The List Conspiracy (Wallis Jones Series 2016)

by Martha Carr

“Mother Elizabeth,” said Madame Bella. “Although I have to tell you, Madame Bella has been one of my favorites.”

  “Is that your real name, Elizabeth?”

  Madame Bella stopped and gave Wallis a tight embrace, whispering into her ear.

  “Don’t let it matter who I really am, honey. This little piece will be a lot easier if you can do that for me.” The newly anointed Mother Elizabeth stepped back from Wallis.

  “We never got to know each other, weren’t supposed to, you know,” said the large woman, now dressed as a nun. “It was easier that way to watch you without drawing attention for the wrong reasons. These getups only attract attention when mixed in with regular folks. But otherwise, human nature makes most people look away. Much easier to hide in plain sight.”

  “I’ve heard that about conspiracies, too,” said Wallis.

  “You’re a firecracker, you are. Now, no more questions. If you could carry these downstairs for me,” she said, nudging the fallen robes with her toe. “That would be a big help. Someone is waiting for those and it’s past time for me to depart.”

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Wallis.

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said the newly disguised, Mother Elizabeth. “But we made plans, you’ll see. I’ve always liked this role, you know,” she said, holding her arms out to the side. “My pushy self-will seems to have purpose. I’m going to make a great Mother Superior again,” she said, as she waddled toward the stairs.

  “I can remember a time just a few days ago when something like this would have made me think about calling the police. But, now I have to wonder who’d show up and who I’d really be betraying,” said Wallis as she followed the large woman down the stairs.

  “Very good, Black Widow. I know you don’t like that name but it’s okay.”

  As they came around the corner into the small reception area there stood a small band of women dressed as nuns. Sitting in a chair was a larger woman in a plain skirt and top.

  “I take it these are for you?” said Wallis, offering the woman the former psychic’s colorful costume. The former Madame Bella winked at Wallis as she pushed the other nuns toward the back door.

  “Wait a minute,” said Wallis. “I know you.” She looked more carefully at one of the younger nuns and realized it was Annie Brody, one of Norman’s clients. “And you’re Sara,” she said, looking under the wipple of one of the other nuns. “How long has this been in the works?”

  “There are always contingency plans,” said Annie, with a shy smile. “The trick is to not be seen making them. Fortunately, Norman’s done a lot of work for a variety of churches, including ours,” she said, pointing a finger at Wallis and back at herself. “Everyone needs a good lawyer from time to time, and sometimes a good private eye, even.”

  “Alan Vitek,” said Wallis, “Is that who you mean? He’s a part of this?”

  “Don’t be fooled by his lack of words and stalwart demeanor. He is a formidable warrior, even now.”

  “Why mention him?” asked Wallis.

  “I have been in this particular battle for awhile now,” said Mother Elizabeth. “And, it has been my experience that knowing we are part of a web of people, and not alone, makes all the difference. The journey becomes too long and the opposition starts to appear sweeter. But a cautionary word, my dear, they are a poison that at best scars and at their worst, drags down an entire family tree. We’re off, girls. You,” said Mother Elizabeth, pointing at her replacement, “wait at least a good half hour and then you head out as well.” She kissed the woman on the top of her turban. “May it all go well.”

  Wallis realized what she meant. “What will you tell them,” she said to the woman, “if someone is over there waiting for you? Why were you here?” Her voice rose slightly with fear in her voice.

  “If that happens, then my time is done,” said the woman. “But there are others waiting to help me tonight. It’s alright, ma’am. It’s what I was trained to do.”

  “Combat training is now part of the Episcopal Church?” asked Wallis.

  “A firecracker, that’s what you are,” said Mother Elizabeth.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “How much did you already know?” asked Wallis, after everyone else had finally left the office. The new Madame Bella had asked her to quickly close the door and not watch her walk away. Wallis had pressed her ear to the door but heard nothing.

  “Not enough,” said Laurel. “That was all way above my pay grade. That was a damn circus.”

