Upside Down (5 page)

Maggie leaned back and squeezed her eyes shut. Just because she was the editor in chief didn't mean that her reporter instincts were dead. Once a reporter, always a reporter. Tack the word
investigative
onto that thought, and for sure she wasn't dead in the water. All it meant to her was that she had to be a little more careful and not make any more dumb moves like sending banana trees to the opposition. The word
sneaky
came to mind, but she quickly rejected it. When it came to scooping the opposition, everything was fair, and Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis had suddenly become the opposition. At the moment, she couldn't care less whether her assumption was true or false. The trio had broken the cardinal rule of being part of a team, so let the chips fall right on their feet for all she cared. If she was no longer a part of their team, then they were the opposition, whatever it was they were doing.

Eyes wide open now, Maggie bounced upright in her chair as she peered through the glass wall that allowed her to see Emily Davis's desk. She felt like she should rush out and put a nameplate on her secretary's desk that said TRAITOR.

Maggie took a moment or two to wonder if she was jealous. No. Yes. Well, maybe a tad, but not really. She had no strings on Ted. They'd talked their relationship to death so many times that she'd lost count. Finally, they had agreed to be friends and partners but not romantic partners, which in turn meant they could each see other people if they chose to do so. Nothing was said one way or the other about a booty call if the opportunity presented itself at some point along the way. Obviously, Ted had chosen to see Emily Davis. Or, at least, he was on the verge of taking that particular new friendship to another level.

It was amazing how she hadn't noticed anything during this past year. And a hell of a year it had been. In her mind, things started going south after Myra's Thanksgiving dinner last year, when Charles left for parts unknown. There wasn't any one thing in particular that she could put her finger on or point to, but things hadn't been the same since his departure.

Maggie knew it wasn't her imagination that no one seemed to have time for anyone else. Isabelle was in England and hadn't crossed the pond since she'd left. Abner had made the journey back and forth a few times, but if what Ted said was true, Abner hadn't been to England since July, five months ago. Since Abner was a very wealthy man, money was not an issue. So she couldn't help but wonder if there was trouble brewing in their marriage.

Then there were Espinosa and Alexis, who had chosen her career over a relationship with the man who was now her ex-fiancé. He'd been in such a funk over her rejection that Ted had hauled him off to a shrink to talk it out. He was better now but not whole, in Maggie's opinion. As far as she knew, Espinosa wasn't seeing anyone and sat around hoping that Alexis would call him.

Then there were Jack and Nikki. She knew there was trouble there because she only lived a few doors away and couldn't help but notice the crazy hours each of them kept. That, plus Jack's sudden neighborliness, stopping over almost every day just to talk and have coffee. Nikki's obscene hours were driving him nuts.

Tears sprang to Maggie's eyes at how, in just a single year, their tight-knit little group was disintegrating. Not only the group as a whole, but the individual relationships among the various partnerships were being turned upside down. She couldn't help but wonder if it all had something to do with Charles's abrupt departure last Thanksgiving. Was Charles the glue that held them all together? Actually, when she thought about it, she always considered that it was Myra, Annie, and Charles who kept them together. A trio. A trifecta. Take away one, and everything started to unravel.

Maybe she was the one who could get them all back on the same page.

Without stopping to think, Maggie pulled out her phone and hit the number that would reach Yoko. “Hey, I want to put my order in for my Christmas tree and ask if you're free for lunch tomorrow.”

Yoko laughed and asked if she could bring a friend. That wasn't exactly what Maggie had in mind, so she said, “What friend?”

“Kathryn. She's delivering my bales of balsam and my Christmas trees. You get the first pick. I'm sure she'll be free for lunch, but she's heading up to Delaware to drop off another load of Christmas trees, all fresh from Oregon, before she heads back to Vegas. Does that work for you, Maggie? You sound . . . strange. Is anything wrong?”

“I don't know, Yoko. We can talk tomorrow. How about if I call the girls to see if they can join us. It's been so long since we all got together.”

“Absolutely. I'll put Harry on alert, so he can pick up Lily from play school. Tomorrow is only half a day.”

“Where shall we meet up?” Maggie asked.

“Well, you like the Squire's Pub, so let's go there, or that trendy little café right there on Dupont Circle. I think it's called Betty Lou's. Betty Lou's would be my choice since Squire's Pub is really a guy spot.” Maggie agreed. “Twelve-thirty would be perfect for me. Do you want me to call anyone?” Yoko asked.

