“Big-shot reporter!” Maggie sniffed when Ted ended the call.
“About that horny business…What are we going to do about that?”
“Nothing. Ooh, look, I think I see the cops. Boy, that was quick. Careful now, the windshield is tinted but it isn’t black like the other windows. Duck down and peek out.”
“What should we do while we’re waiting?” Ted asked, unwilling to give up the idea of sex in the back seat of the SUV.
“We could think about partnering up for a double byline. Robinson goes before Spritzer, so you get to go first. We share all info one hundred percent. I can do a lot of the legwork. There are five women to keep track of — and, of course, Rosemary Hershey. You can’t do it all, Ted. And let’s not forget Jack Emery. We can make out an assignment list and check back with each other at the end of the day. Shhh, look! Your guests are leaving. Guess the locals have a little authority after all.”
Both reporters watched as the three special agents walked down the street to their car. The two cops stood, hands on hips, until the car peeled away from the curb, tires screeching.
“That’s one for the good guys. I bet they put bugs in my apartment. Those guys are vicious. Now I’m going to have to get one of those gizmos that detect listening devices.”
“You can do that tomorrow. So what’s your answer?”
Ted sighed. “Yeah, OK, but my name goes first.”
“OK. Want to come home with me, Ted? I’m getting warm all over. You better check on the cats first, though.”
“Hussy,” Ted said happily as he jumped out of the SUV to sprint toward his apartment building.
Maggie’s fist shot in the air the minute Ted got out of the SUV. Yep, sex was a girl’s best friend. She started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Men were so predictable. Ted was sweeter than chocolate candy.
Fifteen
Isabelle Flanders stood in the doorway to her office, her eyes misty with happiness. Everything was so perfect, so modern, so beautiful. In her wildest dreams, she’d never expected to have an office like this one. Her old office, before Rosemary Hershey, had been a quarter of this size, crowded, the staff always getting in each other’s way, stumbling over boxes, babbling and joking about the cramped quarters, but it had all been in fun. In a desperate move to find more space, one of her staff had hung wires and hooks so they could hang stuff from the ceiling. The staff had been wonderful, everyone compatible except for Rosemary, who’d had her own agenda. Of course, Isabelle hadn’t known that at the time. It had been a working office that provided results for anxious clients. And a place for an after-hours tryst or two with Bobby Harcourt. That was a long time ago. Don’t go there, Isabelle. Easier said than done.
Isabelle sniffed at the newness of the place. The green plants and the fresh flowers were the last things delivered before she’d left the office at eight o’clock the previous night.
Today, she was open for business. As she walked across the blue-green marble that the tile man said was the exact color of the Mediterranean, she looked toward her new receptionist, whose name was on the tip of her tongue, and waved. The rich mahogany paneling gleamed in the subdued lamplight. Lights would have to burn all day because there was no window in the reception area and no way to install one. Her own office had wraparound windows, dove-gray carpeting, and vertical blinds with elaborate cornice boards on all the windows. Her desk was one of a kind, her drafting table her own, the one she’d started out with before Rosemary Hershey. It was the only thing, besides the stool, that she’d kept from the days before Rosemary Hershey. She positively itched to sit on the high-backed stool, pencil in hand, fresh paper in front of her, ideas ricocheting around her head.
It was playtime, nothing more. She had no clients, no ideas, just a beautiful office where she could talk on the phone, doodle and stare out the window, hoping and wishing for vindication.
These offices were part of her revenge, nothing more. When the Sisterhood finally vindicated her, she would move on. These elegant, scrumptious quarters were not for her. This simply wasn’t who she was. She was a hands-on architect. She had a plan for what she called after Rosemary. She was going to open a small one-man office, work her tail off the way she had when she first started out. She’d work long hours, go home bone tired, then wake up and do it all over again. She’d do it on her own, with no help from anyone. If things got tough financially, she’d sleep and shower in her office. She’d done that in the early days and had been happier than a pig in a mudslide. She could do it again. More important, she wanted to do it.
