The Jury

by Fern Michaels

  Jack looked up and down the street. He smiled at the lit pumpkins, knowing there were battery-operated flashlights inside the pumpkins instead of the little votive candles. The candles could never survive the wild wind that was kicking up. He hoped to hell it didn’t rain.

  On the short drive to Kalorama from Georgetown, Jack wondered why he was doing what he was doing. What a stupid thought. He was doing it for Nikki.

  As Jack drove up and down the quiet streets he wondered how much money a person needed to live in one of these fine big old houses. The only way he’d ever be able to live in a place like this was if he won a lottery of some kind. As long as he stayed in law enforcement, that would never happen. The thought didn’t make him unhappy. All he wanted was a house with a yard for kids and a dog, maybe a cat. A guest bedroom, a fireplace and a nice bathroom and kitchen would do the trick for him. Maybe a front porch so he and Nikki could sit out there on warm summer nights listening to the crickets and watching the fireflies. Holding hands, getting up every so often to check on the kids sleeping upstairs. The dog would be between them. It was all he wanted. He hoped he wasn’t asking for too much. Well, if he was, he’d have to downsize, that’s all.

  Jack parked down at the end of 39th Street and Benton Street to wait. For what, he didn’t know. When he started to get cold, he climbed out of the car, locked it, and jogged in place before he took off slowly so he could scan the neighborhood. The gun slapped against his leg but he ignored it. He knew in the morning his thigh was going to be black and blue. He would live with it. Some houses had lights on; others didn’t. There were no lit pumpkins that he could see. The houses that were dark on the outside told him the occupants were probably in for the evening. Why waste electricity?

  Jack continued to jog around the block and did a second jog past the Woodley house that was lit up like a Christmas tree. Did that mean the NSA was home or did it mean his lights came on with timers? When he started to sweat, he turned around and headed back down 39thStreet and got in his car. A 1997 Jaguar passed him and then sailed up a driveway six car lengths from where he parked. With his window half down he could hear a garage door open and then close. He craned his neck to see if the outside light went out. It did. The people must be frugal. Maybe that’s how you got rich, by being frugal. He hunkered down to wait.

  Two more front lights went out, then a post light at the end of a driveway went out. The night turned to pitch black; the air was damp. The outside light on the Woodley house was still on. If he stayed here much longer he was going to freeze his ass off. He started the car’s engine and drove to the nearest convenience store where he pulled out one of his prepaid phone cards and called the NSA’s house. Sometimes he felt superior because he had the private number of every politician in Washington.

  The phone rang seven times before Jack hung up. Either the NSA wasn’t answering the phone or he simply wasn’t home. Jack decided the guy used timers and wasn’t home. A man in his position would have to answer his phone even if he carried one of the government’s specially encrypted phones.

  Jack mulled over his situation as he sat quietly in his car. Everything appeared normal as far as he could see. He might as well go home to his Chinese food and Tsingtao. He didn’t feel right leaving, but he didn’t seem to have any other options at the moment.

  He checked his cell phone to make sure it was still on. He hoped he would remember to charge it when he got back to the house. If there was one thing he wanted, it was not to miss Nikki’s call.

  Jack drove around the streets of Kalorama one last time but saw nothing out of the ordinary. It appeared the residents were socked in for the night just the way he should be — and would be in less than fifteen minutes.

  He knew before he got out of the car that someone was waiting for him. He unzipped the pocket of his sweatpants. The cold steel of the gun felt good in his hand. He climbed out, waved the gun and yelled, “Good night, all!” He didn’t feel half as brave as his voice sounded.

  A voice came out of the darkness. “You had a regular parade tonight, Mr. Emery. Guess you’re kind of tired. I’d like it if you’d tell me why you felt the need to go to Kalorama to jog when you have all these beautiful tree-lined streets here in Georgetown.”

  “You know what I would like? I’d like you to kiss my ass, you asshole. Make a move on me and I’ll shoot you right in the gut. They say a man is never the same once he’s shot in the gut; can’t poop or do any of those things we all take for granted. Hell, you might as well forget you ever knew the word ‘sex’.”

