Chapter 35

Jack and I met three days later at an undisclosed location in the islands. Joan flew off to deal with the repercussions of Younger’s death promising to wrap things up, submit her request for immediate retirement and come back willing to try a full time relationship. Baby Girl missed her for about thirty-four seconds. That was how long it took for her to become distracted by a flock of sea birds that wanted to perch along our privacy fence.

Joan’s parting thoughts were all about Deirdre. “Please, Terry, don’t be rash, or act out of anger. Be calm and careful every step of the way. Time is on your side, and the longer your delay, the less likely it will be that anyone would connect you as a suspect.”

She was right but that was a conversation I was not willing to have with her. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her. My motives were purely logical. To avoid there being any link between me and what was coming for Deirdre, I had to keep any hint of my intentions completely invisible – even from Joan. The real truth was even stranger. I needed to keep my actions invisible – especially from Joan. I’d been betrayed enough to know that facts never confirmed are facts never used in a court of law.

When we met, Jack carried a briefcase full of cryptic notes that detailed a variety of ways to deal with Deirdre. Most of them included poison, but I was hoping for a natural disaster that could be used as cover for more nefarious activities. Deirdre seemed happy to vacation at her late husband’s island retreat. Now that he was dead, she was reportedly enamored of a well-built servant with a large ... umm ... talent. My previous experience as Deirdre’s boy toy led me to believe whatever our spies reported. It hurt to think that I once cared for her very deeply.

It was my opinion that the best thing for her would be to get all the happiness she could squeeze out of the next few weeks, because eternal judgment was about to descend on her house.

Baby Girl and the clan followed me everywhere, sensing my anger, hurt, and frustration. My face and neck were licked, rubbed, cuddled and warmed by the bodies of my seven angels. They stuck to me like glue and our romps along the beach, through town, and around the estate were just what my damaged heart needed.

Joan called several times over the next few days. We never discussed Deirdre, or Cathay, Sheldon, or my meeting with Jack. Our conversations stayed personal and light. We assured each other of our continued interest and how badly I missed my bed partner. Joan made several ribald references to Mr. Johnson and things that were surely physical impossibilities, but they were far too adult to mention in delicate company.

So ... there you go.

When the day of Deirdre’s reckoning arrived, I was far away, in pleasant company, having a riotous good time with truly shallow people, at the high rollers’ tables in Monte Carlo, at the Ritz. The hotel managers fawned over me like I was a Hollywood star, instead of a second hand royal. Over the course of hours, I danced with a couple of wealthy divorcees, cheered for the winning team in a football match, dodged the paparazzi, but not so much that they failed to get a few photos of me, and enjoyed nothing about any of it.

There was no way I could be there when Deirdre got hers. It was Jack’s firm conviction that I not even be in the same hemisphere, so the puppy herd and I took the jet to Monte Carlo and wasted a few days playing games I hated, with people I despised.

To fully cover myself, I put a low ball offer on a property in the mountains of southern Italy that came with a spectacular view and played out grape arbor. I specified that any correspondence come in writing to the Ritz, so that the management would have records of my stay beyond just the room rental. A bellhop dutifully brought me the formal written offer rejection letter, just as I had listened to all the drivel I could stand in one day.