She hoped that word of mouth would get her new clients. She could advertise in the local papers. She knew in her gut she wouldn’t starve. If she could pay her bills, be contented and happy as well as at peace, she couldn’t ask for more.
Her thoughts carried her back in time to the aftermath of the trial and her downfall. She’d buckled, but managed to get up and forge ahead by taking care of herself and earning a meager living. She’d started to exercise — running, jogging, working out — so she wouldn’t dwell on the past. The physical exertion had kept her sane.
Isabelle looked around the pricey office and laughed. She knew she could keep this place if she wanted to go on the hook for rent so high a family of four could live off it. “Not in my game plan,” she muttered to herself.
Her new partners, whom she barely knew, would take over these top-of-the-line offices when she walked away. This time, though, it would be different. When she walked away, she would be doing so by her own choice and not because Rosemary Hershey forced her to.
Isabelle shrugged. Time to start her day. The first thing she’d always done was buzz her secretary for coffee. Well, she could do that now, just as soon as she figured out how to work the elaborate telephone console, which had more buttons than a 747 aircraft. She hoped there was a manual somewhere. In the interests of expediency and a need for immediate caffeine, she opened the door and called to Janice to fetch her a cup of black coffee. “Grind the beans,” she called out. “Please. My cup is the one with the red strawberry on the side with my initials.” The oversized cup had been a gift from Bobby. It was a silly thing but she liked it because it held almost half a pot of coffee. It was probably a soup cup and Bobby hadn’t known the difference. She’d kept it, though, because she was sentimental. She should have thrown it away a long time ago. It wasn’t like she had used it on a daily basis, if at all. Too many memories. And yet it was the first thing she’d brought with her when she moved her things into these offices.
She paced, making a track in the new plush carpeting as she waited for her coffee. “I wonder what happened to my fica tree,” she mused. Everyone used to laugh at her when she would hang sticky notes on the leaves. Did it die? Did Rosemary take it? Did anyone take it? There was a perfect spot for a new tree right next to her drafting table. Maybe she should look into getting one. She ruled out the idea almost immediately. She wasn’t going to be here long enough to need a tree. This is just playtime, Isabelle, she warned herself. Don’t, whatever you do, get attached to anything in these offices.
All dressed up and nowhere to go, she thought as she accepted the cup of coffee from her secretary. She smiled, liking the feel of the cup in her hands. She carried it over to the little stand next to her drafting table. She sat down, picked up her pencil and moved into another world. She reached for a sticky note, scribbled something on it, moved to the left to hang it on the tree but of course the tree wasn’t there. Isabelle bit down on her lower lip when her eyes started to burn. She was about to stick the note on the side of her drafting table when the door opened and her secretary said, “There’s a delivery for you, Miss Flanders.”
“OK, just put it anywhere,” Isabelle replied without turning around.
The deep voice sent chills up her spine. “Looks like I’m just in time. Hold that sticky note for just one more minute. There you go!” Bobby Harcourt said as he set down a fica tree in full leaf right next to her drafting table.
&
nbsp; “Bobby!”
“That’s me. I wanted to welcome you back into the fold.” His voice became anxious. “If you’d rather not have it, I can donate it someplace else.”
Isabelle turned around in her chair. She was glad she was dressed up, every hair in place, makeup subdued and not overdone. Even her perfume was subdued. “No, no! You just caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting…you. Thanks for the tree. I was sitting here a few minutes ago wondering what happened to the old one. Do you know?”
Bobby dusted his hands and then wiped them on a snow-white handkerchief that he pulled out of his pants pocket. “Only by hearsay. It’s not worth talking about. Nice offices, Isabelle. Good luck. Good to see you again.”
Bobby was almost to the door when Isabelle called him back. “Wait, Bobby. Sit down. Would you like some coffee?”
“Are you sure you want to have coffee with me?” His gaze traveled to the large cup with the strawberry on the side. “Yes, I would like a cup of coffee. I was in a hurry this morning and didn’t get a chance to hit Starbucks.”
