Code blue, p.7
Code Blue, page 7
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He grinned. “Myra is in the atrium.”
Annie bounced her way to the beautiful room Charles had built for Myra several years before when the Sisters were being electronically monitored, away from home. Thanks to a clever Lizzie Fox, the barn cats were the recipients of the ankle bracelets. It is a subject they avoided talking about.
“Hello, Annie!” Myra turned away from the computer monitor to greet her bestie.
“What are you up to?” Annie gave her a sly look.
“Checking out Sunnydale.”
Annie blanched. “You’re not thinking of moving there, are you?”
“Don’t be daft. This is what Lizzie wants to talk about.”
“Ah, I see.” She pulled a chair and sidled up next to where Myra was sitting. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
Myra clicked on the video again.
“Very posh.”
“That’s exactly what Charles said.” Myra fidgeted with her pearls, something she was known to do, especially when the wheels in her head were turning.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know, but I wanted to get a little more familiar before Lizzie got here.” Myra clicked on an aerial view.
“Very, very posh,” Annie exclaimed at the vast green of the golf course, the pool, and tennis courts. “Looks like a resort.”
Myra continued to click through the tabs on the website. “Notice anything missing?”
Annie squinted and moved her face closer to the screen. Before Annie could answer, Myra noted the lack of company information.
“Now that’s interesting. You would think someone who created such a luxurious retirement plan would want to boast about it, no?”
“Exactly. Unless they had something to hide.”
“Ooh. Do you suppose that’s what this is about?”
“If Lizzie is concerned, then there must be something amiss. Awry. Or just darn bad.”
“What time is she getting here?” Annie looked at her tank watch. It was almost four.
“Dinner is at six, so sometime around then. What time is Fergus getting here?”
“In about an hour. I gave him a project.”
“Do tell,” Myra said, and chuckled. Fergus enjoyed tinkering with things, and Annie was always happy to give him something to keep him occupied.
“We needed a new porch light.” Annie continued to look at the photos of the retirement community.
“You could afford to get someone to do that, you know,” Myra teased.
“Gotta keep the guy busy, or who knows what kind of trouble he’ll get himself into.” Annie laughed. “Unless it’s our kind of trouble.”
“I think it’s likely that trouble will be on the agenda tonight.” Myra raised her hand for a high-five.
“Goodie. It’s been a while.” Annie enjoyed getting in the weeds when it came to a mission. “I can’t remember the last time I pole-danced.”
“Didn’t you have Fergus install one in your exercise room?” Myra joked.
“It’s no fun if no one is watching,” Annie said, winking.
“You are incorrigible.” Myra shook her head.
“That’s why we’re friends.” She paused and dug into her tote bag. “Look what I have for you.” She pulled out a package of napkins that said:
That’s a horrible idea. What time?
Annie hooted. “Maybe it should be our new slogan!”
“I like the one we have: Whatever it takes!”
“We can print that on the other side.” Annie set the napkins on the antique desk. “So do you think we should go undercover?”
“Where?”
“Sunnydale!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Myra tried to calm her overenthusiastic friend.
“Myra. Have you met me? Don’t I always get ahead of myself?”
Myra chuckled. “You won’t get an argument from me.”
Myra and Annie had been friends since childhood, when Myra was growing up on the farm. They would spend the entire day climbing trees and investigating the outer buildings. It was then that they discovered the underground tunnels. They decided to keep it a secret between them. “Pinky swear!” Annie insisted, and Myra was quick to agree. When they returned to the farmhouse, they combed the set of encyclopedias that lined one of the shelves in Myra’s father’s study and unearthed the significance of their discovery.
Initially they considered drafting a paper about it for school, but then realized it was a precious secret that could bring harm to innocent people. Who? They did not know, but they also did not want to put anyone in jeopardy, even though a hundred years had passed.
