Bitter Pill, page 24
Charles stood. “You are right. We don’t want to create a hazardous situation. The bacteria alone could be lethal.” Mumblings of agreement came from the ladies. “I say this is a job for Fergus!” More laughs emerged.
Fergus had a disgusted look on his face. “Why me?”
Charles chuckled. “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be right behind you!”
“As long as we wear hazmat suits,” Fergus snapped.
“Absolutely!”
Myra had the next question. “When do you think we should get Pearl here?”
Kathryn sank down in her chair.
“I think two to three more days of the pharmacological spin, dip, and whirl should be enough to knock them on their asses,” Charles offered. “I amped up the doses. They should be on a doozy of a ride by now.”
“Bravo!” Myra clapped. “Do we have any information about Marcus?”
Fergus stepped up. “He’s still in hospital. They don’t know when they will release him into police custody. Although that may not be good for him.”
“What do you mean?” Annie asked.
“I am sure getting arrested was not part of Franny O’Rourke’s plan, and in all likelihood, it infuriated him even further. If Marcus goes to jail, Franny will most certainly finish the job.”
A hush fell across the room. It was never the sisters’ intention to kill anyone or have someone killed.
Myra cleared her throat. “We have to try to prevent that from happening.”
“Does Pearl have contacts in the UK?” Kathryn asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but you can find out,” Myra instructed a reluctant Kathryn, who slouched farther down in her seat.
* * *
Fergus and Charles fitted themselves with sanitized coverall jumpsuits, complete with hoods, shoe covers, respirator masks, polyethylene aprons, and protective gloves. They carried biohazard disposable bags and fresh jumpsuits for each of their “guests.” When they went from the laundry area into the kitchen, Myra and Annie broke out in full-throated guffaws.
“You two look like you’re about to disarm a nuclear bomb!” Myra said.
“It sure smells like some kind of bomb went off down there!” Annie pinched her nose to emphasize the point.
“Ready, mate?” Charles asked Fergus.
“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” he grunted.
“Come on, old boy. You’ve been in worse situations than this,” Charles reminded the former Scotland Yard official.
“I’m trying not to remember. Let’s get this over with.”
The men marched down the steps as Annie and Myra waved.
The first door they opened was to Corbett’s cell. The effects of the phenobarbital were obvious. He was loopy and was slurring his words. “Where am I? Who are you people?”
Fergus and Charles ignored his questions. “Take off your clothes and put them in this bag. Here’s a fresh suit for you. Sorry, not Canali or Ralph Lauren.” Charles tossed the items at Corbett and unshackled his legs. Corbett looked confused.
“Now don’t be modest,” Fergus chided him. “Move it!” Corbett began to unbutton the putrid-smelling clothes as he staggered around in the small cell. “Maybe a hose down?” Fergus looked at Charles.
Charles shrugged. “I don’t think that’s included in his accommodations package.”
Both men chuckled. Corbett gingerly removed the cruddy suit and put on the clean one.
“That’s a good boy. We’ll be back with lunch shortly.” Charles slammed and locked the steel door.
They proceeded to Steinwood’s cell. He was sitting in a comatose state on the floor. Fergus kicked his foot. Steinwood moaned. They went through the same routine with him, but Steinwood was out of it. He barely understood what they were saying.
“Listen, you slime weasel, stand up and change your clothes,” Fergus said and kicked him again. Steinwood slowly got up and peeled his urine- and fecal-crusted layers off. Charles and Fergus were happy they were wearing masks.
Once Steinwood had fumbled his way through their instructions, Fergus and Charles exited as quickly as possible. They took turns stripping down and quickly showering in the basement’s bathroom, and then they dumped the bags of rancid clothing in a biohazard-waste container. The proper experts would retrieve the mess later.
When they climbed back up and entered the kitchen, Annie was waiting with two bowls of scrambled eggs à la Adderall. “Breakfast for our guests.” She handed the bowls to Fergus.
Fergus brought them downstairs and inserted the bowls through the small sliding steel box at the bottom of the cell doors. “Room service!” Fergus announced.