She should have thanked him for the tree and let him walk out of the offices. That’s what she should have done. Instead, she walked over to the door and called over to Janice. “Bring a cup of coffee, black, one sugar, for Mr. Harcourt, please.”
“You remember I take it black with one sugar?” Bobby asked in amazement.
“I remember everything, Bobby. Thanks for the tree. Makes the office complete now. How are you? It’s been a long time. I really haven’t kept up with what’s going on in our business. Are you doing well?”
Bobby laughed. Isabelle felt her insides start to crumble at the sound. How she loved his laugh. Her voice became testy. “Did I say something funny?”
“No. I really don’t know how to answer the question. I’m fine. I’m thinking about going out on my own again. My partner and I are dissolving our partnership and we’re going to go our separate ways. I imagine it’s going to get a little rocky as time goes on, but I miss being my own boss.”
Thank God for small favors. He hadn’t mentioned his wife’s name.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do? When you’re in business for yourself, the buck stops with you. You’re responsible for everything. But then, I guess you know that.”
“I liked that part of it. But to answer your question, yes, I’m sure. I just wanted to stop by to wish you good luck. Thanks for the coffee.”
There was a lump in Isabelle’s throat. “Nice seeing you again, and thanks for the tree.”
Bobby shrugged. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned around. “Why wouldn’t you see me when you were in the hospital?” he asked. “Why did you cut me out of your life like that? Where did you go afterward? I’d really like to know, Isabelle, so I can make sense out of what happened to me. That trial…that circus…I tried calling you, I chased after you…Why?”
“The past belongs in the past. I’ve moved on. It just took me longer than it did you. What happened to you was a woman named Rosemary. You believed her instead of me. There is one thing I would like to tell you, though. I wasn’t drinking. You know I don’t drink at lunchtime. Never. I did, however, swig down a lot of cough medicine. It never occurred to me that there was alcohol in it. I wasn’t driving the car, Bobby. I was too damn sick to drive that day.”
“What are you saying, Isabelle? Jesus Christ, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying goodbye, Bobby.”
Isabelle ran over to the door, pushed him through, and then closed and locked it behind him. Her breathing was so labored that she had to sit down and put her head between her knees.
Maggie Spritzer looked around Squire’s Pub and made a face. “This is definitely a guy’s place. Why are we here, Ted?”
“To eat. What? You wanted to go to a tea room and have cucumber sandwiches? I need to eat real food. It’s called sustenance. We need to talk and we need to make a plan and we need to do it right now. I have this itch between my shoulder blades which tells me things are on fast-forward. I say we hit them hard. We get right in their faces and tell them what we suspect. But we say it as fact, not suspicion. Since we’re both reporters that means they are going to try to spin us.” The waitress appeared, pad and pencil in hand. “Double bacon cheese burger, fries and a large Coke, plenty of ketchup,” Ted said.
“I’ll have the vegetable platter with the two dipping sauces. A glass of water with a twist of lemon. You’re going to die at an early age if you keep eating like that,” Maggie said.
“I only eat like this at lunchtime. As I was saying, they’re going to try to spin us. We can’t let that happen. I want you to take another crack at Isabelle Flanders and Rosemary Hershey. I didn’t get anywhere with either one of them. Something is definitely wrong with the Hershey woman. She looks like she’s falling apart. That tells me there was something fishy about that old lawsuit. I think she lied and walked away with millions while one of the Pinewood ladies, Isabelle, got taken to the cleaners. The grandmother and the little boy didn’t do so well, either. Think about it. Flanders lost her license; she went into hock up to her eyeballs trying to defend herself. She lost everything. I can’t find out anything in her background, which is fairly current, that would allow her to hit the big time like she’s doing right now. That has to mean she’s got a backer. Who else but Myra Rutledge, who has as much money as Bill Gates? Tell me this doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes sense. So, what you’re saying is those ladies out at Pinewood are going to go after Rosemary Hershey to make her pay for what she did to Isabelle Flanders.”
