Deja Vu (32 page)

The Sisters huddled. “Even if it’s just a tease of some kind,” Kathryn said. “I’m sure she can come up with something from the archives or from the Red Hat Web site. But don’t we have to call someone at the retirement village to alert them that a party is being planned? By outsiders. Something could go awry if they see it in the paper before we alert them.”

“Kathryn’s right. Maybe Maggie could call from the
Post.
That would certainly give it all legitimacy and hopefully get everyone on board. We could even hire a party coordinator to set it all up. That’s what they do. We pay for it, and it’s win-win for everyone. The bottom line here is we want Jellicoe to see the article in the
Post
so he knows it’s legitimate when all those red hats invade the village.”

Fifteen minutes later, everyone had a task. Charles went back to his workstation, the boys right behind him as he explained the layout of the retirement village.

“You look worried, Charles. Care to share your concerns?” Ted asked.

“Women. Too many women. I’m not sure Hank won’t see through it. He’s got to be teetering on the edge. I told the girls I thought he was good for a week. I’m not sure about that, either.”

“But the girls said that the Red Hat Society is legitimate. He can’t fault that. It’s a damn retirement village. That’s what people do who live in those communities. They’re dedicated to keeping everyone busy, so they don’t atrophy. They have something going on twenty-four seven. We did a whole section one Sunday on retirement villages all up the Eastern seaboard.

“One old guy told me living in one of those communities was like getting a big group hug every day. He loved it, said it was the best thing he ever did by moving there. People cut your lawn, rake the leaves, shovel the snow, and you just watch them do it. Like he said, what’s not to like? It’s all included in some kind of fee,” Ted said.

“Think of something, Ted, and call it in to Maggie,” Charles said.

Ted and Espinosa walked off with a legal pad and pens.

“How are we going to invade his house?” Bert asked.

“I just got started, Bert. I have to think this through. For starters, I would really like it if that vehicle of his could be disabled somehow.”

“That is not going to happen, Charles. Think of something else. If we get within sniffing distance of him, he’s going to bolt. And I bet he has some serious horsepower under the hood of that Caddy. How about we drop down his chimney? Come in by air. The last time we came in by water,” Jack said.

“We have to have a plan to cut off any and all escape routes before we do anything,” Charles said. “Whenever there is any kind of gathering with seniors and there are crowds, they usually have ambulances standing by. We could hire a few of those and block the entrances and exits. If you look carefully at this map, there are only two entrances and exits. You can enter by either the south entrance or the north entrance. There is no other way to get in or out of that village.”

“Then let’s make that work for us. I didn’t pay all that much attention to the yards. Could he drive through someone’s yard to get to an exit?” Jack asked.

“Not with all those brick walls surrounding the place,” Charles said.

“We’re going to need a diversion that will seem legitimate. How about a parade?” Bert asked.

“A parade of what?” Harry growled.

“The ladies in their hats, what else? You need to get with the program here. They can parade up and down all the streets, starting with Butternut, where Jellicoe is holed up. Yeah, yeah, I’m liking this. Or that cross street, Acorn. The best hat in the parade gets a prize. Women love prizes. Tell Ted so he can have Maggie put it in the paper. What’s the prize, though? Should be something substantial. How about one of those bright red Miatas. For sure that will bring every lady who owns a red hat to the scene. Oh, yeah, this is so perfect I can’t stand it. Ted!” Jack bellowed.

“Articulate, my friend,” Ted said, his pen poised over his legal pad. Jack laid it all out.

“Now, that’s a plan. Where do we get the car?”

“Annie?” Jack bellowed a second time. In short order, Annie gave the okay and said she herself would call the car dealership and order the car. Five minutes after she gave her okay, Ted had Maggie on the phone. She promised to send one of her reporters to the car dealership to photograph a lady in a red hat standing next to the red sports car. The donor, after ten minutes of discussion, was Bess Gold, who worked in the classified department at the
Post
and a Red Hatter herself. Translation: Bess Gold owned a red hat.

“It’s coming together. Do you approve, Harry?” Jack asked nervously.

“I do, Jack.”

