Kiss and Tell (3 page)

Annie sniffed. “If that's your way of saying we're chopped liver, I'm not buying it. So our numbers are down by three. We're still three, counting Charles, and don't forget the kids. They really came through for us in Baywater. And we still have Abner. I'd say that makes it all okay unless you, Myra, are getting cold feet?”

“I am not getting cold feet. I'm just reminding you that there are only three of us, counting Charles, and I'm not sure how good Charles would be out in the field.”

“For God's sake, Myra, Charles used to be a spy. He worked in clandestine operations. What makes you think he couldn't cut the mustard these days?”

“He's out of practice,” Myra said lamely.

“Then maybe we should put him through his paces.”

“It's just that he's so good at what he does behind the scenes. And he worries about us. He would see danger where you and I won't. He'd try to stop us if he thought we were doing something wrong even though you and I would know it would come out okay. He'd be more of a hindrance, and I say that with all due respect for my husband.”

“You have a point, Myra. Okay, then it's just you and me and the kids.”

“That works for me,” Myra said smartly as she offered up a sloppy salute. Annie laughed.

“So, when are you going to call Charles to do that background check?”

“Will right now work for you, Annie?” Myra said as she headed for the intercom that would reach Charles in the underground catacombs. Annie shrugged.

Ten minutes later, Charles appeared in the kitchen, a look of concern on his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, looking at the two women, “or did you call me up here to make breakfast? Good morning, Annie. Nice to see you so bright and early. My word, it's snowing out!”

“We're not hungry, dear. We have some orders for you. We'd like you to get right on it. We got another e-mail this morning that we'd like you to see. And to remind you that today is therapy day out at King's Ridge.”

Charles leaned over Myra's laptop to read the latest e-mail from Kat at Gmail. “Hmmnn. I'll get right on it. Anything in particular?”

“Macklin,” Myra and Annie said at the same moment.

“My thoughts exactly. I'll call you when I have something. By the way, are you two going to wing it on your own or call in the second string?”

“We don't have a second string, Charles,” Myra snapped.

“I know that, dear,” Charles said as he prepared to beat a hasty retreat. Myra threw a wadded-up dish towel at him.

“No one likes a smartass, Charles,” Annie said as the swinging door to the kitchen closed behind him. Myra rolled her eyes.

“Let's confirm right now, Myra, that it is just the two of us handling this mission.”

“It's just the two of us,” Myra said solemnly.

“We can kick ass and take names later. Knowing how squeamish you are, I'll do the ass kicking and you can take names,” Annie said airily.

Myra fingered the pearls at her neck until she saw Annie glare at her. “I like the way you think,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I knew you'd see it my way,” Annie said sweetly.

 

 

Maggie Spitzer parked her car in the underground lot of the
Post
building. She walked over to the concrete railing and stared out at the world, not that she could see much with the swirling snowflakes. She felt antsy, the fine hairs on the back of her neck warning her that something was up. She could feel it in every bone of her body. Somewhere, something was happening or about to happen that would involve her. A confetti of memories assailed her as she recalled other instances when she had felt the same way. She went still and waited, knowing somehow that her cell phone was going to ring any minute. Every fiber in her body told her it would happen. Her fist shot in the air when her cell phone buzzed to life. Reporter gut instincts, something to never trifle with. She identified herself and listened to Annie's excited voice. She continued to listen as she walked over to the door that would take her to the elevator and on to the newsroom. Finally, it was her turn to speak. “I'll get the guys, sign out the van, and we can be out at the farm in an hour, give or take, depending on traffic and the weather. See ya!”

Maggie was walking on air as she breezed into the newsroom, to see Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis West already at their desks. “Get your gear, guys, we're going out to the farm. Annie and Myra are on to something!”

“Wow! You sounded just like Gibbs on
NCIS.
He always says that to his team when they find a dead body,” Dennis said, whirling around in his red leather chair, the chair he had to use because he was a newbie and he had to wait until the others told him he could move on. It was a rule he accepted without any fuss even though he already had a Pulitzer to his name.

Jackets were slipped into, backpacks slung on backs, and the four-man team headed for the elevator, everyone talking at once. “You can ask me all the questions you want till the cows come home, and I can't tell you anything other than it involves that ritzy commune, or whatever you want to call it, that Manny Macklin owns. That plus ten or eleven e-mails Myra and Annie have been getting over the past few months. That is the sum total of what I know, so just shut up and let your minds try to figure out why those two sharp-eyed women with gut instincts that are better than all of ours put together are asking questions.”

“This sounds like it's right up there with the time they took on the guy who ran the World Bank. Ooh. I gotta say, that took guts,” Ted said dramatically.