* * *
Marcus opened his eyes to see the large black nurse standing over him. “Good morning, Dr. Marcus.” He showed a big bright smile. “We’re going on a journey.” The nurse took Marcus’s chart, laid it at the foot of his bed, and began to wheel him into the hallway. He nodded at the constable, who nodded in return.
Fear tore through Marcus’s beaten body. He tried to twist and form words, but it was as if he had a mouthful of cotton. “Wha wah we gowha?”
“Easy there, Dr. Marcus. You’re going on a long ride.” The nurse moved the gurney slowly and methodically, bobbing his head with “Good mornings” to his associates, as he wheeled Marcus down the hall and into the lift. He pushed the button that said LOWER LEVEL, the level where the morgue was located.
Marcus’s mind was a flurry of nightmarish thoughts. His worst fear was about to come true. Franny O’Rourke was going to do him in.
“By the way, Dr. Marcus, your wife filed for divorce. Once she realized all your accounts were frozen, she had the papers drawn up,” the nurse explained in a matter-of-fact way.
Marcus’s neurons were firing rapidly. Even though he was relieved that he would be rid of her, he asked himself, How does the nurse know about that? As they moved farther down the hall, Marcus noticed several gurneys on which lay bodies covered in sheets. His heart started racing when the nurse stopped. The nurse checked the chart of one of the corpses and swapped it with Marcus’s.
“That ought to do it.” The nurse smiled down at him and pulled a large black body bag from a shelf. He disconnected the traction and lowered Marcus’s leg. He slipped the bag under Marcus’s body and pulled it up until it was over his shoulders. Marcus was in a panic. The nurse wrapped the top of the bag around Marcus’s head, reached for the zipper, and zipped him in like a mummy. “Don’t you move or say a word. Or you’re a dead man,” the nurse whispered through the bag.
Marcus held his breath, waiting for the next blow. The nurse proceeded to push Marcus along until they came to the large doors at the end of the hall. A black van that looked like a hearse was waiting.
He felt the gurney being raised and slid into the back of the parked van. Once the van was far enough from the hospital car park, a voice from the front seat addressed him. “Good morning, Dr. Marcus. We are here to inform you that you are a dead man.” Marcus almost pissed. “Officially, that is.” The woman’s voice was clear. She reached around the seat and pulled the zipper down, uncovering his head and face. “You are being transported to a nursing home, where you will recover under the name James Sherman. Once you are able to walk and function, you will remain at said nursing home as a member of the custodial staff for the rest of Mr. Sherman’s life. You will never venture more than a hundred feet from the facility. To make sure you do not, you will be monitored. Do I make myself clear? Grunt once for yes, two for no.”
One grunt. Marcus was hearing the words, but they made no sense. There would be no trial, but he would be under house arrest forever. The more he thought about it, the more confused he got.
“Franny O’Rourke will no longer be a threat to you, and you will no longer be a threat to the rest of the world,” the woman continued. “You suffered a severe beating, lost all your material possessions, and now you will spend the rest of your life helping people.
“As soon as your wife filed the divorce papers, she left town. The press was all over her. Last we heard, she had moved to Belgium and is working as a cocktail waitress.”
Marcus wished he could ask questions. Maybe try to talk again? Then he remembered the warning about making no sound.
“Dr. Marcus, grunt once if you are understanding this.”
Two grunts.
“Then let me go through it again.” The woman painstakingly repeated what she had told him, pausing between sentences. She had to recite some of it several times before Marcus was down to only one grunt.
The vehicle drove for several hours before it arrived at its final destination. It was the nursing home the woman had spoken of.
“Remember, Dr. Marcus is dead. You are James Sherman. Make up whatever story you want about your past, as long as it does not contain any part of the truth. Understood?”
One grunt.
