Annie tried to clear her mind, to think of pleasant things like her childhood, her early married life. When she felt a pall settle over her shoulders, she switched gears and thought about Fish and the casino. That just seemed to make her more angry, so she switched again to how she was going to arrange Kathryn’s surprise birthday party. Those thoughts stayed with her until she entered the District, at which point she had to give her full attention to the road and the drivers who surrounded her. She received more than one admiring glance, which she knew was for the car and not her. White hair, wrinkles, and gnarly hands did not make for admiring glances. Yellow Porsches, now, that was something else.
Annie suddenly realized as she turned onto O Street that she hadn’t given one moment’s notice to her dinner evening with Fergus Duffy. She did start to think about it when she turned into a minuscule parking lot that was no bigger than the restaurant itself and turned the Porsche over to a valet attendant.
Annie looked down at the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist with the huge numbers on it. She was right on time. Seven o’clock in her opinion was an acceptable dinnertime. If she ate later in the evening, she got gas. She’d eaten here at La Petite several times, and she was neither impressed nor unimpressed. French food was so rich she tried not to eat it on a regular basis. Maybe she’d made an unwise choice when she’d suggested it to Fergus Duffy. Maybe the chicken place was the way to go after all. Well, too late now.
Annie opened the door to the dim interior and was greeted by a host whom she knew for a fact pretended to be French but wasn’t. Charles told her he was from Poughkeepsie, New York, and used to be in the roofing business.
Jerky Jacques, as she thought of him, a.k.a. name-dropper, gushed when Annie walked over to his station to inquire about her reservation and to ask if Fergus had arrived.
“But of course, Countess. For you, the best table in the house, and your guest arrived just seconds ago,” Jerky Jacques said in his best bogus French accent. Annie sniffed as she trailed behind another bogus Frenchman to the table where Fergus waited for her. He stood up, all six foot five of him, and smiled a very toothy smile. He waited until she was seated before he leaned across the table, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m not dressed appropriately for such a fancy restaurant. You, of course, look lovely.”
“I think you look just fine,” Annie said, looking at his open-necked sports shirt and creased khaki trousers. And he did look fine. Wholesome, interesting, and handsome in a rugged kind of way, and he had a full head of iron gray hair that had once been red, or at least rust colored. She liked his brogue and said so, then belatedly thanked him for his compliment. “Just for the record, no one here is French. They’re all poseurs.” A devil perched itself on her shoulder as she shared Charles’s information on the help at La Petite. Fergus laughed, and Annie was instantly at ease. She’d worried for nothing. This man was just a nice man, and she knew she could get through dinner and not be a nervous wreck.
The wine steward approached. Fergus waved him off. “I don’t know anything about fine wines. I only drink ale. Do you drink… what should I call you?” he asked in a jittery voice.
“How about Annie? And you’re Fergus.
“As for drinking, I do. Sometimes I drink a lot and other times not at all. I’m a happy drunk if that’s what you’re trying to ask me.” Oh, God, did I just say that? Obviously she had because Fergus was laughing.
“I’ve been known to need help getting home a time or two myself. I think I fall into the same category as a happy drunk. At least on those occasions.”
Annie frowned as she looked around. Fergus was being a good sport, but he didn’t want to be here, and she felt he was uncomfortable. “You know what, I just had an idea. Get your cell phone out and pretend you have a call. When you end the call, stand up and let’s bug out of this place. We can stop by the Kickin’ Chicken, grab some chicken and some ale, head for the Tidal Basin, and have a picnic at twilight, my favorite time of day. By the way, I like dark beer. Just out of curiosity, where is your security?”
“Front and back. Do you mean it?” Fergus’s expression clearly showed he hoped she did.
Annie loved the way Fergus followed orders. He did exactly what she told him to do, then moved quickly to pull her chair back before she could change her mind. Five minutes and fifty dollars to Jerky Jacques later, they were out in the parking lot, and Annie was settling herself in the lemon-drop Porsche, explaining that Fergus and security should follow her.
