television sets.
Llewellyn had been arrested. Nik got pissed off. Myra posted a million dollars bail to get the woman placed under house arrest. There had been a rumor going around that Myra had called her old friend the governor to intercede on the bail, a rumor that Nik refused to confirm or deny. Nik asked him not to prosecute because she was going to defend Llewellyn. He’d refused. They had one fight after the other. Nik sided with Myra. Oh yeah, Nik sided with Myra. Myra again. Filthy rich Myra. Jack continued to scribble.
Ooops. Back up, Emery. According to Nik, Myra was the next thing to catatonic over the death of her daughter. Then, all of a sudden, Myra is full of piss and vinegar and wants Nik to defend Marie Llewellyn. Myra posts the outrageous bail. What’s wrong with this picture, he wondered. He scribbled some more.
Then just before trial, Marie Llewellyn and her family disappear. For all intents and purposes, they simply walked out of the house, leaving everything behind. On one of the stormiest nights of the year. The children’s toys, their bank books, food, their cars — everything was left behind. They weren’t rich. In fact their savings account held a meager $751. Their checking account held $81.25. The family walked away with whatever they had in their pockets.
Because…because…They had help. He’d gone so far as to accuse Nik and Myra of spiriting the family away. Of course they’d denied any and all involvement. That’s when things had really soured between himself and Nik.
Myra had flourished, though, while Nik just got more hateful. Then Nik moved back to the farm and the card games started. “Card games my ass,” Jack muttered.
Jack spent the next ten minutes taping together sheets of paper that he then taped to his living room wall. With a red marker he proceeded to draw a map, enter notes and draw arrows all over the place. He mumbled as he swirled and twirled his marker until he was satisfied. He stared at the names on the right hand side of his map. Okayyyyy. The red marker scrawled across the page. More arrows followed.
Nikki and Myra. Myra and Nikki. The brains and the money. The money and the brains. What the hell were they into? Something serious, that’s for sure. But what?
The red marker moved again. Doctor, florist, architect, securities broker turned personal shopper, truck driver, lawyer, rich woman. Then there was Charles. Just who the hell was he?
Truck. Medicine. Architect. Flowers. Legal. Money. Truck. Jack drew a big red circle around the word truck. An eighteen-wheeler. You could put two cars in one of those babies. Webster was a plastic surgeon. Maybe she gave the Llewellyn family a whole new look. How far-fetched was that? The red marker moved again and again. The truck could have been used to spirit the family away. Now that was not far-fetched.
Myra’s money could have been used to give the family a new identity. Not far-fetched at all. Nikki was part of it. The brains.
But…That was all months and months ago. Why were the women still meeting at Pinewood? The same women. Why did Nikki take a leave of absence from her job and her teaching position?
It was a club. A goddamn fucking club of some kind where those seven women did…what did they do? Something outside the law? Something they needed Nikki to orchestrate while Myra paid the bills.
Jack went back to the kitchen to pour more coffee into his cup. It was still hot, still black, and it tasted like crap. He drank it anyway.
He was closing in, getting a handle on things. He could feel it. Nikki used to tease him about his gut instincts while he teased her about her woman’s intuition. What a match they were. And now it was all gone.
Maybe he needed some expert help. Someone with clearer vision, someone who could be objective. Maybe his old friend Mark Lane in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He thought about it for all of ten seconds before he reached for the phone but suddenly, he couldn’t
Llewellyn had been arrested. Nik got pissed off. Myra posted a million dollars bail to get the woman placed under house arrest. There had been a rumor going around that Myra had called her old friend the governor to intercede on the bail, a rumor that Nik refused to confirm or deny. Nik asked him not to prosecute because she was going to defend Llewellyn. He’d refused. They had one fight after the other. Nik sided with Myra. Oh yeah, Nik sided with Myra. Myra again. Filthy rich Myra. Jack continued to scribble.
Ooops. Back up, Emery. According to Nik, Myra was the next thing to catatonic over the death of her daughter. Then, all of a sudden, Myra is full of piss and vinegar and wants Nik to defend Marie Llewellyn. Myra posts the outrageous bail. What’s wrong with this picture, he wondered. He scribbled some more.
Then just before trial, Marie Llewellyn and her family disappear. For all intents and purposes, they simply walked out of the house, leaving everything behind. On one of the stormiest nights of the year. The children’s toys, their bank books, food, their cars — everything was left behind. They weren’t rich. In fact their savings account held a meager $751. Their checking account held $81.25. The family walked away with whatever they had in their pockets.
Because…because…They had help. He’d gone so far as to accuse Nik and Myra of spiriting the family away. Of course they’d denied any and all involvement. That’s when things had really soured between himself and Nik.
Myra had flourished, though, while Nik just got more hateful. Then Nik moved back to the farm and the card games started. “Card games my ass,” Jack muttered.
Jack spent the next ten minutes taping together sheets of paper that he then taped to his living room wall. With a red marker he proceeded to draw a map, enter notes and draw arrows all over the place. He mumbled as he swirled and twirled his marker until he was satisfied. He stared at the names on the right hand side of his map. Okayyyyy. The red marker scrawled across the page. More arrows followed.
Nikki and Myra. Myra and Nikki. The brains and the money. The money and the brains. What the hell were they into? Something serious, that’s for sure. But what?
The red marker moved again. Doctor, florist, architect, securities broker turned personal shopper, truck driver, lawyer, rich woman. Then there was Charles. Just who the hell was he?
Truck. Medicine. Architect. Flowers. Legal. Money. Truck. Jack drew a big red circle around the word truck. An eighteen-wheeler. You could put two cars in one of those babies. Webster was a plastic surgeon. Maybe she gave the Llewellyn family a whole new look. How far-fetched was that? The red marker moved again and again. The truck could have been used to spirit the family away. Now that was not far-fetched.
Myra’s money could have been used to give the family a new identity. Not far-fetched at all. Nikki was part of it. The brains.
But…That was all months and months ago. Why were the women still meeting at Pinewood? The same women. Why did Nikki take a leave of absence from her job and her teaching position?
It was a club. A goddamn fucking club of some kind where those seven women did…what did they do? Something outside the law? Something they needed Nikki to orchestrate while Myra paid the bills.
Jack went back to the kitchen to pour more coffee into his cup. It was still hot, still black, and it tasted like crap. He drank it anyway.
He was closing in, getting a handle on things. He could feel it. Nikki used to tease him about his gut instincts while he teased her about her woman’s intuition. What a match they were. And now it was all gone.
Maybe he needed some expert help. Someone with clearer vision, someone who could be objective. Maybe his old friend Mark Lane in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. He thought about it for all of ten seconds before he reached for the phone but suddenly, he couldn’t
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