Chapter Seven Pinewood #3
“Myra. Have you met me? Don’t I always get ahead of myself?”
Myra chuckled. “You won’t get an argument from me.”
Myra and Annie had been friends since childhood, when Myra was growing up on the farm.
They would spend the entire day climbing trees and investigating the outer buildings.
It was then that they discovered the underground tunnels.
They decided to keep it a secret between them.
“Pinky swear!” Annie insisted, and Myra was quick to agree.
When they returned to the farmhouse, they combed the set of encyclopedias that lined one of the shelves in Myra’s father’s study and unearthed the significance of their discovery.
Initially they considered drafting a paper about it for school, but then realized it was a precious secret that could bring harm to innocent people. Who? They did not know, but they also did not want to put anyone in jeopardy, even though a hundred years had passed.
Years later, Myra inherited her family’s fortune, and Annie was rid of her husband, Count de Silva.
Now they make good use of their long-kept secret.
It serves the group well as their underground headquarters, where Fergus and Charles retrofitted it into a high-tech command center, with state-of-the-art devices, including private routers for their internal communications that cannot be detected or infiltrated by outside forces.
It was a war room to rival those of the highest level of counterintelligence.
An imposing statue of Lady Justice stood at the entrance, with one hand balancing the scales and the other wielding a sword. It served as a reminder of their purpose. A symbol for justice. Justice when it has failed, and only the Sisterhood can intervene and balance the scales once more.
Lady’s ears perked up at the sound of another vehicle pulling into the driveway behind the kitchen.
“’Ello, mate!” Fergus greeted Charles with his crisp English accent.
Lady was already sitting in front of him, blocking Fergus from moving any farther without giving the dogs a treat.
“Smells delightful. I am so incredibly grateful you started cooking as a hobby”—Fergus patted his stomach—“although my pants might disagree. A bit snug.”
Charles tossed an apron at him that said HOT STUFF! “Go on, then.” He nodded to the cutting board that held several heads of broccoli.
“What’s on the menu tonight?” Fergus donned the jumper.
“Chicken cordon bleu, scalloped potatoes, and roasted broccoli.”
“I say, old chap, you have collected quite a selection of recipes.”
“I’m thinking about putting together a cookbook. I’ll call it Subversive Cuisine,” Charles joked.
“Sounds like a bestseller.” Fergus chuckled and began chopping the vegetables.
Charles continued. “With Myra and Annie bouncing about, I had to find something to occupy myself during the downtime.”
“Ah, while we wait for information?” Fergus was referring to their global operatives, and of course, the Sisters when they were on a mission.
“Precisely.”
“Speaking of information, Annie mentioned Lizzie might have something to share?” Fergus asked.
“Evidently Lizzie received a phone call from one of her friends. Something about Sunnydale.”
“The old fogies place?”
“Shush. Myra almost gave me a thrashing when I called it that earlier.”
“I see their ads on the telly.”
“Yes. Quite posh. Looks like a resort. Myra is doing a little digging before Lizzie gets here. Annie is leaning in.”
Fergus shot a look at Charles. “Does this mean …”
“In all probability, yes. Lizzie wouldn’t want a sit-down with Myra and Annie unless it was important.”
“Roger that.” Fergus finished his part of the job. “Now what?”
“Garlic. Smash up a few cloves, then toss them in that large bowl, add a few tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, ground pepper, and a dash of salt.”
“Aye, aye,” Fergus said, and snickered. “If the old guard could see us now. A couple of Chef Boyardees.”
“You are truly dating yourself, mate.”
“Wolfgang Puck? Gordon Ramsay?”
“Much better. Au courant.”
Annie and Myra checked to see if there were any reviews of Sunnydale online. There were several. All glowing. “Let’s go back to that video of the aerial view,” Annie suggested.
“What’s on your mind?” Myra asked.
“The arrangement of the buildings. Probably nothing, but the extended care facility is a good distance from the retirement community, and the farthest from the main road.”
“Yes. I see that. What of it?”
“If someone has to get to a hospital, it’s a longer drive to the building. Almost isolated.”
Myra peered closer. “I see what you mean. Assisted Living is a bit closer to the main grounds, and the urgent care and rehab is the first building. And look.” Myra pointed to a very narrow road that ran behind the long-term care building. “Where does that lead?”
“Can’t tell. Looks like a service road,” Annie said.
“But to where?” Myra mused.
“The video and photos don’t go past the main entrance of that building.”
“Do you think it’s on purpose, or were they just focusing on the lavish parts of the facility?”