“Harry, old buddy, you have no idea how good that makes me feel. Just knowing you … Okayyy, Harry, I see that… that look in your eye that bodes ill for me if I continue along this vein.”

“Shut up, Jack. How do we get in the house?”

“Now, that I do not know. Charles, explain how we’re going to get in the house, so Harry doesn’t get upset.”

Charles looked at Harry with his steely gaze. Harry returned the look. Charles was the one who looked away first. Harry smiled. “I haven’t worked that out yet, gentlemen. Does anyone know what kind of turnout we can expect? I am the first to admit I know nothing about ladies in red hats and purple dresses. Do any of you know
anything?
Are we talking hundreds, thousands, a few, what? And do these ladies have partners when they participate in events such as this? Crowd control could be an issue.”

Ted was back. “Maggie has it going on. She’s excited, believe it or not. She said she’ll make the deadline and to watch the paper in the morning.”

“That’s when you should have told her about that chick you met in the bar,” Bert said.

“Ha-ha, Mr. Smart-Ass. I did tell her, and she said, ‘Have fun.’”

Bert and Jack started to laugh. “Yeah, she said that now. Wait till you have that fun she wished on you.” When Harry started to giggle, Ted turned white.

“Stop trying to ruin my day,” Ted blustered.

“You ruined it yourself, don’t go blaming us,” Harry said.

“Okay, okay. Now what?” Ted asked.

“I think we’re done here. Charles has to fine-tune things. Let’s see what the girls have going on,” Jack suggested.

“I really think this is going to work,” Annie said, her eyes sparkling. “There’s not one thing Jellicoe can take issue with. It was his dumb luck to move into a place full of Red Hatters. We did so good on short notice, I think we should all go upstairs and have a drink of something to celebrate how wonderful it is when we all work together. And then we can call it a night.”

Hank Jellicoe fixed his breakfast, a hearty one made from Egg Beaters and pancake batter that he’d set out on the counter to thaw the night before. He had precooked turkey bacon he warmed up in the oven and fresh-baked blueberry muffins that he mixed from a package. A strong pot of dark coffee was brewing. With a breakfast like that under his belt, he could handle anything that came his way. And the other reason he always liked to eat hearty in the morning was to fortify himself for any and all news he might see when he went online.

He stood at his back door and looked out into the yard. The end of summer, everything was straggly and already turning brown from lack of rain. Like he gave two hoots in hell about the yard or the lack of rain. At best he’d be here a few more days and then …
Then what?
he asked himself. “Move on to another safe house.”

His policy was never to stay longer than a week in any one place, but he might have to stay longer this time until he could figure out what direction he was going to go in. He didn’t know why, but he felt as safe as a baby in its mother’s womb. Maybe it had something to do with pretending to be a woman. For the first time in a long time, he thought about his mother. She’d been a kind, pleasant woman who had loved him, nurtured him, fed him well, made sure he brushed his teeth and said his prayers every night on his knees. He wondered what she would think of him now if she were still alive. Mothers, it was said, loved unconditionally. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No more waltzing down Memory Lane for him.

Jellicoe wolfed down his food, cleared up the kitchen, and turned on his computer. The first thing he did was pull up the
Post
online. His eyes almost popped out of his head as he read column after column. Son of a fucking bitch! Just when he was feeling safe for the moment. He frowned and went back and read the article again. Maybe he was safe. He got up, walked over to the kitchen counter, where he’d stacked all the crappy junk the mailman had pushed through the slot on the door.

He found the weekly newsletter. He reached for the phone and called the clubhouse. A quivery-sounding voice said she was Helen Wasserman and what could she do to help him. Jellicoe cleared his throat, identified himself as Bertha Tolliver, and asked what time the festivities started on Sunday.

“Twelve noon. Sharp. Bertha, I certainly hope you plan on attending. You’re on our books, but you never come to any events. Do you need assistance? If you do, we’ll be glad to provide help. We help one another, so don’t ever be shy about asking for help. So, can I mark you down for attending? Can you see yourself driving that little sports car? It is the buzz of this place this morning. We are going to have such a record turnout this month.”

