Deja Vu

by Fern Michaels

  Annie drove by the courthouse, a redbrick building with white columns and what looked like a shiny, new asphalt parking lot with blinding white lines designating the parking spaces.

  “What’s the GPS saying, Myra?”

  “It says you make a left at the quarter-mile sign, and our destination is two blocks from there. Are you nervous, Annie?”

  “Yes and no. I wish, though, that we had come in disguise. I feel kind of naked for want of a better term. She might recognize us,” Annie said fretfully.

  “We aren’t here on a mission, dear. We’re just here to talk. We’re going to walk away when we’re done talking. The estranged Mrs. Jellicoe is a woman, Annie. She’s going to understand when we explain why we’re here.”

  “But what if …”

  “There are no what-ifs, Annie. It’s what it is. If you don’t want to do this, and may I remind you that you were the one who suggested this in the first place, you can walk away right now.”

  “It’s not that, Myra. Here is this woman who feels safe and has every right to stay that way, and we’re going to invade her life.”

  “Not in the true sense of … invading. Like I said, all we’re going to do is talk. I feel strongly that she will not kick us out. I think she’ll listen to what we have to say. She is of an age with us, Annie. Surely she has garnered wisdom along the way the same as we have.”

  “Well, here we are,” Annie said as she made a turn into a long, winding road. The house, a redbrick two-story affair, was trimmed in white, with neat black shutters. The lawn was landscaped beautifully; someone loved flowers, because there were colorful blooms everywhere.

  “I guess that long, low building at the back end is the place where she does her button thing. I see three cars back there. Customers? Or the help. Here goes nothing, Myra,” Annie said, swerving into a space next to a Ford Ranger pickup.

  There were flowers here, too, that lined the long line of the building along with low-lying evergreen shrubs. A huge tree in line with the front door cast shade over the front of the building. Tongue in cheek, Annie said, “This looks just like what I imagined a button shop would look like.”

  Myra smiled. She’d never given much thought to buttons. Buttons were buttons. They were just there, something on clothing to close it up. Who knew?

  Both women climbed out of the car and walked to the front door, opened it, and walked into a neat little foyer that screamed cleanliness. Annie rang a bell that was sitting on the counter next to a huge bowl of beautiful lemon yellow marigolds. A set of French doors opened, and a tall, striking woman with a fashionable hairdo entered the foyer. She was wearing a bright red smock over jeans and what looked like a T-shirt. She smiled, and asked, “What can I do for you ladies today?”

  Since no one was in the foyer, and it didn’t look like anyone was going to invade the foyer, Myra saw no reason to delay matters. She got right to the point. “I’m Myra Rutledge and this is Anna de Silva.”

  The woman continued to smile as she held her hand out to be shaken. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “People say that all the time,” Annie said. “No, we haven’t met, but it hasn’t been for lack of trying, Mrs. Jellicoe.” There, it was out. The striking woman turned pale under her beautiful tan. She reached for the edge of the counter, her eyes full of panic.

  “Please, no one knows we’re here. Your secret is safe with us. The reason we seemed familiar to you is because of our own notoriety. We were members of the vigilantes.”

  “Oh, my God, how did you find me?”

  “With a great deal of difficulty. Which, by the way, was not legal, just so you know. We tell you this so that you know we mean you no harm. Your secret is safe with us. For all intents and purposes, we are just two women who want to buy some buttons. If you have any outdated buttons or leftovers, we’ll be happy to buy them.”

  “What is it you want? I just don’t understand how you found me. So many years have gone by. For the most part, I no longer think about those early days. I have a wonderful life that is so fulfilling. I have grandchildren, a son-in-law, a man in my life who cares about me, and this business that I built.” She threw her hands in the air in despair.

  “When we leave here, you will still have that. We would die before we’d tell anyone about you. You have to believe that. We’re here about Hank. I’m sure that over the past year you’ve heard through the marshals or just by reading or listening to the television that the man is wanted. He’s been labeled a terrorist. An enemy combatant, if you will. He’s after us. But right now, we’re one step behind him and closing in fast. At least we hope we are.”

  “I thought you were pardoned. Are you … are you back in business? Lord, how stupid that sounded.”

  “See, now, you’re one up on us. When we leave here, you can notify the authorities and tell them whatever you want to tell them, and we’ll go to prison. That gives you the edge right now. All we want to do is ask you some questions; then we’ll leave.”

  “Would … would you like something to drink?”

  “Actually, I would,” Myra said, trying to put the woman at ease.

  “We have a very nice old-fashioned kitchen in the back. No one will bother us there, and I think I need to sit down. Follow me.”

  As Myra and Annie followed Louise Jellicoe, a.k.a. Marsha Olivettie, through the factory, Annie said, “Why buttons?”

  The woman laughed. “Why not buttons? Right now we are primarily doing children’s buttons. Big, bright, and bold colors. I myself was stunned when the orders started flying in. We can’t make them fast enough. It was my daughter’s idea. Little fingers need big buttons.”

  “That makes sense,” Myra said as she thought about Lizzie’s son, little Jack.

  Marsha Olivettie opened the stainless-steel refrigerator, and asked, “Is green tea okay?”

