and hand slapping, Nikki spoke up. “Where’s Charlotte?”
Multiple questions flew out of the sisters’ mouths at the same time.
“Easy.” Myra gestured for them to calm down. “Two things. Even though Charlotte played an enormous role in this, we felt that leaving her out of certain things would suit her preferences more than involving her. While she seemed to relish the process of gathering the ingredients, I doubt she would want to be present for the making of the sausages.”
Taking the opportunity for a pun, Annie blurted, “Speaking of suits and suitors, there is Lincoln Gladwell, my personal jeweler. He and Charlotte hit it off swimmingly.”
Oohs and aahs came from the group.
“Do tell!” Alexis begged.
“Nothing to tell yet,” Myra said evenly. “They met. They chatted. They plan to get together soon.” She couldn’t hide her joy over the new friendship. “It was sweet. Let’s just leave it at that and say some prayers for Charlotte’s happiness.”
“Hells bells, girls! Happiness for all!” Kathryn bellowed.
Charles motioned for everyone to go to the war room to finalize their plans. After the ritual salute to Lady Justice, everyone took their seat. Charles powered up all the monitors and ran down everything they had accomplished, accumulated, and planned. Everyone knew how imperative the timing was. Once the mission began, the final challenge would be the snatch.
The FBI in the US and Scotland Yard in London had to raid the doctors’ offices as well as the property in Michigan. Simultaneously, the FBI would arrest Steinwood for grand theft larceny and Corbett for multiple felonies, and in addition, Interpol would take Corbett in for international art theft. Marcus would be on the run from Franny O’Rourke, assuming that Franny hadn’t found him already. It was anyone’s guess how that would turn out.
Annie and Maggie would alert all their contacts to make sure the media was on standby to break the stories across the country and the free world. Live-Life-Long was going down.
Chapter 37
Pinewood
Three days later, the sisters gathered around the kitchen table for morning coffee, fruits, muffins, scones, and other baked goods. Myra checked the big clock in the entry. It was almost time.
“Ladies, I think we should head downstairs and watch some television,” Myra announced.
The excitement among the women and the men was palpable. This was act one. Act two would follow shortly.
Sag Harbor—The big night
Raymond Corbett took another look at himself. Perfection. He drove himself to the yacht club, where he would greet his guests, including a representative of the Museum of Modern Art. He had made sure there would be plenty of press coverage in the Hamptons as well as New York City. When he arrived at the yacht club, he noticed several men in dark suits, with earpieces. Must be the security team I hired. He nodded at the men and tossed his car keys to the valet. He straightened his shirt cuffs to reveal his expensive cuff links, adjusted his ascot, and sauntered up the steps.
The big question was, Where was he going to stand? On the veranda? Next to the screen that hid the painting from view? No. There were two security guards, one on each side of the screen. He knew that he would stand out between the stark guards, but not enough to suit him. He picked the veranda. This way, everyone would spot him immediately. Some of the men in the dark suits spoke into small microphones clipped to their lapels; some spoke into the band on their wrists.
The guests started to arrive, and Corbett was elated. He had not had so much attention from the local society people since the party he had given to celebrate his admission to the yacht club about a month ago. There had to be over a hundred of the most socially influential people at this gala to unveil the Chagall he had purchased. It was going to be a very big night for him.
Within the hour, the room was alive with chatter, and the time had arrived for Corbett to mingle with his elite guests. He searched the room for the representative from MoMA, a curator at the museum, and spotted her standing next to the screen that shielded the painting. Corbett strolled over to her with his chest puffed out like a rooster’s.
“Good evening, Mrs. Spencer. So glad you could join us this evening.”
“I thought it would be a good opportunity for publicity for you, the painting, and the museum. May I look before you unveil it?” Mrs. Spencer asked in