  The man in the shadows ignored Jack’s threat. “You had two tails tonight, Mister Emery. A Mr. Theodore Robinson was on your tail and a man named Moody was on his. I thought that was very curious. I wonder if you have an explanation.”

  Ted was tailing him. Well, shit, that really screwed things up. “Why don’t you ask him? I’m tired from my jog. I’m going to bed. You should do the same thing unless you want to be carted out of here in an ambulance.”

  The soft chuckle in the shadows made the hair on Jack’s neck stand straight up. He fumbled with his key, got the door opened and then he was inside. He bolted the door and set the alarm.

  So, he hadn’t fooled Ted after all. And Moody hadn’t called him on the hour the way he was supposed to. Why in the damn hell didn’t people do what they were supposed to do?

  Nineteen

  The ladies of Pinewood were dressed for the start of a very busy day.

  Kathryn wagged her finger as she cast a critical eye over her hostess’s attire. “The pearls have to go, Myra.”

  “Oh, dear, are you saying I’m overdressed? This is what I wore when we did our truck run.”

  “Yep, but minus the pearls. You’re going to deliver flowers, so that means working duds like what you have on. No pearls.”

  “This is so exciting,” Myra gushed. “I’ve been rehearsing ever since I got up. I’m driving to Yoko’s nursery. She is going to drive the van. I’ll ride shotgun like I did on our…our road trip. I’ll deliver on one side of the street and Yoko will deliver on the other side. The magnetic decal for Yoko’s van is in my car. All I have to do is…ah…slap it on the side and Flowers For You is born. Kathryn, you went to the nursery and paid cash to one of the workers?” Kathryn nodded. “It’s a good thing none of Yoko’s employees speak or read English in case anyone…What’s that phrase? Oh yes, sniffs around. I can do this. I’m not going to make notes about any conversations I have with our flower recipients. I will trust my memory. When I get back, I feel sure I will have something of merit to report. Charles, take care of my pearls. Goodbye, everyone!”

  No one laughed until the door closed behind Myra.

  “She’s getting off on this,” Isabelle said and giggled. “And she looks damn good in those jeans, too.”

  “I hope this works and they come back with some kind of information,” Nikki muttered under her breath. “Charles, where is Mrs. Woodley?”

  “She’s where you spent the summer, in the islands. I have all her medical reports — even the ones where she went to hospitals using assumed names. I told her only what I wanted her to know. She asked very few questions but she will know how to respond should the authorities want to question her at some point in the future. My people will swear she’s been there for months. Mrs. Woodley gave me, albeit reluctantly, her husband’s private office number, his pager, his cell phone number, as well as their private unlisted number at home. She’s very afraid of government people because of the power they hold.”

  Nikki reached for the accordion-pleated envelope, stunned at how heavy it was. She looked at Charles, who nodded solemnly. “Just about every bone in that woman’s body has been either fractured, broken or traumatized. I took the liberty of marking all the breaks and fractures on the X-rays. The portable panel only needs to be plugged into an ordinary light socket to highlight the X-rays. You should put it in the car now to be sure you don’t forget it. Never mind, it’s heavy, I’ll do it. Alexis, do you
have everything you need?” he asked.

  Alexis pointed to her red bag of tricks. “And then some, Charles.”

  “Good. I’ll leave you all to your plans. I have things to do in the war room. If you need me, call.”

  “Let’s take this upstairs so we can go over our plans again,” Kathryn said. “I hate that bastard and I don’t even know him. I just don’t understand how a woman can let herself be battered like that, over and over again. I heard everything you said, Nikki, and part of me understands it, but another part of me refuses to comprehend allowing someone to beat you to a pulp. The lady was rich; all she had to do was walk out of the house after the son of a bitch left for work. She could have gone anywhere in the world.”

  “Fear and shame can be terrible, Kathryn. Maybe we’ll never really know why Mrs. Woodley stayed. My guess is the NSA threatened to kill her and she wasn’t ready to die. Maybe she knew no matter where she went, her husband would find her since he has all the resources at his disposal to do just that. The doctors told Charles yesterday that Mrs. Woodley is going to need years of intense therapy. The why of it can’t concern us. We’re going to make sure it never happens again. Now, let’s get to it,” Nikki said.