“That works for me. You call Nikki and Alexis, and I'll call Myra and Annie. We'll be short one because Isabelle is in England.”

“No, she isn't! Didn't you hear? She came back over the weekend, and she and Abner had a huge fight, and she moved out. Harry didn't tell me this—I heard him talking to Abner on the phone—and, of course, I eavesdropped. You call her, Maggie.”

“Well, damn! That doesn't sound good. I guess you don't know where she went, do you? I hope she still has the same cell-phone number. I'll give it my best shot.”

“It would not surprise me in the least to find out that Isabelle went out to the farm. Isn't that where we all go when things go awry in our lives?”

“You're right about that,” Maggie said when she remembered how she'd hightailed it to the farm after her husband died to fall into Myra's and Annie's waiting arms. “Thanks for reminding me. I'll call when I hang up. You okay?”

Yoko laughed. “It's the start of the Christmas season, so that means things will go nuclear real soon. I'm looking forward to seeing Kathryn. I haven't seen her since last Thanksgiving. Isabelle, too, now that I think of it. I don't suppose there has been any word on Charles, has there?”

“Not that I've heard. Okay, see you tomorrow. Give Lily a hug from her Aunt Maggie. By the way, what does she want for Christmas?”

Yoko laughed again. “Everything in the world, so you can't go wrong no matter what you choose. Don't go overboard. She loves storybooks. Hey, they're paging me for something. Gotta go, see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling, Maggie, I do need a break.”

“Yeah, me too.” Maggie sighed as she broke the connection.

She drummed her stubby fingers on her desk, her eyes on the bank of clocks on the wall that gave the time all over the world. She was going to stay right here until everyone got back from lunch. And she wanted to see how long the foursome would take. Her eyes narrowed into slits.
Everything
was her business now.

Maybe what she should do was drive out to Pinewood. Myra always said not to bother calling, her door was always open. Still, what if she wasn't home, and she made the trip for nothing. She finally talked herself into the trip as she recalled Yoko's words that Isabelle was probably there. And that's what she would do the moment the foursome returned from lunch.

For the next thirty minutes Maggie was a whirling dervish as she tidied up loose ends, delegated duties, and signed off on a dozen different papers shoved under her nose. Thank God it was a slow news day.

Maggie's eyes strayed to the clock again. Ninety-minute lunch hours were taboo unless approved. She knew in her gut that Ted was pushing her buttons. Lunch hours were one hour. Sixty minutes. Emily knew better, and this was the first time she had abused the rule. Let it go or make an issue of it? She opted to let it go, but she made sure the foursome saw her looking at the clock, then making a note on her desk pad when they returned.

With her afternoon cleared, Maggie gathered up her coat and purse. She made a production of locking her office door, something she rarely, if ever, did. She looked at the foursome again and left for the elevator. Let them all wonder where she was going. Two could play the secrecy game.

Emily Davis waited until her boss stepped into the elevator before she got up from her desk and walked into the newsroom. “What was
that
all about? Was it taking too long at lunch? In the two years since I've been here, this is the first time I've ever been late coming back from lunch. I've always prided myself on obeying the rules. Maggie looked . . . she looked . . .”

“Pissed to the teeth are the words you're looking for. She was that all right. But you did notice, she didn't make a
big
issue of it,” Ted said airily. “Wonder where she was going.”

“Why don't you call her and ask her,” Espinosa said snidely. “You started this ball rolling, so see it through.”

“I did not! She's the one who sent the damn banana tree.”

“What banana tree?” Emily asked.

It was as though Ted and Espinosa forgot that Emily Davis was in the room as they ranted back and forth.

“Yeah, well, she's been following me. Us. That's as in you and me, Espinosa. Doesn't that damn well creep you out just a little? Oh, crap, I forgot, you're so wrapped up in Alexis's dumping you that you can't see the forest for the trees. You need to look alive here,
Joseph
!”

“Why would the boss follow you guys? Did you do something? What banana tree?” Emily asked for the second time.

Ted and Espinosa continued to ignore Emily and her words.

“Alexis didn't dump me. We came to a mutual understanding that wasn't, isn't, to my liking. And I am not in any damn forest. How do you explain, Ted, that you
didn't notice a tail
? You're the investigative reporter here. She's out for blood now. Yours!” Espinosa said ominously.