  “Green tea is fine,” Annie said.

  Louise handed out the bottles, then took her place across the table from Myra and Annie. “My daughter and I cheered you ladies on and donated to your cause back in the day. We cheered again when we heard you were pardoned. Having said that, it’s your turn. Talk to me.”

  “Tell us why you’re in the Witness Protection Program. And how did you get here? I know how the WPP works. What I mean is, what did you know that got you in the program?”

  “I didn’t know anything, but I suspected a lot of things. I was afraid of Hank. Not in the beginning, but later on he turned into someone I didn’t want to know, much less be married to. He was always gone, patriot that he was. He was a zealot, but at the time I just thought he was cruel and inhuman. There came a point in our marriage when I no longer existed to him. I was just there. Almost like a servant. He would talk on the phone and didn’t seem to care if I heard him or not. I started keeping a diary. He was doing all kinds of things, deals with the government he shouldn’t have made, people covering up, things he covered up. It got to the point where I couldn’t tell the good guys from the bad guys.

  “Huge sums of money were involved. Huge might be the wrong word; vast sums of money were being sent to the wrong places. Then Hank would ride in like the white knight and save the day. The only problem with that was he set it all up, caused the problem to begin with, then went in and cleaned up his own mess and was rewarded with tons of money. He kept records that I was never able to get to, but my diary was enough to convince the marshals to put me in the program when I told them I was going to expose him if they didn’t get me and my daughter to safety. I made a copy of my diary and gave it to a lawyer I knew who didn’t have a dog in that fight.

  “I guess in the end I convinced them, and they agreed to relocate me and my daughter. They made me swear on a Bible, literally, that my diary was the only copy. Of course I didn’t blink an eye when I swore on the Bible, which doesn’t say all that much for me. But it was me and my daughter or him. Before you can ask, nothing was ever done with the information that I know of. They swept it all under the rug. I blame t
he CIA for all of that.” Marsha’s voice was bitter, her eyes full of tears.

  Myra’s mind raced. “Does that lawyer still have your diary?”

  “I would assume so. I go online every so often and Google him. He is still practicing law. You want the diary, is that it?”

  “We do. Could you write us a letter authorizing him to release it to us?”

  “I can do better than that. Not only will I give you a letter, but I will have my local attorney call him and make the arrangements.”

  “Are you sure you’re willing to do that?”

  Marsha’s shoulders straightened. “I’m sure. Are you finally going to get him?”

  “We are. Actually, we had him once; we turned him over, then he got away from some of the most sophisticated operators walking the face of the earth. All men, I might add,” Annie said.

  Marsha laughed, a genuine sign of mirth. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “What should we call you?” Myra said.

  The smile again. “How about friend?”

  “That will work,” Annie said. “Is there anything we can do for you before we leave or after we get back to Washington?”

  “No. I’m good. Catching that SOB and locking him up for the rest of his life will work for me. Can you promise that?”

  Without missing a beat, Myra said, “Absolutely.” Annie’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “Are you going to notify your handler that we were here and what we talked about?”

  Marsha laughed again. “Tell a man something like that! I-don’t-think-so! Your secret is as safe with me as I know mine is with you.”

  “When will you call your attorney?” Annie asked.

  “The moment you’re thirty thousand feet in the air. Call me when your plane takes off. I’ll wait for twenty minutes and make the call.

  “Here’s the lawyer’s name and phone number. You might want to set down and pick up my diary in person. He’s on the way for you. One small change in your flight plan if you came by private jet, which I assume you did.” Marsha reached up and tore a piece of paper from a notepad on the refrigerator and scribbled a name and a phone number along with the address.

  “Will you stay on here?” Myra asked.

  “Probably. My life is here, and, as you can see, it’s a good life. I won’t kid you, I will sleep a lot easier knowing you’ve put Hank where he belongs.”

  “Well, I guess that’s it for us. You have nothing to fear from us, just so you know … friend,” Annie said.

  “I want to thank you for coming. It doesn’t matter how you got here or what you had to do to find me. I’m just glad that you did. If my diary will help you, then this has all been worth it. Good luck.”

  “Same to you, Marsha … friend. Do you want us to get in touch if… when we’re successful?”

  “I have phones, but they’re monitored. If you call this number,” Marsha said reaching up for another slip of paper from the refrigerator, “on the first Saturday of the month at two in the afternoon, I’ll be there to answer the phone. It’s one of the few public phones left in this town, and it’s in the drugstore.”

  Myra pocketed the slip of paper, and the women didn’t bother to shake hands. They hugged one another because that was what women who trusted one another did.

  Back in the rental car, Myra drove this time. “I thought that went rather well, don’t you, Annie? She seems to be a lovely person. Buttons! Who knew buttons could be a way of life.”

  “What about that guarantee of catching Hank Jellicoe? That might come back to bite you, Myra.”

  “On which cheek?” Myra laughed. “Call ahead to the pilot and tell him we have to detour to Salt Lake City. I don’t think that’s exactly on our way, but it should work out anyway. Buttons! Who knew, Annie?”

