12. Final Justice

by Fern Michaels

  Ted dipped his knife in the mayo jar. "Hey, what are friends for?"

  Ted was munching contentedly while slipping tidbits of ham to the cats when he heard the door to his apartment close with a loud bang. No kiss good night. He winced. Then he shrugged. This new Ted wasn't one bit worried about anyone coming after him. He was walking the straight and narrow these days. His conscience clear, Ted decided to make a second sandwich. Sex always made him hungry. Really, really good sex made him ravenous.

  Outside, her stomach churning, Maggie hailed a cab and gave the driver Jack Emery's address. How weird that just a few hours ago she'd been sitting at her desk at the Post thinking about her neighbor Jack Emery and how they never ran into one another. She looked down at her watch and saw that it was almost eleven o'-clock. She knew for a fact that Jack never went to bed before midnight. She, on the other hand, was usually in bed by ten and soon sound asleep.

  How was she going to explain all this to Jack? If she gave up Ted, Jack wouldn't believe her, and she couldn't blame him. She wondered if she was making a mistake going to see Jack instead of calling Nikki or Charles. Maybe she should have called Lizzie Fox or Judge Easter. Well, it's too late now. Let Jack make the decision.

  The traffic was light at that hour, and the cab sailed along, missing just about every red light on the way. Maggie leaned back and closed her eyes. She felt physically wonderful. She even felt good mentally. Her world was suddenly right side up. She absolutely refused to wonder if it would last. It was what it was for now. She smiled when she remembered how Mickey and Minnie had run to her when she entered the apartment with Ted. Oh, to be so loved by two precocious cats even though they'd hissed their disapproval when she left the apartment.

  Ten minutes later, the cab pulled alongside a parked car in front of Jack's house. She paid the driver, asked for a receipt, and pocketed it before she climbed out of the cab.

  The house was lit up from top to bottom, and that could only mean Jack was home. Maybe he didn't like the dark. She didn't, either. She wondered if he was as lonely as she was.

  Maggie rang the bell and waited. When it opened, she said, "Hi, neighbor! Can I come in? I need to talk to you right now. It can't wait, Jack."

  "What? No cake? Aren't new neighbors supposed to bring a cake or a pot roast or something?"

  "Well, yeah, but you have it backward. You were supposed to bring me the cake or the pot roast. I'm the one who is new and just moved in."

  "Yeah, like a year ago. What's up? You want a beer, coffee?"

  Maggie realized she hadn't eaten. She thought about the ham and the fried chicken in Ted's refrigerator. She should have taken some to go. "You have anything to eat?"

  "Crackers and cheese. Some fruit. I didn't have time to shop on Saturday. How hungry are you?"

  "Starved." Sex always left her starving for some reason.

  "How about a Hungry Man TV dinner?"

  "I'll take it. And the beer."

  As Jack bustled about the kitchen, Maggie started to babble. When she was finished she said, "My source is impeccable, Jack, and don't ask because you know I can't tell you who it is. You only have till Friday to turn this around, or Bert is not going to be confirmed."

  "Are you sure, Maggie?"

  "I'm positive. Bert doesn't even know your friendship is why he won't be confirmed. He might suspect but probably won't believe it. At some point during the vetting process your name and Harry's came up. My source told me Bert was ordered to sever his relationship with you both, and he refused. That's what I call a good friend, Jack."

  "Aw, shit!"

  "Yeah."

  The microwave pinged. Jack removed the TV dinner and slid it across the table to where Maggie was sitting.

  "I hate these things," Maggie said, digging into the Salisbury steak dinner. "Maybe you should heat up another one and call Harry to join us."

  "Harry only eats weeds and tofu. It's late. Harry gets real pissy if you wake him up."

  "Ask me if I care. I'm up. You're up. I rest my case. This thing tastes like cardboard," Maggie said as she shoveled mashed potatoes into her mouth.

  Jack got out his cell phone and pressed the number three on his speed dial. "Yeah, I know. Wash it down with the beer, that kills the taste. I don't have to walk you home, do I?"

