Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(36)
As she sipped at the scotch and soda, she wondered if she would be able to enjoy herself on this brief vacation. It had been six years since she’d gone on a vacation and even then the vacation had only been a four-day-long weekend with a man she thought she would one day marry. After the accident he’d disappeared, the way her business and bank account had disappeared. A businessman in town, he didn’t want to be tainted with the same brush. “Screw you, Steve Whitmore!” she muttered. “And screw all the rest of you who believed Rosemary Wexler’s line of bullshit. My day is coming!”
Isabelle downed the remains of her drink and eyed the mini-bar through the sliding glass doors. Why not? She was on vacation. She could use a little glow in her life, even if it came from alcohol.
“Shit! Damn it, I was supposed to call Myra.” Her movements were frantic as she fumbled through her purse for the cell phone Charles had given her. She screwed her face into a grimace as she tried to remember Charles’s instructions. She finally got it on the third try. “Hi,” she said.
“Well hi yourself,” was Myra’s response.
“I should have called sooner but it’s incredibly hot here and I wanted to take a shower. I had…one of those…you know.”
“And?”
“I saw something I never saw before. A detail. In the past, everything was always vague, unidentifiable. This time I saw a man doing something with a marble to a BMW. I don’t know what it means, since I don’t know anyone who has a BMW. I can’t seem to function after…afterward.”
“I think you do know someone who has a BMW. I want you to think about it when we hang up. Sit back and relax. Eventually it will come to you. I assume, then, you had no problems with your flight or check-in?”
“None at all. It’s very hot here. Oh, I said that, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Everything is fine here. Enjoy your vacation…Kathryn.”
Isabelle walked over to the mini-bar and reached for one of the small bottles of Dewars. She replenished her glass and headed back to the lanai.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. Whom did she know with a BMW? No one. BR or, before Rosemary, she knew several clients who tooled around town in BMWs. Somehow she didn’t think that was what Myra meant. Then what did she mean? She brought a mental picture of the parked cars in Myra’s oversized, circular driveway to the forefront of her mind. Pricey cars. The truck. The square black car, what was it. A BMW. Whose? The Jag belonged to Alexis and was leased. The Bentley was Julia’s. The Benz belonged to Yoko and her husband. The Honda Civic was hers. Who did that leave? Nikki! Nikki drove a BMW. Okay, who was the man and what was he doing with a black marble?
Maybe it wasn’t a black marble at all. Maybe it just looked like a black marble. As hard as she tried, nothing else would surface. Maybe after a few more drinks she’d be relaxed enough that she might remember something else.
Dusk settled quickly and before she knew it, the world outside her villa turned midnight black. She looked around as little lights sprang to life on the lanai, casting everything in a dim yellowish light that was not unpleasing.
She probably should think about ordering something from the kitchen. She’d only had a bagel at the airport, but that was over twelve hours ago. Maybe some popcorn shrimp, a garden salad, a slice of cake and then she could go to sleep. In the morning she could think about BMWs, black marbles, and Rosemary.
Back in Virginia, Myra paced up and down her bedroom as she tried to figure out what Isabelle’s vision really meant. She longed for Charles, who would undoubtedly have the answer. What did black marbles have to do with Nikki’s car? Was someone putting them in her gas tank? Someone! My foot, someone. More than likely that someone was Jack Emery. Would he do something that stupid and hope Nikki would call him for a ride or ask him to pick her up? Myra shook her head. That scenario was too ridiculous for words.
She wished now that she had paid more attention to all the spy shows Charles was so addicted to, particularly the reruns of I Spy and Mission Impossible. That had been Charles’s world for so long. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He was certainly in his element now with everything he’d conjured up.
Myra looked at the little clock on her night-stand. Nikki would probably still be awake. Should she call her or shouldn’t she? If anything happened to Nikki, she would never forgive herself. She didn’t stop to think. She picked up the phone and punched out the numbers to Nikki’s un-listed number. She would be so relieved when Nikki moved back to the farm tomorrow.
“Hello, darling, how are you? I just called to say good night. Did you finish everything you wanted to get done? I would like it very much if you’d do me a favor, Nikki. Ever since that ugly storm my car has been acting up. I was wondering if you’d lease a car and drive it out here tomorrow. It doesn’t matter what kind of car you get. Either Charles or I will drive you back to the city to get your own car. By the way, dear, do you remember my friend, the one who ‘sees’ things? She called earlier and said she had a vision. I don’t believe in things like that, do you? I feel just plain old silly even mentioning it. She always makes me nervous when she brings things like that up. Sleep tight, dear. I appreciate you doing this for me.”
Myra stared down at the phone. Was she being silly? Would Nikki pick up on her subtle warning? Of course she would, Nikki was smart. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She thought about the conversation she’d just had with Nikki. It sounded like something out of a bad spy novel. And yet, Charles had seemed more than a little worried about Jack Emery. His words were, it’s better to be safe than sorry.