Vanishing Act - Fern Michaels Sisterhood

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the tension in his body.

      Forty minutes later, he was dressed, freshly shaved, and on his way to the kitchen, where he was expected to prepare a gourmet meal, the last thing in the world he wanted to do. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he remembered the string of frankfurters hanging around Annie’s neck. Obviously, the girls had been eating things that were quick and easy.

      A check of the larder and the Deepfreeze gave a lie to that. Someone had ordered and stocked everything just as he’d done. He took a minute to go to the back door that would allow him to see the garden, which—he knew—would be a disaster. He blinked at the neat, tidy rows of plants. The pole beans were tied neatly, as were the tomato plants. Shiny green peppers in need of picking peered up at him. He just knew there were at least a hundred zucchini under the trailing vines. Cucumbers were deep green and plentiful. The broccoli looked wonderful. He knew it would be tender and savory. Thanks to Yoko and her green thumb.

      So his girls had managed nicely without him. He had to admit it hurt to know they had not only survived but functioned. Which then brought up a nasty thought. Did he subconsciously want them to have failed without him? The fact that he even thought such a terrible thing bothered him. Knowing and hearing Isabelle say aloud that they didn’t need him even though they wanted him was almost impossible to accept, but it was a sad reality, and he had no choice but to deal with it. He told himself he just needed patience. Well, his time in England had certainly not instilled patience in him.

      As Charles checked out the vegetable bin and the freezer, his thoughts raced. If there was some way he could explain to Myra and the others, he’d do it in a heartbeat. But Her Majesty had looked him in the eye and made him swear never to divulge what had gone on during his stay in England. He’d promised, and he would die before he would break that promise.

      The best he could hope for now was that time would heal all the wounds he’d created. Women, he knew, were, for the most part, forgiving creatures. He corrected that thought. Most women, with the exception of Myra, possibly Annie, too, were forgiving creatures. The only word that would come to mind was “endurance.”

      And endure he would.

      Shifting his thoughts to the matter at hand, he finally decided on his menu or, rather, his peace offering. He would prepare Shrimp Étoufée. A crisp summer salad from the garden, some of the pole beans in a light, savory garlic-butter sauce, homemade biscuits with soft honey butter. Myra loved his Chinese Almond Rice, so he would prepare that, too, and hope she understood he was making it just for her. For dessert he would make Rice Pudding with Raspberry Sauce and, of course, pots and pots of coffee. He dusted his hands together, satisfied that in the midst of all the turmoil in his mind, he could think of other things.

      Charles licked his lips, crossed his fingers for luck, and started to prepare his homecoming dinner.

      Chapter 3

      The news of Charles’s return to Big Pine Mountain flew through cyberspace at the speed of light. In Las Vegas, in a rare afternoon of fun and frivolity, all arranged by Cosmo Cricket for his new bride, Lizzie, the text message arrived just as three cherries appeared on the slot machine she was playing, giving her a win of $44. She whooped and immediately quit playing. Cosmo smiled indulgently as Lizzie steered him to the lounge, where, despite the early hour, she insisted a drink was in order to celebrate her win. While they waited for their drinks, Lizzie called Maggie and Ted on Nantucket.

      On Nantucket Island, Maggie sighed with happiness as Ted rubbed her back with sunblock. She looked down at the vibrating cell phone and groaned when she saw that the call was from Lizzie. It had to be business. Maggie tripped right past the greeting, and said, “I just want you to know I’m lying on a glorious beach, the temperature is a wonderful seventy-eight degrees, the sun is shining, and Ted is rubbing my back with some sweet-smelling sunblock. I am drinking one of those frothy drinks with a little umbrella. I am relaxing. Are you calling to tell me you’re pregnant? If you are, I’ll put it on the front page. When I get back.”

      “No, no, no, I’m not pregnant! I’m sorry to intrude on your short vacation, Maggie, but I thought you would want to know that Charles is back on the mountain. I don’t know any details. I’ll be back Sunday night. Let’s do breakfast Monday morning. By the way I just won $44,” Lizzie said happily.

      Maggie rolled over as she closed her cell phone. She looked up at Ted and smiled. “Charles is back on the mountain. That was Lizzie on the phone. I wonder what it means, if anything. His being gone changed a lot of things, and I wonder how many of them, if any, will ever change back. I’m getting a feeling, Ted.”

      Ted groaned as he sat up straighter. He’d learned the hard way never, ever, to ignore Maggie when she said she was “getting a feeling.” He immediately sent off a text message to Joe Espinosa in Baltimore, apprising him of the news and alerting him to the fact that Maggie was getting one of her feelings. Reporter-speak for get your ass back to D.C. as soon as you’re done in Baltimore.

      Maggie rolled back over, irritated now that she had sand on her oiled back. “Ted, call Nellie and Elias while I call Jack.”

      In Virginia, just as her cell phone rang, Nellie handed off the two-month-old baby, who’d left a wet spot on her dress the size of a dinner plate, to her jittery husband. Elias handed the squealing infant to his father, who in turn delivered him to his weary mother.

      Dismayed at the giant wet spot on her silk dress, Nellie walked to the back of the church, then outside, where she took the call from Ted Robinson. “This better be good, Ted. I’m at Elias’s grandson’s christening, and the kid just peed all over me.”

      “Charles is back on the mountain. The girls texted Lizzie, who called Maggie. We’re here on Nantucket and headed home tomorrow. Maggie just asked me to call you. When are you going home, Judge?”

      “I think that might be a wonderful thing for the girls, especially Myra. At least I hope it will be, but she and Charles may have to start all over again. I know that she felt deserted, even though he told her that he had to stay behind in England. We’re leaving as soon as I can drag Elias out to the car. We drove,” she said inanely.

      “Well, drive safely. We’ll catch up on everyone’s return,” Ted said.

      Ted stretched out and rolled close to Maggie. He listened to her conversation, trying to get a bead on what Charles Martin’s return to the mountain would mean to all of them.

      “That’s all I know, Jack. No details. Lizzie called, and she was more excited about winning $44 than Charles returning to the mountain. I wonder how happy Myra is with his return. We’re heading home Sunday morning. So, you’ll tell Harry, okay? I want to get back to soaking up this warm, delicious sun. It’s wonderful here, Jack. I hope you and Nikki get to come to Nantucket someday. Listen, Jack, Lizzie didn’t say anything about notifying Pearl Barnes, but I’m thinking she should be kept in the loop. Do it for me, big guy, and I will owe you. See you on Monday.”

      Ted leaned over and whispered in Maggie’s ear the moment she ended her call to Jack. He waited to see what her response would be. When she said, “I’ve never had sex in the water. Okay, let’s go for it,” Ted was the first one in the water. The cold water. The really cold water. He looked at Maggie, who was shivering and watching him expectantly.

      Maggie started to laugh when he shook his head. “We could fill the bathtub with warm water.”

      “Yeah, let’s do that,” Maggie said, scampering out of the water, Ted hot on her heels.

      Back in Washington, Jack jammed the cell phone into his pocket and started to jog his way back to the office. He hated running or jogging in leather shoes, but his sneakers were at Harry’s dojo. He was dripping wet with sweat when he blasted through the lobby and jogged in place for a moment before he made his way to the elevator.

      In his office, he ripped off his jacket and tie and sat down. Slightly winded, he let loose with a mighty sigh as he unpacked his briefcase, his thoughts on Nikki, the mountain, Charles, and wondering where the hell Harry was. He’d been

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