They both laughed.
Pedone cleared his throat. “He pleaded not guilty at his arraignment, so there will be a hearing. I will be present for that, by the way.” There was a moment of silence between them. “I’ll be in touch later today after I pick up the Taser. Is there any particular time that’s better for you?”
“School is out at two forty-five, and I’m usually home by four-thirty.”
“That’s fine. I’ll see you around four-thirty. Remember, we’re here to serve,” Pedone added.
“Thanks again. Bye.” Colleen hung up the phone, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Officer “Bob” Pedone had been truly kind throughout the ordeal.
She thought about how considerate he had been over the past two weeks. He had escorted her home the night of the incident and spoken to her before the arraignment. She was terrified. He was reassuring. She didn’t want to see Mitchel’s angry face ever again. She knew he could have killed her that night. His rage was out of control. But knowing Officer Pedone was in the courtroom and was keeping an eye on both of them gave her a little peace of mind. She wasn’t going to let Mitchel intimidate her with his seething, belligerent anger. No. Not again. Not anymore.
Bail was set at $10,000, which in Colleen’s mind wasn’t nearly enough. As usual, Mitchel’s mother bailed him out, and they left the courthouse shooting all sorts of sneers and dirty looks in Colleen’s direction, as if all of it had been her fault. And in Mitchel’s twisted mind, it was. It always was.
The judge granted permission for Mitchel to go to the house to pick up some clothes, but he had to be accompanied by a police officer. This time it was Officer Davis returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak. The judge gave him one hour to clear out what he needed until further notice from the court.
With her mother by her side and Officer Pedone in the room, Colleen felt safe and confident—something she hadn’t felt in a while. The mental abuse from Mitchel had taken its toll.
At the temporary custody hearing, Mitchel had blown his cool. That little outburst had worked in Colleen’s favor. At least for the moment. But she feared that the outcome would inflame his anger toward her even more. The stalking was Mitchel’s way of trying to unnerve her. If he couldn’t have things his way, then he would torture her mentally.
Within the next couple of days, she would be well armed with a Taser and a security system. She had to make sure she wasn’t violating any rules if she took the Taser to school with her. She would also take along a copy of the order of protection. One of the first things she had done was to give a copy to the school principal to put on file, as well as a copy to the guidance counselor and one for the security guard. She was well past being embarrassed. Shame was no longer an issue. Survival was all that mattered.
She glanced toward the counter, where she had left the note from Ellie Bowman. Yes. She would take her up on her offer for Jackson to play in the yard. When Jackson returned to the kitchen with his backpack, Colleen gave him the news.
“Yippee!” Jackson was delighted. It was the first time Colleen had seen his face light up in quite a while.
Chapter 6
Charlotte settled into the comfortable seat next to the window. A flight attendant approached her and asked, “May I get you something to drink?”
Charlotte thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, champagne please.” She was feeling good. Writing to Myra was the best thing she could have done for herself; Myra always knew what to do and what to say.
Charlotte had come from humble beginnings. Her father had been the groundskeeper for Myra’s family farm. During the Civil War, the farmhouse had been a way station for the Underground Railroad, and the tunnels beneath it had remained ever since. There had also been a few small outbuildings, which had served as sheds and feeding stations over the years.
She, Myra, and Annie would sit in one of the old sheds and tell each other stories. That was when Myra had first encouraged Charlotte to start writing, which had led to her becoming a very successful author of children’s books. She had married, had a daughter, divorced, and kept writing. All through that time, Myra had been building her own empire, Mary-Ruth Candy, which had made her one of the wealthiest women in the country. That was when Charles had entered the picture.
Charles had recently relocated from the UK, with a résumé to rival James Bond’s, British accent included. However, if you saw the actual résumé, it would be redacted to the point that no information could be found on it. He had convinced Myra to hire him as head of security for her company, assuring her he could handle all her needs. At the time, little had Myra realized he really meant all of them.
Charlotte was going through each of the women in her head. There was Nikki, Myra’s adopted daughter. Thank goodness for Nikki. After Myra’s daughter, Barbara, was killed, Myra tumbled into a deep depression, until one day she seemed to have awoken from the pit of despair and had a new lease on life. Perhaps that was what Charlotte was feeling now: a new lease.
Then there was Annie. Anna Ryland de Silva. The countess. What a hoot she was. Annie and Myra had been friends even before Charlotte met them, but they had always made her feel welcome. Annie was wealthy beyond anyone’s imagination. Some said she was the richest woman in the world. Maybe she was. And she seemed to know everyone, as well. Quite the mover and shaker but unassuming. She and Myra both dressed the way you would expect a housewife from Queens or Staten Island to dress. Except for maybe those rhinestone boots that Annie affected.
Charlotte didn’t know the rest of the girls well. She had met a few, but it was always in a large social or business setting. She knew about most of their backgrounds and the crazy accusations that they were a vigilante group. Charlotte could not comprehend that her dear friend would be doing something so controversial, although it did sound exciting.
The plane departed on time, and after two glasses of bubbly, Charlotte was given a blanket and pillow and dozed off for the duration of the flight.
The ding when the overhead lights came on startled her awake just in time to hear the captain say, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are making our final approach to Dulles Airport. Enjoy your stay and thank you for flying United.”
Charlotte pulled out a compact mirror and lipstick and made sure she hadn’t drooled during her long nap. With a quick fix, she wrapped her pashmina around her and was ready for the next leg of her journey. She pulled the paper from her tote bag. “Edward will meet you at baggage claim.” Edward. Edward. Edward, she repeated silently. That was part of her “treatment”—to repeat words until they stuck.
As she reached the carousel, spinning with suitcases, backpacks, golf clubs, and an assortment of packages, she saw a gentleman with a sign: CHARLOTTE HANSEN. That was easy, she said to herself. She gave him a wave, and he quickly approached her, tipped his chauffeur’s cap, and asked her to describe her luggage. Once he spotted the suitcases, he grabbed them and led her to the town car awaiting them.
“Myra and Charles are the epitome of grace and hospitality,” she remarked to Edward.
“They are indeed.”
After the thirty-minute ride from the airport, the large iron gates of the farm loomed before them. It was just as she remembered. The trees, the gardens, the landscaping. All so meticulous. She wondered if the old swing was still in the back. Knowing Myra, it probably was. Charlotte hoped so. She wouldn’t mind sitting on it again and letting the air blow through her hair.