Chapter 41
It was the fifth day of Corbett’s and Steinwood’s unpleasant stay at Chateau Justice. Kathryn reluctantly made contact with Pearl. The last part of the final phase was approaching. Out of respect for Pearl’s facilitators, the sisters agreed to let the two scum buckets shower and put on clean orange jumpsuits. They didn’t want any of their associates to have to suffer the stench of the men’s unwashed bodies.
Charles escorted Corbett to the shower, with Fergus watching closely. The two men would go one at a time, still not knowing the whereabouts of the other. Steinwood and Corbett could barely stand, let alone walk. Neither was a threat. They were deflated, humiliated, and destroyed. Even with a shower and clean hair, Corbett looked grizzly. Steinwood looked like a schlump. Corbett opened his mouth to speak, but Charles gave him a look that said, “Don’t you dare.”
Charles pulled Corbett’s arms behind his back and zip-tied his wrists together. Corbett started to yell, but Fergus shoved a sock in his mouth. “Keep your piehole shut,” Charles barked and reapplied duct tape to the man’s mouth. He marched Corbett up the steps, as the sisters lined up and watched him do the walk of shame. Then a burlap bag went over his head and he was passed on to Pearl and her crew, who would relocate Corbett to some unknown place, a place so remote, he would never be found.
Once the van carrying Corbett was off the property, it was Steinwood’s turn to do the walk of shame as the sisters looked on and to be transferred to the tender mercies of Pearl’s people. He would be relocated to a different place than Corbett. There was no chance that the two would ever again meet. The official word was that they had escaped during a transfer and were now on the FBI’s and Interpol’s most wanted lists.
The entire departure took about an hour. The Sisterhood wanted to have enough “checkout” time for their guests. Neither man had ever known what was happening to the other, and at no time had either of them asked. Selfish bastards.
As the last car disappeared through the gate, the sisters high-fived, fist pumped, hooted, and hopped around.
“Woo-hoo!”
“Yeehaw!”
“Hootie toot-toot!”
They backslapped one another and doubled over in fits of laughter; the pups howled and wagged their tails in unison.
Annie wrapped her arm around Myra’s neck. “We have an exceptional crew working with us and for us. Seems like we just keep getting better and better.”
Epilogue
Myra , Charles, Annie, and Fergus were lounging about in the atrium. Charles was sorting through papers. What conversation there was, was about what was on the dinner menu. The dinner was to celebrate another mission accomplished.
The original choice was between having a clambake or a roast. They eventually voted for the roast—the same as the first dinner they had shared with Charlotte. Maggie had already put her order in for “extra everything.” It didn’t matter to her as long as the food was plentiful.
The sisters started to arrive about an hour before dinner was to be served. Yoko brought a magnificent centerpiece of red peonies for the table and several other luscious arrangements for the rest of the house. Kathryn helped her carry them in. Once everyone was there, they began their methodical dance of setting the table. Myra suggested the same crystal and china, the Hermès Mosaique and the Waterford.
Myra stood in the doorway and stared at the beautiful table setting. She sighed. Charles came up from behind. “What is it, dear?”
Myra fidgeted with her pearls. “I wish Charlotte were here.”
“I know. But remember, it’s also the adrenaline rush of the mission, then the slide down to the humdrum of everyday life.”
“Oh, Charles, life with you would never, could never, be humdrum. But I suppose you’re right. This is what it must be like for entertainers. You’re on a high in anticipation of the show, and then you do the show, and then the show is over.”
“Listen, old girl, the show will never, ever be over.” Charles put his hands on her waist and kissed the back of her neck.
Myra reached for his hand and brushed it with her lips. “Oh, now, don’t you be naughty! We have guests!”
Myra giggled like a schoolgirl and began to blush. “Charles, you have made my life very rich, exciting, and rewarding.”
“Ditto, my darling. Now let’s get busy.” Charles took her hand and led her back to the kitchen. “I need help opening the champagne.”
“Did I hear someone say ‘champagne’?” Annie chirped.
“You did, indeed.” Fergus was ahead of them, popping the first cork.
The sisters each took a glass and seated themselves at the table. Charles pulled a large TV screen into the dining room.