“ ‘They' as in the whole crew,” Espinosa said, a frown building on his face. “There are only two of them left, three if you count Charles. That's not a comforting number from where I'm standing.”

“Well, gee whiz, Espinosa, there are four of us to take up the slack. That has to count for something. Plus Ted said we're fearless, but I'm not sure that's true. What I mean is, I'm not—”

“Shut up, Dennis,” Ted said as he signed out the van.

Dennis shut up. Ted was his idol, and when his idol spoke, he, Dennis, hopped to it.

Behind the wheel, Ted checked the gas, saw that he was good to go, and barreled out of the underground garage.

Maggie, riding shotgun, spoke. “Ted, how many stories has the
Post
done on Macklin over the last ten years?”

“A boatload. Crazy-ass kind of guy. As far as I know, he's only ever given two face-to-face interviews, one I did and one Jed Lyons at the
Times
did. He's on his third trophy wife. Macklin, that is, not Lyons,” Ted clarified.

“Where's the original?” Dennis asked. “By that, I mean the first wife, not any of the trophy wives.”

“I don't know, kid. You said you're a reporter, so why don't you find that out for us, along with the other three. Remember what I told you: information translates to power. The more you can garner, the quicker you get to the goal line,” Ted snapped as he maneuvered the van around a slow-moving Toyota.

“Got it,” Dennis said as he worked his phone. The rest of the trip out to Pinewood was made with Maggie discussing the weather and how the weatherman never got it right. “I just hate when he's so far off the mark. It's not even Thanksgiving yet, and here it is snowing.”

“It's just flurrying. It's not even sticking,” Espinosa said. “Here's a bit of trivia for you. There's a guy in Florida whose name is Al Sunshine.”

“And his weather reporting is so accurate he's won prizes. I researched him, and he said he goes by the
Farmers' Almanac,
” Dennis said.

“Should we care about this, Dennis?” Espinosa grinned.

“It's up to you,” Dennis said, busy clicking away on his new phone, compliments of the
Post.
“I sure as hell don't care. And you know why I don't care? I'll tell you why. Because there is nothing we can do about it. The weather is the weather. Period.”

“Put a cork in it, Dennis,” Ted said as he steered the van off the highway to a secondary road that would take him to the main entrance of Pinewood.

“I wonder if Charles is cooking breakfast,” Maggie said, more to have something to say than anything else. “I didn't even have time for coffee this morning. When I saw the snow, I beat feet.”

“Cross your fingers that Myra isn't the cook this morning. Worse yet: Annie,” Ted said.

“I can cook breakfast. My mother made me learn how to cook. I make a wicked omelet. The trick is to make them fluffy. I can do fluffy to perfection, but I don't do cleanup. If I cook, you clean up,” Dennis babbled as he kept clicking the keys on his phone.

“That's going to work for me. Ted and Espinosa love to clean up,” Maggie said as Ted sailed through the open gates at Pinewood.

The greetings were perfunctory as Maggie presented Myra and Annie with Dennis's offer to make breakfast. Myra showed him where everything was and they all sat down at the table as Dennis went to work. Within minutes, Maggie and Ted had the story and were bouncing ideas off each other. “This reminds me of the time we took on the World Bank and that skunk we took care of.”

Annie was busy setting the table. Myra moved over to her small desk in the kitchen alcove and showed Ted and Espinosa the e-mails that had come in from Kat at Gmail.

“We're taking Lady out to King's Ridge today. It's therapy day for the seniors in the assisted-living section. Why don't you all come with us and perhaps write up a human-interest story for the paper tomorrow. Maybe if we do that, we can flush out some information. I say that because Annie and I have always gone alone. The e-mail this morning indicates something's happening today, so between all of us, we should be able to come up with something. Unless you all have a different spin on it.”

“Old people like me,” Dennis chirped from his position at the stove. “For some reason, they think of me as a grandson because I look so young and have a chubby face. At least that's what my mother said, and everyone knows that mothers are never wrong. I know when to listen, and I know
how
to listen.”

“The kid's right. We couldn't have gotten half the information we got on the Ciprani twin judges without Dennis. He does have a way with people, not just older folks,” Ted said magnanimously. Maggie seconded Ted's endorsement of the young reporter. Dennis flushed a bright pink as he expertly slid an omelet onto a plate and handed it to Espinosa.

Five minutes later, they were all seated at the table wolfing down Dennis's five-star omelets. Dennis beamed his pleasure at the profuse compliments.

Annie poured refills of the coffee as Ted and Espinosa dutifully loaded the dishwasher. When the last of the coffee was gone, they all put their coats on to head to King's Ridge. Lady waited patiently at the door, wearing her colorful neckerchief decorated with pumpkins and little ghosts. She barked once to show she was ready.