  “First question,” Alexis said as she dropped the red bag on the floor. “Are we or are we not going to call the NSA and say we’re bringing Mrs. Woodley home and he should meet us?”

  “It would certainly be to our advantage to have him in the house when we get there,” Kathryn said. “The man is such a pig I’m thinking he’ll want to be there to welcome his wife home so he can beat the crap out of her again once he shows us the door. Don’t forget, he hasn’t had anyone to punch out since Maddie whisked Mrs. Woodley away. Do we give it a shot or not?”

  “I’m all for that,” Nikki said. “However, give this some thought. None of us sound like Mrs. Woodley. If we call and say we’re bringing her home, isn’t he going to be suspicious? Won’t he wonder why his wife isn’t calling him herself? In addition to that, I’m sure Mrs. Woodley has instructions to never give out the NSA’s numbers. Maybe we can have Charles intervene and actually have Mrs. Woodley call him at a specific time, even if it’s just to leave a message. That will work if she agrees to do it.”

  The others concurred.

  “Good. Let me call Charles in the war room and arrange it. What time do we want to make the call?” Nikki said.

  “Sixish for the call. We go to the house at nine,” Kathryn said. “If we get there and he isn’t home, we go to Plan B, which is to park at a gas station so Alexis can fix up Isabelle to look like Paula Woodley. Then we go back and are inside waiting for him.”

  “That works for me,” Nikki said. The others nodded.

  Their heads together, they watched as Alexis started to inventory the contents of her red bag. A wide grin spread across her face. “We got it covered, girls!”

  Myra hopped out of the van with the agility of a thirty-year-old. She walked around to the back where Yoko was opening the panel doors. “Oh, my dear, these arrangements are lovely. All these people are going to be so surprised to get these beautiful flowers. I can hardly wait to deliver them.”

  “I am so glad you approve, Myra. I stayed up all night making them. I didn’t skimp on the flowers. I wanted to feel proud when we deliver them. Take your clipboard. All they have to do is initial the space next to their address. When they ask who sent them, point to the Century 21 card and say it is a promotion the office is conducting.”

  Myra nodded as she picked up an arrangement and tucked the clipboard under her arm. She walked up the driveway and on to the front porch where she rang the bell. “A delivery for you, ma’am,” she said when the woman opened the door. “Just initial here.” She thrust out the clipboard.

  The gray-haired lady smiled. “Oh, I do so hope these are from my son.”

  Myra smiled weakly. “No, ma’am, they’re from Century 21. They’re doing a promotion. We’re delivering to everyone on the street. You could help me a little, if you don’t mind. I’m delivering on this side of the street. It’s rather cold and I’m a little nervous about leaving flowers on the porch. The wind, the rain, that kind of thing.”

  “Yes, yes, I see your dilemma. Just about everyone is home or their housekeepers are inside. Except for the Woodleys. He’s the National Security Advisor, you know.”

  “No, no, I didn’t know that. Are you saying I should leave their flowers with a neighbor?” Myra asked.

  “I suppose so. I did so want these flowers to be from my son. Wait just a minute.”

  The minute turned into five. Myra used the time to scan the neighborhood. She had five houses to go before she could see the Woodleys’ place. She turned when the woman opened the door again to hand her two dollars. Myra looked at the money in the woman’s hand. “It’s a tip. Even though the flowers aren’t from my son.”

  “A tip! Ah, yes. Thank you. I’m sorry the flowers weren’t from your son.”

  “Oh, well, maybe he’ll send some for Thanksgiving.”

  “What’s your son’s name, ma’am?”

  “Anthony,” the woman said before she closed the door.

  Myra made a note on her clipboard. She’d send the woman some flowers from Anthony.

  The next four deliveries went like clockwork. Myra gleaned no information, but she did make twelve dollars in tips, to her amazement. She could hardly wait to tell Charles.

