Home Free - Fern Michaels [40]
“That’s all right, dear,” Annie said, patting Myra’s shoulder. “We all have these little lapses from time to time. Tomorrow morning, we call Lizzie and ask her what, if anything, she knows in regard to secret funds. Agreed?”
Every hand in the room shot high in the air, including Myra’s.
“See how easy that was,” Annie said airily. “More brandy, Myra?”
Myra nodded.
“On the off chance that Lizzie doesn’t know, we need a second source. This is what I suggest. Since I personally stabilized and made Maggie’s contact person rich beyond his dreams, not to mention that he owns oceanfront property thanks to my generosity, I think it might behoove us all, and I do mean us all, to visit the gentleman and show him the way we do things. Agreed?”
Once again, every hand in the room shot up.
Annie upended the brandy bottle and proceeded to pour. Miffed at what she thought was a stingy amount coming out of the bottle, the irrepressible Nellie bounded off her chair and headed directly to the wine rack. “When I say pour, I mean pour!”
Annie poured and poured some more.
And that was how Fergus Duffy and the others found the ladies a long time later, soused, as he put it, to the ears and feeling no pain as they laughed and giggled and congratulated each other on what they were going to do in the morning.
Feeling no pain himself, Jack Emery looked at his lovely wife, who was trying to wink at him, and said, “Boys, don’t even go there! This is one of those things that simply never happened.” He turned on his heel to back out of the kitchen, bumped into Ted Robinson, who went ass over backward, knocking Elias into Fergus, who was already unsteady on his feet, and who then rolled over, tripping Bert, who tried to leap out of the way but collided with Harry, who went airborne. Espinosa was the only man left standing.
“Well, this certainly is going to be a memory I can take back to Scotland with me,” Fergus bellowed.
In the kitchen, the brandy bottles lined up like soldiers, Myra tried counting them but gave up. “I have to say, Countess de Silva, you do know how to throw a Thanksgiving dinner.” At which point she slid off her chair and went to sleep.
The others peered down at her and sighed as they joined her.
Annie was the last to cradle her head in her arms. To no one in particular, she muttered, “This was one hell of a Thanksgiving.”
Chapter 11
Maggie crawled out of bed before she even looked at the little travel clock she had brought with her. Five forty-five! For some reason, she’d thought she would sleep in since she was at such a famous place and on a minivacation of sorts; but years of rising before the sun came over the horizon was such a habit, here she was, wide awake with absolutely nothing to do and nowhere really to go. She wished she was back in her newly purchased home in Georgetown.
With nothing better to do, she showered and washed her hair. She even put on makeup. To impress Gus Sullivan and his dog. Somehow, she managed to tame her wild hair with a handful of gel and some hair spray before she tied it all back with a green ribbon to match her designer T.J. Maxx discount sweats. At the last second, she spritzed some perfume that claimed if she wore it, men would drop at her feet. She wasn’t hopeful, since she’d been wearing it for years, and a man had yet to drop at her feet. Ted didn’t count, since he was the one who gave her the perfume in the first place, and he was immune to the scent.
In the kitchen of her cabin, she made coffee. While it dripped into the pot, she tried to see outside in the semidarkness. She could see snow flurries swirling about from the glow of the outside lampposts, but the accumulation didn’t appear to be more than four inches or so, if that. She knew that McLean, where Myra and Annie lived in Virginia, had gotten eight inches of snow. She’d stayed up late enough to get the weather report.
Maggie peered at the coffeepot. It still wasn’t ready, so she went back to her room for her notebook and pen. By the time she got back, the coffee was