Vanishing Act (3 page)

As Charles checked out the vegetable bin and the freezer, his thoughts raced. If there was some way he could explain to Myra and the others, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But Her Majesty had looked him in the eye and made him swear never to divulge what had gone on during his stay in England. He’d promised, and he would die before he would break that promise.

The best he could hope for now was that time would heal all the wounds he’d created. Women, he knew, were, for the most part, forgiving creatures. He corrected that thought. Most women, with the exception of Myra, possibly Annie, too, were forgiving creatures. The only word that would come to mind was “endurance.”

And endure he would.

Shifting his thoughts to the matter at hand, he finally decided on his menu or, rather, his peace offering. He would prepare Shrimp Étoufée. A crisp summer salad from the garden, some of the pole beans in a light, savory garlic-butter sauce, homemade biscuits with soft honey butter. Myra loved his Chinese Almond Rice, so he would prepare that, too, and hope she understood he was making it just for her. For dessert he would make Rice Pudding with Raspberry Sauce and, of course, pots and pots of coffee. He dusted his hands together, satisfied that in the midst of all the turmoil in his mind, he could think of other things.

Charles licked his lips, crossed his fingers for luck, and started to prepare his homecoming dinner.

T
he news of Charles’s return to Big Pine Mountain flew through cyberspace at the speed of light. In Las Vegas, in a rare afternoon of fun and frivolity, all arranged by Cosmo Cricket for his new bride, Lizzie, the text message arrived just as three cherries appeared on the slot machine she was playing, giving her a win of $44. She whooped and immediately quit playing. Cosmo smiled indulgently as Lizzie steered him to the lounge, where, despite the early hour, she insisted a drink was in order to celebrate her win. While they waited for their drinks, Lizzie called Maggie and Ted on Nantucket.

On Nantucket Island, Maggie sighed with happiness as Ted rubbed her back with sunblock. She looked down at the vibrating cell phone and groaned when she saw that the call was from Lizzie. It had to be business. Maggie tripped right past the greeting, and said, “I just want you to know I’m lying on a glorious beach, the temperature is a wonderful seventy-eight degrees, the sun is shining, and Ted is rubbing my back with some sweet-smelling sunblock. I am drinking one of those frothy drinks with a little umbrella. I am
relaxing.
Are you calling to tell me you’re pregnant? If you are, I’ll put it on the front page.
When I get back.”

“No, no, no, I’m not pregnant! I’m sorry to intrude on your short vacation, Maggie, but I thought you would want to know that Charles is back on the mountain. I don’t know any details. I’ll be back Sunday night. Let’s do breakfast Monday morning. By the way I just won $44,” Lizzie said happily.

Maggie rolled over as she closed her cell phone. She looked up at Ted and smiled. “Charles is back on the mountain. That was Lizzie on the phone. I wonder what it means, if anything. His being gone changed a lot of things, and I wonder how many of them, if any, will ever change back. I’m getting a feeling, Ted.”

Ted groaned as he sat up straighter. He’d learned the hard way never, ever, to ignore Maggie when she said she was
“getting a feeling.”
He immediately sent off a text message to Joe Espinosa in Baltimore, apprising him of the news and alerting him to the fact that Maggie was getting one of her feelings. Reporter-speak for
get your ass back to D.C. as soon as you’re done in Baltimore.

Maggie rolled back over, irritated now that she had sand on her oiled back. “Ted, call Nellie and Elias while I call Jack.”

In Virginia, just as her cell phone rang, Nellie handed off the two-month-old baby, who’d left a wet spot on her dress the size of a dinner plate, to her jittery husband. Elias handed the squealing infant to his father, who in turn delivered him to his weary mother.

Dismayed at the giant wet spot on her silk dress, Nellie walked to the back of the church, then outside, where she took the call from Ted Robinson. “This better be good, Ted. I’m at Elias’s grandson’s christening, and the kid just peed all over me.”

“Charles is back on the mountain. The girls texted Lizzie, who called Maggie. We’re here on Nantucket and headed home tomorrow. Maggie just asked me to call you. When are you going home, Judge?”

