The Blossom Sisters

Chapter 12


ELAINE HOLLISTER LOOKED AT HERSELF IN THE ORNATE MIRROR hanging on the back of the closet door. She’d chosen a jonquil-colored suit and a silk blouse with a small bow tie at the throat. She thought it looked demure and at the same time showed off her voluptuous figure. Her heels were high, accentuating her long, shapely legs. Small diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She still wore her engagement and wedding rings, and a gold Rolex watch.

As Elaine twirled this way and that way, a strand of hair slipped out from behind her ear. She loved her hair. It was thick and lustrous and naturally blond. Men loved to run their hands through it. Gus used to love to bury his face in her hair and tell her she smelled like a spring meadow in bloom. Today she wore it artfully piled on her head so that it appeared she was taller than she was. The last thing she did was to spritz a flowery designer perfume into a haze, then stepped under it and twirled around. She sniffed appreciatively.

She was good to go. Such a shame that she had to drive that yellow tin can out in the driveway. She’d be wrinkled and mussed when she arrived at her attorney’s office, but it couldn’t be helped. Soon, she’d get a new car, one she looked good in. If her attorney was half as good as he said he was, and she was counting on him to be, she just might end up with Gus’s Porsche.

In the kitchen, Elaine looked at the clock over the stove—nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes to drive to the lawyer’s office, an hour meeting, a ten-minute good-bye, fifteen minutes to get back home, then get her things ready, strip down to a flowing white robe, and head for the attic, where she would set up her altar and cast a new spell precisely at the stroke of noon. It was paramount that she start her spell on time. She shivered at what she needed to do, because it was crucial to her plan to walk away with Gus Hollister’s holdings.

Elaine set the new code for the alarm system, scooted out, crossed the deck, and went down the steps to the yellow Beetle. Five minutes later, she was on her way. She didn’t look back. If she had, she would have seen a tall man walking a small dog wearing a sparkly colored collar with a matching leash. A man who didn’t live in the gated community.

The building that housed the prestigious law firm of Diamond, Diamond, and Diamond in New Town was constructed of old Virginia brick and covered with ivy. The firm itself was as old as the building. The elder Diamond had had it constructed during his last year of law school. It had been completed the day his shingle was handed to him by his father, Sycamore Springs’s only doctor at the time. The plaque was brass, and it was polished and buffed every day. The Diamond Building, as it was often called, was more often than not referred to as the oldest building in New Town. Residents were quick to point out, however, that it was not a historic building.

The Diamond family occupied all three floors of the updated, state-of-the-art building, with each attorney, complete with receptionist and two paralegals, having a floor to himself.

Elaine chose the Diamond law firm because of her love of diamonds and the tarot card reading she’d commissioned.

One of the cards, she couldn’t remember which one, said that precious gems were all around her. Then, when she’d just been in the planning stage of her divorce, she’d cast a spell, which reinforced her decision.

Elaine took a moment to stare at her reflection in the plate-glass door before she opened it. She looked perfect, stunning actually. She settled the Chanel handbag with its gold-braided chain, the bag Gus had surprised her with on New Year’s Eve, on her shoulder. She’d been so surprised, because the holidays had been especially grim. She’d shown her gratitude in the only way she knew how. Sex.

Elaine shrugged away the memory as she made her way to the elevator that would take her to the third floor. Like she would even consider the first two floors and the attorneys they housed, regardless of their being named Diamond, too. Only the founder of the firm was good enough for her, so she had held out for Isaac Diamond. Because, Isaac Diamond was old but still sharp as a razor. Not to mention he was a lascivious old man who couldn’t disguise the lust in his eyes when he looked at her. Then there was the Diamond money. Piles and piles of money and all controlled by Isaac, who was a widower.

Elaine followed Isaac’s secretary to his sumptuous office, which looked to be professionally decorated. It also looked like there wasn’t much foot traffic; nor were there any indentations in the comfortable furniture. It was an office that Isaac still inhabited from long years of habit and routine. A place to come to, to prove he still had control of Diamond, Diamond, and Diamond. Which he did. No decisions were made and no new clients were accepted until Isaac voiced his approval. A tightly run ship with billable hours at an all-time high.

Elaine remembered how she had cringed when she was told the firm charged $550 an hour. Paralegals billed at $300. Isaac had assured her she would get it back in spades from Gus when all was said and done. She hated dipping into her local reserve funds, but she had had little choice, so with a shaking hand, she’d written out a check for $25,000 as a retainer. She told herself she had a money spell that she could cast when she returned home that was all but guaranteed to work in four days. Or was it nine? Right now, she couldn’t remember. Everything in witchcraft was geared to the numbers four and nine. She loved those numbers and considered them her lucky numbers.

Isaac stood up and came around the desk to greet his newest client, his only client. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her to a chair across from his desk.