“Charles? What is this?” Myra was stunned at the electronic intrusion.
“One moment, my dear.” Charles grabbed the remote and pointed at the TV.
The screen lit up, and Charlotte’s face appeared. “Darlings!”
“Hot damn!” Maggie yelled.
“How cool!” Yoko cooed.
“This is great!” Kathryn bellowed as more sounds of delight came from the others.
Myra touched her pearls as tears filled her eyes. “Charlotte! We miss you!”
“Thank you for the invite!” The camera on Charlotte’s side pulled back, revealing the same roast and accompaniments on her table, including fuchsia peonies.
Myra looked a bit puzzled, until she realized that Charles and Fergus had planned for Charlotte to be a dinner guest via satellite! Since Charlotte was staying at Annie’s flat in London, it had been easy to plan with Annie’s London staff. The camera panned the room. Sitting to one side of Charlotte was Lincoln Gladwell, the gemologist! Myra gasped a sound of delight. “Hello, Lincoln! Nice of you to join us!”
Then she heard the sound of a dog barking. The camera panned to the other side of the table. A big golden Lab sat up and gave a soft “Woof!”
“Who is that I hear?” Myra smiled.
“This is Jewel!” Charlotte beamed. “Lincoln’s dog! Annie said it would be okay for her to visit.”
“Annie, were you in on this?” Myra pretended to challenge her.
Annie couldn’t help but laugh. “Gotcha!”
The evening lasted for several hours, with everyone conversing as if they were all in the same room. At one point Charlotte indicated that she had been wondering about the real Chagall. Had it ever been recovered?
So Annie explained that it had. “Mrs. Spencer from Christie’s was able to locate the original. It was such a coincidence.” She gave Myra a wink. “Lorraine Thompson’s daughter Genevieve Ringwood was at a flea market the Saturday after everything went down and bought it for twenty-five dollars. When a friend suggested she have someone look at it, she phoned the local art gallery, who referred her to Mrs. Spencer. The French government sent her a check for one hundred fifty thousand dollars. It didn’t bring her mother back, but now she has some financial breathing room to help raise her daughter.”
Once Charlotte’s curiosity about the painting was satisfied, everyone went back to eating. It was a delightful dinner, with many toasts and hugs. Charlotte and Lincoln signed off with help from Jewel, and there was a response from Lady and her pups. Dishes were cleared, cleaned, and the kitchen was made spick and span. Another spectacular meal celebrating “mission accomplished.”
Later that evening, when Charles and Myra were getting ready for bed, Charles pulled a sheet of paper from his trouser pocket.
“What’s that?” Myra asked.
Charles unfolded the paper. “It’s a bill.”
“From where?”
“NYPD. We owe them for the vans they had to ditch after letting Avery’s people use them to deliver Steinwood and Corbett to us. No evidence, love.” He gave her a wicked smile.
“How much is it?” Myra asked.
“Two hundred fifty thousand,” Charles said, not batting an eye.
“It was worth it,” Myra commented casually.
“It always is.” Charles kissed her on the cheek.
“And justice can be a bitter pill to swallow.” Myra beamed.
Photo by M2IFOTO©2006
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood, Men of the Sisterhood and Godmothers series and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over ninety-five million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret. Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
TRUTH AND JUSTICE
The Sisterhood: a group of women from all walks of life bound by friendship and a quest for justice. Armed with vast resources, top-notch expertise, and a loyal network of allies around the globe, the Sisterhood will not rest until every wrong is made right.
When Alexis Thorn and Joe Esposito encounter a young woman sobbing alone in a restaurant, they step into action and offer their comfort and sympathy. They soon learn that the woman’s husband was recently killed in action in Afghanistan. Before he reported for duty, they took steps to preserve their chances of having children. But when Bella visits the fertility clinic, she discovers her eggs are no longer there—and the circumstances are beyond suspicious.
Fergus had a disgusted look on his face. “Why me?”
Charles chuckled. “Don’t worry, mate. I’ll be right behind you!”