“Why can’t I ride with you?”
Why not indeed? “Climb in. I thought you had to go with your security. What are you doing here in the States anyway, or is that NTK?”
“I’m on a case that involved the CIA, but it turned domestic and is now under FBI jurisdiction. I much prefer working with your FBI rather than your CIA. The Bureau is cooperative, unlike the Agency. I can’t tell you anything other than that.”
“Okay, why are you here? I mean with me? What do you want from me?”
Fergus laughed. “They told me you were blunt speaking. We can discuss that later. Why don’t we just talk about ordinary things. Tell me about yourself, and I’ll tell you about myself.”
Annie laughed, an unpleasant sound as she steered around a panel truck that was going too slow to her liking. She blasted her horn and squealed on past. “I took a defensive driving course. Charles insisted. I was the only one who passed with flying colors. You already know everything there is to know about me and don’t deny it. Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m three years from retirement, at which point I will return to my little village in Scotland and while away my days fishing, hunting, reading, and drinking good ale. My wife died twelve years ago. We had a wonderful life, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss her. On our wedding day, she said to me, ‘We are going to have arguments, fights, but I want your promise that when we go to bed at night we don’t do that kiss-and-make-up thing. I want us to shake hands.’
“I thought all women wanted that kiss, but not my wife. She wanted my handshake because a handshake is your word that you mean what you say. It worked for us all our lives.
“My children are busy with their lives, and I see them, if I’m lucky, on holidays. But more often than not I’m working. My grandchildren are all at university, and young people are much too busy to visit grandparents. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is. I think that’s another way of saying I’m married to New Scotland Yard. I’ve worked there since I was a young pup.”
Annie turned on her blinker as she nodded in understanding. “Here we are, the Kickin’ Chicken! Just smell all that lovely grease! I got us here, so you can do the honors. Make sure you get plenty of napkins.”
Fergus laughed. It really was a nice laugh, Annie decided. She watched as three burly men as large as oak trees got out of a rental car and followed Fergus into the chicken palace.
Fifteen minutes later, the Fergus Duffy party, as Annie thought of them, marched out of the Kickin’ Chicken with six colorful bags between them and a cardboard carton that held what looked like a case of beer. The moment everything was settled in the trunk of the Porsche, Annie turned on the engine.
Annie whipped around corners, cutting off SUVs, all in the hope that the chicken would still be warm once they arrived at the Tidal Basin.
Fergus untangled himself and got out of the sports car and walked around to open the door for Annie, his security surrounding him. “Looks like a lot of other people had the same idea you did, Annie. Dinner at dusk, the stars are about to come out, there’s a balmy breeze, and there is a spot with a bench right under that huge tree. Oh, dear, what about your dress?”
“This old thing! Please. The girls like to come here often. I think Maggie, she’s the editor in chief at the Post, comes here to run. After her run, she has a double-decker ice-cream cone. She has a metabolism problem,” Annie volunteered.
“Is there any truth to the rumor that you own the Post?”
“Absolutely non
e at all,” Annie said cheerfully as she fished around inside the bag and triumphantly pulled out a chicken leg. “This is what I love about their chicken—it’s sweet, and it actually tastes like chicken is supposed to taste. But concerning your question, I’ve heard that rumor myself. Where did you hear it?”
Annie munched contentedly, her legs drawn up under her. “Chatter at the Bureau, but it was also mentioned at Langley. I didn’t believe it for a minute,” Fergus said, his eyes twinkling.
“Good for you, Fergus. This town, as you must know by now, is full of secrets, rumors, and dirty deeds. I don’t even know why I want to live so close by. Ah, well, Las Vegas, my other sort of home, is pretty much the same. Secrets, scheming, gambling, crime, you name it.”
Fergus’s eyes continued to twinkle. “I’m thinking you’re a woman of action. You like to be on the move, create situations if you find things too dull to your liking. How am I doing so far?”
