“Kathryn is already waiting for further instructions. Let’s see if everyone else is available for a video conference tomorrow evening. We should have more information by then, right?”
“Right.” Charles pulled Myra’s laptop over to his side of the table and typed a message, asking about availability for the following evening at nine.
Within a few short minutes, Charles was getting pinged. “All are a go!” he announced.
“Wonderful. We’ll bring everyone up-to-date about what we found, and decide if there is any reason we should carry this forward.”
“Brilliant,” Charles concurred.
An hour later, Lizzie and Theresa connected. Theresa explained everything, beginning with the first visit when she had been turned away. Then the second, and the woman with the ring. The accident. No security footage. And then, in great detail, her prowling with her new friends, Henry and Frida. Theresa described the hearse, the black bag, and Nurse Ratched. On the one hand, Lizzie was horrified over the risks they took, considering Theresa’s accident and the odd behavior from the staff. On the other hand, Lizzie would have done the same thing.
Theresa assured Lizzie that she was okay, as were her “people inside,” as she called them.
This was a lot more information than Lizzie had counted on, and she was eager to share it with everyone. Lizzie said she would have someone look into a death notice, and then gave Theresa a backup phone number. She ended their call with, “Please be careful out there.”
Lizzie phoned Charles and Myra and conveyed the information.
“Sounds like we need to get our act together and take it on the road,” Myra said wryly. She immediately phoned Annie and asked her to whiz on over. Annie would be there in less than ten minutes.
Myra had given the situation some thought. Charles and Fergus would continue to work on the finances and follow the money. Myra would apply for a duplex at Sunnydale in Florida. If there were shenanigans in Arizona, there would be more of the same in Pensacola. Myra searched the town of Pensacola to get an idea of the area. She wanted to be sure she could fit in. As she scanned the local paper, she noticed a small article below the fold:
HIT and RUN: A thirty-two-year-old man, Jeremy Sykes, was found on the side of the road after his car overturned. Sykes, who recently left his job at Sunnydale, was hit by a dump truck. Before he slipped into a coma, Sykes described being sideswiped by a vehicle, causing his car to roll. The truck had no markings. Anyone who has any information about this please contact Pensacola Police Department at 1-888-555-9111.
“Charles! Listen to this!” She read the brief article to him. “Two hit-and-run accidents by a dump truck? And both victims had an association with Sunnydale.”
Charles pursed his lips. “I know how sensitive you are to such things. Interesting. One was in Florida, the other in Arizona. It would take at least twenty-four hours to get from point A to point B, unless there is more than one truck.”
“My guess would be ‘yes.’ Keep in mind that Sunnydale is always expanding and adding new units. It would make sense if they had construction vehicles on the premises. At least easily available.”
“Agreed.”
The sound of gravel being kicked up by a hot-rod golf cart perked up the dogs’ ears. Annie came barreling in. “Good morning, all!” She stopped and petted each of the dogs, then gave Charles and Myra pecks on the cheek. She pulled out a chair and sidled up next to Myra. “What’s up?”
Myra recounted everything Lizzie shared, and then pointed to the article about the hit-and-run.
Annie wrung her hands conspiratorially. “What say you, my friend?”
“We have to find out more about Jeremy Sykes and why he was run off the road. It’s not a coincidence he and Theresa were in similar collisions after dealing with Sunnydale.”
“But what could it be? How would they be connected?” Annie pondered out loud.
Charles chimed in, “Perhaps they’re not directly connected to each other, and their association with Sunnydale is the only common denominator.”
Annie owned one of the nation’s largest, most successful newspapers and had contacts everywhere. It came vis-à-vis her work as a publisher, her philanthropy, or just plain fun. “I’ll get Maggie to ferret out more information.The Pensacola Pressruns most of our headline stories in their paper. It’s our way of helping to keep local news outlets in business. Most are terribly understaffed. We feed them the story, and they run it with an origination notice. Our version of ‘free press.’”
Annie dialed Maggie’s number.
Maggie Spritzer was a crackerjack reporter with a hunger for a good story and anything edible. Petite and wiry, Maggie had red curly hair that framed her porcelain face dotted with the requisite freckles. She was easy to spot. When she went on a stakeout, she called on the talent of Alexis Thorne to create a disguise. Maggie also traveled with a tote bag of chips, candy, cupcakes, and cookies.
Annie explained about the accidents and what she needed Maggie to do.
“Roger that, boss!” Maggie signed off.
“Where does that girl get so much energy?” Annie marveled.
“You’re pretty perky yourself,” Myra stated.
“Thank you, and ditto to you.” Annie nodded. “But I can’t imagine all the junk she eats is healthy.” She looked over at Myra and chuckled. It was candy that put Myra’s company in the Fortune 500 Club.
