Deja Vu (15 page)

Charles Martin stood in the open doorway, dismay written all over his face. “Ladies, how am I supposed to prepare breakfast with this mess all around me?”

“Never mind breakfast, dear, Nellie and Elias are bringing it in a little while. Listen to me, Charles, and think back to Hank when he was in his midthirties. We think we found something. To your knowledge, did anyone ever write a book about Hank?”

“Several, Myra. I thought you knew that. Hank had his own biographer, a scholar from somewhere that I can’t remember, but he was notable. Hank wouldn’t settle for anything less than notable. But it wasn’t until much later, when he was in his late fifties. I actually read one of them, and it was boring. Let me see if I can remember his name. Ah, it was Franklin Fodor. There might have been an
e
on the end of his last name. Does that help? What will Nellie and Elias be bringing in the way of breakfast?”

“Homemade coffee cake and fruit. I’m thinking we could use some soft butter. Kathryn likes jam on everything, so some of that, too. We have to supply the coffee. If the terrace is dry, breakfast outdoors would be lovely.

“That’s not the name in this folder. The name here is Virgil Anders, and he was a reporter for the
Baltimore Sun
when Hank was in his midthirties. That’s the box we were working on. Since Nellie is bringing breakfast, do you think you can check Mr. Anders out while Annie and I shower and get ready for whatever the day is going to bring us?”

“I’ll do it right now. Ted might be able to come up with something. I’ll give him or Maggie a call. First things first, though, I’m going to run the dogs.”

Within seconds, the kitchen was silent and empty.

Forty minutes later, as Annie and Myra descended the back-kitchen stairs, the dogs rushed to greet them. Both women stared in amazement at the tidy kitchen. The boxes of files were packed, their covers intact. “Whatever would we do without him?” Myra smiled.

“We’d either survive, which we did once before, or flounder. I’ll make the coffee. Myra, when do you see us actually leaving for Vegas? I need to make new reservations.”

“Annie! You own a Gulfstream. All you have to do is call and tell them when you want to leave. You don’t have to make a reservation. You said yourself it only takes ninety minutes for them to ready the plane and file a flight plan.”

“Myra, I have to reserve the plane. My people use it, too, you know. I’ll call and tell them I have first dibs. Did I say that right? I’ll just put them on standby. So, when do you see us leaving? We’re going to have so much to do to plan for Kathryn’s party. Then if we close for that one night, I have to have the staff go through the cancellation process and make refunds, that kind of thing.”

“Let’s shoot for this weekend. By then we should be through with all of this,” Myra said, waving her hands at the boxes on the floor. “I hear Charles; maybe he found out something. I think it’s going to be a glorious day, Annie. Look at that sun!”

While Myra rummaged for plastic plates and utensils and Annie fixed the coffeepot, Charles reported what he’d found—nothing. “Virgil Anders was a young reporter, in his midtwenties when that file was compiled. He started to work for the
Baltimore Sun
when he graduated from college. From the short bio I read, it appeared he was a rising star. He had what his editors called journalistic gut instincts that never seemed to fail him. When he was on a story or a report, he worked around the clock and never gave up. There is no mention of a book other than one of his bosses saying he wouldn’t be surprised to hear someday that Virgil was writing the great American novel. There was a picture of him that I printed out. Handsome lad.

“That was all I was able to find out. There isn’t anything else. It’s like this report says, the lad dropped off the face of the earth. In this day of Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, and the like, there is no mention of him anywhere. As he’s older now, that didn’t surprise me, so I called Ted, and he’s on it. I’m sorry, ladies.”

“I think we should call Maggie,” Annie said. Charles bristled, which was Annie’s intent.

“Maggie has sources that go far beyond Ted’s sources. And she gets her results quicker than Ted does. Yes, I think we should call Maggie. What do you think, Myra?”

“Definitely call Maggie. I’m sorry, Charles, she is just so much quicker at things like this. Did you ask any of
your people
to see if they can come up with anything?”

“Of course I did. They’re on it, too.”

