Eyes Only (13 page)

“Because that might put your life in danger, and we don't want that to happen. You need to stop whining and get with the program. You're playing with the big boys now. Shake it, Wolansky. I don't have all day,” Jack urged his recalcitrant charge.

Albright eyeballed Jack and offered up his middle finger. Jack laughed all the way to the second floor, where he showed the man his room.

“Are you going to lock me in here?”

“Why would I do a stupid thing like that? The minute this door opens, all six of those dogs downstairs will be on you like the fleas on their back. Nighty night, Mr. Wolansky.”

Downstairs and back in the dining room, Jack just shrugged when the others looked at him with questions in their eyes. “He doesn't know what to think or believe, but he wants to see Gretchen again, so he'll do what we tell him to do. Right now, he's thinking he's been thrust into a pit full of alligators.”

“What will be will be,” Annie said philosophically. “We have a lot to do before we leave for Spyder Island the day after tomorrow. For starters, we have made yet another change, but it all depends on whether Alexis will be able to get us airborne faster. How is it going, dear?” Annie asked.

“We're good, Annie. My last delivery is due this afternoon, and then the first group is good to go. It's been a bit of a rush, but I think I have it all covered. You might all be going into a nest of vipers, but you'll be carrying a ton of venom of your own.”

“Ooh, I do like the way that sounds,” Myra cooed.

Chapter 12

T
he ancient branches of the three-hundred-year-old angel oak outside the Pinewood farmhouse swayed and danced in the predawn breeze. Clouds, dark to the eye, sailed lazily across the velvety night, soon to be erased by the upcoming dawn. Off in the distance, a dog barked, followed by another dog, each canine communicating in its own way to let the world know a new day was about to begin.

Inside the farmhouse, in a darkened bedroom that was older than the angel oak at the side of the house, Myra Rutledge slept peacefully. With the sound of the barking dogs off in the distance, an early morning greeting, Lady and her pups stirred, causing Myra to stir. She opened one eye to squint at the red numerals on the bedside clock: 5:10. She groaned into the pillow. It was too early to get up. She still had an hour and a half of sleep due her. She rolled over just as her room started to grow light. Her head swiveled to the right to see if Lady had somehow turned on the lamp. Such a silly thought. Like that could really happen.

An uneasy feeling started to crawl through her as she watched her bedroom grow lighter and lighter, until she was blinded with the brightest, the most magnificent light she'd ever seen in her life. She tried to shield her eyes from the brightness. In her entire life, she'd never seen such a light. In an instant, she knew that what she was seeing was not of this world. Panic engulfed her. Her tongue grew thick in her mouth, and she started to shake. “No, no, please. I'm not ready. I still have so much to do. Please,” she cried.

“
Oh, Mummy, no. That's not why I'm here. It's not your time
,” her spirit daughter responded.

“Barbara! Darling girl, is that you in the light? I can't see you. Why are you here? You said you come to me only when I need you the most. Something's wrong. What is it?” Myra cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Myra could barely get the words past her tongue. “Is it . . . is it Annie's time? Oh, darling girl, please tell me that's not why she needs me.” She was getting used to the magnificent light, which was brighter than Broadway and Las Vegas all rolled into one.

“I will! I will! Of course I will. Can't you tell me why?” Myra swung her legs over the side of the bed and almost stepped on Lady, who was sleeping soundly now, unaware of the brilliant light and the conversation going on around her.

And then her room was dark again, so dark she had to turn on the bedside lamp. Lady hopped up then, as did her pups. They waited patiently, even though they didn't understand this early morning change in plans, which had Myra throwing on her clothes and slipping into her shoes. Lady trotted over to the bathroom to see if there would be showering, toothbrushing, or hair combing going on. When it didn't happen, her tail swished as she led her offspring to the door, down the hall, and out to the kitchen door, which Myra unlocked.

“Make it quick, guys! Like, really quick.”

The dogs took her at her word and were back inside within eight minutes.

Myra handed out chews, checked the water bowls, and poured out kibble. Then she rummaged around for her purse and car keys. “I'll be back soon.”

It was chilly out, and Myra was glad she'd pulled on a fleece sweatshirt, which she'd need to remove later in the day, because the weatherman last night had predicted that the daytime temperatures would be in the seventies, saying the cherry blossoms at the Tidal Basin would be in full bloom with the warm day. Like she gave a hoot right now about cherry blossoms.

