CHAPTER FOUR

C HAPTER F OUR

Pinewood

M yra Rutledge cocked her head when she heard the landline ring in the kitchen. Very few people had that number, and whoever did usually called when there was an emergency. She quickly ran down her list of Sisters and where they were and who it could possibly be. She called out to Charles, who was making one of his gourmet dinners. “Charles, can you answer the phone, please?”

“Tried but got my hands in mitts.” He was in the middle of basting his masterpiece.

“Can’t you pick it up?” Myra tossed the newspaper aside and scrambled to the far end of the kitchen, whizzing past Charles in his chef’s apron. The yellow phone was dangling from the receiver that was hanging on the wall. “Coming!” she shouted at the swinging telephone, taking a moment to inhale the aroma of coq au vin. “Smells delish.”

She rescued the dangling object and pulled it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Myra?” A familiar but not-so-recognizable voice was on the other end.

“Speaking.” She waited.

“This is Patricia Spangler.”

Myra’s heart dropped. This wasn’t going to be good news.

“Yes, Patricia.” She waited.

“Milton had a heart attack and is in the hospital.”

“Oh, dear.” Myra’s mood dropped as she waited for Patricia’s next sentence.

“He’s in stable condition,” Patricia said evenly.

“Oh, I am happy to hear that.” Now Myra was going to start grilling her friend’s wife.

“When did this happen?”

“Two days ago.”

“Where was he?”

“In his study. Oliver found him first. Then Ruby, our housekeeper, ran in after she heard Mill fall.”

“How long do you think he’ll be in the hospital?”

“They’re not sure. They’re running tests.”

Myra hesitated, waiting for more information.

“Myra, he asked for you.”

“Oh?” Myra was still in suspense.

“Yes. He asked that I phone you and let you know.”

“I appreciate it, Patricia. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not until we know more, I suppose.” Patricia hesitated.

“Please keep me posted,” Myra said, “and give him my best.”

“I shall. Take care. Bye-bye.” Patricia ended the call.

Myra held the phone in her hand for a moment before she placed it back in its cradle.

By now, Charles had his hands free and approached her. “What is it, love?”

“My friend Mill from Oregon. He had a heart attack.”

“Will he be alright?”

“I’m not sure.” Myra was pensive.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Charles asked.

“Two weeks ago, when that girl went missing.”

“Right. It was on the telly.”

“Yes. He offered a reward.”

“Whatever came of it?” Charles asked.

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Myra had a look on her face that Charles immediately recognized.

“You want to go to Oregon.” Charles stated the obvious.

She turned to him. “I do.”

“Right.” Charles turned the oven off. “Come.” He gestured for her to sit with him at the long wooden table. He took both her hands into his. “I know when your wheels are turning, love.”

“Something doesn’t seem right. I realize a heart attack at seventy-five isn’t unusual, but it’s the missing girl part of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“A girl goes missing, Mill offers a reward, the girl is never found, and Mill has a heart attack.” She fidgeted with her pearls. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks since she disappeared, but there is something about this that doesn’t sit right.”

“You think there is some kind of connection?”

She looked up at Charles. “Just a feeling.”

Charles slapped both his knees as he pushed himself away from the table. “When do we leave?”

Myra smiled. “Let me call Annie and see what she’s up to.”

“Splendid idea.” Charles checked his chicken. “Say, you wouldn’t want Fergus and me to join you, would you?”

“Let me think on that. Maybe you and I should go, and then I can fill Annie in after I’ve seen Mill.”

Charles looked up from the beautifully browned chicken. “Or perhaps you and Annie go and report back to me and Fergus. If there’s anything dodgy going on, we have everything we need here.”

Myra got up from her chair and picked up the yellow phone. She actually enjoyed using the old-fashioned dial. It reminded her of a time when things were much less complicated.

Annie picked up on the first ring. “Good evening!” she said in her usual chipper voice. “What’s cooking?”

“Coq au vin,” Myra answered wryly, knowing Annie wanted to hear what was going on.

“Stop.” Annie laughed. “Tell me. Tell me.”

“You remember my friend Mill from Oregon?”

“Of course! Lovely lumberman. Why? What’s up?”

“His wife called me. He’s in the hospital. Heart attack.”

“Oh, that can’t be good.” Annie’s tone softened.

“She said he’s in stable condition.”

“Okay. That sounds better.”

“But she said he asked for me.” Myra narrowed her eyes; the wheels in her head were turning.

“Is that a bad thing?” Annie wasn’t quite tracking what was on Myra’s mind. She gulped.

