Home Free

by Fern Michaels

  Jason took what he considered Maggie’s bad attitude in stride and said, “Did you find my notebook?”

  “You really take the cake, you know that, Jason? Why would I look for your notebook? You lost it. You look for it. There are other people staying here. Ask them. You know what else? You really should dry off those expensive shoes you’re wearing. You’re going to find salt marks on them. How’s that going to look when you get your picture taken with the president?”

  Jason scurried out of the room, and Maggie left the building. Outside, she pulled up the collar of her jacket, pulled her wool cap down snugly over her ears, then pulled on a pair of bright red mittens that Myra had made for her two Christmases ago.

  Maggie closed her eyes and waited for her escort to show up to lead her to Sycamore Cabin. It seemed to her that the temperature was dropping. Damn, she hated the cold. Why couldn’t the president have invited her to Camp David for the Fourth of July, when the weather was warm and balmy?

  When one of the marines showed up, Maggie fought her way down the walkway that had been cleared of all the snow. She could see small crystals of ice beginning to form at the edges of the stones, which proved to her that the temperature was indeed falling. To her own great delight, she laughed out loud when she formed a mental picture of Jason Parker in his handmade Ballys, slipping and sliding and falling on his ass as he made his way to Hickory Lodge, where the pictures were to be taken. She was still laughing when she walked up to the door of Sycamore Cabin and knocked once.

  Her hand was raised to knock a second time when the door was opened by Jim Matthews from CBS. “We’ve been waiting, Maggie. What took you so long?”

  Maggie laughed. “A little of this and a little of that. I’m here now, so tell me. What’s going on?”

  Chapter 12

  The Sisters were like a bunch of ten-year-olds when they trooped down to the kitchen to get an early breakfast before heading back to the District to honor their promise to help Yoko at the nursery.

  The boys were outside blowing snow, shoveling out their vehicles, and clearing the huge courtyard so that they could make it out to the highway. Except for Charles and Fergus, who were busy at Annie’s Wolf range. Annie and Myra exchanged smug expressions at how well the two men had hit it off.

  As the Sisters bustled around the kitchen and dining room, Myra whispered in Annie’s ear, “How long do you think Fergus will stay on?”

  Annie wiggled her eyebrows. Then she winked. “Until I wear him out would be my best guess.”

  In spite of herself, Myra grinned. “That good, eh?”

  “I have to say, Myra . . . that good.”

  Myra gave her old friend’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m happy for you, Annie. I mean that sincerely.”

  “I know, Myra, I know. By the way, I really think we should go with the girls to help Yoko. I’m sure there’s something we’ll be able to do. Just because we have arthritis in our hands doesn’t mean we can’t fetch and carry, stack and box . . . whatever. Four extra hands could mean a big difference to Yoko and her schedule.”

  “Okay. I didn’t have anything planned for today. I don’t know about Nellie, though.”

  “Did I hear my name mentioned?” Nellie asked, coming up behind the women.

  “You did. Myra and I are going to go with the girls to help Yoko. You’re welcome to come along.”

  Nellie held out her hands. “I don’t think so. And these new hips of mine are giving me trouble this morning. Change in weather is never good, but it is getting better, I have to say. I think Elias and I will head on home after breakfast. Annie said we could borrow two of the snowmobiles. We’ll pick up our car when we return the snowmobiles. If there’s anything Elias and I can do from this end, let me know.” Nellie’s voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Annie, I really like Fergus. You aren’t going to screw it up, are you?”

  Annie laughed. “I know you didn’t mean that to come out the way it did, but the answer is yes and no.”

  The three women laughed just as Fergus turned to look at them. Annie wiggled her fingers in his direction, and he threw his head back and let loose with a bear of a laugh.

  “Life is lookin’ good, girls,” Annie said, moving off toward the dining room.

  The Sisters looked up, their eyes questioning.

  Annie threw her arms in the air. “Nothing. Myra and I are going to go with you all to Yoko’s. We’re four extra hands. I’m sure we can fetch and carry and help out. Make coffee or hot chocolate. Whatever . . . We are on board with the exception of Nellie, who is going back home after breakfast. Did the boys say what they’re going to do?”

