Kiss and Tell (10 page)

“Yoko said she needed to be around other kids, to get social skills. Lily hates it. They said she cried the whole three hours in the beginning. Then she turned aggressive. I stayed outside because I kept thinking they would want me to come in and take her out. Okay, okay, that was wrong. I guess. Tell me what to do?”

“Harry, I don't know. I think this is something for Myra and Annie. Later, after dinner, take them to the side and talk. We're probably all going to be spending the night, so you'll have plenty of time. Just remember this. You did it, you own it. Don't go making excuses, just ask how to fix the situation. Throw yourself on their mercy, but always remember, Myra and Annie rule the Vigilantes. For some reason, I don't think either Yoko or Nik have spoken to them about it.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Okay, I'll do that.” His voice was tortured when he whispered, “It isn't too late, is it, Jack?”

“You know what, Harry, it's never too late if your thoughts and actions are pure. I know that sounds kind of profound, but I happen to believe it.” Harry nodded.

“Harry, do you think you can turn this all off for a few minutes? I've got a problem of my own, and I need to talk to you guys. I need some help myself.”

“Sure, Jack, what's the problem?”

“C'mon, I want you all to hear this at one time. And I don't want the girls hearing or . . . suspecting I'm asking.... It's serious, Harry.”

“Then let's get to it. Is it bad?”

Jack suddenly felt like a tremendous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. Harry, best friend, stand-in brother, always gave him hope. “Bad? Depends on your point of view. It's my life.”

“Crap.”

Jack settled himself before he whistled softly to get everyone's attention. He looked around at those he called the newbies to Pinewood: Abner Tookus, Isabelle's husband; Jack Sparrow, Bert Navarro's right hand in Vegas; and Dennis West. The only one missing was Charles, but that was okay since Charles was joined at the hip with Myra and couldn't keep a secret from his wife. Everyone knew that.

Jack Sparrow, Bert's right hand, looked questioningly at Jack, and said, “Spit it out, Jack.” Jack blinked. Sparrow was fitting right in. He looked over at Cosmo Cricket, who winked at him.

Jack looked nervously at the kitchen door. Dennis correctly interpreted the look and scampered to the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Oh boy, he was suddenly part of something
big
; he could feel it in his bones. “I'll let you know if it looks like they're going to invade us.
GO,
big guy!”

Jack leaned into the group, and said, “I think you all know I hate being a defense attorney. God, I hate it. I really do. I'm a prosecutor. I don't know how I let Nikki talk me into joining the firm. Plus, I'm the only male in the whole damn place. Rumor has it I'm up for a nomination to become a federal judge. I don't want that either.”

The men listened and stared at Jack. “Well, what
do
you want?” Cosmo Cricket asked.

Jack hunched closer, his voice dropping so the others had to strain to hear. “You know what I want? What I really want? I want yesterday. I want what we all had when we were going against everything we believed in to right wrongs no one else could. There, I said it. Well, isn't someone going to say something?”

“Then take the bull by the horns and do something about it,” Sparrow said forcefully.

Yep, Sparrow was fitting right in, Jack thought.

Bert raised his hand. “Let me make sure I have this right. You want to . . . what . . . go back to being an auxiliary Vigilante? But the girls retired. Well, with the exception of Myra and Annie. And we all know how that's working. Martine bowed out. Nellie is . . .” Bert looked at his right hand, wondering how to say what he was thinking.

“It's okay, Bert, you can say it. Nellie spends all her time taking care of her husband because she loves him. He needs her help, is the way I understand it,” Sparrow said simply.

“Right, right, Sparrow. That leaves Pearl, who is doing a bang-up job with her underground railroad. We can't fault her for that. So that brings us back to Myra and Annie, and as much as I hate to say this, they are not getting any younger. They can't continue the way they've been going alone. Either they shut down, which I don't see happening, or this is made to order for all of us. I'm
IN,
if that's what you're asking me.”

“Me, too!” Dennis chirped from his sentinel position at the swinging door. He didn't even stop to wonder what being
IN
was all about.