Years later, Myra inherited her family’s fortune, and Annie was rid of her husband, Count de Silva. Now they make good use of their long-kept secret. It serves the group well as their underground headquarters, where Fergus and Charles retrofitted it into a high-tech command center, with state-of-the-art devices, including private routers for their internal communications that cannot be detected or infiltrated by outside forces. It was a war room to rival those of the highest level of counterintelligence.
An imposing statue of Lady Justice stood at the entrance, with one hand balancing the scales and the other wielding a sword. It served as a reminder of their purpose. A symbol for justice. Justice when it has failed, and only the Sisterhood can intervene and balance the scales once more.
Lady’s ears perked up at the sound of another vehicle pulling into the driveway behind the kitchen. “’Ello, mate!” Fergus greeted Charles with his crisp English accent. Lady was already sitting in front of him, blocking Fergus from moving any farther without giving the dogs a treat. “Smells delightful. I am so incredibly grateful you started cooking as a hobby”—Fergus patted his stomach—“although my pants might disagree. A bit snug.”
Charles tossed an apron at him that said HOT STUFF! “Go on, then.” He nodded to the cutting board that held several heads of broccoli.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” Fergus donned the jumper.
“Chicken cordon bleu, scalloped potatoes, and roasted broccoli.”
“I say, old chap, you have collected quite a selection of recipes.”
“I’m thinking about putting together a cookbook. I’ll call it Subversive Cuisine,” Charles joked.
“Sounds like a bestseller.” Fergus chuckled and began chopping the vegetables.
Charles continued. “With Myra and Annie bouncing about, I had to find something to occupy myself during the downtime.”
“Ah, while we wait for information?” Fergus was referring to their global operatives, and of course, the Sisters when they were on a mission.
“Precisely.”
“Speaking of information, Annie mentioned Lizzie might have something to share?” Fergus asked.
“Evidently Lizzie received a phone call from one of her friends. Something about Sunnydale.”
“The old fogies place?”
“Shush. Myra almost gave me a thrashing when I called it that earlier.”
“I see their ads on the telly.”
“Yes. Quite posh. Looks like a resort. Myra is doing a little digging before Lizzie gets here. Annie is leaning in.”
Fergus shot a look at Charles. “Does this mean …”
“In all probability, yes. Lizzie wouldn’t want a sit-down with Myra and Annie unless it was important.”
“Roger that.” Fergus finished his part of the job. “Now what?”
“Garlic. Smash up a few cloves, then toss them in that large bowl, add a few tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, ground pepper, and a dash of salt.”
“Aye, aye,” Fergus said, and snickered. “If the old guard could see us now. A couple of Chef Boyardees.”
“You are truly dating yourself, mate.”
“Wolfgang Puck? Gordon Ramsay?”
“Much better. Au courant.”
Annie and Myra checked to see if there were any reviews of Sunnydale online. There were several. All glowing. “Let’s go back to that video of the aerial view,” Annie suggested.
“What’s on your mind?” Myra asked.
“The arrangement of the buildings. Probably nothing, but the extended care facility is a good distance from the retirement community, and the farthest from the main road.”
“Yes. I see that. What of it?”
“If someone has to get to a hospital, it’s a longer drive to the building. Almost isolated.”
Myra peered closer. “I see what you mean. Assisted Living is a bit closer to the main grounds, and the urgent care and rehab is the first building. And look.” Myra pointed to a very narrow road that ran behind the long-term care building. “Where does that lead?”
“Can’t tell. Looks like a service road,” Annie said.
“But to where?” Myra mused.
“The video and photos don’t go past the main entrance of that building.”
“Do you think it’s on purpose, or were they just focusing on the lavish parts of the facility?”
“Considering you and I don’t trust much of what is put forward, criminal thoughts are emerging.” Annie wiggled her eyebrows.
Lady and her pups stood at attention. “Must be Lizzie.” Seconds later, Myra heard a car pull into the driveway and go around to the back. Everyone in their inner circle used the kitchen door as their main entrance.