Myra looked back at the four pups, Lady's offspring, sitting in the doorway to the dining room. “I know you guys want to go, but you're too rambunctious. Maybe next year.” She handed out chews and led Lady out the door to Annie's racy car.

Before the others climbed into the van, Maggie turned to the others. “Okay, our cover is that we're doing a story on therapy animals, right?”

“Right,” Annie and Myra said in unison. Lady let out a soft
woof
to show she was in on the cover story.

Settled in Annie's car, Myra grabbed at her pearls. “There is no need to drive like a bat out of hell, Annie. We have Lady in the car with us.”

Annie ignored her and laid her foot on the gas pedal. Lady howled in the backseat. “I'm so excited, Myra. My skin is tingling. We're on to a big one. Do you feel it?”

“What I feel, Countess de Silva, is a migraine coming on. Slow down.”

“Myra, I'm only going sixty, and the speed limit is sixty-five.”

“I don't care. Slow down to fifty.”

“Then I'll be a hazard on the road and people will start blowing their horns and Lady will get upset and you will get upset with Lady and me. Play with your damn pearls and let me do the driving, okay?”

Permission from Annie to play with her pearls. That was a new one, Myra thought as she clasped the lustrous necklace in a death grip.

“Look! I got us here all safe and sound,” Annie said ten minutes later. Myra rubbed at her temples as Lady nudged the back of her neck.

Ted parked the
Post
van next to Annie's car. Everyone piled out and waited for Myra to attach the leash to Lady's collar. They walked in single file to the entrance of the community building available to all the Ridge inhabitants.

“Showtime, people! Look and stay alert,” Annie said.

T
he clubhouse used for all Ridge inhabitants was a luxurious-looking building on the outside. Inside, it was just as luxurious, a community center unlike any Myra's group had ever seen. Priceless art hung on the wheat-painted walls. Carpeting, ankle deep, matched the walls. Drapes embellished with lightning bolts of color adorned the wraparound windows overlooking lush gardens that were bare now but were a veritable rainbow of color in spring and summer.

Inside a medium-sized foyer, a pleasant-looking woman was sitting behind a massive, hand-carved desk that appeared to be some kind of antique. It took up most of the foyer, which was probably the intention of the builder. There was no place to sit. Visitors or guests signed in and were immediately ushered to wherever they wanted to go.

Soft music could be heard from somewhere in the back of the building. “How big is this place?” Maggie whispered to Annie.

“Thirty thousand square feet,” Annie whispered back. “I only know this because the first time we were here, I heard someone ask the receptionist. There is a ballroom for festivities, a full kitchen, a dining room for banquets that seats two hundred, five different full bathrooms, a fully equipped gym with all the latest exercise equipment, and the community room, which is where we're going. Wait till you see it. One whole wall is a fish tank, with the most beautiful exotic fish in the world. They say watching fish is very restful. And all the plants you can see are also tropical, and someone comes in twice a week to care for them. Another wall has a hundred-inch plasma television. Watching it is like being in a movie theater. There is also a computer room with wi-fi and five computers. They have fax machines, copy machines, and five separate telephone lines. One time I was here, Lady wandered off, and I saw the room when I went to look for her. There's a sign on the door that says the room is soundproof. I do not quite understand why they need a soundproof computer room.”

“A lot of money went into this operation,” Myra said. “Top of the line in everything. The furniture is custom made, and whomever the decorator was, he or she did a great job. This place, big as it is, is still comfortable and welcoming. Everyone who lives at Olympic, King's, or Queen's Ridge has the run of this building. They even have concerts here from time to time. Famous people give them, and it's always free to the residents.”

The pleasant-looking receptionist, whose name tag said her name was
PAULINE
, motioned for Myra and her team to follow her. “I'm afraid with the weather, you might not have a full house today. There are coffee and donuts on the credenza. And a bowl of dog treats. I'm sure Lady could use one.”

Annie stepped forward. “It's hard to believe Thanksgiving is next week. Do you plan anything out here for the residents? Like this week, today in particular: is anything planned, aside from therapy day?”

“Well, having the reporters you brought with you is certainly out of the ordinary, not that we mind. Our residents dearly love therapy day. Personally, I wish the residents were allowed pets, but no one cares what I think even though I live in Olympic Ridge. I just volunteer here at the center to keep busy since my husband passed away in January.”

“I'm so sorry,” Myra said, patting the woman's arm as she made eye contact with Annie.