“Well, there you go! The more people we have working on this, the quicker we’ll get results,” Annie said. “You don’t look to me like you think this is important, Charles. I do for some reason. Whoever compiled those reports must have thought it was important, or they wouldn’t have put it in the file. It might turn out to be nothing, but it’s all we’ve come up with so far. You always told us that small, insignificant details can sometimes turn out to be a rabbit in the hat or that smoking gun everyone just waits for.”

“Oh, by the way, Charles, I’m going to go to Las Vegas this weekend with Annie if we get all this cleared away. I’m not sure how long I’ll be there. You can man the fort with the dogs while I’m gone, can’t you?” Myra asked.

“Of course. It will do you good to get away for a few days. If you think of anything else you need me to do, just call down to the war room. Either way, call me when Nellie and Elias arrive. The girls are stirring,” he said over his shoulder.

Annie made a
tsk
sound with her tongue. “Your husband is ticked off, Myra.”

“I know, dear, but it’s not because I’m going away. He truly resents outside help, and Maggie has one-upped him a few too many times. Manly pride and all of that.” She giggled to show what she thought of that.

“I’m calling Maggie right now,” Annie said.

Myra gathered up a tray to carry out to the terrace. She stopped for a second to appreciate the promise of a beautiful day, to listen to the birds chirp, and to gaze up at a truly cloudless sky.

She was followed by Annie a moment later, carrying the coffeepot, which she plugged into an outlet on the minibar.

“Maggie has her teeth into it. She promised us something by noon at the latest. I explained about Charles’s calling Ted and Charles’s general attitude. She just laughed. You a betting woman, Myra?”

“Good Lord, no. There is no doubt in my mind that Maggie will cross the finish line first. Do you agree?”

“I do. Especially when she’s pitted against Charles
and
Ted. We should do something nice for that Abner person.”

“You did do something nice, Annie. That Abner person now owns beachfront property thanks to you.”

“But, Myra, he’s worth every penny of the bonuses Maggie is forced to pay him for his invaluable information. Can you imagine if that boy were to get caught? Whatever would we do?”

“What’s with that
we
stuff, Annie?” At Annie’s frantic look, Myra hastily added, “I was just teasing, Annie. The young man has truly proved invaluable to us, and we
would
figure out something if he were to get caught. We would, wouldn’t we, Annie?” There was such anxiety in Myra’s voice, Annie felt her insides start to crumble.

“Of course,” was the best she could mumble in a normal-sounding voice. At least she hoped it sounded normal to Myra, who looked so relieved Annie knew she’d pulled it off.

“Let’s just sit here and enjoy the early morning until the girls and Nellie arrive. There must be something pleasant we can talk about. I do love a bright, sunny summer morning, don’t you, Annie?”

Bright, sunny summer mornings did nothing for Annie. She muttered something to appease her friend and went back to worrying about Maggie and her special hacker friend.

As Annie and Myra sat in silence, struggling to find pleasant things to talk about, Maggie was on her way to a meeting with Abner Tookus at a small café in Georgetown. She arrived first, asked for a table in the very back of the room, and waited for her friend. She’d deliberately chosen this particular café, a favorite of Abner’s, knowing he wouldn’t kick up too much of a fuss in public as opposed to over the phone when she told him what she wanted him to do.

Maggie looked around the rapidly filling café. Obviously no one ate breakfast at home anymore. A truly sad state of affairs, in her opinion. To while away the time until Abner arrived, Maggie spooned eight packets of real sugar into her cup of coffee as she watched most of the patrons flip open their copies of the
Post
to pore over it while they waited for their food.

When she felt the air stir around her, Maggie looked up and gasped. “Abner! Oh, my God! What happened to you? Are you going to a funeral? You look just like Brad Pitt! You got a haircut. How much did that suit cost?”

Instead of answering her final question, Abner said, “Nothing happened to me. No, I am not going to a funeral. Thank you for the compliment, but I’m much more attractive, and he’s
old.
Of course I got a haircut, because I had the time to do it since you’ve been leaving me alone. It’s none of your business how much this suit cost, but I will say this, you paid for it. Moving right along here, the answer is no. Absolutely no to whatever this little breakfast meeting is all about. By the way, this shirt is pure Italian silk, and this stunning Hermès tie is one of a kind, as was the price. I’ll have the two-egg pancake special.”