  “It was, wasn’t it,” said Wallis, as she tried to piece how everything fit together. “You know, Laurel, I’ve always thought there were a few things about myself and this town that I could count on to be consistent. I’m not a sucker and this is a small town.”

  “I know what you mean and yes, you may be wrong on both counts. No offense.”

  “None taken. I keep thinking this is all so ridiculous and yet it keeps growing. I’m not sure whether or not to laugh or throw up,” said Wallis.

  “Both, but one at a time. Look, maybe it’s time we did compare notes. You need an ally and I’m standing right here. We have known each other for too many years to not be joining forces.”

  “Why is it I need an ally more than you do?”

  “Excellent point.”

  “For the record, we already are a team unless you have news that I don’t know about.”

  “No, no, no surprises here. What was that about your neighbor?”

  “Mr. Blazney? God,” said Wallis, as she sat down hard and momentarily covered her face with her hands. “My sweet old neighbor. I found his dog and took her home,” she said, looking up at Laurel. “Must have been the same morning.”

  “Why is everyone swirling around you, anyway? You’re interesting but not on that big of a scale.”

  “That’s a good question. Madame Bella,” said Wallis, waving at the back door where the small group of nuns had quietly shuffled out, “said someone closer to me would clue me in on that one. I’m thinking she means Norman.”

  “Oooh, that can’t be good. Norman wouldn’t keep information about you from you, would he?”

  “Before today I would have sworn that was a no. But now, I’m not so sure. That’s how much has happened today.”

  “That’s big. Maybe you’re not so smart to just trust me. Lame joke,” said Laurel, holding up her hands in protest. “Look, whatever it is Norman Weiskopf has a good reason. Come on, Wallis, think about it. We’re talking about Norman. Granted he can keep a secret better than a dead man but he loves and respects you. I’d bet money on it and we all know how I do not like to gamble with my money.”

  “I know you’re trying to get me to take a deep breath and I appreciate it.”

  “First thing to do in a crisis is take a step back. Otherwise you’re a pawn and not a player.”

  Wallis smiled at Laurel, grateful she had been smart enough to hire her in the first place. Suddenly, the handle to the back door began to rattle and someone began to simultaneously pound on the door. Wallis startled and stood up, not sure whether or not to go to the door or run out of the front.

  “Who is it?” she shouted, trying to sound as if she wasn’t afraid.

  “Do you think that was a good idea?” whispered Laurel.

  “Open the door, Wallis. It’s David Whittaker. Open this door,” he shouted.

  Wallis looked at Laurel and stepped closer to the door.

  “It’s late at night David,” she said, as calmly as she could muster. “And I’m not opening this door. It’s ex parte anyway, which I’m getting the impression you already know. You have a problem with Sharon or myself, tell your own lawyer. Go home, David.”

  The door shook as if it had been given a hard kick at the bottom. Wallis wondered if the door would hold. Laurel ran out of the room and returned quickly with two golf clubs.

  “William’s not going to like that we borrowed his clubs,” said Wallis.

  “William will have to get o
ver it,” said Laurel, holding the club over her head. “All of that misspent youth at a Seminary will come in handy for him.”

  “Not a Seminary, a home,” said Wallis. “Some kind of boarding school.”

  “Now may not be the right time to figure that out,” said Laurel.

  “Wallis Jones, you have far more to worry about than a pathetic court case against me. Don’t think they haven’t figured it out, you stupid bitch. You know where Ned is right now, anyway?”

  Wallis ripped the door open and raised the five iron. David Whittaker started to push his way into the office as Laurel swung down catching him in the gut and bringing him to his knees. He reeked of good whiskey.

  “No, Laurel,” said Wallis, as she put out an arm to stop Laurel from hitting him across the back with the iron.

  “You stupid ass,” Wallis whispered close to his ear. David was on all fours, still trying to catch his breath and making small retching noises. “Are you so arrogant that you think every woman will run in fear at the sight of you? It’s good advice in general but if you ever threaten anyone I care about again I’ll be the one swinging for your head.” It was the first time Wallis had ever threatened anyone outside of a court of law.