“Okay,” Harry said.

“I'm liking how this is sounding,” Ted and Espinosa said at the same time.

“If you need me, I'm yours,” Abner Tookus said.

Jack looked at Abner, and said, “No paydays on this, no oceanfront properties as a payout. You sure you're okay with that?” Abner smiled and nodded.

Jack Sparrow looked up at Bert, his boss, and grinned. “I'm yours for the asking.”

Cosmo Cricket laughed out loud. “I was always jealous of Elizabeth and the girls and what they did. If this means I can all of a sudden be a part of it, you can count on me for whatever good I can do.”

Jack bit down on his lower lip. He knew he needed to say something but couldn't find the words. It was Dennis who saved the day by starting to sing, “Over the river and through the woods, here come the girls . . .”

In a nanosecond, the TV volume was turned up as Isabelle and Alexis entered the room with trays of canapés. Both women looked around, but it was Isabelle who said, “You guys are up to something, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Ted said, pointing to the big-screen TV. “We were moaning and groaning because that guy, wearing number 7, just got himself taken out of the game. Ooh, I do love spring rolls.”

Isabelle shot a look at Abner, who returned the stare with a smile on his face.

When the door closed behind the two women, Jack whispered, hissing, “No more talk till later. They're sneaky. It's a given that at least four of them are behind the door.”

“Three!” Dennis said in return as he squinted through the crack at the side of the door.

“Charles, my darling, I think as a good host you need to join the men in the living room. We can handle things here in the kitchen.”

“Surely you jest, my dear. After all the work I've put into this dinner, I cannot in good conscience allow you to—”

“Screw it up, is that what you were going to say, Charles?” Annie snapped. Charles shrugged, an uneasy feeling settling between his shoulder blades.

Myra smiled up at him so sweetly, Charles felt his insides start to curdle. “I don't think you understood, dear. It wasn't a suggestion, it was . . .”

Charles beelined for the door. Dennis would have gotten a faceful of door had he not stepped aside nimbly at just the right moment.

Charles managed to squeeze himself onto the sofa between Cosmo Cricket and Jack Sparrow, which was no small feat. “Whatever you lads are up to, I do not want to know. They sent me in here to
spy.
Just so you know.”

The guys nodded as one.

“So, who's winning?” Charles asked brightly.

“We have no clue,” Ted said. Espinosa cackled.

“Tell me,” Charles said in a hushed voice, “am I going to like whatever it is you are all planning, or, as Isabelle said, are up to?”

“Nope!” Jack said. “Well, maybe, but I seriously doubt it.”

“Maybe,” Harry said.

“Six of one and half a dozen of the other,” Bert said.

Dennis had everyone's attention when he said, “I think it depends on where your loyalty lies, with
them
or with us . . . lads.”

“Oh, Lord love a duck! So that's the way it's going to be. I have to choose up sides? I don't think I can do that, lads.”

“Does that mean all that crap you've been feeding us all these years about your being some superspy for Her Majesty can't work for you now?” Ted demanded.

The group verbally ganged up on Charles until he was putty in their hands, with the promise that they would all meet up in the War Room after the women were asleep.

If Charles had a tail, it would have been between his legs when he made his way back to the kitchen thirty minutes later.

“Can we trust him?” Dennis demanded. When there was no response to his question, Dennis sat down on the floor to play with the dogs.

“Who is that kid?” Abner whispered to Ted. Ted bristled. “He's my protégé. That's who he is. If you don't like that answer, then go with he's our new secret weapon.”

“Hey, I was just asking. He's got a set on him for a young kid. I like that.”

“That he does. Plus, he's a damn fine reporter,” Ted drawled.

C
harles squared his shoulders when he faced the gaggle of women, who stopped talking when he entered the kitchen. “I'm sorry, ladies, but it's time for you all to leave my kitchen so I can get this scrumptious Thanksgiving dinner on the table. No, no, I do not need any help. I do want to thank you for packing up the dinner for Nellie and Elias and the guards, as well as Elias's nurses.” He looked up at the clock and continued, “Someone should be here shortly to pick it up. Shoo!” he said, waving his hands about. As one, the women scattered and headed for the family room to join their menfolk.

