worry about that? I-don’t-think-so. Stay tuned and I’ll get back to you.”

  Jack stared down at the open email, knowing he had to respond to his boss sooner rather than later. He typed in a carefully worded response that thanked him for the opportunity of overtime but he regretfully had to decline. He pressed SEND and then sighed so loud he startled himself. He was about to log off when the envelope on his email started to jiggle. “Ah, shit!” Jack read the email and uttered another “Ah, shit.”

  I think you misunderstood, Emery, my email wasn’t a request, it was an order. That goes for Wong, too. Pick up your schedule from the duty officer. Court is dark on Wednesday, so you can give this your f
ull attention.

  “Ah, shit!” Jack said again. He called Harry on his speed dial.

  “I’m taking my name off your shitty payroll, Jack. I don’t need this crap. In addition, I have more work than I can handle. Tell your boss to stuff it. I’m not guarding a bunch of naked females. Yoko will pitch a fit!”

  “Too late, Harry. You’re still on the payroll. Listen, I have to head to court. I’ll pick up the assignment sheet after court. I want you to track down Ted Robinson and put the fear of God in him. We’re probably too late already, but I sure as hell don’t want him showing that encrypted phone to anyone, especially the FBI. See if you can get hold of Bert Navarro. He might be able to help. Call me if things get sticky. You’re up, Harry!”

  “Why don’t you just come out and say I’m going to be doing your dirty work instead of saying ‘you’re up, Harry’?”

  “Because it sounds better, that’s why. Put some grease on those sandals of yours and make me proud!”

  “Screw you, Jack!”

  Jack laughed. “See, see, you’re ungrateful. It’s going to be a cold day in hell when I invite you to my ranch in Montana to fly fish if you continue to be so negative.”

  “Be still my heart. Promise me you’ll never make me go to Montana again. I hate Montana. I hate you! I hate Charles Martin. I hate all this bullshit.”

  “I hear you, Harry. I hear you,” Jack said, breaking the connection.

  Jack waited until he hit the ground floor before he pulled out his cell phone to call Maggie Spritzer. “I’m just calling to tell you I have nothing to tell you. I’m still waiting to hear back from Charles. Stay loose, Maggie. I’ll be in court till four so if anything goes down, call Harry or wait till four and meet me outside the courthouse. By the way, where are you?”