Weekend Warriors (Sisterhood #1)(9)
“Now that was fun! If I had a staircase like this, I’d be sliding down it morning, noon and night. Did you ever slide down, Mrs. Rutledge?” Kathryn asked.
“Call me Myra. I did it once on the day of my fiftieth birthday. I wanted to do something outrageous, something silly. I was sore for a week, since there was no one at the bottom to catch me.”
“You know what I always say…I say whatever turns you on. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about some of the way-out things Alan and…never mind. That’s a whole other story and a lifetime ago.”
Myra smiled. She liked this rambunctious young woman.
“Ladies, if you’re dry and comfortable, I would like you to follow me,” Charles said.
When the tight procession reached a solid wall of bookshelves, Myra stepped in front of Charles. With a trembling hand, she counted down the various carvings on the intricate molding that ran the length of the bookshelves. At the same moment her fingers touched the lowest carving, the wall moved slowly and silently to reveal a large room with wall-to-wall computers that blinked and flashed as well as a mind-boggling, eye-level, closed-circuit television screen showing Kathryn’s rig crashing through the electronic gates. Each wall seemed to be made up of television screens. MSNBC was playing on the south wall, CNN on the north wall. From somewhere, fans whirred softly and there wasn’t a window to be seen.
“This,” Myra said waving her arms about, “Is our command center and we have Charles to thank for insisting on putting in a cutting-edge, solar-powered electrical system. In spite of our current weather, there’s enough stored power to last a month.
“We installed a modern-day ventilation system years ago when my girls used to play here. It’s been updated recently. At one time this was just a storage area with a trap door. This is where my ancestors took the slaves and routed them to safety. Beneath the house is a maze of tunnels. Charles and I hung bells at each entrance and exit so the girls wouldn’t get lost. The tunnels have all been shored up by Charles in case…in case…we ever need to use them. Please, take your seats,” Myra said, indicating a large round table surrounded by deep comfortable chairs. On the table in front of each chair lay a bright blue folder.
Kathryn Lucas whirled and twirled around as she looked at everything, the engineer in her appreciating what she was seeing. “It looks like a war room,” she said, excitement ringing in her voice.
Myra smiled. “That’s exactly what it is. When you go to war you need a war room. Please, take your seats.”
Myra stood up, the palms of her hands flat on the tabletop. She looked at each woman in turn. She’d rehearsed a pat little speech but suddenly she couldn’t remember the words. Barbara had always said, “cut to the chase, Mom, spit it out.” “You all know why you were invited here,” she began, her voice shaky. “You all agreed to the rules as Nikki outlined them to you. All of you here this evening are victims of a justice system that doesn’t always work. We can’t save the world and we can’t right the wrongs done to us, but we can avenge ourselves. I see us as sisters under the skin, a sort of sisterhood if you will.”
“I like the way that sounds,” Kathryn said, settling back in her chair.
Myra paused to take a deep breath, to marshal her courage, to pray to God she was doing the right thing. “Two years ago my daughter Barbara was struck down and killed by a hit and run driver, who had diplomatic immunity.” Tears welled in her eyes as her gaze swept the room. “I want the man who killed her to pay for what he did.” She swallowed hard and then continued. “I know each of you here tonight has suffered a loss that also went unpunished. We’ll go over each case momentarily. Afterwards we will vote to see which case needs the most immediate attention. As I point to you, please give us your name and your profession.”
“Isabelle Flanders, architect.”
“Alexis Thorne, securities broker. Actually, I’m an ex-securities broker and a felon. I am also a personal shopper.”
“Julia Webster, plastic surgeon.”
“Kathryn Lucas. I’m a cross-country truck driver. I’m also an engineer.”
“Yoko Akia. My husband and I own a flower shop.”
“Of course you all know Nikki Quinn,” Myra said. “Nikki spent several years with the FBI before opening her own law firm. She also teaches law at Georgetown University.”
Myra held out her hands to Charles. “Last but certainly not least, Charles Martin, my right hand and my left hand. Charles has many special talents, as you will find out. To protect ourselves from each other, should any of you decide to expose our accomplishments, Charles will videotape each of our meetings.” She squeezed Charles’s hand. “If you will open your folders, we can get started.”
And God help us all, she thought.
“Inside each of your folders you will find your own case history and the case history of your sisters. We felt it necessary for each of you to get to know one another. However, reading about someone doesn’t quite give you the same feel as seeing that person go about their daily routine. The stills and videos you are about to see were taken to help your sisters know you better. Please refrain from commenting until Charles turns off the screen. I’m sure you’re all going to be a little surprised at what you see,” she said as the first picture appeared on the screen…Nikki in a courtroom standing before a jury. “We’ve been working on this presentation for some time now, so there is quite a bit of footage even though it has been carefully edited.” The picture switched to Yoko working in her flower shop.