“I think that might be a wonderful thing for the girls, especially Myra. At least I hope it will be, but she and Charles may have to start all over again. I know that she felt deserted, even though he told her that he had to stay behind in England. We’re leaving as soon as I can drag Elias out to the car. We drove,” she said inanely.

“Well, drive safely. We’ll catch up on everyone’s return,” Ted said.

Ted stretched out and rolled close to Maggie. He listened to her conversation, trying to get a bead on what Charles Martin’s return to the mountain would mean to all of them.

“That’s all I know, Jack. No details. Lizzie called, and she was more excited about winning $44 than Charles returning to the mountain. I wonder how happy Myra is with his return. We’re heading home Sunday morning. So, you’ll tell Harry, okay? I want to get back to soaking up this warm, delicious sun. It’s wonderful here, Jack. I hope you and Nikki get to come to Nantucket someday. Listen, Jack, Lizzie didn’t say anything about notifying Pearl Barnes, but I’m thinking she should be kept in the loop. Do it for me, big guy, and I will owe you. See you on Monday.”

Ted leaned over and whispered in Maggie’s ear the moment she ended her call to Jack. He waited to see what her response would be. When she said, “I’ve never had sex in the water. Okay, let’s go for it,” Ted was the first one in the water. The
cold
water. The
really cold
water. He looked at Maggie, who was shivering and watching him expectantly.

Maggie started to laugh when he shook his head. “We could fill the bathtub with
warm
water.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Maggie said, scampering out of the water, Ted hot on her heels.

Back in Washington, Jack jammed the cell phone into his pocket and started to jog his way back to the office. He hated running or jogging in leather shoes, but his sneakers were at Harry’s
dojo.
He was dripping wet with sweat when he blasted through the lobby and jogged in place for a moment before he made his way to the elevator.

In his office, he ripped off his jacket and tie and sat down. Slightly winded, he let loose with a mighty sigh as he unpacked his briefcase, his thoughts on Nikki, the mountain, Charles, and wondering where the hell Harry was. He’d been text messaging and calling him every chance he got, all day, with no response. He knew Harry had a midmorning training class at Quantico, and they were to meet up at the Drop Zone for lunch. But Harry hadn’t shown for lunch. Jack was getting really concerned because Harry always answered his phone. Always. And the fine hairs on the back of Jack’s neck had started to prickle. Somewhere, something was wrong.

Jack sorted, sifted, and collated the papers in his briefcase before he bellowed for his secretary and the two assistant DAs. “Court’s dark tomorrow. I’ll see you when I see you. Be sure to get those papers to Judge Avalone before five-thirty. Chop-chop, guys. You, too, Melinda.” He got snorts of disgust and grimaces that he ignored. “It’s all about delegating, guys. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” A roll of rubber bands in the shape of a ball hit him squarely in the back of the head.

Jack laughed as he made his way back to the elevator, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie trailing out of a side pocket.

In the parking lot, he popped the trunk and tossed in both his jacket and briefcase.

The inside of his car was like a sauna. He turned on the AC to
HIGH
and then slipped in a favorite Harry Connick, Jr. CD. Sweat dripped down Jack’s face. He swiped at it with the sleeve of his shirt. He tooled along, his eyes on the road, hoping to see Harry on his Ducati, but it didn’t happen.

Traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon, when usually a lot of people headed out of the city to cooler pastures, so Jack made decent time to Harry’s
dojo
just as the AC kicked in, and he started to shiver.

Jack turned the corner and slowed, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the sight of the yellow
CAUTION
tape stretched across the
dojo’s
front door. What made him slam on his brakes was the sight of Harry sitting on the curb in his Armani suit, barefooted. His shoes were next to him there alongside the Ducati. He didn’t even look up at the sound of Jack’s squealing brakes. Jack slammed out of the car the moment he swerved the curb. He looked around for a sign of smoke that would mean the
CAUTION
tape was up because of a fire. No smoke.
Christ, maybe Harry finally killed someone. Nah, he’d be in jail if he’d done that, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting on the curb in his Armani suit
.

“Harry! What the hell is going on? Harry, look at me! Goddamn it, what the hell is going on? Why are you sitting here all duded up in that fancy suit? Are you going to answer me, or do I have to knock you on your ass?” Jack yelled, his heart beating trip-hammer fast. When there was no smart-ass response, Jack dropped to his haunches and poked at Harry’s chest. “At least you’re not dead. You had me worried there for a minute. Talk to me, Harry. It’s me, Jack. Come on, buddy, let’s hear it.”