Lizzie rapped lightly on the door, more as an announcement, not waiting for someone to greet her. As long as the door was unlocked, there was no need to stand on ceremony. “Hi, everyone!” Lizzie’s bright smile matched her cadence.
Lady let out a friendly woof, sat at attention, and extended her paw.
“Hello, m’lady!” Lizzie gave the pooch a stroke on the head, followed by strokes to Lady’s brood.
Annie and Myra made their way into the kitchen. “Lizzie!” Myra beamed.
Everyone hugged as the aroma of potatoes mingling with cheese, onion, and thyme titillated the senses.
“OMG. Charles, you have to teach Fergus how to make this,” Annie gushed.
Fergus gave Charles a sideways glance. “Now look what you’ve gotten me into, Ollie!”
“Happy to oblige,” Charles countered.
Annie was about to bust a gut and made a valiant attempt to contain her curiosity. She counted to ten and then blurted it out. “Lizzie, I am chomping at the bit. What is going on? Oh, and nice to see you.” Annie flushed. “Sorry. My interest has been piqued.”
“No worries, Annie. I’ve known you long enough!” She chuckled. “I don’t have a lot of information, which is why I wanted to talk about this with everyone. I keep hitting a dead end.”
“Alright, dear. Let’s save this for after-dinner conversation. Charles has been working his fingers to the bone—chicken bone, that is.” Myra grinned. “Let’s get the table set, catch up, and then we can give this our proper attention.”
Annie and Myra set the long wooden table with Myra’s favorite mismatched dinnerware, while Lizzie pulled goblets from the breakfront in the dining room. Charles fussed with his potatoes as Fergus cleaned up the prep bowls and utensils. Once the women were seated, Charles presented a platter with the golden-crusted chicken stuffed with ham and cheese. Fergus followed behind with the creamy potatoes and roasted broccoli.
“Charles, you keep outdoing yourself every time!” Lizzie cooed. “I really must come by more often.”
“Here! Here!” Fergus agreed. “Been too long.”
“Been too busy.” Lizzie waited for Myra to serve. “I don’t know what has gotten into people who have incredible visibility; they insist on doing stupid things. Either be stupid and stay out of the public eye or behave yourself.”
“We’ve been using the term cultural calamity,” Myra offered.
“Perfect description. And it’s rampant.”
“As we used to say, ‘the inmates are running the asylum,’” Fergus joked.
“I think they’re running the country, too,” Annie said, and grimaced.
“One thing I have to say for the Brits—not that I consider myself one of them anymore—they try to have a sense of decorum,” Charles replied.
“Keep in mind, geographically, it’s a much smaller country.”
“And yet, they ruled most of the world at one time,” Fergus reminded them.
“Indeed.” Charles took Myra’s hand, who then took Lizzie’s, and then Fergus, and then Annie’s.
Myra began to say grace. “Thank you, dear Lord, for these thy gifts, our four- and two-legged friends, and all the love we share.”
A resounding “Amen” rose from the table. Lady uttered a woof of approval from her spot in front of the stove.
Sounds of epicurean delight circled the room, with Annie’s fake accent of “Please sir, I want some more,” as she held out her plate and pointed to the gooey potato mixture.
Dinner conversation was light and easy. The serious stuff would come a bit later, followed by dessert. Once the table was cleared and the kitchen was spick-and-span, the group descended the stone steps that led to their private meeting room. Each saluted the statue as they made their way to the large conference table that was surrounded by wall-size monitors.
Lizzie plugged her laptop into a flush-mounted panel on the conference table that led to the mainframe of their extraordinarily complex system. She began her simple PowerPoint presentation. The first photo was one that everyone had seen. It was the aerial view of Sunnydale in Arizona.
“You’ll note that all of the centers are designed exactly the same way.”
The next slide was a closer view of the long-term care center, and then a grainy photo of a woman slumped in a wheelchair.
