Kill and Run (A Thorny Rose Mystery Book 1) (12 page)

“Yep, U look like Princess Jasmine
.”

After reading her best friend’s text in response to the selfie Jessica had taken and sent for her opinion, Jessica hit the call button on her phone.

While waiting for the call to connect, she took in her image in her dressing room mirror. The white strapless top with matching tapered pants did resemble the ensemble of the fairy tale Arabian princess. Her raven mane falling to brush her golden tanned shoulders completed the look. She topped it off with a wide teal belt around her waist, matching four-inch pumps and topaz bracelet, necklace, and dangling earrings.

“Good morning, Princess Jasmine,” Amy laughed when she answered.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”
Jessica asked her closest friend from college.

Amy was one of only a half dozen of Jessica’s friends who had moved to the Washington, D.C., area after graduating from the College of William and Mary. Both her father and mother were high-level executives with the federal government.

While not gorgeous or flashy, Amy was pretty and generous to a fault, which was what made her a target for her freeloader husband. They were one of those couples that made everyone say, “She could do better.”

“Well, Princess Jasmine is Disney’s most
fully developed
character,” Amy giggled.

“Okay, I’ll keep this outfit in mind for our Halloween party.” A grin came to Jessica’s lips. Bending over at the waist to provide a scenic view down the top, she blew a kiss toward her imaginary prince. “Get Murphy to wear one of those Arabian knight costumes—”

“Oh, I can see him now,” Amy said breathlessly. “Chiseled chest and all.”

“Hey, Aladdin, want to go for a ride on my magic carpet?” Naughty thoughts coming to her mind, Jessica winked in the mirror while envisioning the scene. “Now I’m getting ideas for our Fantasy Friday night.”

Amy snapped her out of her dream. “I thought you were dressing for your mother-in-law.”

Jessica went over to the clothes rack to study her massive collection of blouses, skirts, and dresses. “That’s right.”

“Why are you worried about dressing up for Cameron,” Amy said. “We met her when you and Murphy got married. She’s totally cool. I can tell you what she’ll be wearing. Skinny jeans and a tank top with flat shoes. Don’t worry about impressing her. Throw on a maxi skirt and discount sandals, if you have any, and you’ll be good to go.”

Jessica smiled to hear her friend’s suggestion at the precise moment she was removing a long skirt from the rack. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Amy said. “I have to go. I’ve got a luncheon meeting in ten minutes. Hey, how about if we go out this Friday? One of Dean’s author friends told him that David Baldacci and his wife are regulars at 1789. Maybe if we start eating there—”

Jessica uttered a gasp.

Hearing it on the other end of the line, Amy asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jessica choked out. “I’m just not sure how long Cameron will be here and Tristan is staying with us—things are pretty hectic right now, Amy. I’ll have to let you know.”

The doorbell saved her.

“She must be early,” Jessica said. “Gotta go!”

Hurrying out of the dressing room, Jessica checked the time on the clock to see that it was only ten minutes before noon.
No way can that be Cameron. The drive from West Virginia is at least five and a half hours.

The doorbell rang again to send Spencer racing out of the dressing room, across the master suite, and down the stairs—sounding the alarm the whole way in high pitched barks.

Taking one last glance in the mirror, Jessica groaned.
I guess today I’m Princess Jasmine.

In the foyer, she peered through the cut-glass front door. Waiting on the doorstep, two women were admiring the view of the Potomac River and Alexandria on the other side. Older, in their forties, both were dressed in stunning clothes befitting their roles as military officers’ wives.

Recognizing the African-American of the two, Jessica punched in the code to deactivate the security system, snatched up Spencer, who was poised to shoot outside at the first opportunity, and opened the door. “Mrs. Patterson, what a surprise! I didn’t know you knew where we lived.”

“Jessica, call me Natalie, please.” The wife of the navy’s chief of staff stepped inside to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “I have friends in all the right places. Paige and I were going to lunch at the marina and I remembered you saying at the last meeting about you and Murphy moving here. So, I made a few phone calls to get the address. Why don’t you join us for lunch?”

Squirming to greet the visitors, Spencer reached out a paw to the blonde in a red pantsuit with low-heeled pumps.