“Considering you and I don’t trust much of what is put forward, criminal thoughts are emerging.” Annie wiggled her eyebrows.
Lady and her pups stood at attention. “Must be Lizzie.” Seconds later, Myra heard a car pull into the driveway and go around to the back. Everyone in their inner circle used the kitchen door as their main entrance.
Lizzie rapped lightly on the door, more as an announcement, not waiting for someone to greet her. As long as the door was unlocked, there was no need to stand on ceremony. “Hi, everyone!” Lizzie’s bright smile matched her cadence.
Lady let out a friendly woof, sat at attention, and extended her paw.
“Hello, m’lady!” Lizzie gave the pooch a stroke on the head, followed by strokes to Lady’s brood.
Annie and Myra made their way into the kitchen. “Lizzie!” Myra beamed.
Everyone hugged as the aroma of potatoes mingling with cheese, onion, and thyme titillated the senses.
“OMG. Charles, you have to teach Fergus how to make this,” Annie gushed.
Fergus gave Charles a sideways glance. “Now look what you’ve gotten me into, Ollie!”
“Happy to oblige,” Charles countered.
Annie was about to bust a gut and made a valiant attempt to contain her curiosity. She counted to ten and then blurted it out. “Lizzie, I am chomping at the bit. What is going on? Oh, and nice to see you.” Annie flushed. “Sorry. My interest has been piqued.”
“No worries, Annie. I’ve known you long enough!” She chuckled. “I don’t have a lot of information, which is why I wanted to talk about this with everyone. I keep hitting a dead end.”
“Alright, dear. Let’s save this for after-dinner conversation. Charles has been working his fingers to the bone—chicken bone, that is.” Myra grinned. “Let’s get the table set, catch up, and then we can give this our proper attention.”
Annie and Myra set the long wooden table with Myra’s favorite mismatched dinnerware, while Lizzie pulled goblets from the breakfront in the dining room.
Charles fussed with his potatoes as Fergus cleaned up the prep bowls and utensils.
Once the women were seated, Charles presented a platter with the golden-crusted chicken stuffed with ham and cheese.
Fergus followed behind with the creamy potatoes and roasted broccoli.
“Charles, you keep outdoing yourself every time!” Lizzie cooed. “I really must come by more often.”
“Here! Here!” Fergus agreed. “Been too long.”
“Been too busy.” Lizzie waited for Myra to serve. “I don’t know what has gotten into people who have incredible visibility; they insist on doing stupid things. Either be stupid and stay out of the public eye or behave yourself.”
“We’ve been using the term cultural calamity,” Myra offered.
“Perfect description. And it’s rampant.”
“As we used to say, ‘the inmates are running the asylum,’” Fergus joked.
“I think they’re running the country, too,” Annie said, and grimaced.
“One thing I have to say for the Brits—not that I consider myself one of them anymore—they try to have a sense of decorum,” Charles replied.
“Keep in mind, geographically, it’s a much smaller country.”
“And yet, they ruled most of the world at one time,” Fergus reminded them.
“Indeed.” Charles took Myra’s hand, who then took Lizzie’s, and then Fergus, and then Annie’s.
Myra began to say grace. “Thank you, dear Lord, for these thy gifts, our four- and two-legged friends, and all the love we share.”
A resounding “Amen” rose from the table. Lady uttered a woof of approval from her spot in front of the stove.
Sounds of epicurean delight circled the room, with Annie’s fake accent of “Please sir, I want some more,” as she held out her plate and pointed to the gooey potato mixture.
Dinner conversation was light and easy. The serious stuff would come a bit later, followed by dessert.
Once the table was cleared and the kitchen was spick-and-span, the group descended the stone steps that led to their private meeting room.
Each saluted the statue as they made their way to the large conference table that was surrounded by wall-size monitors.
Lizzie plugged her laptop into a flush-mounted panel on the conference table that led to the mainframe of their extraordinarily complex system. She began her simple PowerPoint presentation. The first photo was one that everyone had seen. It was the aerial view of Sunnydale in Arizona.
“You’ll note that all of the centers are designed exactly the same way.”
The next slide was a closer view of the long-term care center, and then a grainy photo of a woman slumped in a wheelchair.
“This is who we believe is Dottie Carpenter.”
Lizzie described Theresa’s experience with the staff and the facility. The following slide was a split screen; one photo was of Theresa’s mother and Dottie, where the ring was prominent. The photo next to it was a close-up of the hand of the woman who was sitting in a wheelchair.