out the why of that.”
While Myra prepared the coffee, Annie paced the confines of the kitchen. “I think we should concentrate on Lincoln Moss. Who do we know who knows him? Think, Myra. I’m sure I must know someone. Do you think Charles knows anyone? Or better yet, do we know anyone who knows . . . or knew his wife?”
“Off the top of my head, the answer is no. But let’s run it up the flagpole and see if either one of us can salute it. There has to be someone. How much have you read up on Moss, Annie?”
“Pretty much everything. Self-made. Private person. Loves politics. Best buds with the President. POTUS, according to the political gossip, doesn’t make a decision until he clears it with Moss. Moss sits in on top-secret meetings. So that has to mean he’s got clearance. He’s a dollar-a-year man. Which brings up the question of why the President didn’t give him some high-ranking political job or, at the very least, a title. He attends all the White House functions, usually alone. I think I read somewhere that his wife only attended four functions. Because, according to Lincoln Moss, she has a career, and he wouldn’t dream of interfering with her career, which keeps her in France a good many months out of the year. Oh, one other thing, he’s into physical fitness. Works out, runs the Tidal Basin. Lifts weights, all that macho stuff. As the young people say today, he is buffed and ripped. I would assume that for a man in his fifties, that is about as high as you can go, compliment-wise.
“And yet he manhandled that beautiful wife of his. To the point where she had to get away from him. She gave up her career in the process. So it had to be pretty bad. That’s my opinion,” Annie said. “It isn’t making any sense, Myra.”
Myra poured coffee. “I agree. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong, Annie. The man has to have servants. Do they live on the premises? I think Abner said they do, and he has a lot of them. Maybe we could get to the cook or the housekeeper. They have to go to the market because the man has to eat. We could stake out the house and do a snatch and grab. Or if that isn’t feasible, we could try to bribe them. You know money talks and poop walks as they say.”
“That’s a possibility. I’m sure Moss has private security. Not Secret Service. Security he pays out of pocket. So that lets that out of the equation. I say we call Avery Snowden and ask him to arrange a stakeout unless you want the two of us to sit in the bushes and wait for the housekeeper to go to the market. Ah, I see by your expression that’s a no. Okay then, I’ll call Avery and arrange it. He can then follow her and call us, at which point, we’ll take over. You okay with that, Myra?”
Myra nodded. It hardly came under the heading of action, but if it was all they were going to get, she was all for it.
While Annie conversed with Avery Snowden, Myra let her thoughts go to Nikki and Kathryn and what they were doing to correct Kathryn’s screwup.
The elevator slid open without a sound or a ping to announce its arrival. Both women stepped out and almost knocked over Joel Goodwin who groaned and muttered something that wasn’t too complimentary. “Good God, ladies, what are you doing here again? You picked my brain, you drained my blood. I swear on everything holy, there is not one other thing I can tell you.”
“We know that, Mr. Goodwin. We aren’t here to talk to you. We’re here to talk to her,” Nikki said, pointing to Pam Warren, who had gone as white as the blouse she was wearing.
“Pam! What does Pam have to do with anything?” He addressed his next comment to his secretary-receptionist, who looked like she was going to black out at any moment. “Pam, do you know anything?”
“I think what you should have asked her, Mr. Goodwin, is what did she tell Mr. Moss this morning about our visit here and whatever else she knows? Then I think you should ask her how much money he paid
While Myra prepared the coffee, Annie paced the confines of the kitchen. “I think we should concentrate on Lincoln Moss. Who do we know who knows him? Think, Myra. I’m sure I must know someone. Do you think Charles knows anyone? Or better yet, do we know anyone who knows . . . or knew his wife?”
“Off the top of my head, the answer is no. But let’s run it up the flagpole and see if either one of us can salute it. There has to be someone. How much have you read up on Moss, Annie?”
“Pretty much everything. Self-made. Private person. Loves politics. Best buds with the President. POTUS, according to the political gossip, doesn’t make a decision until he clears it with Moss. Moss sits in on top-secret meetings. So that has to mean he’s got clearance. He’s a dollar-a-year man. Which brings up the question of why the President didn’t give him some high-ranking political job or, at the very least, a title. He attends all the White House functions, usually alone. I think I read somewhere that his wife only attended four functions. Because, according to Lincoln Moss, she has a career, and he wouldn’t dream of interfering with her career, which keeps her in France a good many months out of the year. Oh, one other thing, he’s into physical fitness. Works out, runs the Tidal Basin. Lifts weights, all that macho stuff. As the young people say today, he is buffed and ripped. I would assume that for a man in his fifties, that is about as high as you can go, compliment-wise.
“And yet he manhandled that beautiful wife of his. To the point where she had to get away from him. She gave up her career in the process. So it had to be pretty bad. That’s my opinion,” Annie said. “It isn’t making any sense, Myra.”
Myra poured coffee. “I agree. Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong, Annie. The man has to have servants. Do they live on the premises? I think Abner said they do, and he has a lot of them. Maybe we could get to the cook or the housekeeper. They have to go to the market because the man has to eat. We could stake out the house and do a snatch and grab. Or if that isn’t feasible, we could try to bribe them. You know money talks and poop walks as they say.”
“That’s a possibility. I’m sure Moss has private security. Not Secret Service. Security he pays out of pocket. So that lets that out of the equation. I say we call Avery Snowden and ask him to arrange a stakeout unless you want the two of us to sit in the bushes and wait for the housekeeper to go to the market. Ah, I see by your expression that’s a no. Okay then, I’ll call Avery and arrange it. He can then follow her and call us, at which point, we’ll take over. You okay with that, Myra?”
Myra nodded. It hardly came under the heading of action, but if it was all they were going to get, she was all for it.
While Annie conversed with Avery Snowden, Myra let her thoughts go to Nikki and Kathryn and what they were doing to correct Kathryn’s screwup.
The elevator slid open without a sound or a ping to announce its arrival. Both women stepped out and almost knocked over Joel Goodwin who groaned and muttered something that wasn’t too complimentary. “Good God, ladies, what are you doing here again? You picked my brain, you drained my blood. I swear on everything holy, there is not one other thing I can tell you.”
“We know that, Mr. Goodwin. We aren’t here to talk to you. We’re here to talk to her,” Nikki said, pointing to Pam Warren, who had gone as white as the blouse she was wearing.
“Pam! What does Pam have to do with anything?” He addressed his next comment to his secretary-receptionist, who looked like she was going to black out at any moment. “Pam, do you know anything?”
“I think what you should have asked her, Mr. Goodwin, is what did she tell Mr. Moss this morning about our visit here and whatever else she knows? Then I think you should ask her how much money he paid
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