While the blonde ignored Spencer, Natalie accepted her paw. “This must be Spencer.” Scratching her behind the ears, she whispered to Jessica, “She’s gorgeous. Beautiful home. The view from the rooftop must be to die for.”

A former beauty queen, Natalie Patterson was the personification of elegance. In her late forties, she was still as gorgeous as she had been the day she was crowned Miss New York, which was the same night she had met Clarence Patterson, one of the judges. She won his vote in more ways than one. At the last navy officer wives club meeting, Natalie revealed that she and the admiral were planning a second honeymoon to Naples to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

As gracious as Natalie was, Jessica felt like she was being inspected by the way her friend strolled through the dining room and circled around to the living room—taking her time to check out every wall hanging and the view from the window along the way.

“Have you met Paige Graham?” Natalie finally stopped petting and cooing at Spencer to ask their host. “General Sebastian Graham’s wife.”

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” Recognizing the name of the wife of the general topping the list for position of army’s chief of staff, Jessica stepped into the living room where Paige was eying the out-of-place, worn, overstuffed chair among the new leather furniture. Sitting up, Newman was returning her penetrating gaze.

“That’s Newman,” Jessica said. “You might want to step aside. You’re blocking his view.” Gently taking her by the arm, she tugged Paige over to the sofa.

With a clear view of the television, Newman laid down to resume watching the Bloomberg Business report. The DOW was up. NASDAQ was down.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Graham.” After setting Spencer down on the sofa, Jessica shook her hand.

“Jessica Faraday and Lieutenant Murphy Thornton are newlyweds,” Natalie told her friend. “Her husband was awarded the Bronze Star yesterday for breaking up a domestic terrorist ring and rescuing a marine officer who had been kidnapped by terrorists.”

Jessica noticed the stocky blonde eying her while she shook her hand. A smug grin came to the older woman’s face while she appraised the young officer’s wife boldly clad in a fitted white jumpsuit. Her eyes dropped from Jessica’s face to her abundant bosom flaunted in the strapless top. Arching an eyebrow, she cocked her head before releasing Jessica’s hand.

With the wordless gesture, Jessica’s psychological analysis of Paige Graham was completed.

As leader of the army officers’ wives club, Paige Graham inadvertently wielded the power to bless or doom the careers of young officers who worked beneath her husband. By her approval, a wife and her family would be included to private social events held by the spouses in the inner circle, which provided ample networking opportunity for an officer’s name to become known among the top brass for consideration when it came to promotions or coveted assignments. This woman’s rejection could make the wife and her family, and as a result her husband, an outsider. Depending on the influence that the club’s leader had over her husband, the rejected wife’s spouse’s career could be stalled or even worse, he could end up with unfavorable or dangerous assignments.

As the spouse of an army general who had spent close to the last thirty years racing on the fast track—now on the brink of being the highest ranking post in the United States Army, Paige Graham embraced the power that came with being in such a social position.

The arched eyebrow, smirk, and silence would have caused most young officer’s wives to stutter out an excuse before running to their bedroom to change into something more modest.

Jessica Faraday was not most young officer’s wives. “Cocktail before lunch, ladies?” With a wave of her hand, she sashayed toward the kitchen. “We have a fully stocked bar. Pick your poison.”

“I like the way you think, Jessica.” Natalie fell in behind Spencer to follow their host. “How about a pitcher of margaritas?” After perching on a bar stool at the breakfast bar, she urged Paige to take the seat next to her while Jessica went to work on the pitcher of drinks.

“This brownstone reminds me of Sebastian and my first house,” Paige said. “I was so young then. To think now about how nervous I was—twenty-three, just graduated from Yale, and married to an actual war hero. To those on the outside looking in, I should have had the world by its tail, but I was scared as hell.”

“All wives are nervous when they marry a military officer,” Natalie said. “Many don’t realize until after the wedding that they haven’t just married a man, but they’ve married into the military.” She turned to Paige. “I would have thought it would have been easier for you. Sebastian came from a long line of army officers. He was third generation West Point. I’m sure his mother—”

“His mother gave me squat,” Paige said in a blunt tone that brought shock to Natalie’s face.