Charles stood in front of the stove, which was under the kitchen window. He stared out at the stormy day as sleet slapped against the windows, making a
rat-a-tat
sound that set his nerves on edge. He didn't like sleet, and he didn't like snow. He liked warm breezes and bright sunshine. He frowned, an uneasy feeling settling between his shoulder blades. A premonition. The feeling had nothing to do with what was going on inside the walls of Pinewood. That he could handle. No, this was an ugly, ominous feeling that something, somewhere, was awry. Something that was going to affect him in some way. He knew it as sure as he knew he had to take another breath in order to stay alive.

He looked down at the pan on the stove. He needed to add the thickening to what would be a delectable giblet gravy. He whirled and almost fell over when he heard the sweet voice of his spirit daughter.

“Don't fret, Daddy. In the end, everything will be all right
.
”

“Sweetheart,” Charles managed to say as he dropped the wooden spoon into the gravy pan. He didn't care. “What will be all right?”

“You know. What you're worrying about
.
I don't want you to worry, Daddy. It's going to burn if you don't stir it.”

A second later, he felt something touch his cheek. He gripped the edge of the stove and was surprised to feel a burning sensation on his fingertips. He jerked away and looked around, but the kitchen was the same as it had been, the gravy at the boiling point, the wooden spoon swirling around in the mix. He fished it out and reached for another one.

He was right: something was wrong. His spirit daughter only appeared to him and Myra when things went off the straight and narrow. What? His heart felt heavy.

Charles worked by rote then. He finished the gravy, then filled the bowls with his famous chestnut stuffing, his special mashed potatoes, the delicious cranberry compote, the different vegetables, and the various chutneys that he adored. He looked down when he felt Lady nudge his leg. “You sense it too, don't you, girl?” He bent over and took the dog's beautiful face in his hands. “Whatever it is, we'll handle it, right, Lady?” The golden retriever pressed even closer. Charles swallowed hard. “That bad, eh?” The golden whined and licked at Charles's hand. “Okay, then, I'm depending on you.” He hugged the big dog. Tightly. And didn't want to let her go. Lady was normal. Lady was love. Lady was loyalty. Lady was family. Something burned behind his eyelids when he straightened up and went to the sink to wash his hands.

Charles stared out the window as he washed and dried his hands. Whatever was wrong was out there, beyond his grasp and sight. He didn't know how long he'd been standing at the window until he heard young Dennis ask if he could help carry some of the food to the table.

Charles shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Yes, yes, of course. It's always such a challenge to get all the food on the table while it's still hot. That's why I use chafing dishes. It will go faster if you load everything on the serving cart and just wheel it in. I'll carry the platter with the turkey.”

“It smells heavenly. I've been dreaming of this dinner for days. We actually ran out of food at Maggie's, where we were all staying. We were down to dry cornflakes and crackers before we left this morning. I plan to eat until I can't move.”

Charles chuckled as he elbowed the swinging door so he could get through with the huge serving platter. “Dinnertime,” he called loudly.

There was a mad scramble as the guests went directly to the beautifully set table that held Myra's family china, crystal, and silverware. “Just sit anywhere, we don't have a seating plan,” Myra called out happily.

In the end, Charles sat at the head of the table with Annie on his left and Myra on his right. Chairs shuffled as everyone oohed and aahed over the array of delicious-smelling food. Charles held up his carving knife and fork, a wicked gleam in his eye. Jack Emery took his seat closest to the kitchen door so he could carry the various wine bottles to the table. He poured generously, to everyone's delight. All eyes were on Charles and the carving knife as it slid into the scrumptious-looking bird.