  "I live three houses away, Jack. You can stand on the steps and watch me till I get inside. I'll take another beer."

  Jack stated his business, waited, then without saying anything, put away the phone and got Maggie her second beer.

  "Well, is he coming or not?"

  "Yeah, but he was jabbering in Chinese or whatever the hell language he speaks. He likes to mix them up to confuse me. That's another way of saying he's pissed. Big-time."

  "Too sad, too bad, oh, boo-hoo," Maggie said, upending her longneck.

  Years of friendship that were sometimes up and sometimes down allowed Jack to talk to Maggie like the old friend she was. "You're awful chipper this evening. You get laid or something?"

  Maggie started to laugh and couldn't stop. Finally, she managed to gurgle, "Or something?"

  On the way out the door she called over her shoulder, "Call Judge Easter right away, Jack. Timing is everything."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Jack said, picking up his cell phone. He grinned when he thought about how Judge Nellie Easter was going to react to this new set of orders. With extreme gusto. He started to laugh out loud and, like Maggie, couldn't stop.

  Chapter 2

  The high from the previous night's encounter with Ted and the late dinner with Jack was still in effect as Maggie Spritzer dressed for the day. She risked a quick glance at the digital numerals on her bedside clock. As she hopped from the shoe rack back to the bathroom and out again to the closet, where she donned a freshly cleaned designer jacket, she tried to keep the red numbers in her line of vision. She didn't want to be late for her breakfast meeting with Lizzie Fox.

  One of the perks of her new job was that she had transportation to and from work, so she knew that the car and her driver would be waiting for her. If she was lucky, she'd make the breakfast meeting right on schedule. And then the day would take off like a rocket. Well, she was ready to fly.

  As she rode down in the elevator, Maggie found herself thinking about Ted and how they'd stepped back into their old ways with hardly a misstep. Until Ted confessed to knowing she was one of the vigilantes. Was her secret safe with him? She wanted desperately to believe it was. But if it wasn't. . .

  The elevator door swished open. Maggie marched across the tiled lobby and sailed through the revolving doors. Her car was double-parked. The driver had the door open within seconds, and she was inside in a heartbeat.

  Daniel West had the car in gear the moment he said, "Good morning, Miss Spritzer. Where to?"

  "Good morning to you, too, Daniel. Take me to Finnegan's Cafe. I have an early breakfast meeting."

  "Lots of traffic this morning. Might take us an extra ten minutes. You might want to consider calling your breakfast companion, and it wouldn't surprise me if he or she is going to be late, too. The town is busy this morning with the presidential debates. Do you still think Martine Connor is going to land the highest office in the land?"

  "You know it. She's running way ahead in the polls. No one can touch her, and the country is really ready for the first female president. She's a shoo-in."

  The driver laughed. "Thanks to the Post's support. That was a really good article in this morning's paper about Connor and her dog. Great human interest. My wife reads every word about Connor. She says she's for the people. Robinson writes a great article."

  Maggie felt like preening. "He's a terrific reporter. You know what else, Daniel, Robinson is a great guy in person." Oh, God, did she really say that?

  "I guess he is to write a piece like that with so much heart."

  Fifteen minutes later he said, "I hate to say this, but there's a bottleneck up ahead. If you get out here, you'll get to the cafe before I will. It's just a b
lock. Are you okay with that, Miss Spritzer?"

  Maggie looked down at the hated high heels. "Sure, Daniel, no problem. Pick me up in front of the cafe in forty-five minutes. Then I'll see you tonight unless I call you."

  "Okay, Miss Spritzer."

  Maggie started off at a brisk walk. God, how she hated these damn heels, with the pointy toes. By the time she walked all the way to the restaurant, she'd either have blisters or corns. A second later the heels were in her hands and she was sprinting toward the cafe.

  Two minutes later she saw Lizzie standing next to the hostess as she waited to be seated. Lizzie turned around to look at Maggie and burst out laughing when she saw the shoes in her hand.

  Maggie followed Lizzie through the cheerful cafe, which smelled of fresh-roasted coffee and cinnamon, to a secluded table in the back. Lizzie's table. Lizzie, as Maggie had found out, had a table at just about every restaurant in town.

