“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
Acting like he’d rather put a fishhook through his thumb, Meeks nodded and went to the table, where Lizzie was grinning brightly.
“Sit down, Mr. Meeks,” she said graciously. “Have some tea while you’re waiting for Grandfather to come back.”
Lizzie’s grandfather grinned for all sorts of reasons as he walked down a long hallway and into a richly furnished library office. He ignored the books that filled the shelves. They were all his wife’s idea. He hadn’t read a tenth of them, but they looked good when guests came by.
He picked up a cheap cell phone sitting on the desk, said, “Talk.”
“We have problems,” said a man with a deep, hoarse voice.
“Tell me.”
“She’s not listening to reason,” he said. “She’s talking.”
Lizzie’s grandfather squinted, calculated. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How do you want it handled?”
“We’ll take care of it.”
This surprised him. “Are you sure? There are others we can turn to.”
“Our mess. We’ll handle it.”
Grandfather accepted the decision, set it aside, said, “Other problems?”
“Naomi Cross threw in a wild card. Brought in
her uncle. Alex Cross. Google him. Ex–FBI profiler, now a homicide detective in Washington, DC.”
“Reputation?”
“Formidable.”
Grandfather factored that into his thinking. “We’re clean otherwise?”
“As it stands, yes.”
“Then we don’t have a choice. Take care of that situation as you see fit.”
A moment passed before the man on the other end said, “Agreed.”
“Talk to me when it’s done.”
Grandfather hung up and destroyed the phone. Then he left the office and walked back down the hallway, eager for tea with little Lizzie.
Part Two
A Fashion Statement
Chapter
13
Palm Beach, Florida