Annie laughed as she fished around for a crisp slice of potato and popped it in her mouth. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. As one ages, all the thrills seem to be left to the younger people. So as a senior, I like to take charge of my life and do what I want to do. I think I earned that right, and anyone who doesn’t like it, well, let’s just say it becomes their problem. You have to embrace life, Fergus, or it passes you by. Are you really going to be happy doing nothing when you retire?”
Fergus looked across at Annie in the gray light, and said, “Fishing, hunting, reading, and drinking ale aren’t exactly nothing.”
“They’re deadly. Inside of a month, you’ll be pulling out your hair. Trust me on that one. Now, I want to know why you called me, why we’re sitting here eating greasy chicken that is delicious but not good for us, and I want to know NOW.”
Fergus cleared his throat, dabbed at his mouth, and sat back on the bench. He crossed his legs and turned sideways to see Annie better in the early-evening light. “I chose you … wait, that’s not a good way to start this. Years and years ago, when I first started with the Yard, I was feeling my oats, and a case was assigned to me. It wasn’t a career builder by any means, just routine, but it took me to other places. That’s how I met your husband. Who, by the way, I liked very much. My case involved an employee of your husband’s who, along with a few of his friends, was smuggling Spanish relics. On one of your husband’s boats. Your husband worked with me, young pup that I was. He helped me set a trap for the offenders, all ended well, and I got promoted.
“I remember seeing a picture of you with your husband on his desk. He said at the time you’d only been married a year. I had just gotten married myself, and we talked about finances and married life. I was struggling, and he was already a success. He told me to be patient, that my time would come. The promotion worked wonders for me and my new bride. To this day, no one has ever been more cooperative than your husband was with me that day. Things like that stick with you.
“You probably don’t remember me, but on the day of the memorial service, I was there. I said many, many prayers for the souls of your husband and children.
“To make a long story short, I called you … because I thought you might be able to help me the way your husband did. I lost a young lad who was the age I was when I visited your husband. I trained Sean myself, and he was one of my best agents. He was like a son to me. I believe in my heart, my mind, my soul that Hank Jellicoe is the one who had him killed. Sean walked into some kind of trap, of that I’m sure. I don’t know the whys or the wherefores of it all, just that no one will ever convince me otherwise.
“This visit, this request, has nothing to do with the agreement you and the other ladies signed with my colleagues. I wanted to hire you independently of the others. By you, I mean the vigilantes. I don’t even know if it’s possible, that’s why I came here in person. All trails led me to the CIA, then got cold. And then I picked up something that led me to the FBI. That’s pretty much the sum total of it all.”
“But when we were pardoned, we were not given immunity from prosecution for any future activity here in the States. If your trail is here, which means Hank Jellicoe is here somewhere, maybe as close as the other side of the Tidal Basin, the immunity you and your colleagues gave us is of no relevance. Things would be different if he were on foreign soil. Don’t take what I’m saying as any kind of commitment on my part, I’m just talking out loud. What did they tell you at the Bureau that made you come to me?”
“John Yantzy told me that one of his predecessors kept a file on just about everyone in the world, much like J. Edgar Hoover did. He said the vigilantes have those files, and your president herself told him that you were off-limits.” Fergus threw his hands up in the air to show he now was at an impasse. “Do you ladies have those files?”
Annie’s head jerked upright. “That’s NTK, Fergus Duffy,” Annie said coldly.
“But…”
“There are no buts here, Fergus. I said it’s NTK. Furthermore, assuming for one crazy, wild moment that the vigilantes did have those files, why would we trust you with them because of the FBI? Yantzy, I’m told, wants them so bad he’ll do just about anything to get them. His clock is ticking, and as of this minute, he has only thirty days to come up with Hank Jellicoe or he’s on the unemployment line along with Calvin Span and that dickweed from Homeland Security. Personally, I think that’s a good thing. Everyone in this damn town needs to start cleaning their respective houses and start over. Young eyes, young blood, a fire burning in their bellies. That’s what all those damn agencies need. When and if that happens, then you can call me. Thank you for this lovely… dinner. I can see myself to the car. Stay here. That’s an order, Fergus Duffy. Oh, and don’t forget to clean up this mess. The park police will fine you if you don’t.”