“As long as we wear hazmat suits,” Fergus snapped.
“Absolutely!”
Myra had the next question. “When do you think we should get Pearl here?”
Kathryn sank down in her chair.
“I think two to three more days of the pharmacological spin, dip, and whirl should be enough to knock them on their asses,” Charles offered. “I amped up the doses. They should be on a doozy of a ride by now.”
“Bravo!” Myra clapped. “Do we have any information about Marcus?”
Fergus stepped up. “He’s still in hospital. They don’t know when they will release him into police custody. Although that may not be good for him.”
“What do you mean?” Annie asked.
“I am sure getting arrested was not part of Franny O’Rourke’s plan, and in all likelihood, it infuriated him even further. If Marcus goes to jail, Franny will most certainly finish the job.”
A hush fell across the room. It was never the sisters’ intention to kill anyone or have someone killed.
Myra cleared her throat. “We have to try to prevent that from happening.”
“Does Pearl have contacts in the UK?” Kathryn asked.
“I don’t know for sure, but you can find out,” Myra instructed a reluctant Kathryn, who slouched farther down in her seat.
* * *
Fergus and Charles fitted themselves with sanitized coverall jumpsuits, complete with hoods, shoe covers, respirator masks, polyethylene aprons, and protective gloves. They carried biohazard disposable bags and fresh jumpsuits for each of their “guests.” When they went from the laundry area into the kitchen, Myra and Annie broke out in full-throated guffaws.
“You two look like you’re about to disarm a nuclear bomb!” Myra said.
“It sure smells like some kind of bomb went off down there!” Annie pinched her nose to emphasize the point.
“Ready, mate?” Charles asked Fergus.
“I suppose as ready as I’ll ever be,” he grunted.
“Come on, old boy. You’ve been in worse situations than this,” Charles reminded the former Scotland Yard official.
“I’m trying not to remember. Let’s get this over with.”
The men marched down the steps as Annie and Myra waved.
The first door they opened was to Corbett’s cell. The effects of the phenobarbital were obvious. He was loopy and was slurring his words. “Where am I? Who are you people?”
Fergus and Charles ignored his questions. “Take off your clothes and put them in this bag. Here’s a fresh suit for you. Sorry, not Canali or Ralph Lauren.” Charles tossed the items at Corbett and unshackled his legs. Corbett looked confused.
“Now don’t be modest,” Fergus chided him. “Move it!” Corbett began to unbutton the putrid-smelling clothes as he staggered around in the small cell. “Maybe a hose down?” Fergus looked at Charles.
Charles shrugged. “I don’t think that’s included in his accommodations package.”
Both men chuckled. Corbett gingerly removed the cruddy suit and put on the clean one.
“That’s a good boy. We’ll be back with lunch shortly.” Charles slammed and locked the steel door.
They proceeded to Steinwood’s cell. He was sitting in a comatose state on the floor. Fergus kicked his foot. Steinwood moaned. They went through the same routine with him, but Steinwood was out of it. He barely understood what they were saying.
“Listen, you slime weasel, stand up and change your clothes,” Fergus said and kicked him again. Steinwood slowly got up and peeled his urine- and fecal-crusted layers off. Charles and Fergus were happy they were wearing masks.
Once Steinwood had fumbled his way through their instructions, Fergus and Charles exited as quickly as possible. They took turns stripping down and quickly showering in the basement’s bathroom, and then they dumped the bags of rancid clothing in a biohazard-waste container. The proper experts would retrieve the mess later.
When they climbed back up and entered the kitchen, Annie was waiting with two bowls of scrambled eggs à la Adderall. “Breakfast for our guests.” She handed the bowls to Fergus.
Fergus brought them downstairs and inserted the bowls through the small sliding steel box at the bottom of the cell doors. “Room service!” Fergus announced.
* * *
Marcus opened his eyes to see the large black nurse standing over him. “Good morning, Dr. Marcus.” He showed a big bright smile. “We’re going on a journey.” The nurse took Marcus’s chart, laid it at the foot of his bed, and began to wheel him into the hallway. He nodded at the constable, who nodded in return.