  The house next to the Woodleys’ was almost an exact replica, at least on the outside. A giant of a man opened the door. When he saw the flowers in Myra’s hands, he bellowed over his shoulder, “Mother, there’s someone here with flowers.”

  A pretty little lady with clicking dentures, rosy cheeks and flour on her hands appeared. “Goodness gracious, come in, come in. It’s so windy out there. Now, aren’t these pretty! Who in the world would be sending John and me flowers?”

  Myra gave her practiced speech, then said, “You must be baking bread.”

  “I am. John insists. He won’t eat store-bought anything. I can’t believe he left you standing outside like that. Men!” she huffed. “If you like homemade bread, I can give you a loaf. In lieu of the tip for delivering the flowers.”

  “I’ll take it,” Myra said smartly.

  “Come along then and watch me wrap it up. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I have a lot of deliveries to make. Do you happen to know if your neighbors are home?”

  The woman clicked her dentures. “You mean the Woodleys? He is the National Security Advisor to the President of the United States. He and his wife don’t bother with us common folk. Honey, I can’t tell you if anyone is home or not. He leaves in the dark and comes home in the dark. The last time I saw Mrs. Woodley was a year ago. She must have some crippling arthritis, because she could hardly walk. She was a gymnast when she was young. I imagine she abused her body and now is paying the price. And she wears a hearing aid. One never knows if they’re home or not. They never have company.”

  “That’s a shame. Oh, this bread smells heavenly. Thank you so much. Do you think I should leave their flowers on the porch or possibly around back?” Before the woman could answer, Myra leaned forward and whispered, “What’s it like to live next door to someone so important? Does the President ever visit, or some of those other important people? Mr. Woodley must have all kinds of security, Secret Service, that kind of thing.”

  The chubby little woman laughed. “No and no,” she said. “John thought for sure there would be all kinds of security around them but there isn’t. A car does pick up the NSA at five thirty every morning. Usually seven days a week. The drapes and shades are always closed on the first floor, so I guess that’s their security. Like everyone else on the street, they have an alarm system. I’ve never heard it go off.”

  Sensing the woman had little more to offer, Myra made her way to the front door, the loaf of bread in her hand.

  “John, say goodbye to our guest.”

  “Goo
dbye!” the bear bellowed. Mama bear rolled her eyes as she closed the door behind Myra.

  Back at the van for her next delivery, Myra held up her loaf of bread. “It’s a tip! Doesn’t it smell marvelous? I found out a little information but not much. Let’s finish this up so we can call Charles.”

  “I finished my side of the street, so I will help you,” Yoko said. “You do the Woodley house and I will do the three beyond it and then we can leave. It’s really getting cold. I think it feels like snow. Maybe just a cold rain.”

  “More likely snow. As Nikki would say, that sounds like a plan. How much did you make in tips?”

  Yoko laughed. “Twenty dollars! But you got a loaf of bread!”

  Myra walked up the Woodleys’ driveway. She looked all around as she tripped her way to the front porch and rang the bell. She stayed there just long enough, in case anyone was watching, to show she was simply a delivery person. She walked down the steps and around to the back, making a careful note of everything she saw. A coiled-up hose was nestled against the side of the house. No one would trip over that in the dark. The backyard had a picnic table that was in need of paint sitting under a maple tree. It looked lopsided to Myra. The patio was bare except for a rusty outdoor grill that was pushed up against the house. There was a storm door that was locked, the blind on the inside door closed. All the windows were shuttered. Myra rang the bell several times. When there was no answer, she walked around to the front and back up to the front porch where she left the flowers by the door.

  Five minutes later the white van left Benton Street.

  “I found this whole experience enlightening, Yoko. People really do love to get flowers. We should do this again sometime. There’s a whole world out here I never got to experience. Instead of saying ‘let them eat cake,’ we should say ‘send them flowers.’”

  Yoko had no idea what Myra was talking about. She just smiled.

  Jack stuffed half a hot dog in his mouth, mustard and sauerkraut dribbling down his chin. He chewed carefully, his narrowed eyes on Moody.