Page 8 of Backwater Justice

“O-kay!” Annie yelped. “I’ll have details about tomorrow for you later this evening.”

Myra hung up the phone, walked over to Charles, stood behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Smells glorious!” She took in the aroma of his culinary efforts. “I am so glad you found a hobby.” That’s when she decided to wait until it became totally necessary to tell Charles about her short affair with Mill. Besides, Nikki and Jack were coming over for dinner, and it was not the kind of conversation one could have in front of guests.

* * *

Myra was one of the richest women in America, only dwarfed by her best friend Annie, one of the richest women in the Western Hemisphere. Neither was pretentious, but they would occasionally indulge themselves with spa packages. They wore slip-on sneakers and jogging outfits most of the time, even though they rarely, if ever, jogged. The clothing was comfortable. When necessary, Myra would don a pair of Ann Taylor slacks, a cashmere turtleneck, and Chanel flats or Gucci loafers. And always the pearls, jogging pants or otherwise. In warmer months, it might be a long, black pencil skirt with a white blouse. Rarely was she fancy.

Annie, on the other hand, loved to wear rhinestone cowboy boots with pretty much everything from shorts to evening gowns. She would occasionally top an outfit off with her diamond tiara. Annie Ryland De Silva was, indeed, a countess. Having lived abroad, Annie was well accustomed to the movers and shakers of the world, and she knew how to navigate any kind of social gathering, whether a state dinner or a backyard barbecue. And if Fergus didn’t keep an eye on her, she was apt to do a little pole dancing to entertain the rest of the party guests, ballgown and all.

Annie and Myra were childhood friends and spent their summers on neighboring farms in Virginia. Both women had enormous wealth at the ready and were not shy about spending it for a good cause, meaning animals, children, or women at risk.

After Myra’s daughter was killed by a car driven by a diplomat, she spiraled into a deep depression. She spent months sitting blankly in front of the television until a story woke her from her catatonic state. A woman had lost her battle with justice, and Myra was intent on righting the wrong. She and her adopted daughter Nikki decided it was time to take matters into their own hands and formed a bond. A bond of Sisterhood they extended to Annie and other women they recruited who thought they would never see the scales of justice balanced again.

Myra had good instincts. Was almost clairvoyant. She could sniff out a scandal, a liar, or a cheat. That night, she felt a cry for help from an old friend, three thousand miles away.

* * *

Annie phoned her pilot to instruct him to have her Gulfstream Jet ready by one o’clock the following afternoon, while Myra arranged for a car service to pick them up.

* * *

Myra set the long farm table for her dinner with Charles, Nikki, and Jack. She was buying time, and an audience would give her a bit of a respite before she confessed her past to Charles.It has been over fifty years, she told herself.There is nothing for Charles to worry about. . . but Myra felt it her duty to let him know she was going to see not just an old friend, but a former lover. She could say she was a naïve nineteen-year-old at the time, but she had never been naïve.

The dogs raised their heads at the sound of crunching gravel. They recognized the sound of Nikki and Jack’s vehicle and made their way to the kitchen door to greet them. Lots of hellos, kisses, and softwoofs echoed through the fragrant kitchen.

As usual, Charles had prepared a delicious meal. The dogs moved back to their spot in the corner, waiting for their human family to generously share the leftovers. Charles always set aside some of the meal for the dogs. In their house, there was no such thing as “doggie bags.” It was “doggie bowls.” Unless Maggie was there. Maggie Spritzer worked for Annie at the newspaper and was part of the Sisterhood. She had a voracious appetite for a good story, but it was dwarfed by her appetite for food. Any kind. Anywhere. Any time.

Once everyone was seated, they said grace and began passing the platters. Myra wasn’t the nervous type, but she did feel anxious; her tell was playing with her pearls.

“Mom? Everything alright?” Nikki asked while she served the roasted vegetables.

“Yes. Why?” Myra quickly moved her hand from her neck to her fork.

Nikki raised an eyebrow. Myra understood she was being obvious and knew an explanation would be necessary. “My friend Milton Spangler is in the hospital.”

“In Oregon?” Nikki asked.

“Yes. Apparently, he suffered a heart attack. His wife phoned earlier and said he was asking for me.” She tried to sound as if this were something that occurred often, but everyone knew it was rather unusual.

“Oh?” Nikki cocked her head. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

“Last month, when Vanessa Rowan went missing. Annie’s paper covered the disappearance. Maggie was the reporter. Milton put up a fifty-thousand-dollar reward.”

“Whatever came of it?” Jack asked.

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Myra toyed with her pearls again.

“Wait. I just heard another young girl is missing. She’s from the same area,” Nikki said. “It was on the news earlier.”

Myra took a deep breath. “I wonder if this was why Mill asked for me.”

“Does he know about us?” Nikki waved her fork around the table.

“Not the extent of how we operate, but we’ve done favors for each other. Nothing drastic, mind you.” Myra let out another deep breath. “But I know something is not right, so Annie and I are going to fly out tomorrow.”

“Your mother is getting telepathic messages.” Charles was half teasing.

Jack interrupted the conversation. “I know when Myra has one of those, it’s time for everyone to either duck or ready themselves.” That brought a nervous laugh around the table. He wasn’t wrong.

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