Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Louise Gaylord
like glue until we finally make it across Central
Park and turn south toward the Holland Tunnel.
We’re through Newark and speeding down the Jersey
Turnpike before Cliff says, “I hope to hell this works.”
He gives me a glance, then concentrates on the road.
“I have to admit, you look more like Angela than I thought. Are you
anything like her?”
That’s an interesting question. I study him for a
while before answering. He’s wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo with a
matching turtleneck. On him it looks good. But then, he was born
knowing how to dress.
“Angela and I are alike in as many ways as we are
different.” He scowls. “Oh, God, I forgot you’re a lawyer. By the
way, have you talked with Angela lately? Is she okay?”
Is she? I wonder to myself. It’s tough to admit, but
once my sister was out of the picture, I didn’t give her another
thought.
“She’s fine. Happy to be out of this mess.”
We ride a few more miles before I try a gentle
probe. “Angela tells me you and Caro were very close.”
Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, but I notice his
jaw clenches.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but sad.
“I really thought she might finally be the one. Unfortunately, she
had other ideas.” After we spend the next minutes in silence, I
change the subject. “Are there any rules I should know about?”
He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel and
glances my way. “The party begins promptly at nine and ends at
eleven sharp.”
“That’s nice to know, but surely the powers-that-be
must have some guidelines.”
“Only a few. The women must be beautiful, not of the
family, so to speak, and personally vetted.”
I ignore the supercilious bastard’s insinuation. “I
understand the beauty part, but what’s ‘not of the family’?”
“We bring women in from other—venues.” “Oh, I get
it. None of your class allowed.”
He gives me a toothy smile. “That’s right. We
protect our own.”
We get off the Turnpike at the Garden State Parkway
at exit 117 and go right. When the road narrows, I strain to catch
the name on a signpost, but it’s too dark and Cliff is driving too
fast. Even with the speed, it takes us well over an hour to arrive
at the imposing stone gates.
Two men in tuxes come to each side of the car.
The window on Cliff ’s side hums down. “Jay Three
and date.” The man on my side sticks a flashlight in my face while
the other turns through several pages and says, “Angela Armington.
She was your date last time. You know that’s against the
rules.”
“I got a dispensation from the Cardinal. Better go
over that list again.”
The man looks up. “Sorry, sir. Here it is. Please
proceed to Station Two.”
The gates swing open and Cliff moves the car slowly
through them.
“What was that all about?”
He shakes his head. “Just a formality. Don’t concern
yourself.” “What’s with the Jay Three?”
“That’s the name they gave me. The ‘three’ means I’m
in the third alphabet panel.”
“So there’s a Jay One and a Jay Two?”
“Except the first twenty-six members were given
names instead of letters. Javelin is the codename of the first Jay.
He was my sponsor at my initiation. I’m the sixty-second member to
join—still in the cream.”
The first time Angela introduced me to Cliff he ran
through his lineage. There might have been a few names that struck
a bell back then, but none I remember, so I continue with the
questions. “What’s Station Two?”
“That’s where we surrender the car. We have to go
inside the building to pick up our masks. Then we board a small bus
for the rest of the trip.”
“And whose house is this?”
Cliff lets out an exasperated breath. “For
Chrissake, will you stop with the third degree?”
“But I need to know these things. I’m supposed to
have been here before. What if they find out I’m not really
Angela?”
“Look, dear, just to refresh your memory. The basic
idea is for a guy to enjoy
Park and turn south toward the Holland Tunnel.
We’re through Newark and speeding down the Jersey
Turnpike before Cliff says, “I hope to hell this works.”
He gives me a glance, then concentrates on the road.
“I have to admit, you look more like Angela than I thought. Are you
anything like her?”
That’s an interesting question. I study him for a
while before answering. He’s wearing a midnight-blue tuxedo with a
matching turtleneck. On him it looks good. But then, he was born
knowing how to dress.
“Angela and I are alike in as many ways as we are
different.” He scowls. “Oh, God, I forgot you’re a lawyer. By the
way, have you talked with Angela lately? Is she okay?”
Is she? I wonder to myself. It’s tough to admit, but
once my sister was out of the picture, I didn’t give her another
thought.
“She’s fine. Happy to be out of this mess.”
We ride a few more miles before I try a gentle
probe. “Angela tells me you and Caro were very close.”
Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, but I notice his
jaw clenches.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but sad.
“I really thought she might finally be the one. Unfortunately, she
had other ideas.” After we spend the next minutes in silence, I
change the subject. “Are there any rules I should know about?”
He relaxes his grip on the steering wheel and
glances my way. “The party begins promptly at nine and ends at
eleven sharp.”
“That’s nice to know, but surely the powers-that-be
must have some guidelines.”
“Only a few. The women must be beautiful, not of the
family, so to speak, and personally vetted.”
I ignore the supercilious bastard’s insinuation. “I
understand the beauty part, but what’s ‘not of the family’?”
“We bring women in from other—venues.” “Oh, I get
it. None of your class allowed.”
He gives me a toothy smile. “That’s right. We
protect our own.”
We get off the Turnpike at the Garden State Parkway
at exit 117 and go right. When the road narrows, I strain to catch
the name on a signpost, but it’s too dark and Cliff is driving too
fast. Even with the speed, it takes us well over an hour to arrive
at the imposing stone gates.
Two men in tuxes come to each side of the car.
The window on Cliff ’s side hums down. “Jay Three
and date.” The man on my side sticks a flashlight in my face while
the other turns through several pages and says, “Angela Armington.
She was your date last time. You know that’s against the
rules.”
“I got a dispensation from the Cardinal. Better go
over that list again.”
The man looks up. “Sorry, sir. Here it is. Please
proceed to Station Two.”
The gates swing open and Cliff moves the car slowly
through them.
“What was that all about?”
He shakes his head. “Just a formality. Don’t concern
yourself.” “What’s with the Jay Three?”
“That’s the name they gave me. The ‘three’ means I’m
in the third alphabet panel.”
“So there’s a Jay One and a Jay Two?”
“Except the first twenty-six members were given
names instead of letters. Javelin is the codename of the first Jay.
He was my sponsor at my initiation. I’m the sixty-second member to
join—still in the cream.”
The first time Angela introduced me to Cliff he ran
through his lineage. There might have been a few names that struck
a bell back then, but none I remember, so I continue with the
questions. “What’s Station Two?”
“That’s where we surrender the car. We have to go
inside the building to pick up our masks. Then we board a small bus
for the rest of the trip.”
“And whose house is this?”
Cliff lets out an exasperated breath. “For
Chrissake, will you stop with the third degree?”
“But I need to know these things. I’m supposed to
have been here before. What if they find out I’m not really
Angela?”
“Look, dear, just to refresh your memory. The basic
idea is for a guy to enjoy