  “Shut up about the buttons already, Myra. I’m going to be dreaming about red, yellow, and blue buttons for the rest of my life.”

  “Children love bright colors and big buttons. Everyone knows that.”

  “Myra, erase the word button from your vocabulary or I will strangle you.”

  A devil perched itself on Myra’s shoulders. “Button, button, who’s got the button?” she squealed until Annie doubled over laughing.

  “Call everyone, Annie, and tell them what we found out and be sure to tell them we’re making a short stop on the way. Charles is going to love this, as will Maggie. The CIA covered up for Hank Jellicoe. Now, that is going to blow the lid off Washington, D.C., for sure.”

  Chapter 28

  It was a golden day in Washington, D.C. The sun was shining, the sky was a clear blue, with barely a cloud to be seen. But it was hot and humid, the horrible dog days of summer. It was hard, Bert thought, to try to figure out what kind of day it would be emotionally.

  Bert was on his way to pick up Kathryn to travel out to the retirement village to see if he could track down the owner of the car that consumed his dreams all night long. He wished he knew why he was suddenly so obsessed with that stupid car. Kathryn had been tolerant of it all, but the guys … the guys didn’t really understand it, either.

  “Shit!” Bert said succinctly as he made his way to the underground garage where he rented space for his car. Maybe it wasn’t the actual car itself but more about the time period when it was manufactured. The fifties. Happy Days and all that. Before his time, and he wasn’t into the fifties, so then what the hell was it? The color? He looked up at the blue sky and decided it was the exact color of the car he’d seen yesterday. He couldn’t remember ever, during the whole of his lifetime, seeing a car that particular shade of eye-popping blue.

  The driver? He hadn’t gotten that good of a look. Did she remind him of his grandmother? His mother? Or was it the whole package and some long-submerged memory that the car triggered? That had to be it. Some kind of old memory.

  Before he could change his mind, Bert sent off a short text message to Kathryn saying something had come up and he’d call her later in the day. He jammed his phone into his pocket, climbed into the car, and headed to Harry Wong’s dojo, where he knew Jack was working out. His gut churning every which way, Bert pulled up to a red light, stopped, then whipped out his cell and sent a text to Ted Robinson that was short and sweet. “Meet me and Jack at the dojo.”

  When Bert arrived at Harry’s dojo, he found Jack wandering through the renovation site and talking to the crew about what they were doing.

  “Harry’s finishing up a class. What brings you here? I thought you were spending the day with Kathryn.”

  “Change of plans. Listen, Jack, all shit aside, I need to talk to you. Let’s go out back, where no one can hear us.”

  “Does this have something to do with that ridiculous car?” Jack grumbled.

  “Actually, it does. I’m trying to figure something out, and I can’t get a handle on it. I don’t want that goddamn car. I don’t know what the hell got into me. It was like I was possessed or something. I need you to help me figure it out.”

  Jack threw his hands in the air. “Well, let’s figure it out quick since it’s hot as hell out here. Not that the dojo is any cooler, but this sun is brutal. You saw the car tooling down the road. It was going around thirty miles an hour. We talked about that, saying old people drive slow. We all commented on the color, the fins on the Caddy, and wondered if it was in mint condition. We talked about car collectors and what a car like that would be worth.”

  “Right! Right! There’s something else. I’m missing it. Something maybe that my subconscious registered, and it’s right there tickling me. Help me out here, Jack; this is driving me insane. You have to know it’s making me nuts to give up spending the day with Kathryn.”

  “Was it the driver? The old lady? Do you think it had anything to do with where we were going and what we knew we were going to find when we got there?”

  Bert literally did a twirl around as he pounded Jack on the back. “Damn, Jack, you are good! That’s it! Jesus, how could I have been so damn stupid to miss that? You ar
e amazing, I will give you that.”

  Jack preened, wondering what the hell he had said to make Bert so euphoric.

  “We were going. The blue car was coming from the direction we were going to. You know that old saying, when you want to hide something, do it right under someone’s nose, right out there in the open. Same principle as keep your friends close, your enemies closer.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, what?” Harry said as he waved to the last of his departing students.

  Jack explained.

  “You’re still harping on that car, Bert. Give it up already. It would cost you a fortune to store it somewhere. Where are you going to get parts when it breaks down? My advice is to get over it.”

  “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the director of the FBI for nothing. I’m telling you there is something logged into my subconscious about that car, and I can’t get it out of my mind. Jack just enlightened me, Harry. We were heading to Professor Jordan’s house. When we got there, it looked to all of us like old Jellicoe had just left. You saw that four-car garage. The fourth bay was empty. You following me here?”

  Ted and Espinosa suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Thanks for standing me up last night,” Ted growled at Bert.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t actually stand you up. Kathryn and I did go to the pub, but when we got there we saw you with that sweet, young blond thing, and since we didn’t want to interrupt, we left.”

  “She’s not that young. She’s thirty-three, and she works for the Sentinel. Her name is Amy Blandenburg, and she is enamored of me. She told me I am her inspiration. A guy needs to hear stuff like that once in a while. We hit it off big-time. And she has a cat, so that makes us both cat lovers. We have a date this weekend.”