“Why would the boss be out for your blood? You're both talking in riddles, and I still don't understand about the banana tree. I do know they're hard to grow, though,” Emily said.

“Don't you have somewhere else you're supposed to be and doing something to earn your paycheck?” Espinosa snarled at the beautiful young woman.

Emily Davis scurried back to her desk, her thoughts whirling and twirling in all directions. What was going on? She made a note in her day planner to pick up some flowers in the morning and a bag of Maggie's favorite pastries to make up for being late from lunch. She not only liked this job, she needed it. If there was one thing she didn't need, it was to have her boss upset with her. The bottom line was she shouldn't have listened to Ted when he said he was always late at lunchtime and Maggie didn't care. She made a mental note not to take Ted's advice on anything even though she was starting to have some strange, kind of nice feelings about the lanky reporter.

Emily tilted her head so she could see out the plate-glass half wall that separated her small office from the newsroom. Ted and Espinosa were still going at it. Whatever
it
was. Well, it was none of her business, so she might as well get down to the small mountain of work Maggie had left for her. She wasn't sure, but from the looks of things, it appeared to be a punishment. She sighed. She so hated game playing.

Maggie turned on her turn signal, made a right turn, and drove down the long, winding road that led to Myra's private driveway. She pulled to the side and looked out the window. Was it a mistake to come out here? Was the decision to make the trip just a knee-jerk reaction to the situation? Guilt?

Whatever it was, she was here. But she could turn around now and head back to the city. She could do that. But did she want to do that? What would Myra and Annie think when she told them why she had made the trip? Whose side would they be on? Then there was Isabelle. How was that going to play out?

Maggie rolled the window halfway down and took in deep breaths of the cold, fresh air. She hated this time of year with a passion. It was always gray and gloomy, with snow flurries in the air. Then came the snow. It was bearable, she supposed, until the Christmas season was over. Right now, though, it sucked.

Go forward?

Turn around and go home?

Damn it, she was a reporter, and she lived by her instincts. It didn't matter if she was the editor in chief or not; at the end of the day, she was still a reporter, and she would be a reporter to her dying day.

Maggie clenched her teeth, moved the gearshift from PARK to DRIVE, and hit the gas pedal.

Arriving at the electronic gate, Maggie pressed in the code, gave a soft tap to the horn, and zipped through the opening. She parked next to a black Mustang, a car she didn't recognize. Probably Isabelle's.

As she ran across the courtyard, Maggie could hear the dogs barking. The kitchen door opened just as she hit the steps. In an instant, she was surrounded by Lady and her four pups. Suddenly, everyone was laughing, and then Isabelle was wrapping her arms around her and squeezing her so hard her eyes started to water.

“Oh, Maggie, I am sooooo glad to see you! You look great. It's been a year! Well, almost a year since we were together. What brings you all the way out here?” Isabelle gushed.

“A couple of things. I . . . I need to talk to someone. It's good to see you, Isabelle, really good. Yoko told me you were back. I didn't know.”

“How did Yoko know?”

Maggie shrugged. “She heard Harry and Abner talking. She eavesdropped. You know how it goes, Isabelle, you gather your information however you can.”

“Coffee?” Myra asked.

“Tea?” Annie offered.

“How about a cold Coke?”

Ten minutes later, the women were seated at the table, Isabelle with tea, Myra and Annie with coffee, and Maggie with her Coke.

“Give it up, dear,” Myra said. “We need a diversion here.”

Maggie gave it all up, even the part about signing their names to the gift card that accompanied the banana tree.

Isabelle frowned. “What do you think it all means?”

“The boys are up to something they don't want us to know about. The ritzy, shiny, brass sign says it is the BOLO Building. I don't know if that's a true name or initials or what it stands for. I couldn't track down the ownership. I even asked some of the owners of the surrounding buildings. No one knows who the owner is. They all claim to have been aware of renovations over the past months but nothing that disrupted their own businesses. The building was sold off as part of an estate. Couldn't find out anything there. Pricey. This might be a stretch, but off the top of my head, I'd say it's worth around ten million. Like I said, pricey, because it's in Georgetown.”

“I don't understand, dear,” Annie said. “How did you find out about the building? What made you suspect the boys were . . . uh . . . up to something?”