  “She means it too,” said Laurel, still holding the driver over her shoulder, ready to swing.

  “Get out,” said Wallis, shoving him over with her high heel. David pulled himself up to a standing position, resting against the wall, breathing hard.

  “Do what you want to me. It won’t stop anything. I’ve been waiting for this moment, Black Widow.” He straightened up, pushing his hair back into place. “I’m even doing you a favor warning you. Pedigree won’t always trump everything.”

  “What disgusting thing are you trying to say?” said Wallis.

  “You don’t know, do you?” he sneered. “That’s rich,” he said, wobbling from foot to foot and slurring his words. “You think it’s me. I’m some kind of snob but it’s really you!” he said, pointing at Wallis. “Doesn’t matter that you never knew, you still used the way everybody was willing to give you a free pass. But no more, that all ends tonight.” David lunged forward as Laurel swung again, making contact with his leg and the corner of the wall. He stepped back rubbing his thigh and looked as if he was about to make another attempt as Wallis and Laurel both raised their weapons.

  “Huh, you’re not worth it,” he said, raising up his hands in defeat and sneering. “You’re not worth it.” He backed out of the door and stumbled down the stairs, making his way across the wide parking lot toward the darkened strip mall. Wallis stood on the small back porch trying to peer through the darkness that was broken up by only one tall street lamp.

  “See anything?” asked Laurel.

  “No, but we’re sitting ducks here. Time to go.”

  “Nothing is the same, is it?”

  Wallis took another look around at the darkness. “Apparently, everything is the same but we’ve finally been let in on it. Can you grab my purse? I’ll keep watch and then we’re both getting out of here.”

  “Yeah, but where are we going?”

  “To our respective homes, I guess. You okay with that?”

  “No one seems to be after me,” said Laurel.

  Wallis didn’t remember that her coat was still sitting in her office till she was standing by her car. She shivered in the cold and looked up at the dark window of Norman’s office on the second floor.

  “Get it later,” said Laurel. “Do you mind if I advance a little theory before we part ways tonight?”

  “Go right ahead. You’re usually more on the money than anyone else, anyway.”

  “You’re assuming its Norman that’s been keeping secrets from you. No one’s actually said that it’s him, right? Well, excluding Ned, there is one more person to consider. What about Harriet? Isn’t she a more likely suspect?”

  “I have no idea anymore,” said Wallis, as she placed a hand on the hood of the Jag to steady herself and bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths and trying not to throw up what was left of the salad from lunch. The scratch in the door was right by her head.

  Sneak Preview - The Traitor’s Revenge

  Oscar Newman loved his job, loved the way people took a step back when they saw him coming in his deputy uniform. It was the only thing in his life that made sense to him.

  He walked briskly up to an older brick building in the bowels of Shockoe Bottom, located down near the James River and in the shadow of the few high rises in downtown Richmond. He quickly entered one of the old defunct tobacco warehouses with a faded logo for Pall Mall’s painted across the three-storied building.

  The fresh wound that made a thin line down one side of his face was still smarting a week after it happened. “Damn bitch,” he muttered, growing angrier.

  Oscar was determined and angry as he pulled open the side door and stepped into a large warehouse filled with men, black and white, rich and poor trading slips of paper and quietly reeling off short series of numbers to each other. It was the central count house for the city’s numbers organization.

  “Six, eight, nine. Give me six, eight nine.” “How ‘bout triple three’s.”

  The response from a small group standing at the front was always, “Quarter, quarter.”

  All of the men who were taking the bets were wearing the same style of suit, trading numbers out of the same kind of leather briefcase, filled with more slips of paper and a ledger. They still preferred the old fashioned method to computers, which left too obvious of a trail to follow.

  At one side of the room was a chalk board with recent dates and three numbers written next to each date. It was an old form of lottery the locals called combinating and worked the same as a daily lottery, only cost less to play and was never legal.