  Nikki and Kathryn looked at each other, then at Yoko, who nodded.

  “We think they have an intervention planned. They’re going to relocate Harry’s second master with a dummy in another room. They said the master will never know the difference since he sleeps all day, the same way the first one did. Jack and Bert are going to take over Harry’s training. Yoko gave her approval, so now it will be up to Jack and Bert to convince Harry to accept their help,” Nikki said.

  A bell tinkled.

  “Time for breakfast,” Isabelle said.

  “I’ll call the boys,” Alexis said.

  “I’ll help set up the food on the sideboard,” Kathryn said.

  The Sisters fell to it and worked like the well-practiced machine that they were.

  The rule at Annie’s was the same as at Myra’s: no business was discussed at mealtime. Charles’s rule, a rule the Sisters adhered to.

  New to their game, Fergus asked how they all thought Maggie Spritzer’s visit to Camp David was going.

  Myra explained Charles’s rule. Fergus looked properly chastised until Annie patted his shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. You couldn’t be expected to know about all our rules, even the silly ones.” She glared at Charles to make her point.

  The Sisters all grinned from ear to ear. Annie definitely had a thing going on, and they approved.

  Breakfast progressed and, for some reason no one could explain, the Sisters and the boys split. The girls cleaned the kitchen; the boys rushed back outside to finish clearing the snow. And then it was time to leave. All questions about Maggie and any other pending business were left back in the dining room.

  Ted Robinson and Espinosa brought two bright, shiny snowmobiles as close to the back door as they could. Elias and Nellie waved jauntily and sped off across the fields to their own house. Jack and Bert roared up right behind Ted and Espinosa, and Charles and Fergus hopped on two yellow snowmobiles and, with an airy wave, headed toward Pinewood.

  The boys clambered into Bert’s SUV, and the Sisters split up into two vehicles, Nikki’s BMW and Annie’s Mercedes.

  Maggie looked in the mirror. She made a face at herself. She would never be a fashionista like Nikki or Alexis. And she wasn’t as sporty and elegant as Kathryn or Isabelle. And there was no way she could even come close to Yoko in dress or demeanor. She was herself, Maggie Spritzer. She cocked her head from side to side. “Casual” meant casual. She decided she was casual in her black pantsuit with the leather belt that rode low on her hips. Now, if she put on the rhinestone belt, the black pantsuit would have qualified for casual evening wear. Well, it wasn’t going to get any better no matter how long she stared at herself. She was even satisfied with her hair, which she had pulled back and wound into a French twist. There was nothing she could do about the stray tendrils that curled around her temples and ears. All in all, she decided she was more than presentable.

  She slipped into her coat for her walk to Aspen Lodge, the president’s private residence at Camp David. She was expecting an escort with a golf cart, but that had not been confirmed. Whoever was assigned to deliver her to Aspen Lodge could just as well pick her up on the way. Besides, she wanted the fresh air to clear her head.

  In the common room, the fire was blazing. A cart with fresh coffee was being wheeled in by a steward. The college student was first in line
to fill his cup. Jason Parker was sitting on one of the sofas, writing something in his little notebook. When he saw Maggie, he held it up triumphantly. “I found it!”

  “Good for you,” Maggie snapped. What was he scribbling in that little book, and what did it all mean? Well, she didn’t have time to worry about Jason Parker and his notes.

  “Maggie, hold on. I heard in the dining room that Mr. Sullivan is leaving early this evening. I’m going to find out if I can hitch a ride with them. I just wanted you to know.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible. I just assumed everyone was leaving on Sunday morning. I think I might cut my own visit short if that’s the case. Thanks for telling me,” she mumbled.

  “It’s not like you don’t know everything already. I can’t believe I one-upped you,” Jason sniped.

  “Why couldn’t you just have quit while you were ahead, you schmuck?” Maggie slammed the door to drive home her point.