Fear tore through Marcus’s beaten body. He tried to twist and form words, but it was as if he had a mouthful of cotton. “Wha wah we gowha?”
“Easy there, Dr. Marcus. You’re going on a long ride.” The nurse moved the gurney slowly and methodically, bobbing his head with “Good mornings” to his associates, as he wheeled Marcus down the hall and into the lift. He pushed the button that said LOWER LEVEL, the level where the morgue was located.
Marcus’s mind was a flurry of nightmarish thoughts. His worst fear was about to come true. Franny O’Rourke was going to do him in.
“By the way, Dr. Marcus, your wife filed for divorce. Once she realized all your accounts were frozen, she had the papers drawn up,” the nurse explained in a matter-of-fact way.
Marcus’s neurons were firing rapidly. Even though he was relieved that he would be rid of her, he asked himself, How does the nurse know about that? As they moved farther down the hall, Marcus noticed several gurneys on which lay bodies covered in sheets. His heart started racing when the nurse stopped. The nurse checked the chart of one of the corpses and swapped it with Marcus’s.
“That ought to do it.” The nurse smiled down at him and pulled a large black body bag from a shelf. He disconnected the traction and lowered Marcus’s leg. He slipped the bag under Marcus’s body and pulled it up until it was over his shoulders. Marcus was in a panic. The nurse wrapped the top of the bag around Marcus’s head, reached for the zipper, and zipped him in like a mummy. “Don’t you move or say a word. Or you’re a dead man,” the nurse whispered through the bag.
Marcus held his breath, waiting for the next blow. The nurse proceeded to push Marcus along until they came to the large doors at the end of the hall. A black van that looked like a hearse was waiting.
He felt the gurney being raised and slid into the back of the parked van. Once the van was far enough from the hospital car park, a voice from the front seat addressed him. “Good morning, Dr. Marcus. We are here to inform you that you are a dead man.” Marcus almost pissed. “Officially, that is.” The woman’s voice was clear. She reached around the seat and pulled the zipper down, uncovering his head and face. “You are being transported to a nursing home, where you will recover under the name James Sherman. Once you are able to walk and function, you will remain at said nursing home as a member of the custodial staff for the rest of Mr. Sherman’s life. You will never venture more than a hundred feet from the facility. To make sure you do not, you will be monitored. Do I make myself clear? Grunt once for yes, two for no.”
One grunt. Marcus was hearing the words, but they made no sense. There would be no trial, but he would be under house arrest forever. The more he thought about it, the more confused he got.
“Franny O’Rourke will no longer be a threat to you, and you will no longer be a threat to the rest of the world,” the woman continued. “You suffered a severe beating, lost all your material possessions, and now you will spend the rest of your life helping people.
“As soon as your wife filed the divorce papers, she left town. The press was all over her. Last we heard, she had moved to Belgium and is working as a cocktail waitress.”
Marcus wished he could ask questions. Maybe try to talk again? Then he remembered the warning about making no sound.
“Dr. Marcus, grunt once if you are understanding this.”
Two grunts.
“Then let me go through it again.” The woman painstakingly repeated what she had told him, pausing between sentences. She had to recite some of it several times before Marcus was down to only one grunt.
The vehicle drove for several hours before it arrived at its final destination. It was the nursing home the woman had spoken of.
“Remember, Dr. Marcus is dead. You are James Sherman. Make up whatever story you want about your past, as long as it does not contain any part of the truth. Understood?”
One grunt.
Chapter 41
It was the fifth day of Corbett’s and Steinwood’s unpleasant stay at Chateau Justice. Kathryn reluctantly made contact with Pearl. The last part of the final phase was approaching. Out of respect for Pearl’s facilitators, the sisters agreed to let the two scum buckets shower and put on clean orange jumpsuits. They didn’t want any of their associates to have to suffer the stench of the men’s unwashed bodies.