Dennis, seated immediately to Annie's left, heard it first and froze in place. It was a sound he'd never heard before other than on television. He looked around; the others seemed oblivious, except for Annie, who he saw stiffen in her seat. He watched as Myra started to pass the various bowls from the serving cart down the length of the table. The sound was louder now.
Whump. Whump. Whump.
He felt rather than saw Annie swing her legs to the side. She was going to move. To check out the sound? He felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck move. He looked around again. Everything seemed normal, the others were filling their plates, talking to each other, and laughing. Vague, jumbled voices could be heard wafting in from the TV in the family room. Jack had just gone through the swinging door to the kitchen with an empty wine bottle. The noise was so loud now, the house shook.
Whump. Whump
.
Whump.
A helicopter. Here at Pinewood. On Thanksgiving. During a storm.

Dennis thought he was in a time warp as everyone at the table stopped, raised their heads, and listened. Charles tilted his head, and said, “I imagine that's Nellie's people coming on the snowmobiles for their Thanksgiving dinner. It's all ready on the counter in the warming bags.”

Jack was just coming through the door and took his seat next to Nikki. Charles said, “Jack, you're nearest the door. Can you do the send-off ?”

“Sure, no problem,” Jack said, getting back up off the chair and heading out to the kitchen.

Snowmobiles, my ass
, Dennis thought. Snowmobiles whined and growled. He should know; he'd ridden on enough of them. He knew the sound of helicopter blades even if his knowledge came from TV. Annie's uneasiness was palpable.

The dining room went as silent as the air outside. Everyone started talking at once as they continued to pass the bowls of food around the table. Charles announced that Myra would say grace, then they could eat. The table's occupants clasped their hands as one before they bowed their heads and prayed along with Myra as she offered up the Thanksgiving prayer. Without Jack, who still had not returned, at the table.

Dennis raised his head just as Annie slid off her chair and made her way out of the room by way of the family room. His eyes narrowed just as Jack opened the swinging door and said, “Ah . . . Charles, I think you need to, ah, come out here. Like,
NOW !
”

Everyone at the table froze, including Charles, who had just speared a succulent slice of turkey on his fork. “I didn't forget anything; it's all in the warm bags. They just have to warm it up for ten minutes. I wrote the instructions on the bags.” The slice of turkey found its way to his mouth.

Dennis didn't like the way Jack sounded when he then said, “You need to come
NOW,
SIR MALCOLM !” Who the heck is SIR MALCOLM? He saw out of the corner of his eyes how Myra gripped her pearls with both hands. He'd heard about those pearls. He was off his seat and tracking Annie in a nanosecond. When he was within an inch of her, he blanched and almost fainted when he saw her rummage in her purse. He saw a gun in one hand and something else in her other hand.

“Shhhh,” she said. She went back to her purse and came up with a Taser, which she handed to Dennis. “Be quiet and just do what I tell you.”

“Is that real? I mean, does it shoot bullets?” Annie shot the young reporter a disgusted glance. “What do you think? It's the same one I used when we met your granny and auntie. Listen, Dennis, what are the chances you can get out the front door to see—”

“The markings on the helicopter? I knew that sound wasn't a snowmobile. Good. Good. I can do it.”

“Then do it and don't make any noise. Hurry, Dennis.” The kid was one sharp cookie. She made a mental note to give him a raise.

Annie leaned against the wall, her insides shaking, her legs trembling. But the hand holding the gun was steady as a rock. She thought about Myra and knew she was dying inside, knowing as she knew, because Charles had told them early on, that a day like this might come.

Sir Malcolm Sutcliff, superspy in his other life, childhood friend of the Queen of England. Sent here by the Queen and given a new life and a new identity when his cover had been blown. But it all came with the promise that his allegiance would always be to her and not his adopted country. Annie wasn't sure, but she rather imagined that Charles had signed off in his own blood. She'd discussed it with Myra at length, and Myra had agreed with her.

Annie inched closer to the short hallway that would take her to the kitchen. She had a clear view of two men in the kitchen whose appearance shrieked MI6. Her Majesty's Secret Service. Only Charles and Jack were in the kitchen with them; the swinging door leading to the dining room was closed.