Three minutes later, Annie was in the yellow Porsche headed back toward the farm. She hit number 2 on her speed dial, and said, “Myra, you are not going to believe what I am about to tell you. Stop interrupting me; yes, I will drive carefully; no, I did not drink. Well, I did take a few sips, but I’m fine. Myra, shut up and listen to me before I bust wide open.”
Chapter 11
Myra lowered the retractable awning on the terrace. “It’s been threatening to rain all day. I’m not sure cooking out is such a good idea,” she said fretfully. “The grill is protected, so I guess since everyone is expecting Charles’s famous apple cider spareribs, we need to do a little rain dance to ward off the rain. Why don’t you do that, Annie?” Her tone was still fretful.
“Myra, dear heart, one does a rain dance to bring on rain, not to ward it off. And I’m sorry to have to tell you that I don’t have the faintest idea of how to do a rain dance to ward off rain. You need to come up with something better than that.” Annie’s tone sounded just as fretful as Myra’s.
“You certainly are surly this afternoon, Annie. I would have thought that while you’d not necessarily be on top of the world, at least you’d be climbing up there after your meeting or date, whatever you want to call it, with Fergus Duffy.”
“Stop right there, Myra Rutledge Martin Sutcliff! I told you how all that went down. You know what I can’t get out of my mind?” Without missing a beat, she continued, “When Fergus said he and his wife used to shake hands before going to bed if one or the other was upset. Part of me thinks that’s a wonderful thing, and another part of me wonders why I never did that with my husband. When he spoke of it, it seemed so perfect, and before you can ask me, no, I don’t know why it bothers me. Kissing and making up is soooo … American, I guess.”
Myra frowned. “I can see why that might bother you. Look at it this way, dear. Should you ever find yourself in that position again, you can shake hands and kiss each other. That way you can’t go wrong.”
Annie flopped down on her favorite chair. “I guess. Do you want me to turn on the grill?”
“I think Charles plans on using charcoal this evening. I saw the bag in the kitchen on my way out here. Don’t we have something better to
talk about? When is Fergus returning to England?”
“I don’t know. I forgot to tell you, one of his security guys gave me Fergus’s card as I was getting into my car and said I should call. But to answer your question, we didn’t get that far, Myra, when I decided to hightail it out of there. Do we even care?”
“Let’s see what the girls have to say when they get here,” Myra said soothingly. “Relax, Annie. We’ll talk this to death when they arrive, and I’m sure we’ll come up with something that will put you in a good mood. I just hate it when you’re cranky like this.”
“You know what, Myra? Ask me if I care.”
Lady and her pups, who were playing on the terrace, stopped tussling, their heads jerking upright. As one they started to bark. “Someone’s here!” Myra said happily. She literally bounded out of her chair and raced to the kitchen.
It was uncanny, Myra thought. The girls always seemed to arrive one after the other almost like a caravan, yet all their starting points were different, so how could that be? Since it really wasn’t important in the scheme of things, she let the thought drop by the wayside and held out her arms to Kathryn, who hugged her tightly.
“Am I the first? I’m never first. Usually it’s Isabelle. I like being first sometimes. I’m babbling here, Myra.”
Murphy raced through the house, Lady and her pups right behind him. “Isn’t it wonderful? The patter of little and big feet.” Myra laughed. “Although ‘patter’ is too tame a word, more like stampede of the thundering herd.”
“How’d Annie’s date go?” Kathryn hissed.
“Oh, dear, I’m not sure. She’s on the terrace waiting for all of you. I have to warn you, she’s rather cranky.”
“Cranky or pissed off? There is a difference,” the ever-verbal Kathryn asked.
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