Game Over (9 page)

She moved and held open the squeaky screen door for the two men to enter her home. “That won't be necessary. Come in.”

Ted looked around, and the only word that came to his mind was “cavernous.” He wondered what this beautiful old house would look like with furniture. His footsteps echoed off the dull pine floors as he followed his hostess in her many layers of clothing to a small room shut off from the rest of the house with pocket doors. A fire blazed in the hearth, but the room was still cold. Ted found himself shivering.

Coming up behind him, Espinosa hissed, “It's colder in here than it is outside. And she looks like Nanook of the North. What the hell is going on here, Ted?”

“Like I know,” Ted hissed back.

“Take a seat,” the woman said.

Ted looked around. There were only two chairs, with a table in between that held a reading lamp.

“I like to sit on the hearth,” she added.

Ted sat down, pulled out his portable recorder, and announced the date, the names of the players present, and the reason for the recording. Espinosa discreetly clicked away.

“This is a lovely old house. How long have you lived here?” Ted asked.

“I hate it. It's cold and drafty. I hate Washington. We've been here for the last fifteen years. I try to go home as often as I can. Vermont is home. We were there for Christmas. We…I had planned on staying longer, but Justice Leonard said we had to be back here for the New Year. We're freezing to death in this house.”

“Doesn't your heat work?” Espinosa asked.

“Of course it works, but you have to be a millionaire to afford to heat it,” Florence Leonard revealed. “We use this fireplace when we sit in here. We have one in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, and one in Justice Leonard's office.”

Espinosa appeared to be dumbfounded. “Don't your pipes freeze?”

“They did the day we got back. Justice Leonard said that's why they make duct tape. He fixed them. Now, what is it you want to know for your article?”

Ted babbled on, asking question after question. Florence Leonard jabbered about everything and anything that, as far as Ted was concerned, meant absolutely nothing.

“Would a tour of the house be possible?” Ted asked.

“If you like,” Florence said, getting up from the hearth. “Follow me.”

“The house has a temporary feel to it,” Ted said as they passed through one empty room after another.

“It does, doesn't it?” Florence said. “We brought all our lovely antiques with us when we came here, but when I saw how humid it is here in the summers, we moved all our fine things back to Vermont. Neither Justice Leonard nor I can abide air-conditioning. This is Justice Leonard's home office.” She stepped aside so Ted and Espinosa could look inside the tidy room with wall-to-wall bookshelves. A computer sat on a Chippendale desk, and a fire was lit in the fireplace.

Espinosa rolled his eyes as he captured the room on his digital camera.

“I never come in here. Actually, Justice Leonard forbids me to enter this room,” Florence confessed. “I don't mind. I find the law and politics in general very boring. I have my own interests.”

“And what would they be, ma'am?” Ted asked, rising to the bait.

“Reading, TV, maneuvering around on the computer. I have my own, you know. And it is password protected. I needed to do that, considering Justice Leonard's position,” said Florence.

“Do you socialize with or entertain the other justices' wives and husbands?” Ted asked.

“I'm sorry to say I don't. They're a bunch of old biddies, and they're all jealous of my husband and me. One of the husbands, I can't even remember his name, likes to think he's important and is always trying to get his name in the paper. I think it's disgraceful.”

“Uh-huh,” Ted said.

“When do you think you'll be going back to Vermont?” Espinosa asked.

“As soon as possible. I just get on a plane and go. I have my books and TV there and another computer,” said Florence.

“I guess when you go home, it feels like a vacation, doesn't it?” Ted asked.

“It does, young man.”

“I'm getting ready to go on vacation myself with my girlfriend. We're going to Las Vegas. Neither one of us has ever been there. She can't wait to see all the shows and shop in those high-end stores. We got a package deal for six nights. They said food is very inexpensive, and you get free drinks when you gamble. Have you ever been?” Ted said all in one breath.

