Game Over (8 page)

“I bet if we tried, we could get Justice Leonard to resign and make it happen for Lizzie,” Harry said thoughtfully as he snatched a piece of bacon to nibble on.

Jack stopped what he was doing; so did Maggie. It was Jack, though, who gave voice to the question. “What do you have in mind, Harry?”

“Well…”

Y
oko stared at the cell phone in her hand for long minutes before she slipped it into the pocket of her robe. She'd been wide awake all night, long after the others were sound asleep. That was why she had called Harry. He'd answered on the first ring, even though it was three o'clock in the morning. At the time she had smiled, knowing they were on the same plane, and he knew that she would be calling, just the way she knew he was waiting to hear her voice. She and Harry were soul mates, destined to find each other and to love one another into eternity. There was no doubt in her mind that it was all true, and she knew there was no doubt in Harry's mind, either.

She stared into the dancing flames as her being literally transported itself to somewhere else that she couldn't identify. She sat down in front of the fire, relaxed, and assumed the lotus position. She didn't have to be told that Harry, who was three hundred miles away, was doing the same thing. No, he was moving. He was going somewhere.

Something was wrong. Something she had missed when she spoke to Harry a short while ago. Jack's house. Harry kicking in the door. She smiled. What was it she had missed? She leaned forward and saw images in the flames, images that she didn't recognize but that were somehow vaguely familiar. Maggie's house now. Jack in his pajamas with little yellow ducks on them. She smiled again. The flames flared, then died down.

Yoko blinked, then blinked again. In one graceful movement, she was on her feet and headed to her bedroom, where she dressed quietly and let herself out of the building. She crossed the compound to the dining hall. The first thing she did was build up the fire, even though it didn't seem as cold as it had been when they all retired for the evening.

In the kitchen she made a pot of tea and waited for it to brew. She reviewed the events of the evening, her call to Harry, the urgency of that call. She pulled out the cell phone she'd transferred to her jacket, the same cell she'd used earlier to call Harry, and stared at it thoughtfully. Should she call him and…say what? Ask him what it was she'd said to him that warranted a trip to Jack's and Maggie's houses in the middle of the night?

Her tiny fingers drummed on the kitchen counter, tiny fingers that could kill, maim, or incapacitate. Something was wrong. That much she knew. But what? Her thoughts were lightning fast as she blinked and did everything in her power to bring whatever it was to the forefront of her mind.

It was all wrong. They had too much information. “They” meaning Charles, the Sisters, Maggie, and the boys, as she called them. Way too much information. There were too many people involved in something that was supposed to be a secret.
All wrong. All wrong. All wrong.
It was…almost like there was a puppeteer in the wings, tugging and twisting everyone's strings. A master puppeteer? If so, not only was it all wrong, but it was also a game. Games had winners and losers.

Yoko stopped drumming her fingers on the countertop. She stared into the dining room from the huge cut-out kitchen window. Winners and losers. The winners were obviously…who? The president of the United States and Justice Douglas Leonard? The losers…who? Well, one didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure that one out. The answer was so obvious, Yoko wanted to scream. The losers were Lizzie and the vigilantes and anyone involved with either the vigilantes or Lizzie herself.

Yoko's mind was feverish now as she shifted and collated what she knew. How devilishly clever of the president. The Sisters were not going to like this news, not even one little bit. Annie would go nuclear. Kathryn would go ballistic, and the others would bite down and figure a way to close in for the kill. As would she.

The clock overhead read 5:50. Charles would be arriving soon to prepare breakfast. Maybe she could help out while her thoughts whirled and swirled. She'd always been good at multi-tasking. Today, even at this hour, should make no difference. But first, she was going to call Harry.

Harry's usual greeting of “What can I do for you, my little cherry blossom?” did not make her smile and hunger to be in his arms. “Harry, listen to me. It's all wrong. It's a game. They're trying to ruin Lizzie and get rid of the vigilantes at the same time.”

“I know. I knew you'd figure it out. Maggie is going to give me a lift back into town. We're almost certain we'll all be coming to the mountain either later tonight or tomorrow. Everyone has to clear their schedules. The best part is,
they
don't know we're onto them. Did you tell Charles or the girls yet?”