Myra drove faster than she'd ever driven in her life, out through the gates, down the gravel road. She knew she took the two doglegs at ninety miles an hour. She screeched to a stop in the parking area outside the back of the house, which led to Annie's kitchen. Her eyes registered Annie's low-slung sports car and a second car, which she didn't recognize, but a decal on the plate made her think it was a rental car. Annie had a guest!

As fast as her legs could carry her, Annie's key in hand, Myra bounded up the steps that led to a small, closed-in breezeway, which in turn led to Annie's kitchen. Breathless with all the effort she was expending, she muttered, “I am so out of shape and
wayyy
too old for all of this,” as she barreled up the steps to the second floor. She burst into Annie's bedroom, her heart thundering in her chest, to see Annie in her Mother Hubbard nightgown sitting on the edge of the bed. “Annie!”

Annie turned, her voice fuzzy, her eyes not quite focused, and mumbled, “Myra! What are you doing here? It isn't even light out yet.” She reached up to settle the sparkling tiara a little more firmly on her head. “Stop looking at me like that, Myra. I always sleep with my tiara. Where else can I wear the stupid thing?”

Myra took a deep breath, then another. Then they were both jabbering at once, neither of them understanding what the other was saying. A shrill whistle came from the doorway.

“One at a time, ladies!” said Jack Sparrow, director of the FBI. “Better yet, I'm going to go downstairs and make us all some coffee. Please join me as soon as you can.” He turned at the door and said, “I'm not much up on ladies' fashions, but is that thing on your head a tiara?”

Myra threw her hands in the air. “It is a tiara. Mr. Sparrow has a point. Now that I see you are okay, I'm going to go downstairs. Make it snappy, Annie. This is way too early in the morning for such shenanigans. You know, I have that same nightgown. Charles always hated it when I wore it. What is
he
doing here?” she hissed.

“Fergus never liked mine, either,” Annie snapped as she marched off to the bathroom without answering Myra's question.

Myra stared at the closed bathroom door, trying to decide if she was nuts, if Annie was nuts, or if Jack Sparrow had dropped out of the clouds on his way to the funny farm.

Down in Annie's kitchen, Myra sat down. “Looks like you know your way around the kitchen,” Myra said, indicating the coffee canister in Sparrow's hands.

“I do, actually. I'm a fair cook, if I do say so myself. When I got here last night, Annie made coffee. I saw where she kept the canister. Mystery solved.”

“I don't know what I'd do without coffee. I'm addicted,” Myra mumbled.

“Me, too,” Sparrow said, getting light cream out of the refrigerator and the sugar bowl from the cabinet. “You'll have to help me out here. I'm not sure where the napkins are kept.”

Myra started to laugh and couldn't stop. “I'm sorry, Mr. Sparrow,” she gasped. “Annie uses paper towels. She says napkins are a waste of money. She's frugal like that.” She went off into another peal of laughter, and before she knew it, Sparrow was doubled over.

“What's so damn funny?” Annie barked from the doorway.

Myra reached for the paper towels, ripped one off for Sparrow and one for herself before she doubled over herself. “I was just telling Mr. Sparrow how thrifty you are and how you think napkins are a waste of money.”

“And that's funny? I don't think so!” Annie reached for a cup and poured coffee, spilling some of it all over the counter. “Why are you here, Myra?” Annie asked as she sat down at the table.

Myra folded her hands on the table and leaned in closer. In a calm, steady voice, she explained what had happened in her bedroom. She fully expected Jack Sparrow to laugh, but he didn't.

Instead, he said, “I believe in stuff like that. Someday when none of us have anything to do, I'll tell you about my own experiences. Which brings us now to the question for Annie as to why she needs you. You have the floor, Countess.”

Annie frowned as she tried to think how to put into words what she wanted to say. Myra and Sparrow watched her struggle. Finally, Myra said, “Oh, Annie, just blurt it out. We'll make sense of it, I'm sure.”

Annie's frown deepened. There was a tight edge to her tone when she said, “I'm spooked here, and I don't mind admitting it. I also had a dream, the same dream now for four nights. Tonight, though, it was different. I knew it wasn't a dream.
It was real.
” She got up off her chair and started to pace her spacious kitchen, which, as always, was neat as a pin. Annie didn't believe in cooking, as it messed up things. She hated dirtying up her Wolf stove. “Like what you experienced, Myra. I know it was real, just the way you knew what you experienced was real. You also know me well enough to know I do not, as in ever, get spooked.”