Jessica pressed the power button on the blender to whip up their margaritas. While the whirl of the mix filled the kitchen and their ears, she studied Paige’s reflection in the glass front of the microwave. Likewise, Paige was watching her.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie muttered.

“No need to be sorry,” Paige said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jessica took three margarita glasses from the cabinet and the salt plate in which to dip the rims. After powering off the blender, she detached the pitcher and turned back to the breakfast bar.

With the blender silenced, Paige resumed. “I remember the very first time I met Mrs. Graham—”

“Your mother-in-law,” Jessica confirmed while dipping the rims of the margarita glasses in the salt.

“She was Mrs. Graham to me,” Paige said. “Even a full year after we’d gotten married, the bitch refused to let me call her anything but Mrs. Graham.”

“That’s …” Jessica searched for the right words, “not nice.” She poured the drinks into the glasses and handed them to her guests.

Paige sipped her drink and smacked her lips before continuing. “The first time I met her, Sebastian took me to his parent’s summer place in Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend. His father at that time was a four-star general, just like my Sebastian is now.” With a smug grin, she added, “Only he never made army’s chief of staff.”

“Making four stars is nothing to sneeze at,” Jessica pointed out.

“That’s very true,” Natalie said.

“When Sebastian introduced me to
Mrs. Graham …”
Paige pronounced her mother-in-law’s in a mocking tone. “She looked me up and down over the top of her glasses. She asked if my family was in any way connected to the Capone family in Connecticut. I told her that we weren’t. She then said, ‘But you’re attending Yale,’ to which I said that I was but on an academic scholarship. No way in hell could my father, a foreman working on the docks in New Jersey, have afforded to send me to Yale without a scholarship. That was when one side of her ugly red lips kicked up and she said to Sebastian, ‘Are you telling me that her family has no money?’”

Paige sighed while picking up her margarita. “That was the last time I was ever invited to Martha’s Vineyard. Even after Sebastian and I were married. He was invited, but not me.” She gulped down a swallow of her drink. After smacking her lips, she said, “They didn’t even come to our wedding.”

Not knowing quite what to say, Jessica glanced at Natalie who seemed to be equally shocked. After clearing her throat, the admiral’s wife said, “But you joined the army officer’s wives club—”

“And fought tooth and nail to be accepted,” Paige said. “But I wasn’t because that bitch was their leader. After all, her husband was a four-star general. Even though Sebastian was awarded the Medal of Honor for saving his whole team in Kuwait, as long as Mrs. Graham blackballed me, I was out. I wasn’t accepted until after they’d died.” A smirk crossed her lips. “Then I became queen.”

“They both died?” Jessica asked.

Paige ran her finger around the rim of her margarita glass. “Their lovely summer house in Martha’s Vineyard burnt down to the ground one night—with them inside.” Sticking her finger into her mouth, she licked off the salt. “It was such a tragedy. General Graham had flown fighter planes in Vietnam and survived both a plane and a helicopter crash—only to be burnt alive with his snooty wife.” Eying Jessica over the top of her margarita, she took a sip of her drink. “Such a tragedy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jessica said in a low voice.

“The world is full of tragedies,” Paige went on. “Like just the other day, the wife of a member on Sebastian’s staff was murdered in Reston.”

“Was she one of those five women killed?” Natalie asked.

“At a Cozy Cook party of all things,” Paige said. “Maureen Clark. Her husband is Colonel Lincoln Clark. He has served under Sebastian for over twenty years. They have a little boy—five years old.”

“Terrible,” Natalie said.

“It is terrible,” Jessica agreed.

“Maureen used to be very active with the army officers’ wives club.” Paige held out her glass to Jessica to refill. “Beautiful. Charming. Everyone loved her. But then, during her husband’s last tour overseas, the stress of managing a family on her own got to her. She hasn’t been too active the last few years—not since she had Tommy.”

“That’s too bad,” Natalie said. “The main goal of the officers’ wives club is to offer support to each other while our spouses are away. It can be extremely stressful having your husband stationed overseas and not knowing what’s happening to him, or what they’re doing, or if they’re ever coming back. Probably if she had reached out instead of withdrawing—”