“Not at face value, but why ask for me?”

“Maybe he has something he wants to share, just in case. You know. Just in case.” Annie emphasized the words without going all the way. Annie anticipated the next part of the conversation. “When do you want to leave?”

Myra chuckled. “The sooner the better, I suppose.”

“Tomorrow? Early afternoon? It’s over a seven-hour flight, but with the time zone difference, we could be there by six if we leave here at one o’clock.”

“I can be ready in an hour.” Myra chuckled. She and Annie kept “go-bags” handy. There was one for every season. All they had to do was pull the bag out of the closet. “But I think I should spend the evening with Charles. He just pulled out a casserole dish of coq au vin.”

“Does he know about, you-know-what?”

“No, but I think that’s a good idea.” Myra signaled that it was not a good time to discuss events from her past, especially her romantic past. Years ago, when Milton had flown across the country to attend her daughter Barbara’s funeral, she’d been in too much shock to veer off to any other subject except the loss of her daughter. Then Myra fell into a deep depression. By the time she recovered, the thought of discussing the past never occurred to her. Why bring up something from years ago?

“Are you sure you want to do that tonight?” Annie asked.

“Possibly.” Myra saw Milton at random events every few years. They remained good friends without discussing what had once been between them, knowing they both had busy lives to handle on opposite ends of the country. “But maybe not. I’ll decide after dinner.” She looked over at Charles as he turned the carrots that were roasting in the pan. “I’ll call you later.”

“O-kay!” Annie yelped. “I’ll have details about tomorrow for you later this evening.”

Myra hung up the phone, walked over to Charles, stood behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Smells glorious!” She took in the aroma of his culinary efforts. “I am so glad you found a hobby.” That’s when she decided to wait until it became totally necessary to tell Charles about her short affair with Mill. Besides, Nikki and Jack were coming over for dinner, and it was not the kind of conversation one could have in front of guests.

* * *

Myra was one of the richest women in America, only dwarfed by her best friend Annie, one of the richest women in the Western Hemisphere. Neither was pretentious, but they would occasionally indulge themselves with spa packages. They wore slip-on sneakers and jogging outfits most of the time, even though they rarely, if ever, jogged. The clothing was comfortable. When necessary, Myra would don a pair of Ann Taylor slacks, a cashmere turtleneck, and Chanel flats or Gucci loafers. And always the pearls, jogging pants or otherwise. In warmer months, it might be a long, black pencil skirt with a white blouse. Rarely was she fancy.

Annie, on the other hand, loved to wear rhinestone cowboy boots with pretty much everything from shorts to evening gowns. She would occasionally top an outfit off with her diamond tiara. Annie Ryland De Silva was, indeed, a countess. Having lived abroad, Annie was well accustomed to the movers and shakers of the world, and she knew how to navigate any kind of social gathering, whether a state dinner or a backyard barbecue. And if Fergus didn’t keep an eye on her, she was apt to do a little pole dancing to entertain the rest of the party guests, ballgown and all.

Annie and Myra were childhood friends and spent their summers on neighboring farms in Virginia. Both women had enormous wealth at the ready and were not shy about spending it for a good cause, meaning animals, children, or women at risk.

After Myra’s daughter was killed by a car driven by a diplomat, she spiraled into a deep depression. She spent months sitting blankly in front of the television until a story woke her from her catatonic state. A woman had lost her battle with justice, and Myra was intent on righting the wrong. She and her adopted daughter Nikki decided it was time to take matters into their own hands and formed a bond. A bond of Sisterhood they extended to Annie and other women they recruited who thought they would never see the scales of justice balanced again.

Myra had good instincts. Was almost clairvoyant. She could sniff out a scandal, a liar, or a cheat. That night, she felt a cry for help from an old friend, three thousand miles away.

* * *

Annie phoned her pilot to instruct him to have her Gulfstream Jet ready by one o’clock the following afternoon, while Myra arranged for a car service to pick them up.

* * *

Myra set the long farm table for her dinner with Charles, Nikki, and Jack. She was buying time, and an audience would give her a bit of a respite before she confessed her past to Charles. It has been over fifty years , she told herself. There is nothing for Charles to worry about . . . but Myra felt it her duty to let him know she was going to see not just an old friend, but a former lover. She could say she was a na?ve nineteen-year-old at the time, but she had never been na?ve.

The dogs raised their heads at the sound of crunching gravel. They recognized the sound of Nikki and Jack’s vehicle and made their way to the kitchen door to greet them. Lots of hellos, kisses, and soft woof s echoed through the fragrant kitchen.