Charles escorted Corbett to the shower, with Fergus watching closely. The two men would go one at a time, still not knowing the whereabouts of the other. Steinwood and Corbett could barely stand, let alone walk. Neither was a threat. They were deflated, humiliated, and destroyed. Even with a shower and clean hair, Corbett looked grizzly. Steinwood looked like a schlump. Corbett opened his mouth to speak, but Charles gave him a look that said, “Don’t you dare.”
Charles pulled Corbett’s arms behind his back and zip-tied his wrists together. Corbett started to yell, but Fergus shoved a sock in his mouth. “Keep your piehole shut,” Charles barked and reapplied duct tape to the man’s mouth. He marched Corbett up the steps, as the sisters lined up and watched him do the walk of shame. Then a burlap bag went over his head and he was passed on to Pearl and her crew, who would relocate Corbett to some unknown place, a place so remote, he would never be found.
Once the van carrying Corbett was off the property, it was Steinwood’s turn to do the walk of shame as the sisters looked on and to be transferred to the tender mercies of Pearl’s people. He would be relocated to a different place than Corbett. There was no chance that the two would ever again meet. The official word was that they had escaped during a transfer and were now on the FBI’s and Interpol’s most wanted lists.
The entire departure took about an hour. The Sisterhood wanted to have enough “checkout” time for their guests. Neither man had ever known what was happening to the other, and at no time had either of them asked. Selfish bastards.
As the last car disappeared through the gate, the sisters high-fived, fist pumped, hooted, and hopped around.
“Woo-hoo!”
“Yeehaw!”
“Hootie toot-toot!”
They backslapped one another and doubled over in fits of laughter; the pups howled and wagged their tails in unison.
Annie wrapped her arm around Myra’s neck. “We have an exceptional crew working with us and for us. Seems like we just keep getting better and better.”
Epilogue
Myra , Charles, Annie, and Fergus were lounging about in the atrium. Charles was sorting through papers. What conversation there was, was about what was on the dinner menu. The dinner was to celebrate another mission accomplished.
The original choice was between having a clambake or a roast. They eventually voted for the roast—the same as the first dinner they had shared with Charlotte. Maggie had already put her order in for “extra everything.” It didn’t matter to her as long as the food was plentiful.
The sisters started to arrive about an hour before dinner was to be served. Yoko brought a magnificent centerpiece of red peonies for the table and several other luscious arrangements for the rest of the house. Kathryn helped her carry them in. Once everyone was there, they began their methodical dance of setting the table. Myra suggested the same crystal and china, the Hermès Mosaique and the Waterford.
Myra stood in the doorway and stared at the beautiful table setting. She sighed. Charles came up from behind. “What is it, dear?”
Myra fidgeted with her pearls. “I wish Charlotte were here.”
“I know. But remember, it’s also the adrenaline rush of the mission, then the slide down to the humdrum of everyday life.”
“Oh, Charles, life with you would never, could never, be humdrum. But I suppose you’re right. This is what it must be like for entertainers. You’re on a high in anticipation of the show, and then you do the show, and then the show is over.”
“Listen, old girl, the show will never, ever be over.” Charles put his hands on her waist and kissed the back of her neck.
Myra reached for his hand and brushed it with her lips. “Oh, now, don’t you be naughty! We have guests!”
Myra giggled like a schoolgirl and began to blush. “Charles, you have made my life very rich, exciting, and rewarding.”
“Ditto, my darling. Now let’s get busy.” Charles took her hand and led her back to the kitchen. “I need help opening the champagne.”
“Did I hear someone say ‘champagne’?” Annie chirped.
“You did, indeed.” Fergus was ahead of them, popping the first cork.
The sisters each took a glass and seated themselves at the table. Charles pulled a large TV screen into the dining room.
“Charles? What is this?” Myra was stunned at the electronic intrusion.
“One moment, my dear.” Charles grabbed the remote and pointed at the TV.
The screen lit up, and Charlotte’s face appeared. “Darlings!”
“Hot damn!” Maggie yelled.