Ted didn't think it was his imagination that the woman standing next to him stiffened when she said, “Once, a very long time ago, before Justice Leonard was appointed to the court. Actually, Justice Leonard has a very good friend who lives out there. I can't think of his name right now, but it's some kind of bug. His name, I mean.”

“Well, I think that about covers all my questions,” said Ted. “Is there anything you would like to add, Mrs. Leonard? Something of human interest.”

“I don't think you should put down that I hate Washington. I probably shouldn't have said that. Can you just say I prefer Vermont to this fishbowl life?”

“I can do that, certainly.” Ted slapped at his forehead. “I almost forgot. Do you see your husband retiring anytime soon? I know that justices have life tenure, but sometimes they opt out early.”

“Good Lord, no. Justice Leonard said he was going to die in the court. I don't even bother to mention it anymore. Neither do our children. We're stuck here, much to my dismay. When did you say this would be in the paper?”

“In one of the Sunday editions,” Ted replied. “It depends on how cooperative the other wives and those husbands are. Don't forget, I'm going to
Las Vegas.
Everyone I know has given me twenty dollars to play the slots for them. My vacation might delay things a week or so. I can call you when we're ready to run it.”

“That would be lovely, Mr. Robinson. Just out of curiosity, how much did you have to pay for your package deal to Las Vegas?” Florence asked.

“My girlfriend handled all of that, but I think she said it was seven hundred dollars a person, and that included airfare. It's not one of the top hotels, but she said it would do, and wherever it is, you get a free breakfast,” Ted said, making things up as he went along.

“That does sound reasonable. Well, I hope you have a lovely time and win lots of money.”

“I'm pretty lucky,” Ted said, getting into it. “I always win when I gamble. My girlfriend is even luckier than I am. She won one hundred fifty thousand dollars on one of those scratch-off tickets you buy at gas stations. Just like that she won one hundred fifty thousand dollars! She's buying a house with it. Well, a down payment actually.”

Florence Leonard's eyes sparkled like Christmas lights. “Scratch-off tickets, and she won that much? That's amazing.”

Ted held out his hand. “I enjoyed our interview. I hope you enjoy the article when it makes the paper. Thank you for talking to us without an appointment.”

“The pleasure is all mine, gentlemen. I don't get many visitors. Good-bye,” Florence Leonard said as she closed the door behind her guests.

The moment the door closed, Ted said, “Maggie was right. Five will get you ten, she hotfoots it to the nearest gas station within ten minutes.”

Espinosa guffawed. “That's a sucker bet. She fell right into it. Here's a bet for you, Ted. I bet she sold off all the antiques she arrived with. Wanna bet?”

“Hell, no!
That
is a sucker bet for sure. Let's find a place to be invisible so we can watch and see if she does go to a gas station.”

Ted and Espinosa walked down the street, looking for an evergreen to hide behind. When they found one, they turned sideways so they weren't visible from the Leonard residence. Thirteen minutes later the front door opened. They watched as Florence Leonard practically galloped down the steps and across the walkway.

“Now, that's what I call a gambler. But she might be going to a gas station to buy a quart of milk,” Espinosa said.

“Well, we have to check it out, or Maggie will have our hides. So, let's cross the street, keep our eyes peeled, and see what she does.”

Forty-five minutes later Ted sent Maggie a text that said, She bgt 150$ of scratch-off tickets. I had 2 give the kid 50$ 2 confirm the trans. U were rt. She said Just L. has no plans 2 retire in the near future & plans to die on the court. Will u marry me?

The reply came back at the speed of light. Yes. Head for Dulles. I have u booked on a flight to VT. Check in on your arrival.

“Hey, Ted, what's wrong? You sick? Come on, what's wrong?”

“We have to go to Vermont. Hail a cab. Maggie said yes.”

“About what? The expense account?”

“Hell, no!” Ted said, jumping up and down and waving his arms every which way. “Maggie said yes! I'm getting married!”

T
he decision to pack up early and head home was an easy one to make for Lizzie since she was working pro bono and her desk was clear. Nothing urgent was pending; the remaining work could wait another day. Or two, even three days. She packed up her briefcase, reached for her jacket, slipped it on, and turned off the lights. It was three thirty.