“I was going to do it after breakfast. I'm in the kitchen now. Charles should be arriving any minute now. The girls are
not
going to like this. I think we should agree not to say anything to Lizzie, at least not yet.”

“I'll tell the others. Maggie's ready. I'll see you soon.”

Yoko set the phone on the counter and started to squeeze oranges. When the crystal pitcher was almost full, she added crushed ice and set the juice in the refrigerator. She was mixing the dough for sticky buns, Charles's favorite, when he walked into the room.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he asked, smiling.

“I couldn't sleep. Listen, Charles, it's all wrong. I spoke to Harry, and he and the others agree. But it was Harry who figured it out. I was a little slower.”

“I know, dear. I couldn't sleep, either, so I've been over at the command center, working on things. I figured after breakfast was time enough to alert the girls. By the time they get here, they might have all figured it out themselves.”

“I don't think we should tell Lizzie, at least not yet. But we need to vote on that, and it is just my opinion. Harry said they were all going to try to come to the mountain tonight or tomorrow.” Yoko's expression was bland as she watched Charles mix pancake batter. “We should have figured it out right away,” she grumbled.

“How so?”

“Harry figured it out. It felt wrong from the beginning. I'm the first to admit I know very little about politics, but if it was so, what would Kathryn have said? Out of the box, and yet none of us picked up on it. We all just ran with it.”

“It's only a matter of hours, dear. We know
now,
and that's all that matters. Always remember one thing. Everything happens for a reason. I hear the girls. Remember, we do not discuss business until breakfast is over.”

Yoko laughed as she slid the tray of sticky buns into the oven. “I'll set the table now.”

 

Maggie stared at her star reporter and star photographer. While they were neat and clean, their hair slicked back, it was obvious they hadn't gotten enough sleep. Not that she cared. “I have a rather
cushy
job for you two.” If she was hoping for delighted smiles and a gung ho attitude, she didn't get either.

“You have that look, Maggie,” Ted said. “Who do we have to kill? I hope to hell you aren't planning on sending us to Iraq or some such place.”

“Nothing that exciting, boys. I have here,” Maggie announced, waving a thick stack of papers in the air, “all you will need to make my day a happy one.”

“Highlights please,” Ted said. “Do we have time for breakfast?”

“You do have time for breakfast, and pay for it yourself today. These,” she said, waving the papers in the air, “contain the current address of Justice Douglas Leonard and his wife, Florence. As you can see, they reside on Connecticut Avenue when court is in session, although Mrs. Leonard goes back and forth to Vermont quite often. She stays a week or ten days at a time. They were both in Vermont during the holidays. The Leonards' financial records are all here. At one time they had a robust brokerage account, but it is very
anemic
right now. Another twelve months, and that account will be nothing more than a memory. And it has nothing to do with the economy. Justice Leonard was diversified, and the account held steady until two years ago. In the last two years, there have been many, many things sold and converted to cash. This is just a wild guess on my part, and I am no accountant, but from what I'm seeing here, the Leonards are living paycheck to paycheck at the moment. Mrs. Leonard does not work.

“We were told—oops, you boys were told—by Cosmo Cricket that Mrs. Leonard had health issues and that's why Justice Leonard was going to retire. Not true, according to these medical records. Florence Leonard is healthy as a horse. Ditto for Justice Leonard. The kiddies, of whom there are four, are all grown and have thriving careers. The family meets over the holidays, and the rest of the year, they all go their separate ways. Neither Justice Leonard nor his wife appears to be a doting parent or grandparent.

“Where did all that money in the brokerage account go? I'm thinking, and again, this is a guess on my part. Mrs. Leonard has a gambling problem. She can do it right from her own home. Or else the justice himself is into some heavy-duty porn on the Internet, or they could both be secret gamblers. The third choice is that someone is blackmailing them, but I'm not buying into that. That's it, boys. Come up with some cover story and run with it. Do not, I repeat, do not, come back empty-handed.”