Annie felt the coldness and knew young Dennis was back, soaking wet and dripping ice off his hair. His teeth chattered when he said, “It says

MARINE ONE.
That's the
president's helicopter!
The engine's running. That means they're burning fuel. I guess they don't care, and they don't care that it's Thanksgiving either.”

Annie didn't take her eyes off the figures in the kitchen. “There's an afghan on the back of the sofa. Wrap it around yourself until you can change your clothes. Hurry, Dennis.” Dennis hurried and returned with a pink afghan wrapped tightly around his shoulders, but he was still shivering.

“Okay, Son, it's just you and me. You have the Taser? It's not going to do us any good in your pocket. Remember, in order for it to work, you need to get as close as possible and just pull the trigger. Aim for whichever one is closest. Don't pay attention to Charles or Jack. You got it?”

Dennis nodded. “Are we . . . ah . . . going to take those goons out?” Despite his trembling lips and his shivering body, Annie could hear the excitement ringing in his voice. She liked this kid, she really did.

“Whatever it takes. Okay, here we go.”

Annie kicked open the door and assumed a shooter's stance, the gun rock steady in a two-handed grip. “Stop right there, gentlemen! Hands in the air! Do as I say.
NOW!
”

The pink afghan dragging on the floor, Dennis advanced, the Taser straight out in front of him. His hands were shaking so badly he didn't know if he'd hit the refrigerator, the ceiling, or one of the burly men who were observing him through narrowed eyes. “You heard the lady, hands in the air!” he squawked.

“Easy, laddie, easy.”

“Don't call me laddie,” Dennis snapped. “I told you, do what the lady said, or you're going to find yourself with about eighteen thousand volts of electricity running out your butt.”

“We're here on Her Majesty's orders. We're here to fetch Sir Malcolm and take him home to England. Now stand aside and let us do what we came here to do.”

“That's Marine One out there in the pasture. What does the president have to do with this?” Dennis asked, worry etching his face as he tried to figure out exactly what Annie wanted him to do. He wished she'd say something.

“Stand down, gentlemen,” Annie said, her eyes narrowing till it looked like she was squinting. “I think I should tell you I can take you both out. Two shots, center mass, and Her Majesty is short two agents. What's it going to be?”

“We have our orders. Your president graciously cooperated with us by allowing transportation in this hideous weather. Your president is cooperating with our government. We are allies,” one of the agents said in a condescending tone.

Annie bristled. “Well, guess what, Mr. Super Agent, I have here in my hand something that trumps anything you might have. Dennis has the same thing. So, unless Charles—or Sir Malcolm as you refer to him—says he wants to go with you, I advise you to stand down. I won't tell you again.”

“Ms. de Silva is an excellent shot, lads. Best to do what she says,” Charles said.

“Yeah, do what she says,” Dennis blustered, the hands holding the Taser shaking like leaves in a windstorm.

“Someone tell me what's going on here?” Annie ordered.

Jack, bug-eyed, nodded. He wondered how no one in the dining room had tried to enter the kitchen to see what was going on. Like Harry. He willed him to come to his aid but knew it wasn't going to happen.

The taller of the two agents took a step forward. Dennis perceived his movement as a definite threat and fired the Taser. The man gasped and sank to the floor, just as Annie fired her gun and blew out the second agent's kneecap. And then all hell broke loose as Jack was pushed away from the swinging door and the men and women from the dining room streamed forward, the dogs howling and yelping.

Charles threw up his hands and roared, “Everyone! Just take it easy! Listen to me!”

Dennis wrapped the pink afghan as tightly as he could around his pudgy body. His eyes were big as saucers as he stared at both men on the floor. He was shocked when he saw Charles help the agent he'd Tasered.

Charles looked around. “I have to go, Annie. But first I have to . . . I have to speak to Myra. I'm going to need some help getting that one”—he pointed to the man nursing his wounded knee—“out to the helicopter.”