  Both women ordered hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, wheat toast, and a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice with crushed ice. Coffee was poured, and the two women settled down to discuss business, confident they were out of earshot of anyone who might have an interest in the two of them.

  Lizzie took the lead. "Myra called yesterday and asked me to meet with you. She wants me to go to Las Vegas to check on something for her. She said I was to fill you in because you might want to send one of your reporters, possibly Ted Robinson, along with me. She said to fire up the Gulfstream if you're okay with it. If not, I fly commercial—it's your call. Having said that, she has an old friend who lives in Vegas. Annie and Judge Easter know this person also. From way back, childhood. They haven't seen or heard from each other in over fifty years. The friend's name is Beatrice. Myra calls her Beats. She, Beats, has seven last names, meaning, of course, that she has buried seven husbands. Her current last name is Preston, as in Alonzo Preston—also known for the shipping empire that he bequeathed to Beats. Beats inherited the whole ball of wax, not just the shipping fleet. She did the requisite ten-day mourning thing and now she's running in high gear because people are after her daughter.

  "Before you ask how Miz Beats got in touch with Myra, I will tell you she contacted Nikki's old law firm, who then contacted me. At that point, I turned it over to Charles."

  Maggie frowned. "And the story is. . .?"

  "The daughter is in trouble. I'm sketchy on details at the moment. I guess I'll find out everything when I get there. All I know for certain is the daughter is in jail, and she's estranged from her mother.

  "I want you to get in touch with Martine Connor and explain that I'm out of town. But I don't want her to know why, at least not right now. I can't risk having anything I do rub off on her. A week from now I might feel different. Everything seems to be going well for her at the moment, so why look for trouble. Martine is so far up in the polls I can't imagine anything that could bring her down, but you never know. It's only five weeks to the election, so we all have to be on our toes."

  Maggie nodded, wondering where all this was going. While Lizzie was here physically, she was in another place mentally—Maggie could tell. "Are you okay, Lizzie?"

  Lizzie pondered the question. "Yes, I'm okay, Maggie. But my gut is telling me something's wrong somewhere. I hate being across the country when all the action is here at home." She shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Let's just chalk it up to paranoia on my part."

  "Something did happen last night. I should have called you when I got home, but I. . .well, I didn't, that's the bottom line."

  Lizzie looked around at the bustling cafe with its young waitresses, who looked fresh and dewy-eyed even so early in the morning. Since waitressing was such hard work, she wondered how they did it. By being eighteen years old, she told herself. She knew for a fact most of the waitresses in town were college students. Young, young, young. She brought her attention back to Maggie. "So, tell me now."

  Maggie told her everything Ted had shared. She spared nothing, even elaborating on her romp in the sack with Ted, right down to her visit with Jack. "Lizzie, girl to girl, do you believe it's only possible to love once? Real, true love, that kind of thing?"

  Lizzie chose her words carefully. "I do believe that. But. . .and it's a big 'but,' I believe you can love again. It's just different, but love all the same. As a very wise man told me not too long ago, you have to be open to it." She was, of course, referring to Jack Emery, but she wasn't about to tell Maggie that. "You're wondering if you can trust Ted, is that it?"

  Maggie nodded. "He's different these days. On the straight and narrow. I think what convinced me was that his refrigerator was full of food he cooked himself. He's been staying home a lot. He's one of the best reporters I know. Even my old boss said the same thing. He's from the old school, journalistically speaking, and that counts in my book. I think he really loves me. I do love him, Lizzie, but I will never do anything to bring attention to. . .to the vigilantes, to you, either. You know that. Maybe I should resign and go off to some cabin and write my memoirs."

  Lizzie laughed. "No way. There's too much juice left in you, Maggie. My advice would be to go with your heart, but don't be blind. Now, what did Jack have to say?"

  A perky waitress with a little too much makeup set down their food in front of them while another young girl poured orange juice from a crystal carafe.