“This is who we believe is Dottie Carpenter.”
Lizzie described Theresa’s experience with the staff and the facility. The following slide was a split screen; one photo was of Theresa’s mother and Dottie, where the ring was prominent. The photo next to it was a close-up of the hand of the woman who was sitting in a wheelchair.
“The rings look identical,” Myra said calmly.
“I know that style was immensely popular, but what are the odds that a woman who resembles Theresa’s mother, obviously decades older, would be wearing a ring like that? In the same place?” Lizzie went on.
“Alright. Let’s assume the woman in the wheelchair is, in fact, Dottie. Why do you suppose they told your friend she passed away?” Charles posed a logical question. “And why the ruse?”
“That is the big question: why?” Lizzie agreed. “When Theresa offered to make the arrangements, they hustled her out the door. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, she was run off the road the day before when she first visited the facility.”
“Wait a minute!” Annie was incredulous. “Theresa was run off the road after her visit?”
“Correct. A dump truck sideswiped her, and she ran into a pole.”
“Is she alright?” Myra asked with deep concern. It wouldn’t be the first time she encountered such nefarious deeds.
“She got a little bruised from the airbag, but the car had to be towed.”
“What about a police report? Who was the driver?” Myra’s voice was stern.
“There were no markings on the truck, and Theresa didn’t think there was a license plate.”
“So where are the police with the investigation?”
“Unfortunately, the CCTV on the perimeter was down at the time. They claim it was due to an overheated transformer.”
“How coincidental,” Annie blurted sardonically.
“Well, we all agree that there are no such things as coincidences,” Myra added.
“Where is your friend now?” Charles asked.
“She’s still in Arizona. I told her to sit tight until she heard back from me.”
Myra interjected. “Annie and I couldn’t find any information about the corporation on their website.”
“Exactly. When I spoke to Theresa, she wanted to know if there had been any complaints lodged against them, and I couldn’t find anything, including ownership. Articles of incorporation are buried inside layers and layers of shell companies and offshore accounts.” Lizzie pulled up a flowchart that led nowhere.
“Sounds a bit dodgy, eh?” Charles directed his comment to his cohorts.
“First thing is to peel away the layers and determine who is behind this extravagant operation,” Fergus concluded.
“It may take us a day or so, depending on who is at the helm”—Charles took a deep breath—“especially if they are rich and powerful.”
“Well, so are we.” Annie rolled her chair away from the table and propped her rhinestone-clad cowgirl boots on the edge. She crossed her ankles to punctuate her sentence. The three women slapped one another a high-five.
Fergus gave Charles a nod. “Let’s get to work, mate.”
“Didn’t someone promise dessert?” Charles chuckled.
“I’ll get you boys some pie,” Myra said, and gave them a tight smile.
“Only one piece for Fergus,” Annie proclaimed. She got up from her chair, leaned over and patted his stomach, saluted Lady Justice, and headed up to the kitchen. Myra followed, and Lizzie stayed behind in case the two men had additional questions.
Myra went into the pantry and produced two freshly made pies—apple and blueberry.
“Don’t tell me you’ve got your hand in the kitchen now?” Annie asked suspiciously.
“Only when I’m pinching Charles’s cheeks.”
“Which ones?” Annie hooted.
“Whichever is closest,” Myra laughed. “When Charles offered to cook dinner, I ordered the pies from the Flakey Tart, and they were happy to deliver them.”
“Ah, the Flakey Tart. Do they still have one of their shops in the Stillwell Center in Ashville?”
“They do. In fact, they are opening another one in Smuggler’s Cove.”
“On the Navesink?”
“That’s the place.” Myra began to slice the pie.
“You know, I have never been to that area.”
“You’re kidding?” Myra wiped the knife with her finger and stuck the juicy compote into her mouth. “Scrummy.” Myra used the British slang for deliciously tasty.