  Gus was leaving this evening, if what Jason said was true. Why? Now if she tried to hitch a ride with him, he was going to think she was hot on his tail. Maybe she should play it cool and ride it out till Sunday. Damn, why didn’t things work out the way she wanted them to? Why did something always have to go wrong at the eleventh hour? Because it’s life, she answered herself.

  When the golf cart was not waiting outside, Maggie started toward Aspen Lodge. She had taken only a few steps when she heard the golf cart before it came alongside of her. “You should have waited, Miss Spritzer. We have rules here.”

  “Yeah, well, I needed some fresh air. I don’t mind the walk. But since you’re here, I accept the ride. Where you from, Marine?”

  “Edison, New Jersey, ma’am.”

  “I’ve never been to New Jersey, for some reason.”

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  Five minutes later, Maggie found herself being welcomed to Aspen Lodge by the president of the United States. Martine Connor started off the conversation with an apology. “I’m really sorry, Maggie. Is it okay to call you Maggie? We went through this once before, I believe.”

  Maggie nodded.

  “I had hoped to spend some serious personal time with all my guests, but some things came up that had to be dealt with. Historically, for some reason, Thanksgiving has always been business-free, with nothing going on. My luck that things changed,” the president said impishly as she guided Maggie into the dining room, where a small table was set for two.

  A small glass fishbowl held four white roses with assorted greenery. Maggie thought it looked simple yet elegant. Much like the president herself, who was dressed in beige slacks, loafers, and a long-sleeved burgundy turtleneck sweater. A single strand of pearls and pearl studs were her only jewelry. As for makeup, she wore a little rouge, a pale pink lipstick. There was not even a hint of perfume on her person. Her hair was pulled back casually and piled high on her head. Simple but elegant.

  “I wish we had time for a real hour of girl talk, but, unfortunately, I have a meeting after lunch that is . . . very important.”

  Maggie relaxed. Sizing up the president, she thought she had hit the nail on the head and that the president was going to be doing all the talking, and that she would be doing all the listening. Maggie was reminded of the news anchors who talked so fast because of time constraints. Words per minute was all-important. She waited.

  “Turkey broth, turkey croquettes, and if there was a way to make a dessert with turkey, my chef would have found it. Since he didn’t find one, we’re having mince pie. All leftovers,” the president said. “I hate to see food wasted, and it’s so American to eat turkey for a week after Thanksgiving. Don’t you agree, Maggie?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “So, did you get to meet everyone?”

  Maggie nodded again because she didn’t know what else to do, even though she hadn’t been introduced to the important people.

  “Isn’t Gus just the most interesting person?”

  Maggie nodded again.

  “Cleo just loves him. I am going to be devastated when he makes his full recovery and Cleo goes back to him.”

  A devil perched itself on Maggie’s shoulder. “Gus asked me to marry him. I said yes.” Maggie giggled.

  The president burst out laughing. “I know. He told me last night. He’s a great guy, Maggie. He’s really been into Washington politics since his return. All he does is read. He asks questions. I like that. Do you have any questions? The soup is salty, don’t you think?”

  What the hell? Maggie tasted the soup and agreed it was salty. When the president pushed her bowl aside, she did the same thing.

  “The reporter in me wants to know why all those money people are here. The reporter in me wants to know why all those spooks from abroad are here. Personally, me wants to know if you know anything about Gus that will make sure I get him to the altar.”

  Well, she couldn’t have been more blunt if she’d rehearsed her response. Throw out the line and see what you hook was a rule she lived by.

  The president smiled. “I wish I had an answer for you. I don’t. That’s why I invited all these people here at the last minute. I thought you could . . . talk this up with . . . ah . . . your colleagues.”

  “I’m trying hard not to be stupid here, but you’re going to have to tell me more. My . . . ah . . . colleagues won’t . . . They’ll need more. Trust me.”

  “Always follow the money. Isn’t that a rule of something or other? When money goes missing, you start at the beginning and track it. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Well, that’s true. We’ve done enough exposés over the years to give credibility to that theory. Money trail, paper trail, it’s all the same. So what’s gone missing?” Maggie asked.