Isaac Diamond was a handsome, imposing figure topping the height charts at six foot three inches. According to his doctors, he was still in excellent physical shape at the age of seventy-eight. He played golf three days a week and worked out with a personal trainer twice a week. Today, he wore a custom-made Hugo Boss suit and Bally shoes that were so shiny, he could see his reflection in them. He was tanned and wore blue contact lenses. His hair was white, and there was plenty of it, thanks to hair plugs. Isaac Diamond was vain. Very vain.

“You look like a breath of spring, my dear. How did you weather that horrible storm?”

Elaine smiled. “Thank you. I had a few limbs come down, and my yard looks like a lake right now, but that was the worst of it. Thank you for asking, Isaac.”

“The reason I asked you to come in—other than to ask you to lunch—was to tell you that I’ve heard from your husband’s attorney.”

Elaine looked across the desk at her attorney. Her eyes were moist and glistening. “Isaac, please, don’t refer to Gus as my husband. Just call him Gus.”

“Noted, my dear. It won’t happen again. Yesterday, late, I think it was around six, and I had left for the day, but I got her voice mail when I got in this morning. Jill Jackson is Gus’s lawyer. I’m sorry to say I knew nothing of her; nor did either of my sons. So, I googled her, and I must say, she is going to be a worthy adversary. She’s a powerhouse in her own right. She works for Barnaby Beezer. She is his principal attorney. I’m told that in financial circles, the mere mention of her name sends shivers up the spines of opposing counsel.”

Elaine leaned back in the comfortable chair and crossed her legs, the skirt she was wearing hiking up an inch too far. She didn’t care. What she cared about right now was the prickle of alarm that was making itself known. Gus’s friend’s—Barney’s—top gun. She should have known Gus would get the best. Well, Isaac Diamond wasn’t exactly chopped liver.

For the first time in her life, Elaine was unsure what her next move should be. Should she respond? Should she weep and wail? Should she be blasé and say something witty to Isaac?

Elaine tilted her head to the side and made a little moue with her lips. “You aren’t telling me some female attorney can out-lawyer the great Isaac Diamond, are you?”

“What I’m telling you, my dear, is this. Gus Hollister has the best of the best going to bat for him by way of Barnaby Beezer. There’s not a judge in this town who isn’t invested with Beezer. I am myself, just so you know. I sent out queries to some of my peers, and Jackson is going to be a formidable foe. She doesn’t like to lose. Actually, she never does lose. She takes no prisoners. And she’s going to go after you like a dog in heat. I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you this. Full disclosure is my motto, it always has been. Now, my dear, I want to ask you two questions.

“One: Is everything you told me in our first meeting true and accurate? I do not like to be blindsided. Now is the time to tell me if you exaggerated about anything or if, out of a desire for vengeance, you might have told a few fibs. People tend to do that in the beginning of divorce proceedings.”

Elaine dabbed at her eyes. She shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak because she thought her heart was going to pound right out of her chest.

“Two: Is there anything in your background that you’ve neglected to tell me? The reason I ask you this is because Jill Jackson utilizes the Lynus Litton security firm. If there is anything you’re hiding, Litton and his people will ferret it out. They don’t get any better than Litton. And before you can ask, yes, we have a team of private investigators that we use, but even I know that Litton’s people are superior. I have my people running checks on Gus, his family, and his friend, Barnaby Beezer. Beezer is going to come up clean, I know that. But we’re doing it anyway.”

Elaine continued to dab at her eyes and shake her head at the same time. Maybe she’d gone too far this time. Going up against a small-town CPA is one thing. But going against a CPA with a billionaire hedge-fund manager for a best friend was perhaps a bridge too far. Just my luck to get involved with someone who turned out to have Barney Beezer as his best friend. Maybe this time I should cut my losses and move on. Look for a new mark.

But the thought of Gus’s five-hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage-free house, his Porsche, a percentage of his business, and a possible inheritance down the road won out. She squared her shoulders and gave one last dab at her eyes before she said, “I trust you to handle my affairs, Isaac. I would like to say one thing, however. When I agreed to marry Gus, we both spoke of our pasts. We both agreed whatever came before we met no longer mattered. Gus insisted we sign a paper, just between the two of us, in case things ever got . . . ah . . . sticky. I have that note somewhere, in my jewelry box, I think. I’ll look for it and send it on to you or make a copy and fax it to you.”

There was no need to tell Isaac that she was the one who had initiated the episode of the little note. Gus had fallen over himself to sign it. In her opinion, at the time, she’d thought it was as good as a prenup, the difference being that this one gave her carte blanche to do as she wished, since he could not use her past against her. Now, she could only hope that it wasn’t going to come back and bite her on the rear.

“Isaac, if there’s nothing else, I have to return home as I have a real-estate appraiser due at two o’clock, and I want to tidy up to make a good impression. I have to get out of that house as soon as possible—too many bad memories. If you’re successful in getting the house for me, I want to sell it and, of course, invest the money.”