“How cool!” Yoko cooed.
“This is great!” Kathryn bellowed as more sounds of delight came from the others.
Myra touched her pearls as tears filled her eyes. “Charlotte! We miss you!”
“Thank you for the invite!” The camera on Charlotte’s side pulled back, revealing the same roast and accompaniments on her table, including fuchsia peonies.
Myra looked a bit puzzled, until she realized that Charles and Fergus had planned for Charlotte to be a dinner guest via satellite! Since Charlotte was staying at Annie’s flat in London, it had been easy to plan with Annie’s London staff. The camera panned the room. Sitting to one side of Charlotte was Lincoln Gladwell, the gemologist! Myra gasped a sound of delight. “Hello, Lincoln! Nice of you to join us!”
Then she heard the sound of a dog barking. The camera panned to the other side of the table. A big golden Lab sat up and gave a soft “Woof!”
“Who is that I hear?” Myra smiled.
“This is Jewel!” Charlotte beamed. “Lincoln’s dog! Annie said it would be okay for her to visit.”
“Annie, were you in on this?” Myra pretended to challenge her.
Annie couldn’t help but laugh. “Gotcha!”
The evening lasted for several hours, with everyone conversing as if they were all in the same room. At one point Charlotte indicated that she had been wondering about the real Chagall. Had it ever been recovered?
So Annie explained that it had. “Mrs. Spencer from Christie’s was able to locate the original. It was such a coincidence.” She gave Myra a wink. “Lorraine Thompson’s daughter Genevieve Ringwood was at a flea market the Saturday after everything went down and bought it for twenty-five dollars. When a friend suggested she have someone look at it, she phoned the local art gallery, who referred her to Mrs. Spencer. The French government sent her a check for one hundred fifty thousand dollars. It didn’t bring her mother back, but now she has some financial breathing room to help raise her daughter.”
Once Charlotte’s curiosity about the painting was satisfied, everyone went back to eating. It was a delightful dinner, with many toasts and hugs. Charlotte and Lincoln signed off with help from Jewel, and there was a response from Lady and her pups. Dishes were cleared, cleaned, and the kitchen was made spick and span. Another spectacular meal celebrating “mission accomplished.”
Later that evening, when Charles and Myra were getting ready for bed, Charles pulled a sheet of paper from his trouser pocket.
“What’s that?” Myra asked.
Charles unfolded the paper. “It’s a bill.”
“From where?”
“NYPD. We owe them for the vans they had to ditch after letting Avery’s people use them to deliver Steinwood and Corbett to us. No evidence, love.” He gave her a wicked smile.
“How much is it?” Myra asked.
“Two hundred fifty thousand,” Charles said, not batting an eye.
“It was worth it,” Myra commented casually.
“It always is.” Charles kissed her on the cheek.
“And justice can be a bitter pill to swallow.” Myra beamed.
Photo by M2IFOTO©2006
FERN MICHAELS is the USA Today and New York Times bestselling author of the Sisterhood, Men of the Sisterhood and Godmothers series and dozens of other novels and novellas. There are over ninety-five million copies of her books in print. Fern Michaels has built and funded several large day-care centers in her hometown, and is a passionate animal lover who has outfitted police dogs across the country with special bulletproof vests. She shares her home in South Carolina with her four dogs and a resident ghost named Mary Margaret. Visit her website at fernmichaels.com.
TRUTH AND JUSTICE
The Sisterhood: a group of women from all walks of life bound by friendship and a quest for justice. Armed with vast resources, top-notch expertise, and a loyal network of allies around the globe, the Sisterhood will not rest until every wrong is made right.
When Alexis Thorn and Joe Esposito encounter a young woman sobbing alone in a restaurant, they step into action and offer their comfort and sympathy. They soon learn that the woman’s husband was recently killed in action in Afghanistan. Before he reported for duty, they took steps to preserve their chances of having children. But when Bella visits the fertility clinic, she discovers her eggs are no longer there—and the circumstances are beyond suspicious.