“Absolutely,” Jellicoe said in his fake female voice. He broke the connection and stared at the phone. Nothing screamed at him. It was what it was. He was still safe.

Jellicoe went back to reading the news online. A big bunch of nothing was going on in the world. He went back to the front page and printed it out. Before the end of the day, he would dissect the entire article, memorize it, then make the decision to leave or stay. His instincts hadn’t deserted him yet.

With nothing else to occupy his time other than television and the twenty-four-hour news channels and their constant rehash of events, he decided to check out the Red Hat Society. He read everything there was to read, checked and printed out what he could from the RHS Web site. By evening he would have it all memorized.

As he read through the write-ups, he knew, just knew, his mother would have been a member if she were still alive. Not so his wife, Louise. No, not Louise. He started to think then about his wife and where she’d gone and taken their daughter. Where was the infamous diary she’d turned over to the CIA? He was never sure in his own mind that she’d just upped and handed it over, then disappeared, but that was the story he was told and the story he’d had to live with. Their way of keeping him in line.

Now he was in a melancholy mood, and he didn’t like it one bit, but he also knew he had to let his mind go through the motions before he could move on to other things.

He supposed if he had any regrets, it was that he never got to see what his daughter looked like as an adult. Those growing years … those were just a blur. He didn’t know if she was into scraped knees, pigtails, bikes, and roller skates. Or was she a priss like her mother and played with dolls and had tea parties? He’d told Louise he wasn’t father material with the kind of work he did, but did she listen? No, she did not. She wanted a kid, and that was the end of it. Where the hell was she? How had she aged? Did the girl, Christ, he couldn’t even remember what the hell her name was, look like him or Louise?

He wondered if he would have felt differently then and now if Louise had given birth to a son. Probably not. Kids just had a habit of getting in the way. Kids belonged to their mothers.

No, Louise would want no part of wearing a Red Hat or belonging to any kind of society where the women wore red and purple.

“Crap.”

Hours later, when he was ready to retire for the night, he’d memorized every single detail from the
Post
and from what he’d read online. His last conscious thought before falling asleep was that he was safe from the Red Hat ladies.

The next few days were filled with whirlwind activities as the Sisters coordinated every single detail of Sunday’s event. Maggie kept a story running every day, with pictures of the Red Hat ladies. She also kept a running tally on the front page of the women eager to sign up with the RHS. Orders online for one-of-a-kind red hats hit an all-time high. The stores that carried hats said they were flying off the shelves.

“Well, aren’t we lucky that Alexis is making ours? A pity we won’t be able to take part in the parade,” Annie grumbled. “The last time I wore a hat was when my mother put a bonnet on me; I was ten months old. That was a lifetime ago. There should have been a few hats in between, don’t you think, Myra?”

“Look at it this way. You have those rhinestone cowgirl boots. Everyone comments on them, and you don’t wear a hat indoors. Are you getting the point, Annie?”

Annie sniffed. “Still, I should have worn a hat someplace.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, dear. In less than twenty-four hours, it will all be over. I can’t remember the last time I was this excited.”

“Myra, you look like you’re embalmed. Where’s the excitement? Oh, you’re pulling my leg. I wish you’d tell me when you do that. Maybe you aren’t excited, but I am. I want to get my hands around that man’s neck and just
squeeze
until the light leaves his eyes and he collapses to the floor. Have we decided how we’re going to go in yet?”

“Charles, more or less at this moment, thinks through the back. His thinking is that Hank will be glued to the front part of the house to watch what’s going on. I think I agree. He’s going to be watching for
us.
That’s not to say he won’t have the back end booby-trapped. We’re probably going to end up going in on the fly, but at least we’ll be dressed for the part.”

Annie’s cell rang. She looked down. “Hello, Maggie. Do you have news? Phase Two is totally sold out. Suddenly seniors from all over want to move here to where all the fun is going on. By here, you mean the retirement village,” Annie repeated for Myra’s benefit. “All the news crews will be there. The ladies will love that, I’m sure. Such wonderful news coverage for such a fun group. Actually, dear, we are beyond excited. Myra can hardly contain herself. You didn’t say, Maggie, are you coming out or are you planning a special edition?”