Lady let out a friendlywoof, 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 termcultural 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 awoofof 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.”