What she would do when she got home, she had no idea. Maybe cook or bake something, take a bubble bath, call Cricket and talk for a few hours if he wasn't busy. Or…

Lizzie whipped out her cell phone the minute she settled herself in her car. She scrolled down and hit the number she wanted. She smiled when she heard the cranky voice of retired judge Cornelia Easter Cummings, Nellie to those near and dear to her heart.

“Nellie, I know this is late notice, but I was wondering if…
you
would like to have dinner with me. I was thinking of our favorite little Italian restaurant,” Lizzie said, without mentioning the name.

“Oh, you dear sweet child, there is nothing I would like more. Elias is in bed with the flu, and I simply cannot consume even one more drop of chicken soup. That's a myth, you know. I have never seen a more cantankerous curmudgeon than my husband. I'll tell you what else is a myth. Men say they want to be left alone when they're sick so they can suffer in silence. Actually, my dear, that's a bald-faced, outright lie. This man, this relatively new husband of mine, is running me ragged, and he hasn't even peaked yet. What time?”

Lizzie laughed, but Nellie picked up on the strain in the young lawyer's voice. “Whatever works for you, Nellie.”

It was Nellie's turn to laugh. “It will take me a little while to get Elias settled, fluff up his pillows, lay out this and that so he doesn't exert himself, fix him a thermos of chicken soup and one of hot tea. Strap the remote to his wrist so he doesn't have to move too much. You know the drill.
Sixish
works for me if it works for you. Casual, right?”

“Absolutely casual.
Sixish
works for me, too. It's been raining all day here in the District, so wear your boots. The temperature went way up today, and it's water and slush everywhere. I'll see you at six, Nellie. Give Elias my regards. You might want to tie a string of garlic around his neck, or is that a myth, too?”

“Yes, Mother. I'll give it a shot.” Nellie cackled. “I moved to the spare room, so the garlic won't bother me.” She let loose with another boisterous laugh before she broke the connection.

Lizzie let her mind wander on the drive home. She wondered how Cosmo would be if he got the flu and was confined to bed. She would love to wait on him hand and foot and for him to look at her with his big brown eyes, knowing she was going to make him all better with her undying devotion. She knew, just knew, in her heart that Cosmo Cricket would blow his last breath into her body if he thought she was in danger. When she had a headache, he wanted to call the paramedics for her. God in heaven, how she loved that man, even if he had kept a secret from her.

Lizzie parked her car, gathered up her purse and briefcase. She was still smiling as she made her way into her house. She turned off the alarm, locked the door behind her, then turned up the heat. She headed straight for the kitchen, where she made a pot of coffee before heading upstairs to change her clothes. On her return trip to the kitchen, she made a fire in the living-room fireplace that would be blazing when she returned to chill out with her coffee. First, she would make a few personal calls; then she'd call Cosmo.

Ever mindful of the time, Lizzie called the mountain, spoke via speakerphone with everyone, then called Maggie, who sounded harried and out of sorts. That call was short and concise. Lizzie shrugged and called Jack, who said he was pumping water out of the basement and would call her back. Harry's voice mail said he was either in the middle of a class or was unavailable, and to leave her number and he'd return her call. That left Bert and his voice mail. There was only one name left on her mental to-call list aside from Cosmo. The person she should probably have called first: ex-Justice Pearl Barnes.

Then again, maybe she shouldn't even be thinking about calling Pearl. Pearl was way out there, running her underground railroad to help save mothers and children. She didn't need Lizzie and her problems. In the end, after several moments of indecision, she talked herself out of making the call.

A smile on her face and in her voice, Lizzie hit the speed dial that would connect her with her husband. She wanted to cry when the call went to his voice mail. Her shoulders slumped, Lizzie made her way back to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. She was back in front of the fire within minutes. She had half an hour to think before it would be time to leave for Morellie's, where she was to meet up with Nellie.