“My grandmother turned to the Internet when my grandpa died last year. She made a lot of friends on there. She loves e-mailing. Do you do that?” Dennis West said as he moved to stand next to Pauline.

“I do, but I'm not very good at it. I don't blog or tweet or anything like that. I just e-mail my children and grandchildren and a few friends. Well, I'll leave you now. I hear the bell, so someone is out front. We still have twenty minutes before the residents get here. I'll check and see how many calls went out to the shuttle and let you know if we're going to be running late.

“Oh, I'm sorry, you asked me about next week. This isn't new since we do it every year, but Santa comes on Thanksgiving day in a horse-drawn carriage. Mr. Macklin himself plays Santa as he's done every year since this community was built. He looks so much like Santa, he doesn't have to wear a beard or put on a white wig. You should see his suit and boots. It's the real thing. And he gives gifts to everyone. Not junk either.”

When the bell rang again, Pauline literally ran out of the room.

Dennis whipped out his phone, clicked twice, then waved it under everyone's nose. Smiling into the camera was Emanuel Macklin, and even Santa would have had to admit he was a dead ringer for Father Christmas.

“Do you think that counts as something we need to see and pay attention to?” Annie whispered.

Myra responded with a shrug. “Could be. I don't see anything else jumping out at us. Maybe the weather will prevent us from seeing or hearing whatever we were supposed to. Maggie, why don't you go up front and see if you can find out if Pauline knows anyone known as Kat at Gmail. You know how to interview people. She seems a chatty sort.”

“I think Dennis should do it. Not that I don't want to do it, but he's young enough to be her grandson. I just think he'll have better luck.”

Dennis was half out the door before Maggie had finished speaking.

Owners with their therapy animals started to trickle into the community room. Lady moved off to greet them as they were old friends. Maggie and Ted separated to start interviewing the owners, while Espinosa had his camera at the ready.

Myra and Annie made their way over to the credenza, where an elaborate silver service was set out. The donuts were fresh and the coffee a special blend that was delicious. Annie poured real cream into her coffee as she looked around. “I'm not seeing a damn thing, Myra. What about you?”

Myra brought her coffee cup to her lips. “Ellen and Abe Speer just got here. I told you about them and how they sought me out. They look . . . just the way they always look. They aren't even looking at us. I think this is going to be a washout.”

Fifteen more minutes went by before the community director blew her whistle, which was the signal that the animals were to line up to get their assignments. A chocolate Lab barked as if to say, it's about time. A fluffy white cat hissed his disapproval, broke ranks, sauntered over to Lady, and started to purr. To the amusement of everyone, Lady nudged him back to his place in line.

The therapy hour flew by quickly, with the animals doing what they did best: offering comfort and love to anyone who needed to stroke them or murmur sweet words in their ears. The hour ended as it always did, with a parrot named Dominic who did a flyover not once but twice as he squawked, “Good-bye, good-bye!” to everyone in the room. The audience clapped loudly in appreciation. The animals preened and looked to their owners for their treats. Therapy hour was over until next time. Now the owners and their therapy animals went to their next assignments. Lady's assignment was to visit Queen's Ridge nursing home to visit with Sara Overton, a recovering stroke victim.

Guests and residents of the Ridge milled around for the social hour that followed the therapy for those without special assignments. Maggie and Ted worked the crowd as Espinosa continued clicking away with his camera. There was no sign of Dennis West.

Myra reached for her jacket. “I'm not getting it, Annie. No one has come up to us, no one has said a word, and the director hasn't made any announcements other than to hand out our special assignments. I wonder if perhaps Sara Overton is someone who can give us a clue. The only thing we learned is that Emanuel Macklin, who looks like Santa Claus, is playing Saint Nick on Thanksgiving Day, when he will arrive in a carriage. And he gives everyone a gift that is not junk.”

“That's not giving me the shivers, Myra. So the guy is living up to his looks. He's probably bored making money and needs a diversion. My vote is, it means nothing to us at this moment. If it means anything, my money is on young Dennis. He does have a way of ferreting out information.”

Dressed again for the outdoors, Myra called to Lady, who came on the run. Annie held out the leash, Myra hooked it onto Lady's collar, and the three of them walked ever so slowly out of the community room, hoping that someone would approach. No one did. Myra sighed. “This was a dead end.”

“You can say that again,” Ted said. “I didn't get a single thing. These people are not into computers and e-mail and handles. That's not to say they don't use computers; they do, but it's just to stay in touch with friends and family.”

“Ditto for me,” Maggie said, a look of disgust on her face. “I hope Dennis made out better than we did. Where
is
he?”

“Are you looking for me?” Dennis bellowed, as he loped down the hallway of the west wing.