“Come on, Annie! Are you going to sit there and tell me that you don't think this whole past year has been more than a little strange? Everything has gone to hell. You know it, and I know it. Just because we haven't been talking about it doesn't mean something isn't going on.

“Well, for one thing, Abner's out. No offense, Isabelle, but he's aligned himself with
them,
so I have to find a new computer guru who is as good as he is. You got any ideas?”

“No offense taken, Maggie. I've been kind of locked into my own personal problems here. Abner and I haven't exactly been warm and cozy these past five or six months. There is someone, but I don't know his name. Abner said in the past he'd like to strangle him because he is so good. I can't think of his name or even if I ever heard Abner mention it. I don't have a clue as to how you can get in touch with him. All I do remember is that he works for the CIA. Actually, he doesn't really
work,
as we normally define the word, for the CIA. He spies for them. He's not on their payroll. It's like Abner. He does the same thing for the FBI and a lot of those other alphabet agencies. Abner writes software. So does the other guy, but Abner says he's better at it than the other guy. That's all I know. What do you mean, he's with
them
? What's going on, Maggie?”

“I wish I knew, Isabelle. Maybe nothing, but I've learned to pay attention to my gut, and doing so has served me well all these years. The guys, the boys, whatever you want to call them, are up to something, and it does not include us women. Or if you like, us
girls.
Whatever it is, it's secret. In the past, actually from day one, I've always been able to get anything out of Ted. But this past year, I would liken him to a turtle. He pulled his head in and clammed up. So when my gut got the better of me, I started to follow him and Espinosa. As you all know, they're like Batman and Robin—one is always with the other. The boys have been meeting up regularly. On the face of that, it doesn't mean anything. Guys going out for lunch, out for a beer, going to a Redskins game. All normal. Then, when he started going to that BOLO Building, I hired a private detective to tail him.” She looked at Annie and said, “On my own dime. I did not charge it to the paper.” Annie simply nodded.

“What did you end up with, dear?” Myra asked.

Maggie shrugged. “Everything centers on the BOLO Building. For months now, they all go there almost every day. Not necessarily together. Sometimes, they stay an hour or so, sometimes longer. I know the kind of furnishings that have been moved in, the kind of floors they have, how many bathrooms, and the kind of equipment that's been delivered. The investigator was not successful in getting any of the delivery people or vendors to talk. All he had to go on was what he saw with his own eyes. He said he saw boxes with computers, the cost of which is not something any of us could or would pay. In other words, high-end industrial-spy stuff. Like that cave Abner has at his home. You know, the climate-controlled place with his millions and millions of dollars' worth of equipment.

“The front door is, according to the detective, impenetrable, and the back door, where the guys go in and out, has a retina scan and a state-of-the-art keypad as a backup. Then there's Jack's dog—Cyrus. He said it was impossible to gain entry. Why all the security? Then the guy quit on me, but only after he asked me what I was involved in. He said he ran an up-and-up legitimate investigative service, but something was going on there he didn't want to be involved in. So I paid him off and took up the surveillance again, but I didn't come up with anything more either.”

“What does it mean?” Myra asked fretfully.

“Well, dear, all we have to do is call Avery Snowden and let him take over,” Annie said.

“Wrong! I saw him going into the building a week ago. He's on their side or their payroll or whatever you want to call it. And are you ready for this? So is Jack Sparrow. I saw him with my very own eyes.”

Isabelle leaned forward. “I think what you're saying is that the boys are going to pick up where the vigilantes left off. Is that what you're saying, Maggie?”

Maggie looked at Myra and Annie and nodded. “I can't be sure, but yes, that's what I think. And I think young Dennis is funding them. Oh, one other thing, all the guys are training under Harry, even Dennis. They meet every evening at seven o'clock and work out for two hours. On the nights when Harry has other classes, Jack teaches it. He, as you know full well, has a black belt, thanks to Harry. Ask yourself why all that is necessary.

“This is just a guess on my part, but I think the seed, the germ, whatever you want to call it, came about last year, right around Thanksgiving. The guys were huddling even back then. I think when Charles split, that was all they needed to make their move. I don't know how it's going to work with Bert in Vegas. They recruited Abner, Dennis is relatively new to the group, but he's in one hundred percent, and he has all that money for funding. Factor in Avery Snowden and his little group, then ask yourself if anything else comes to mind.”

“What about Jack Sparrow? You mentioned him,” Annie asked.