“I had plans to take you to lunch,” Isaac said, his tone reflecting his surprise at being turned down.

“I’m sorry, Isaac, I can’t do lunch, but if you’re free this evening, so am I. I would love to go to dinner with you.” And ply you with liquor and take you to bed. In one hour, I can make all your sexual fantasies come true, you old coot.

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Shall we meet somewhere, or would you like me to send a car for you?”

“I think I can find my own way if you tell me where you’d like to have dinner.”

“I was thinking of La Petite. Shall we say seven-thirty?”

“My absolute favorite restaurant. I’ll be there, Isaac. Have a nice afternoon.”

Isaac got up, walked around the desk, and escorted Elaine to the elevator. He smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry about anything. You’re in good hands.”

“It’s not you I’m worrying about, Isaac. I’m worried about Gus and the way he lies and manipulates situations to suit himself and make himself look good in the process. I didn’t find out these traits until after we were married. I put up with it as long as I could. Gus is a control freak. I’m sorry. I said this all before. I’m in no mood to beat a dead horse. I look forward to having dinner with you this evening. Thank you again, Isaac, for taking my case.”

Isaac heard the words, but he really wasn’t paying attention to them. He was more concerned with the fine-looking woman standing next to him and what he was hoping might follow dinner.

Elaine wiggled her fingers at Isaac as the door to the elevator slid shut. With no one watching her, Elaine leaned against the wall of the elevator and let her shoulders slump. She hadn’t pulled it off completely. She was smart enough to know that, and now she had to get to work.





The tall man carrying a black backpack and walking the little dog, a Jack Russell terrier, sauntered up and down the beautiful neighborhood. He seemed not to have a care in the world, being concerned only with his midday stroll on a beautiful April morning. His name was Mickey Yee, Lynus Litton’s top investigator. He had an American mother and a Chinese father whom he loved dearly. He didn’t speak Chinese, but he more or less understood it. He wasn’t married and loved his exciting life as a single man with a dog he adored. Someday he would get married, but not anytime soon.

Lynus Litton had snatched him away from the FBI five years ago with the promise that his offer could top anything the FBI ever had or could pay. The tripled salary and bonuses Lynus paid him, the thirty-day vacations, the company car, and the unlimited expense account made signing on a no-brainer, and he hadn’t looked back. Well, sometimes he looked back, when he needed a favor from one of his FBI buddies.

The best part to Mickey was that he was able to take his dog to work with him, something the FBI frowned upon. The dog’s name was Booker. Mickey had named him Booker because he’d been working a case, and the scumbag he was chasing owned the dog and had mistreated him—the dog was booking ninety miles an hour to get away from the scumbag. Mickey caught him, cuddled him, and made promises to the dog he’d never broken. Nor would he ever break them.

Mickey did a second lap around the cul-de-sac before he walked to the back of Gus Hollister’s house, which was totally screened off from its neighbors by lush foliage. The yellow Beetle was gone. He quickly removed the dog’s leash and fished around inside his backpack. Within seconds, he had the back door open and was holding a gizmo in his hand, which he’d paid for through the nose and shouldn’t even have to begin with. He watched as the digital display counted down before the gizmo succeeded in turning off the alarm.

“Okay, Booker, we’re in. You know the drill. As soon as you hear or see anything, bark twice. You got it?” The dog tilted his head and took a stance beside the back door. “I think I might have an hour at the most.”

Mickey prowled the house, looking for anything that might be useful to Lynus and his client. He loved this part of the job—finding things people tried to hide. He corrected the thought—not just people, the bad guys, be they women or men. Women, he knew, were devious, more prone to be secretive, where men just blundered through life. At least, that’s what he had been taught by his American mother. He’d never disputed her wisdom.

Mickey took the time to appreciate the layout of Gus Hollister’s four-thousand-square-foot house and its manly, comfortable furniture. There wasn’t a lot of junk or doodads cluttering up the place. He hated the artificial trees, plants, and flowers people tended to decorate with. Nothing but dust collectors. He found it a little strange that there was no rogues’ gallery of family pictures. He shrugged—to each his own.

Thirty minutes later, Mickey was finished with the downstairs. Without pulling up the pine floors or knocking out walls, he’d been unable to find anything. He checked the refrigerator, because people were known to hide things in freezers and in bowls of leftover soups and stews. People’s refrigerators as a rule were strange yet informative. This one, however, blew his mind.

Mickey poked his head around inside the refrigerator. Four jugs of apple-cider vinegar. Four gallons! Bags of every herb known to man, all neatly labeled, filled the entire second shelf. The vegetable bin held one withered apple and a rock-hard orange. There were no leftovers in containers, no takeout, no eggs, no milk, no juice. Just four gallons of apple-cider vinegar. What does this woman eat?