As usual, Charles had prepared a delicious meal. The dogs moved back to their spot in the corner, waiting for their human family to generously share the leftovers. Charles always set aside some of the meal for the dogs. In their house, there was no such thing as “doggie bags.” It was “doggie bowls.” Unless Maggie was there. Maggie Spritzer worked for Annie at the newspaper and was part of the Sisterhood. She had a voracious appetite for a good story, but it was dwarfed by her appetite for food. Any kind. Anywhere. Any time.

Once everyone was seated, they said grace and began passing the platters. Myra wasn’t the nervous type, but she did feel anxious; her tell was playing with her pearls.

“Mom? Everything alright?” Nikki asked while she served the roasted vegetables.

“Yes. Why?” Myra quickly moved her hand from her neck to her fork.

Nikki raised an eyebrow. Myra understood she was being obvious and knew an explanation would be necessary. “My friend Milton Spangler is in the hospital.”

“In Oregon?” Nikki asked.

“Yes. Apparently, he suffered a heart attack. His wife phoned earlier and said he was asking for me.” She tried to sound as if this were something that occurred often, but everyone knew it was rather unusual.

“Oh?” Nikki cocked her head. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Last month, when Vanessa Rowan went missing. Annie’s paper covered the disappearance. Maggie was the reporter. Milton put up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward.”

“Whatever came of it?” Jack asked.

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Myra toyed with her pearls again.

“Wait. I just heard another young girl is missing. She’s from the same area,” Nikki said. “It was on the news earlier.”

Myra took a deep breath. “I wonder if this was why Mill asked for me.”

“Does he know about us?” Nikki waved her fork around the table.

“Not the extent of how we operate, but we’ve done favors for each other. Nothing drastic, mind you.” Myra let out another deep breath. “But I know something is not right, so Annie and I are going to fly out tomorrow.”

“Your mother is getting telepathic messages.” Charles was half teasing.

Jack interrupted the conversation. “I know when Myra has one of those, it’s time for everyone to either duck or ready themselves.” That brought a nervous laugh around the table. He wasn’t wrong.

“Oh Jack, how you exaggerate.” Myra chuckled. “But you are probably right. I don’t know how long Annie and I will be out there, so I suggest everyone put on their big-boy pants and clear their calendar.”

“Meanwhile, I shall clear the table.” Jack stood and started bringing the dishes to the sink, making sure to scrape whatever was left on the plates into the already overstuffed dog bowls. Tails were hammering out a beat in anticipation.

* * *

Charles had honed his culinary skills over the years. It was a hobby he’d developed between missions, and Fergus was happy to play the role of sous chef, as well as dish and bottle washer. Charles was constantly finding new recipes he wanted to experiment with at the expense of everyone’s waistline. They’d made a pact and agreed to skip dessert during the week. “It’s the least I can do for my glucose and triglyceride levels.”

Myra chuckled. “And that scale in the bathroom keeps lying to me.” Myra was in very good shape for a sixty-something. She walked a mile or two every day, even if it was simply strolling the perimeter of the vast farm.

When the kitchen was put back in pristine condition, it was a cue for Nikki and Jack to retreat to their home. “Good luck with everything.” Nikki gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “See you when you get back.”

“If not sooner.” Myra gave her a wink and a look that said, It’s not just the boys who may need to put on their grown-up pants.

Myra turned toward Charles, about to make her confession. Instead, she pivoted and said, “I think I am going to turn in. Big day tomorrow.”

“No doubt.” Charles smiled and followed her to the bedroom, dogs in tow. He sat on the overstuffed chair in the corner while Myra changed into her bedclothes. He waited until she reappeared. “Before we get too cozy, there’s something I think we should discuss.”

Charles had an odd tone to his voice. Myra gulped, unused to being uncomfortable with him. She made her way across the room and sat on the wide arm of his chair. “What is it, Charles?”

“Love, I would not have been doing my due diligence had I taken the job of head of security for you without knowing who I would be working for.”

Myra knew exactly where this was going, but it had never occurred to her that her husband would have done a thorough background check. She was stunned, annoyed, surprised, embarrassed, and not necessarily in that order. Before she had a chance to speak, he continued. “If you recall, I was MI6. Instincts and years of experience told me to always be aware of who you are dealing with.” He let it sink in. “You can’t blame a man. After all, Myra Rutledge was perhaps the most intriguing woman I’d ever met.” He put his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Myra said wryly.

“That, too, is part of my job description.”