Harry finally looked at Jack, his face a mask of pain, his eyes glazed over.

Jack cupped Harry’s face in his two hands. “What, Harry? Are you sick? If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you. Jesus Christ, Harry, will you please tell me what’s going on here?”

Harry licked his dry lips and then looked square at Jack. “Someone stole my
dojo,
Jack. The bank foreclosed. They came this morning and kicked me out. Then they stretched the tape, and I’m not allowed to go in. They put new locks on the doors.”

“What?” Jack’s screech could be heard for blocks.

“I went to the bank this morning about the loan to remodel the
dojo,
and that’s when I found out. The bottom line is that my identity was stolen, and the person who did it ran up all kinds of bills, ruined my credit, took out two equity loans they didn’t pay on. They cleaned out my bank accounts, savings and checking. I have seventeen bucks in my pocket, Jack. I’m homeless. They don’t know about the Ducati. If they did, they’d come and take it. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just left the bank. I’ve been sitting here for hours. I can’t even go inside to get my stuff. That’s why I’m still wearing this stupid suit.”

Jack lowered himself to the curb and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Listen to me, Harry. We’re going to make this right. We are. I’m going to call the mountain, and the girls will be on this like white on rice. By the way, Charles is back. That’s why I came here. I knew something was wrong when you didn’t call and stood me up for lunch. Why the hell didn’t you call me, Harry? Give me one reason why. Just one, Harry.”

Harry hung his head. “I was ashamed.”

“Bullshit! If that happened to me, you would be the first person I’d call.”

“It’s hard to make phone calls when you’re crying and can’t talk. Yeah, I bawled my eyes out. My whole life is gone, Jack.
Gone!
”

“Only for the moment. We’ll make it right, Harry. I need you to believe that. Now, let’s go around back and break into the
dojo
and get your stuff. You’re moving in with me till we can get a handle on all of this.”

“They told me not to go near the building, or they’d lock me up. I wouldn’t do well in jail, Jack.”

“Okay, you sit here, and I’ll do the breaking and entering. No one told me I couldn’t go near the building. My stuff is in there, and I damn well want it. Tell me what you want, what you can’t live without.”

Harry flapped his hands in the air. “My personal stuff. There isn’t that much.”

“We need Lizzie!” Jack said as he scooted under the
CAUTION
tape and raced around to the back door. He eyed the padlock with disdain before he gave the door a kick that sent it flying off the hinges. He walked in and headed straight for Harry’s apartment on the second floor. He looked around. The word “spartan” came to mind. He got to work quickly, shoving clothes into a bag he found in the closet. He picked up two pictures of Yoko and added them to the pile. He cleaned out the dresser drawers and collected Harry’s bathroom gear. When he was finished he had three bags filled to overflowing. “Not much, my ass,” he muttered.

Jack tossed the soft-sided athletic bags down the rickety steps. He followed, then raced outside with the bags and dumped them in the trunk of his Honda. He ran back in and cut off all the circuit breakers. No reason for Harry to be saddled with an electric bill he couldn’t pay. He was on his way back to the door when he spotted the huge cardboard carton where Harry tossed his mail. His eyes narrowed. He bent down, hefted the box to his shoulders, and carried it outside. He set it down and propped up the back door. It still looked like it had been kicked in. Oh, well.

The box went into the backseat of his car.

“C’mon, Harry, time to head for your new digs. We’re going to hit rush hour, so here’s the house key. You’ll get there before I will. Just go in and make yourself at home. I’ll call Lizzie and Maggie. Harry, look at me, buddy. We’re going to make this right. Trust me. Don’t kill yourself on the way, you hear me?”

This was where Harry should shoot off some smart-ass response, but all he said was, “Thanks, Jack.”

Oh, shit. He liked Harry better when he was snarly and hostile. This new Harry was never going to work. So the girls, and Lizzie, and whoever else, would just have to get done whatever was needed so the old Harry would be back in place in the
dojo
again. Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he thought about what was likely to happen to the identity thief.