What really blew his mind, though, were the six pure white roses nestled in cellophane, each stem encased in a plastic sleeve that held water. Earlier, he’d checked the cabinets, which held only canned and boxed soup, crackers, and some cereal that had never been opened. The cabinets were essentially bare. He looked over at the counter and saw three overripe bananas. The freezer had an icemaker and a freezer pack for injuries.

“You’re doing a good job, Booker. I’m going upstairs. I still have about thirty minutes.”

Mickey again marveled at the big house. Five bedrooms for two people. He wondered if the couple had planned on having children, before they’d decided to split up. That’s usually the way it worked, before a marriage went south for whatever reason. He was surprised that all five bedrooms were fully furnished. Four guest rooms. He shrugged. People were weird. He went through each room carefully and thoroughly, but there was nothing to be found. The chests were empty, the closets bare. No one lived in or even visited these rooms. The adjoining bathrooms held one towel each, one bar of soap, and that was it. Everything smelled fresh and unused. New. He didn’t like the smell.

The last room in the long hallway had to be the master bedroom, judging by the king-size bed. More like a California king. It was frilly, flowery, and feminine. A room designed for and by Elaine Hollister’s taste. Not really for Mr. and Mrs. Hollister.

The walk-in closet, which was almost as big as each of the guest bedrooms, held so many clothes, Mickey found himself overwhelmed. A lot of the outfits still had price tags dangling from the sleeves. Racks and racks of shoes, purses, scarves, and all the things women thought they needed to make a stellar appearance. There wasn’t a single thing to indicate that a man had ever been in residence. Either she had completely obliterated any evidence of Gus Hollister’s presence or he was like a ghost, leaving no physical traces of his existence. Mickey rather suspected the former and found it very sad, since he knew the story of the house and how it had once belonged solely to Gus Hollister.

Mickey checked every item—the pockets, the insides of the shoes, the handbags—but found nothing to interest him. He kept his eye on his watch as he sifted through the bureau drawers. It was no surprise to him that Elaine Hollister had a passion for lacy, gossamer-thin underwear. Tons of it, everything matching.

His mother always hid things in her sock drawer. But Elaine Hollister did not have a sock drawer, and he could find nothing to alert him to what she was hiding. Unless you considered six white roses and four gallons of apple-cider vinegar as hidden things. Lynus was going to be upset if he didn’t find anything. Hell, he was going to be upset. Everyone had secrets and things they hid. Why would this woman be an exception to the rule? Secrets and lies. He thought of the television show House, where the lead character said that everyone lies. It was so true. Right now, though, he wasn’t interested in lies; he was interested in finding out this woman’s secrets. His gut and his long years of snooping told him they were somewhere in the house; he just had to find out where.

The chest at the bottom of the huge bed yielded nothing but extra blankets and pillows. Hands on hips, Mickey looked around. What was he missing? He looked behind the artwork on the walls. Nothing. No safe. Nothing taped to the back of the pictures. He looked behind the plasma TV hanging on the wall. Nothing.

Mickey looked at his watch again. He had fifteen minutes, and he would need every single one of them to put the listening devices into the landline phones. He hustled then and was finished with two minutes to spare. At the last second, his gut instinct kicked in and he decided to put one of the little bugs on top of the doorframe leading into Elaine’s bedroom. It was almost directly underneath the trapdoor leading to the attic. From here on in, any phone calls or conversations in or out of the bedroom or in the hallway would be picked up by Lynus and his eavesdropping equipment. The part Mickey didn’t like was that he was going to have to sneak back into the house in the middle of the night, find Elaine Hollister’s cell phone—which would likely be charging overnight—and bug it, too. He’d done it before, and though it was not his favorite thing to do, you had to take the good with the bad on any job.

Mickey looked at his watch. He’d used up his entire hour, and he still hadn’t covered the basement, the garage, or the attic. That meant two more visits. Booker was silent, which meant he was going to be able to get out clean if he left immediately.

Standing in the hallway, he looked up at the ceiling and saw the unpainted wood frame around the attic opening. He knew that if he opened it, there would be a pull-down ladder. The wood looked new. Why hasn’t it been painted? What’s up there? And where is the rope that would pull down the ladder? He was tall enough that he had a good view of the square opening. No pull cord, no handle, no latch. He looked around and saw the switch plate on the wall. He was about to press it when Booker barked twice.

Mickey ran down the steps and whistled for the dog, who came on the run. This time they would exit through the front door. He quickly reset the alarm and walked smartly to the front door, Booker right alongside of him. Outside, they both squatted behind a thick box hedge just as the yellow Beetle roared down the drive to the back of the house.

Man and dog walked rapidly away from the Hollister house as if they had been visitors leaving a meeting. Between the two of them, the only one breathing hard was Booker.