  Everyone stopped mumbling and turned to look at the deputy sheriff. “Get out here!” yelled Oscar, his hand moving down toward his gun. A few men slowly rose as if to run or at least get out of the way. Most look annoyed.

  “Where the hell is Davey?” said Oscar, his hand resting on the holster. A very large black man, tall as he was wide and sweating profusely, slid a pile of papers into his hands and quietly ducked behind a table. Oscar spotted the movement and barreled toward Davey, his hand clenching the holster. A path was cleared for him as Davey tried to right himself back to standing, a few wisps of paper falling to the floor.

  “Come on, Davey! Didn’t I tell you these numbers were crap?” said Oscar, his hand sliding off of the gun and into his pocket as he pulled out a wad of small papers and threw them in Davey’s face.

  “Those were your combinatings,” mumbled Davey. “You picked your own combinatings.”

  Oscar unsnapped his holster, pulled out his revolver and pointed it briefly at Davey as a murmur went around the room. Davey shrank back, letting go of most of the papers and shut his eyes. Oscar hesitated, rolled his eyes, and seemed to resign himself to something as he took aim at the blackboard behind Davey, shooting out the top line.

  The sound echoed for a moment in the cavernous building.

  “Yeah, like I’d shoot you here,” said Oscar, sounding annoyed as he helped Davey to his feet. “Put this on seven, eight, nine,” he said, pulling out a dollar bill. He removed a thick brown envelope from the inside of his jacket and put it in front of Davey. “Here’s everybody else’s. Captain says you owed him a free one.”

  Across the room two black men in tidy pinstriped suits were going over a ledger. “Somebody’s got to do something about that crazy jerk. He’s bound to hit Davey one of these days.”

  “You’d think so, with a target like that, and Oscar being an ace shot. Hasn’t he told you yet?” Both men snickered.

  “Where’s Parrish?” asked one of the men, looking around.

  “He’s out doing his own thing, you know that. He’ll get the job done, always does. One of our best runners. Keeps it all up here,” said the other man, tapping his forehead. “Never even writes down a combinating or a nickn
ame. Never had a complaint. Genius for the details, and brings in more money than anybody else in this room. Can’t do enough for a man like that.”

  Across town a well-dressed, tall elegant man with close-cropped hair, Rodney Parrish, was getting ready to head back to work. He gently pushed open the screen door of a well-kept modest blue and tan bungalow on a tree-lined street in an older neighborhood.

  Parrish stepped out, quietly and deliberately pulling the door shut behind him while straightening his suit jacket and checking his expensive silk tie, tapping lightly on the white lapel pin of an American flag trimmed in gold. His breathing was even and calm and he wore a faint smile as he walked down the short sidewalk lined with brightly colored plastic daisies turning in the slight breeze.

  The briefcase that was hanging loosely from his right hand gave only a small swing, keeping a perfect rhythm with his stride as he took each step down the walk before turning toward the east, heading for the Boulevard and away from the older suburbs. His three-piece pin striped suit, the combinating room’s idea of a uniform, was spotless.

  Down the sidewalk from where Parrish had just been visiting, past the row of neat identical bungalows was the little cottage where Lilly Billings had moved to shortly after separating from her husband. The door looked undisturbed and everything was exactly as it should be until a little further into the living room where Lilly still sat with her feet crossed at the ankles, her hands neatly folded in her lap and her back to the door. The only thing out of place was the left side of her head, bashed in past her ear, and a look of surprise on the part of her face that was still intact.

  But there was no blood, no mess at all, and no sign of any kind of struggle. Nothing was out of place. Only the best pieces of jewelry were missing, Parrish’s payment, but that was all. No blood spatter was left to complicate things, no sign of how the killer got in. No clues at all.

  Parrish had a demanding standard for himself and he always liked to keep his customers happy.

  Just as he reached North Boulevard where he’d be able to blend into the small bit of foot traffic in the city, he pulled out his cell phone and typed in a short message. ‘Job done, no reward.’