Maggie decided to take a different approach with Abner this morning, remembering how she’d been accused of being so abrasive. “You hate me, don’t you? After all I’ve done for you.”

Abner appeared to be unmoved as he brought his coffee cup to his lips. “That’s not true. I love you. I have always loved you. But you kicked me to the curb and chose that freckled lout with the red hair. I’m almost over you. If you burst into tears, I will be unmoved. You wanna go there, be my guest. Furthermore, I can get any girl I want just by snapping my fingers. I do not think you can say the same thing about men. Whatever, this is pointless, I’m taking the ten o’clock shuttle to New York. The only reason I agreed to meet you is that I was coming here anyway for breakfast. Your turn, Miss EIC.”

“You are so cruel. I do love you. I will always love you, too. When I hear Whitney Houston sing that song, I always cry because I think of you and how it can never be,” Maggie whimpered.

“Cut the bullshit, Maggie; what do you want?”

“Why do you care if you aren’t going to help me?”

“So I can get my jollies off when I say no once again.”

“I want you to find someone. Actually, our mutual benefactor wants you to find someone. The benefactor with the deep pockets, who paid for all that lovely beachfront property she is going to rip right out from under you when I tell her how uncooperative you are being.”

“You’re tearing my heart right out of my chest. You win some, you lose some.”

“I’ll be sure to express your sentiments verbatim, and you can damn well pay for your own breakfast. Did you see how much Canadian bacon is these days, and you ordered a double order? You are a user, Abner Tookus. All she wants is for you to locate someone for her. How hard can that be, you crud?”

“Oh, so one minute I’m Brad Pitt, and now I’m a crud. You are not endearing yourself to me. How much?”

“You are so shameless I am ashamed to admit I know you. Whatever it takes. That’s for the first part. The second part is a little more … ah … delicate.”

“And that would be … what?”

“A little hack job. I’m sure you can handle it. It will pay very well.”

Abner chewed on his Canadian bacon, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Details.”

“Our boss wants you to find out everything you can on a man named Virgil Anders. A long time ago he was a reporter for the
Baltimore Sun.
His name came up in an FBI file. The man disappeared and was never seen or heard from again is what we’re being told. The only other thing I know and was told to tell you was, he was writing a book. When he disappeared, he was in his midtwenties.”

“And the second part?” Abner asked as he calculated the payout versus how much time he would have to spend tracking down Virgil Anders.

“Well, like I said, it’s a little more … I think the right word is ‘delicate.’”

“I don’t do delicate,” Abner sniffed as he watched the waitress add more crushed ice to his glass and then fill it with pulpy orange juice.

“I know, but this is … special. We want you to hack into the Witness Protection Program.”

Abner started to choke. Orange juice and pulp flew in all directions as he reached for napkins to sop up the mess, his eyes so wild Maggie grew alarmed. Diners turned to look at what was going on in the back of the café.

“Now look at me! I have to go back home to change my clothes. Were you born crazy, or did you study up on how to be a nut job?”

Maggie ignored him as she slapped down some bills on the table, and hissed, “We need to take this outside. I can’t take you anywhere without you making a scene. What’s wrong with you, Abner?”

His eyes still glazed, Abner followed Maggie out of the café.

“All you had to do was tell me you weren’t capable of doing it. That I would have understood. Instead, you spewed orange juice all over the table, and now you look bedraggled. I told
them
you weren’t the man for that job, but
they
thought so highly of the work you’ve done in the past, they insisted I ask. I told them, Abby, that it wouldn’t matter even if they said you could name your price.

“Look, I’m sorry I upset you. I don’t want you to give this another thought. If you don’t want to work on the Virgil Anders case, either, tell me now. I’ll find someone who needs the money more than you do. Listen, thanks for coming. I’ll see you around.”

Still in a daze, Abner Tookus watched Maggie walk away. He knew in his gut her step would falter and she’d turn around for one last go at him. But she didn’t falter, and she didn’t turn around. In fact, she sprinted across the road the moment the light turned green. He watched as she swiped at her eyes.

Maggie Spritzer was crying.