She should be on top of the world, but she wasn't. She wished she knew the why of it all. Was it because she and Cosmo each had a secret from the other? Yes, she realized, that was part of it, but there was something else, which she couldn't quite pin down. Maybe talking to Nellie would help.

The fine hairs on the back of Lizzie's neck moved, signaling something was amiss. She blinked. Pearl Barnes. Pearl was the one she needed to talk to. Absolutely, she needed to talk to Pearl. Why had she talked herself out of the phone call? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Lizzie looked down at the diamond-studded watch on her wrist. She had to leave to meet Nellie in fifteen minutes. Assuming she was successful in connecting with Pearl, would it be a long or short call? She would prefer a long one, but Pearl might not be able to oblige. Maybe she should call and set up a time that would be convenient for both of them. Before she could talk herself out of the call, Lizzie used the special encrypted phone Charles had given to all of them. Even Pearl, who just worked on the periphery for the vigilantes, had one. She was stunned when Pearl picked up on the first ring. Her voice was cautious as always, and Lizzie knew better than to mention names, or even places, for that matter. She said hello, hoping Pearl would recognize her voice. She did.

Lizzie cut to the chase. “When would be a convenient time to speak? I'll need, or I should say I'd like, at least thirty minutes of your time.”

“This phone needs to be charged. I'm in the same time zone. Will after ten work for you? Crucial, deadly, urgent?”

“Probably all of the above. My side, not yours.”

“Later,” was Pearl's response before the connection was broken.

Lizzie sighed as she got to her feet. She finished her coffee in one long gulp, banked the fire, and closed the glass doors to the fireplace before she headed to the kitchen. She rinsed out the coffeepot, prepared a new one because she knew she would need some strong brew when she made contact with Pearl later in the evening.

It was rush-hour traffic when Lizzie exited her house, but she had to go only six blocks. It was still raining. On a nice day she would have opted to walk to her favorite Italian restaurant. Tonight, though, with all the flooding, walking wasn't even a consideration.

The minuscule parking lot behind the tiny restaurant held thirteen parking spaces and woe to anyone who parked there who did not belong. Two spots were reserved for the owners, Rosalie and Rocco Morellie, and had their names. The spot next to Rocco's simply said SG, which meant “special guest” in this case, Nellie Easter Cummings. The remaining ten spots were for the diners. It was early, so Lizzie had no problem parking.

Morellie's was your typical Italian restaurant, right down to the red-checkered tablecloths and curtains. Chianti bottles were on all the tables. Everything sparkled. But it was the wonderful aromatic smell of the different cheeses that hung from the rafters in the kitchen, the roasted garlic, the heady aroma of the sauce that bubbled 24-7 that drew you in and wouldn't let you go. There were only ten tables, and on a weeknight the Morellies turned the tables over twice before they called it a night. On weekends they turned the tables over four times at night. If they had wanted to, they could have stayed past eleven and worked through the nights, and the tables would have remained full, but plump little Rosalie had declared early on that she had a life beyond the eatery during the week. Weekends, she said, she had to defer to the almighty dollar. Rocco wholeheartedly agreed.

When the bell over the door tinkled, the little lady bounded out of the kitchen to embrace Lizzie in a bear hug. Rocco was hot on her heels and almost crushed Lizzie. Husband and wife gibbered in Italian, then finally settled for English as they led Lizzie to her favorite table just as the bell tinkled again and the Morellies rushed to greet Judge Easter.

The bell over the door continued to tinkle until all the tables were full. Then Rocco Morellie flipped the sign that said the next seating wasn't until eight thirty.

No one, however, got the greeting that Lizzie and Judge Easter had received.

Wine appeared, along with a basket of garlic twists, which had both women drooling. Everything was made from scratch. Rosalie made the sauce and the garlic twists, and Rocco made the pasta. No one was sure, but it was speculated that Rocco also made the wine in his basement wherever it was he lived. It was tart, robust, and flavorful. Lizzie and Nellie clinked glasses as they eyed one another over the rims of their goblets.