“Glad you asked that. I just heard a rumor a few days ago, and if
I
got downwind of it, then Ted for sure heard it. He has some of the best sources or snitches, whichever word you prefer, in the world. You pay for it, Annie, but those snitches always come through for him. Mine are only half as good as Ted's. The scuttlebutt is Sparrow was seen going into the White House. With guess who?”

“Who?” the women asked in unison, their eyes wide.

Maggie grimaced. “Lizzie, that's who. Our own Lizzie Fox!”

“But . . .” Annie sputtered.

“Mr. Jack Sparrow is going to be the next director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Mr. FBI himself. The boys' inside source, the way Bert Navarro was ours. What could be sweeter? That is my personal take on it. In other words, my gut. I'm never wrong, ladies.”

“Oh, dear, that . . . that . . .” Myra reached for her pearls, her lifeline when things moved out of her comfort zone.

“Sucks, Myra. Go ahead, you can say it, it's not a bad word, but it sure sums up the way things are right now,” Annie said.

“All right, all right, but what does all this mean?” Myra demanded.

“Well, look at it like this. Sparrow is probably going to be the new director of the FBI if the rumor is true. The boys all have the same gold shields we have. Carte blanche. Jack doesn't have a job—he quit Nikki's firm and left the D.A.'s office, so he's a free agent. There appears to be trouble in the marriage. Abner . . . I didn't know about . . . about your problem, Isabelle. He's always been a free agent, too. Alexis dropped Espinosa and chose her career over him. Ted and Espinosa, as well as Dennis, have hours and hours of downtime, so they're available for whatever is going on. Harry has the perfect job, what with all those agents he trains. They talk, the agents that is. Harry listens. Grist. Dennis has, we might as well say, virtually unlimited money, and he's probably funding whatever it is they're doing. The only thing Dennis West doesn't have going for him is one of the gold shields. What all that tells me is that the boys are ripe for
something.
I guess time will tell us what that something is. Now, I'd like to know what's going on with you, Isabelle. I need a break from all this heavy stuff. Talk to me, girl.”

Isabelle drew a long, deep breath. “Abner and I hit a rough patch. I had hoped when I took that job in England we could weather a long-distance relationship. We did for about eight months. Abner would fly over once a month; and then he started getting sick with each flight. Upper respiratory infections, really bad sinus attacks, his ears acted up. He actually had tubes put in them. The specialists told him he couldn't fly anymore. He said his eardrums could explode. He would no sooner get better than another attack would hit him, always after a flight across the pond. At least until he was totally one hundred percent recovered from that flight episode. I couldn't make the trip over here because I had to be on-site seven days a week. At first it was okay—we had the webcams. We'd e-mail, talk, call, send texts. But on my time, not his. That didn't sit well. With either of us. Then there was the six-hour time difference. That just out and out played hell with everything. I asked him to move across the pond until the job was done. He refused. Then I made a big mistake and said it wasn't like he had a
real
job, and when he did work, it was doing illegal stuff. He retaliated by asking me if that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black. Referring, of course, to my vigilante days, for which I had no comeback. He was absolutely right. At that point, we both dug in, and that was four months ago. I came over last week. I have to be honest—we hit a big snag on the project, and things shut down. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. Also, the weather turned awful in England, so it was a good time to make the trip. I showed up and, at first, Abner wouldn't even let me in. He finally did, and we had a rip-roaring fight. He said we were married and belonged together, not on two separate continents. He said I could have all the work in the world right here on our home shores. I said I had to see the project through to completion, and he said he understood in the beginning. He totally ignored me when I told him he could do his spying anywhere. Then he said that was before he got sick, and why did he have to make all the sacrifices. It just got out of hand really, really quick, and I walked out. That's it. I'm leaving tomorrow to return to England.”

Maggie nodded, trying to absorb all she was hearing. “How much longer is the project?”

“Two more years, maybe three. At this point, I can't be certain. For all I know, it could go to four. The Brits are sometimes difficult to deal with,” Isabelle said, defiance ringing in her voice.

No one said a word because no one knew what to say.

Isabelle started to cry. “I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.” She sobbed. Annie handed her a bunch of paper towels and patted her on the back, after which she put the kettle on for more tea.

“I don't want any more damn tea. I swim in tea when I'm there. That's all they drink. I hate scones, and I damn well hate kippers, and I sure as hell hate mutton.”