  The president shook her head, which meant she didn’t want to tell or couldn’t tell.

  Maggie nodded and continued to ask questions. “So you guys . . . your different agencies, you have beaucoup bucks you use . . . to pay off spies and that kind of thing? Slush funds for special agents and their expenses? High- dollar payouts to agents who go undercover to do things no one ever finds out about. I read a lot of spy novels, and that’s how it works on printed pages. I think I can fill in the blanks if you just nod.”

  The president smiled and broke into her turkey croquette. She ladled a chile-verde sauce all over it. “It’s still leftover turkey,” the president said, tongue in cheek. She then nodded.

  “Are there many different funds or just one?”

  The president held up her fork that had four tines in it.

  Maggie wanted to call a halt to this nonsense and bellow, “Tell me. Stop playing games with me.” Richard Nixon and the famous tapes. Maggie eyed the fork and nodded. Four funds.

  Maggie was shocked witless when the president said, “Money people, those investment brokers like the friend you brought with you, are such strange people. They don’t operate or live on the same level as ordinary people. All they think about is money and how to invest to get the highest return or how to bilk people, like that Bernie Madoff person in New York.”

  Maggie blinked, then blinked again. Oh shit. Was the president telling her Jason Parker was a Bernie Madoff clone? Sounded like it. “I need a name, Madam President. Who controls all those invisible slush funds? One person, four people? Who has the final say, and where does the accounting end?”

  In response, or should that be nonresponse, the president shook her head. She reached for her pie just as Maggie pushed up her sleeve and glanced at her watch.

  Maggie figured her time would be up when the president took the last bite of her pie. She felt like she was in a puzzle house. The president didn’t seem shy about talking about some things, assuming the conversation was recorded by someone somewhere, and yet she stopped short of actually giving concrete details for her to carry back to the Sisters. Why hand out those special gold shields, then pull a stunt like this one? Why not just call up one of the girls or go through Lizzie, who would then re
late the request to the Sisters?

  If there was one thing Maggie Spritzer hated, it was feeling stupid, and at that moment she was feeling stupid. Really, really stupid. She was so irritated with herself, she blurted out a question she’d had no intention of asking. “How much money do foreign countries keep in those mysterious funds that don’t exist?”

  “Other countries?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “Billions sometimes.”

  “And just one person per country handles these special funds?”

  The president nodded.

  Maggie’s mind raced. “Which one of the money people at Camp David handles the U.S. funds?” she asked.

  The president shook her head.

  Maggie sucked in her breath. Either the president didn’t know, which was mind-boggling, or she couldn’t tell her for reasons of national security. Her gut instincts told her it was the former and not the latter. All the proof she needed that the president didn’t know was to see the awful look on her face. How, she wondered, is that possible?

  She was the president, the leader of the free world, and here she was, admitting she didn’t know. Ah, maybe something happened to that person. Maybe that person absconded with all those funds no one was supposed to know about. Maggie felt her heart start to flutter in her chest.

  Maggie licked at her dry lips and nodded weakly. “Madam President, is it true that Gus Sullivan is leaving this evening? If so, can I switch up and return with him?”

  The president sighed so loudly that Maggie was stunned. “Of course, Maggie. I’m sorry. I should have asked you earlier. Departure time is five forty-five. I hope you enjoyed your brief visit. I have to leave now. I really enjoyed our lunch. I hope you did, too.”

  “I . . . I loved it.”

  The president laughed, but it was a jittery-sounding laugh. “That’s what Lizzie always said, but what it really meant was, ‘Get me out of here as quick as possible.’ I’ll be in touch, Maggie.”

  I’ll be in touch. Did the president really say that? Maggie looked toward the door, where the marine who had driven her there to Aspen Lodge was waiting to drive her back to her cabin. She stood on the side while the president explained to the marine that Maggie would be leaving on the helicopter at five forty-five. He nodded and held the door for Maggie. She turned in time to see the president waving to her; then she did something that blew Maggie’s mind. President Martine Connor blew her, Maggie Spritzer, a kiss.