Small talk first was always essential, and there was no need to order. Both women always had the same thing. Lizzie had the baked ziti, and Nellie had the lasagna. Before they left the restaurant, the Morellies would hand them each a shopping bag with enough spaghetti and meatballs to last them a whole week. They always included bottles of their
special
wine and Ziploc bags of the garlic twists, which only had to be heated. It was a ritual. And at the end of the evening there was never a bill, because, as Rocco put it, Lizzie and Nellie had saved their fat hides when a crooked landlord had tried to demolish the neighborhood. Lizzie had taken the case pro bono, and Judge Easter had heard the case. The Morellies now owned their own building, as did all the other store owners on the block.

“So, how is Elias?” Lizzie asked.

“He thinks he's going to die, but he isn't. I assured him when I put the garlic necklace around him before I left that he'd be better by the time I got home. He believed me. He wanted me to set the heat at ninety. I just dumped all the cats on the bed to keep him warm and turned the heat down to seventy-five. The cats were licking at the garlic, so who knows how that's going to go.”

“That's certainly one for YouTube.” Lizzie laughed.

“I told Elias the garlic necklace was your idea, and you know how Elias thinks you can do no wrong, so he will be better before I get home. I guarantee it.”

“Let's cut to the chase, Nellie. Just so you know, I can eat and talk at the same time. Tell me what you know about the nine justices on the Supreme Court.”

“I'll be happy to tell you what I know, which isn't all that much. You really should talk to Pearl Barnes, if you can manage to locate her. For sure, she would be a wealth of information, since she served on the court for more years than I can remember. Can I ask why you want to know, Lizzie?”

“It's personal, Nellie. Right now I'm not comfortable confiding in you or anyone else, and please don't take that the wrong way. If you aren't comfortable talking about the justices, that's okay, too. And their spouses, assuming you know anything about them.”

“Actually, Lizzie, Elias, as the former director of the FBI, probably knows more than I do. All of them are qualified, or they wouldn't be sitting there. Personally, I wouldn't have voted for Regions or Taylor, but that's just me. I've never heard a whisper of any kind of negative gossip. For all intents and purposes, they're clean as the driven snow, which is pretty hard to believe, but there you have it. The wives…they're all older, grandmothers and mothers. None of them are into publicity. Actually, they shun it. They're normal and dealing with the aging process, like the rest of us. Once in a while they poke their heads out for one charity or another. I remember hearing not that long ago that they all meet for a United Way luncheon or something like that. It's held once a year. Can you be a little more specific, Lizzie? A question might trigger something I know and can't quite remember.”

“Have you heard anything about one of them retiring anytime soon?”

“Lizzie, dear, no one retires from that court unless he's dying, and according to the last report I heard, they all passed their medicals with flying colors. No one leaves. They have life tenure. Except for Pearl, and we all know why Pearl packed it in.”

Lizzie nibbled on her lower lip. “What about their spouses? What if one of them was sick, like in the case of Sandra Day O'Connor's husband?”

“That, Lizzie, was an exception to the rule. O'Connor was one of a kind. As far as I know, all the wives and husbands are in good health. Is there some kind of rumor going around about one of them wanting off the court?”

Instead of answering Nellie's question, Lizzie asked another one. “Hypothetically, if one were to leave, who do you think it would be and why?”

Nellie closed her eyes for a few moments. When she opened them, she shook her head in bewilderment. “I have no clue. You and I both know sitting on the Supreme Court is every lawyer's dream. Just the nomination alone is something to aspire toward. Once you reach that exalted position, you aren't going to leave unless something catastrophic happens. I'm sorry I'm not more help. You really should think about calling Pearl. I know she keeps up with what's going on with the justices and the court. Back in the day, she was very friendly with one of the other justices, but I can't remember which one.”

Lizzie moved slightly so the waiter could set her plate in front of her. She closed her eyes and sniffed. She knew she was going to eat every bite of the food in front of her, even though she'd already had four garlic twists.