“You said you had the same dream for four nights. Was it exactly the same dream, or were there some deviations? In other words, define the word exactly,” Sparrow said.

Annie squeezed her eyes shut as she allowed her mind to travel back into her dreams. Myra could see how her old friend was struggling. She wanted to hug her, but Sparrow shook his head.

“I was on the mountain. It was a beautiful day. The sun was so warm, and the sky as blue as the sea at the bottom of the mountain. I was watching some men, two men, playing chess, but I couldn't see their faces. Their backs were to me in the dream. There was a pitcher of some kind of drink on the table. I could see the ice cubes in the pitcher. I counted them. There were eleven of them. Both of the men were smoking cigars. It was blue smoke. Cohibas. I don't know how I knew that. The breeze carried the smoke away.

“I was angry in the dream. I asked them how they got onto my balcony, because the cable car wasn't working. Someone from the village was due to repair it. I asked them their names, and neither man answered me. It was like they didn't hear me. I screamed at them, but they still didn't answer me. I went inside, or maybe I was already inside and just looking out the French doors. Anyway, I went to get my gun. I was going to shoot them, but when I got back, they were gone. The pitcher and the chess set were gone, too. And I couldn't smell the cigar smoke. It was the same dream on the other nights except for . . . last night. I'm sure of it.”

“How big were they weight wise? Did they wear glasses? I know you said you couldn't see their faces. Why exactly was that?” Sparrow asked.

Annie squeezed her eyes shut again. “One of the men was wearing one of those floppy fishing hats. The other one wore a baseball cap. They wore sandals, cargo pants, and plain white T-shirts. They were in the sun on the balcony. It gets full sun till around four in the afternoon. Oh, they were wearing sunglasses. It was the same dream all three nights. I woke up each time when I had the gun in my hand to shoot them. I was prepared to shoot them.”

“Why?” Myra asked softly.

“Because they were on my mountain. That mountain was . . . is . . . sacrosanct. You know that, Myra. Don't you remember how I almost threw you over the side for invading my privacy?”

“You were grieving for your husband and children at that time. I understood. These two men invaded your privacy and usurped what you held sacrosanct. That is not acceptable.”

“Damn straight it's not acceptable,” Annie snapped.

“Tell us about the dream you had last night. What and how was it different?” Myra asked.

“It was the same two men—I'm sure of it—but it wasn't on my mountain. The reason I know it wasn't my mountain was there were no neighboring mountains to be seen. Plus, from my balcony on the mountain in Spain, I could see the cable-car platform and all the foliage. This place in my dream had palm trees, and it was very windy. Ocean breezes, I assume. This time in my dream I sneaked up on them, and I had my gun. Then I must have made a sound, and both men looked up. I saw them clear as a bell.”

Myra gasped. “Did you know them? Did you shoot them?”

“It was Fergus and Charles, and they were at my house on Spyder Island.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Myra said as she slumped in her chair. “Tell me you didn't shoot them, Annie.”

“I didn't shoot them, because Charles said, ‘What took you so long?' and then Fergus said, ‘We've been waiting forever for you to spring us out of here.' ”

“And you took that to mean . . . what?” Sparrow asked.

Annie started to pace again as she kneaded her hands. “That they are being held prisoner on Spyder Island. Think about it, Myra. It makes sense. I'll bet my tiara that when Charles was whisked away to England by the queen's people, somehow, someway, Angus Spyder was involved in that new age city that was supposed to be built. None of us know what went awry. As Abner told us, Spyder has so many layers of holding companies and shell companies that it's almost impossible to trace down any of it. And don't forget that Spy Trap company he owns.

“And if Hank Jellicoe was on the scene, and they got downwind of Charles, he was fair game. I don't know how Fergus got into the mix. I'm thinking that because he used to work for Scotland Yard, Charles requested his help. I'm just throwing this out there. I could be way off base, but my gut is telling me I'm right. What do you think, Myra?”

“If it weren't for my own—I don't know what to call it—epiphany, encounter, the blinding light, my spirit daughter telling me to get over here, I might question your dream as just a dream. I believe you, Annie.” She looked over at Jack Sparrow, who was nodding in agreement.

Myra sighed so deeply that she almost slid off her chair. “That empty house on the island, the one Abner said no one lived in, and yet utility bills are currently being paid on the property . . . Is it too far-fetched to think Fergus and Charles are being held prisoner there?”

Sparrow grimaced. “Why? Why wouldn't Jellicoe, if he's even there, just kill them and be done with them once and for all? What's his game plan?”