Vanishing Act. Fern Michaels

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      “It’s four o’clock in the morning, Abner. At nine o’clock I will have it going. That’s when the business day starts. Stop by the office later in the morning, and I will have everything ready to put into your hot little hand.”

      “No can do, Maggie. I’m working, remember. Now, if you want to hand-deliver it to me, that’s okay, too. And just for the record, this whole conversation might very well be moot since you haven’t told me what the job is.”

      “Okay, here it is. Listen up. A friend of mine had his identity stolen, and he is now homeless and penniless. I want you to hack into East Coast Savings. Whoever it was that stole his ID took out an equity loan on his property as well as a second mortgage. I want to see the bank records. I also want you to find out if any of the bank’s other customers had their identities stolen. In other words, I want it all, Abner. C’mon, you and I both know you’re the best in the business. Are you telling me this is above your pay grade? For shame, Abner. I really looked up to you. Don’t tell me you’re wussing out.”

      “And if I get caught?”

      “I’ll get you the best lawyer in town: Lizzie Fox. For free. Free, Abner!”

      “If, and I’m saying IF, I agree to this, when do you need it?”

      “Like yesterday.”

      “Ha-ha! Even though it’s Saturday, I have to go to work, and when I get there, I actually have to work. W-O-R-K!”

      “Call in sick.”

      “I just started last week; I can’t call in sick.”

      “Sure you can. Say you have the crud. Guys get the crud all the time. You said they recruited you, not the other way around. That means they’ll cut you some slack. I need this ASAP, Abby.”

      “Ten grand bonus on top of the quadruple, and we have a deal.”

      Maggie pretended to think about it. She was a hundred percent sure Annie would approve this outlandish expenditure. “When can you have it for me?”

      Instead of answering the question, Abner asked another one. “How many days in Hawaii? And don’t count the two travel days. And an extra day for jet lag. Vouchers for the local airlines to visit the other islands. The only hotel I’ll consider is the Fairmont Orchid.”

      Maggie’s antenna went up. “You skunk, that’s where you were going all along on your honeymoon, and you just want me to pay for it.”

      “Hey, you called me, I didn’t call you. So, what’s it going to be, Miz Spritzer? I’ll even bring you back a souvenir.”

      “Okay, okay! Three full weeks, and that’s my last offer. Agree to that, and we have a deal. And you better get me what I need.”

      “If it’s there, I’ll get it. See you at nine o’clock. Don’t make me wait.”

      “Screw you, Abner. What’s her name?”

      Maggie could hear Abner’s laughter as he hung up. She looked around to see if anyone had magically appeared with food while she was talking to Abner. She was as alone as before she made the call. She thought about taking a nap but knew she would never be able to sleep if she was hungry. With nothing else to occupy her time, she meandered out of the office, down the hall to the kitchen, where she made the first pot of coffee of the day. While she waited for the coffee to drip into the pot she daydreamed about Eggs Benedict, waffles with cream and blueberries, eggs and bacon, cinnamon applesauce on the side, buttery toast, fresh melon, a stack of pancakes with warm butter and syrup. “Oh, God, I’m going to die if I don’t get some food.” She was so pitiful she couldn’t stand herself.

      Chapter 6

      Lizzie drove her car into the garage and locked it with the remote on her visor. She entered the house through a door that led to the kitchen, where she stopped in the middle of the floor. This was the part that she hated, entering an empty house where there was no sound, no pet running to greet her. It was at times like this that she realized how alone she felt in the world. Oh, yes, her days and the early part of her evenings were filled with people and things to do, but at the bitter end she was still alone.

      Lizzie looked around at her neat, tidy kitchen. Cosmo Cricket would not fit into this little house, he just wouldn’t. Until they finalized their living arrangements, she would be commuting to Las Vegas on weekends. Not that Cosmo was averse to coming here to Washington; he wasn’t. They both recognized that the house either needed to be renovated or they needed to buy a new East Coast home.

      Sound was what she needed, so she turned on the under-the-cabinet Bose radio she had ordered last year. Then she turned on the television sitting on top of the counter. A jumble of noise, to be sure, a far cry from the bells and whistles of Las Vegas, but it did make her feel better.

      Lizzie’s thoughts ran in all directions as she made her way through the house to the stairway that led to the two bedrooms on the second floor. The minute she stepped into the hallway, she started to shed her clothes.

      Ten minutes later, her suit was hanging neatly in the closet, her shoes were on the shoe tree, and she was dressed in a pair of sweats and sneakers. She rummaged for combs in the vanity, piling the shimmering silver hair on top of her head. Her two cell phones went into her pockets. As soon as she got dinner under way, she would call Cosmo, and they would talk until her guests arrived. She brightened immediately at the thought of talking to her new husband.

      Downstairs in the kitchen, Lizzie hummed to herself as she banged pots and pans, opened jars, and got out her cutting board.

      Lizzie was the first to admit that she was no great shakes as a cook, but she did watch the Food Network from time to time. She especially liked the program where the host and cook prepared what she called semihomemade dinners. She’d paid attention, and now was able to prepare spaghetti that tasted like she’d slaved for hours. Thank goodness, for that was precisely what she was going to prepare for her guests.

      Lizzie dumped a huge jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce into a pot, squeezed some tomato paste right from the tube into the mix, and stirred. A can of fire-roasted tomatoes went in next. She chopped garlic and onions and sautéed them in a small frying pan, and the moment the onions were translucent, she spooned them into the sauce. In the blink of an eye she chopped basil and parsley and scooped it into the pot. She frowned as she remembered who her guests were. Maggie Spritzer could eat the whole pot of sauce on her own, so she added two more jars of the bottled sauce, squeezed in some more tomato paste, then chopped and sautéed more garlic and onions. Cosmo said his favorite scent in the whole world was the smell of frying onions and garlic. She had to admit she loved the aroma herself.

      Continuing with the semihomemade theme, Lizzie preheated the oven, took a berry pie out of her freezer, and waited ten minutes before crimping the edges and making fork marks all around. What’s-her-name on the semihomemade show said guests always looked at the edges to see if they were cookie-cutter or homemade. Fork marks made it look homemade. Then Lizzie brushed an egg white over the top, covered the crimped edges with tinfoil, slid the pie into the oven, and set the timer.

      The kitchen clock told her she had ninety minutes before her guests arrived. Time enough to set the dining room table, cook the pasta, and get a salad ready. Five minutes later she had a bag of four kinds of lettuce washed, drained, and in a wooden bowl. She added some cherry tomatoes, sliced a cucumber and a purple onion, tossed the СКАЧАТЬ