Ted reached for the papers in Maggie's hand and shoved them into his backpack. An idea was already forming deep inside his head as he and Espinosa made their way to the elevator.

Over a huge breakfast, the kind Maggie had cooked for Harry and Jack, Ted ran his idea past Espinosa. “We just march up to the door, hold out our IDs, and say we're doing a feature article on the justices' wives to run in the Sunday edition. We lead her to believe she's the most important wife, and if she's as vain as most women are, she'll jump at the chance to be featured first. What do you think, Joe?”

“It's not very original or even clever, Ted. What if she has to check with her husband or some crap like that? Women have to get their hair done, pick out new dresses, that kind of thing.”

“It's that old early bird who gets the worm. If she goes that route, we tell her we can't get back to her till the end of the week, because we have appointments with the other wives and the two husbands whose wives are justices. Or, better yet, we can say we're going to feature the two husbands. That might get her hackles up, assuming she has hackles to get up. What's your gut saying, Joe? Is it her and gambling or him and porn, like Maggie said? Or both?”

“I think it's her. She's probably bored out of her mind. Her husband is gone all day. She's not getting any younger. She feels like she doesn't fit in or blend in with the other wives of the justices. Maybe she hates the whole deal. Like she's rudderless. Hey, maybe she's the one into the porn, and the justice is the gambler! Think about that!”

“Nah. When Maggie has a gut feeling, I've never known her to be wrong. I think she's on the money this time. And do not forget for one minute that the justice is the one who called Cosmo Cricket. That ties in gambling right there. Good friend that Cricket said he was, Leonard lied to him. A justice of the Supreme Court lying to his friend. I find that unconscionable,” Ted said virtuously.

“Yeah,” Espinosa said as he sopped up the last of his pancakes in the heavy syrup. “I think we should have one more cup of coffee before we tackle Mrs. Florence Leonard.”

“Spoken like a true reporter slash photographer,” Ted said, holding up his cup for a refill.

Thirty-five minutes later the driver of the Diamond Cab that Ted and Espinosa had flagged down pulled as close to the snowbanked curb as he could get outside the Leonard home on Connecticut Avenue. Ted paid him, pocketed the receipt, and eyed the imposing snowbank, all at the same time. “Either we hop it or we walk all the way down to the corner. Your call, Joe.”

Espinosa was already on the other side of the snowbank before Ted stopped speaking.

“Looks like all the other houses,” Ted said as he picked his way up the walkway, which had not been shoveled.

“Winter maintenance doesn't seem to be a priority here at the Leonard abode,” Espinosa grumbled.

The six steps leading to the front porch hadn't been shoveled, either, and held thick ice and globs of snow. It did look like someone had tossed handfuls of rock salt here and there. The porch was clear of snow and ice and held two caned rockers that looked as old as the historic house. A bedraggled artificial Christmas wreath hung on the door. Above the wreath was an old-fashioned bellpull. Ted gave it a hard yank and was rewarded with a two-note bong-bong sound from within.

“Why do I feel like I'm in a time warp, Joe?”

Espinosa grinned. “I think the best is yet to come.” He cackled at his own wit just as the door opened.

“Whatever it is you're selling, I have no need of. My religion is my own, so don't try to sell me yours.”

“Oh, no, ma'am, we're not here to sell you anything. Mrs. Leonard, I'm Ted Robinson from the
Post,
and this is my partner, Joseph Espinosa.”

Both men held out their credentials as the woman peered at them through the ratty screen on the door.

“We're here to ask you to take part in a series we're working on for the Sunday paper. It will feature all the wives and the two husbands of the Supreme Court justices. We came here first since your husband seems to be the most influential justice, aside from the chief justice,” Ted said, lying through his teeth. “Possibly an hour of your time, perhaps less. May we come in? If you feel more comfortable calling the paper to check us out, we can wait right out here until you do that.”

Florence Leonard was a stick of a woman, wearing layers and layers of clothes. Her face was made up of angles and planes and jutting bones, but she had piercing blue eyes the color of bluebells. Her hair was unfashionably long and secured on top of her head with a tortoise-shell comb of some sort. She wore no jewelry, not even a wedding ring.