“Right. Now, if I was as insidious as I think those Pinewood ladies are, I think they’re going to play with Hershey’s head, make her look over her shoulder every second and then close in for the kill so that she confesses. But here’s the clunker. Hershey went to Nikki Quinn’s law offices. I’m sure she has no idea about those ladies out at Pinewood, of which Nikki is a member. By the way, Hershey’s husband used to be engaged to Isabelle Flanders.”
“Well, shoot, I didn’t know that. Whoa. Our plot thickens. What happened?”
“Don’t know. All of a sudden, Bobby Harcourt marries Rosemary Hershey. Flanders drops out of sight after the trial. She couldn’t work at her profession, lived on the poverty level. Until now. Take Bobby, too. In my opinion, he’s a stand-up guy. You might be able to worm something out of him. He’s probably in the dark about everything. Clue him in, but be careful.”
“OK. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to try and hook up with the black woman, Alexis, and the Japanese girl. The trucker is up for grabs. You told me last night that when you called Myra Rutledge she said she wasn’t interested in giving out interviews.”
Maggie reached for the vegetable plate that the waitress was holding out. “Did anyone ever tell you that Myra Rutledge is best friends with Judge Cornelia Easter?”
Ted bit down on his burger, chewed, swirled the food to the side of his mouth and said, “No. Do you think that’s important?”
Maggie wagged a carrot stick under Ted’s nose. “Don’t know. I think it’s one of those things you keep tucked away at the back of your mind. What are you going to do about going back to your apartment?”
“I checked on the police report early this morning. I got those guys’ names off the report, and filed a restraining order against all three of them. I’m going to paste it on my apartment door. Short of hiring a bodyguard, what else can I do?”
“You can start being careful, Ted. Do you really think this is a big story?”
“A baby Watergate. Trust me. The ladies of Pinewood are breaking the law and those goons are protecting them. Tell me that’s fair. You know what really gets me, Maggie. Those women are professionals. They’re so goddamn slick they make my eyes water. They don’t leave a clue behind. Jack Emery is in this up to his ears. How else do you explain the National Security Advisor getting beaten to within an inch of his life? And how did the first three
goons get beaten up and dumped in the NSA’s backyard?”
Maggie dipped a celery stalk into some ranch dressing. “Don’t look now, but your old buddy Emery just walked through the door.”
“Is he coming over here? If he is, keep quiet and let me do the talking.”
“Well, sure, boss. You’re the shark here.” Her sarcasm went unnoticed by Ted.
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange for Jack to show up here after my confrontation with Nikki last night?”
“Let me be the voice of logic. How did he know you’d be here, Ted?”
“Because this is where I usually have lunch and he knows it. Is he headed this way?”
“Yep.” She motioned to the waitress. “I’ll have a piece of your sinful decadent chocolate cake. With a dollop of whipped cream.” Ted passed on dessert and rolled his eyes. “I can eat cake because unlike you, I ate veggies for lunch,” said Maggie with a grin.
“Mind if I join you guys?” Jack said as he shrugged out of his raincoat.
“No, I don’t mind,” Maggie replied.
“Well, I mind,” Ted said.
Jack sat down anyway.
Maggie got up and said, “While you guys snap and snarl at each other, I think I’ll visit the restroom. Don’t anybody eat my dessert.”
Ted leaned back in the booth, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Jack. “You following me or what?”
“No, I’m not following you. Why would I do that?”
“To report to those ladies out at Pinewood, that’s why. Guess what, you son of a bitch, my boss has agreed to a full court press when the time comes. He’s behind me and Maggie a hundred percent. We’re closing in, buddy. Those guys were waiting for me again when I got home last night. They had the chutzpah to let themselves into my apartment. That’s goddamn fucking breaking and entering and I don’t give a shit what color their shields are, gold or otherwise. A man’s home is his castle. Maggie spotted them. I called the cops and they rousted them out and this morning I got a restraining order against all three of them. My boss is royally pissed. I’m pissed, too, Jack.”
Sweet Revenge Page 13