  When they moved out of earshot, Maggie said, "Jack called Harry, and he was on his way over to Jack's, but I was tired and left. I don't know what if anything they decided. I would imagine whatever they came up with they would have to run by Charles. That's all I know."

  Both women, who had earlier professed to be starving, picked at their food. Lizzie nibbled on the crisp bacon, while Maggie chomped on dry toast and stirred the eggs around on her plate.

  Lizzie looked at her diamond-studded watch. "I should be going. So, what do you think, the Gulfstream and Ted or not? It will get him out of your hair for a while or until you get your head on straight. I don't know why, but my gut is telling me there's more to this than a young girl in jail. This could be a rip-roaring series for your paper if my gut is right. No matter how you look at it, Las Vegas is a gambling mecca, and that's fodder for the media."

  "Sure, no problem. What time do you want to leave?"

  "Wheels up by noon if you can manage it."

  "You gonna look up Rena Gold while you're there? She has some powerful friends in the underbelly of Vegas."

  Rena Gold had been the paramour of the president of the World Bank when the Sisterhood brought him down. The Sisters had cut Rena enough slack to turn her, and sent her on her way with the promise to help them if they ever needed someone in Vegas to, as she put it, shill for them.

  "I have thought about it. We'll see how it goes. So, should I just be at Dulles at noon?"

  "That'll work." Maggie motioned for their waitress and handed her a credit card. "Go ahead, Lizzie, I'll take care of this. I'll send Ted and will make sure he's at the airport on time. I'll call when I know more about Bert and the guys."

  Lizzie stood up, all six feet of her, and straightened her short leather skirt. The Silver Fox, as she was known, had the sudden attention of every male in the cafe. Maggie frowned. On her best day she had never looked half as good as the Silver Fox. Oh, well, Ted loved her as she was. So did Mickey and Minnie. Which brought up another problem. Who would watch the cats while Ted was in Vegas?

  While she waited for the waitress to bring back her credit card, she yanked her cell phone out of her backpack and called the pilot in charge of the Gulfstream to tell him to be ready to fly to Vegas at noon. Her second call was to Ted. She issued orders like a general. She half-expected him to squawk and complain, but he simply said okay if she would watch his cats. She agreed.

  "Tell me the truth, Maggie, are you trying to get rid of me because of last night?"

  "No, Ted, I am not trying to get rid of you. Lizzie said there's a story there. You'll get the scoop. You should know by now that when Lizzie is involved
in anything, it's news. Big news."

  "What about Martine Connor? You said you wanted daily articles. I can't do that if I'm chasing Lizzie around Vegas. Which brings up another point, I'm going to need some cash."

  Maggie's tired brain clicked into gear. "Espinosa can do the articles. He's got a feel for Martine just the way you do. By the way, my driver told me this morning his wife loves your articles on Connor. He said that she said you're humanizing her, which is what the public wants. Don't go getting a swelled head, now. Stop by Accounting and tell them I okayed two thousand dollars cash. Sign for it, Ted, and have them send the chit to my office for my signature. Make sure you keep all the receipts. Use your credit card for anything else."

  "Yes, Mom. I love you, Maggie."

  She knew she was supposed to say, I love you, too, Ted. Somehow the words wouldn't roll off her tongue. She nodded until she realized Ted couldn't see her. She said, "I know," before she broke the connection.

  Maggie scrawled her name on the credit card slip, stuck the receipt and the card back in her wallet and into her backpack. Her watch told her she had ten minutes until Daniel was due to pick her up out front. She finished her coffee and juice as she people-watched until it was time to give up her table. She wondered why she wasn't hungry. She was almost out of her chair when she remembered to put on her shoes.

  On the ride back to the office, she let her mind race. Tomorrow I'm supposed to fly commercial to North Carolina to attend a party on the mountain. But Jack said something about driving.

  She wasn't sure what it was all about, but Charles had said it was an invitation she shouldn't even think about turning down. In other words, a command performance. Something was going on, she was sure of it. And it wasn't the business with Bert and the guys. Something else entirely. Like Lizzie, she suddenly had a bad feeling and wasn't sure why.