“We are. We're leaving now to go to Queen's Ridge. We have to drive. Lady is going to visit a Ms. Sara Overton, who is a recovering stroke victim. After that, we go home. How did you do?”

Dennis reached for his jacket on the coatrack by the front door.

“Good-bye, Dennis. Now don't forget to come by on Monday for that pot roast dinner I promised you. Bring your friends if you like. The more the merrier.”

“I won't forget, Pauline. It was so nice talking to you.” Dennis turned to the others and said, “I told her she reminds me of my mom. Don't you all agree?”

“Absolutely.” Maggie smiled.

“She even looks like your mother.” Ted beamed.

“Let me take a picture of you and Dennis so he can show his mother,” Espinosa said, as he shoved Dennis behind Pauline's chair. Dennis grinned like a Cheshire cat, and Pauline showed a lot of teeth, her hand reaching up to pat Dennis's hand, which was resting on her shoulder. “Say cheese!”

Picture taking done, everyone waved good-bye as they scooted for the door.

It was still snowing. Lady loved it, and she tried to catch the flakes on her tongue.

“What'd you get, hot shot?” Ted demanded.

“What you sent me to get. What do you think? Don't I always come through for you? Well? Huh? I felt terrible picking that nice lady's brain, and she's lonely. She's cooking a pot roast for me on Monday. I love pot roast. She liked me. She kept patting my hand.”

“Kat at Gmail. You know who that is? Spit it out, kid.”

“Well, not exactly. Sort of. Kind of. It's gonna take some legwork. Pauline does not like to gossip. Stop poking me, Ted. I'm freezing out here. Let's get in the van, and I'll tell you what I learned.”

“This better be good, Dennis,” Ted said, slamming the sliding door of the van so that Dennis and the others could get in. Somehow, Myra and Annie managed to squeeze in, too. Lady bounded into the front seat and tried to sit on Maggie's lap.

Ted turned over the engine. “Talk!” he bellowed.

“Okay, okay! Gee whiz, Ted. Look, in the computer room is a list of all the people who use the computers. Just their e-mail names. There are several variations of Kat. One is k.a.t. at yahoo and there is another one that is Tak at hotmail. That's kat spelled backward. Then there is the one you got e-mail from, the Kat at Gmail. Those are all free e-mail accounts. I don't know who the names belong to. There are over a hundred posted on the list. Pauline said she got an e-mail once a while back from the k.a.t at yahoo about something or other, but she can't remember what it was. She's going to search her account when she goes home and call me. That's it. And before you say it, I can see by the looks on all of your faces that I got more than you all got. Am I right? I am, I can see it! And the cub reporter strikes again!” Dennis said jubilantly.

“That's good work, Dennis,” Maggie said. “I wonder if I can get Abner to hack into that computer to find out who the real Kat at Gmail is. He's good with that IP stuff, but then we already know what computer was used. Hey, he might be able to come up with something. By any chance, Dennis, did you get the times of day that Kat at Gmail logs on and off?”

“Late in the evening and early in the morning, that's all I could get. If there is no function going on here in that building we were just in, Pauline said it closes at six. So then how did Kat at Gmail get in? You said your e-mail came through early this morning. The center doesn't open till eight o'clock. Pauline opens and closes,” Dennis said. “I asked her who else has keys to the center, and she said only the maintenance staff and Mr. Macklin. Oh, she also mentioned that someone named Luther Kelly had had a key, but he died last year. She doesn't know what happened to his key. Luther was a kind of security guard. No one replaced him that she knows of, and she pretty much had the skinny on this whole operation. I'm sure I'll get more during our pot roast dinner on Monday.”

“Send Abner a text, Maggie,” Myra said. “We have just arrived at Queen's Ridge, and Ms. Overton awaits us.”

The Overton house was a pretty little building that resembled a Swiss chalet, and with the snow coming down, it was easy to imagine that they were in Switzerland. Myra rang the doorbell, which was a brass stag rearing up on its hind legs. The sound within was like a bongo drum. She stepped back, as did the others.

“Maybe she's hard of hearing,” Maggie whispered.

The door was opened by a woman in an immaculate gray uniform with a white apron that was so pristine, it matched the falling snowflakes. She stood aside for the little group to enter. Lady held back and growled deep in her throat. Myra and Annie stopped in their tracks as the others tried to urge the golden dog farther into the foyer. Lady moved, but only unwillingly.

Myra turned her head so that no one could see her speaking to Annie. “She's never done this before,” Myra whispered in Annie's ear.

“I know,” Annie hissed back.

And then they were in a pleasant, brick-walled room with comfortable furniture and a blazing fire in a fieldstone fireplace.