Free Weekend Warriors by Fern Michaels Page B

forget to blow out the candle.”
    “ ’Night, Barb.” Nikki cupped her hands around the flame and blew it out as instructed.
    “Good girl. Now, go to sleep.”
    Nikki crunched her pillow into a ball under her head. One eye open, one eye closed, she listened as the rocker moved back and forth on the pine floor, the sound finally lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Four
    Murphy nosed open the swinging door that led to the dining room where a buffet was set up on the sideboard. Charles, wearing a pristine white chef’s coat, presided over the wide array of food. Myra was already seated at the head of the table, her napkin spread on her lap. She looked regal as always. She motioned for the women to take their seats.
    “Good morning, ladies. I trust you slept well,” Charles said. The women nodded as he poured orange juice from a crystal pitcher into elegant goblets. Myra poured the coffee from an antique, silver pot that had once belonged to her great grandmother.
    “For breakfast we have ham, bacon, sausage, kippers, scones, Eggs Benedict, waffles, pancakes and a banana-pear compote. Tell me what you would like and it will be my pleasure to serve you,” Charles said.
    Kathryn giggled. “I’ll have one of everything and Murphy gets the same. He eats what I eat. Who cooked all this? No offense, Myra, but you don’t look like the type who cooks.”
    Myra smiled. “I told you Charles was a man of many talents. He prepared breakfast. He graciously allowed me to do the place setting. I apologize for the lack of flowers on the table.”
    “Are the telephones working yet?” Yoko queried.
    “Unfortunately, no.”
    Yoko dropped her gaze to stare at her lap.
    Kathryn bristled as the others all started to talk at once.
    “Is the power on?” Julia asked.
    “Yes, the power came on around six this morning just as Charles was finishing up his work. I really don’t like to talk about business at mealtime, so let’s speak of pleasantries,” Myra said as she buttered a scone, Charles’s specialty.
    “Tell us about this old house,” Alexis said. “It’s beautiful. I just love old houses that are steeped in charm and character. I bought a little house before. . . you know, before. It was a cozy little bungalow with a garden bathroom and a real fireplace. I had window boxes jam-packed with flowers and I had these clay pots of flowers on each side of the steps. I just loved that little house.”
    “Past tense, Alexis?” Isabelle said.
    “I had to sell it to help pay my legal fees. I have a small apartment now with a shower and no bathtub.”
    “That’s all going to change, dear. I promise,” Myra said. “You asked about this house. It’s over three hundred years old. The property spreads out over three hundred acres. My neighbors are a mile away in each direction. We really are secluded, which works to our advantage. My family was always interested in preserving the rights of others and preserving justice. My great-grandfather was a judge and so was my grandfather. My parents and grandparents never owned slaves. They had paid workers and after so many years of service, each family was given a generous plot of land. Pinewood originally consisted of over a thousand acres. All but the remaining three hundred acres that I own were given away to the people who worked for our family. My grandparents, along with several other families, aided the runaway slaves through the tunnels under the house.
    “I feel like I’m now in a position to do my part by carrying out my ancestors’ tradition of helping others.”
    “This looks absolutely delicious,” Nikki said, digging into her Eggs Benedict.
    “If there’s nothing else I can serve you ladies, I’ll leave you and meet up with you again in our command center, in, let’s say, ninety minutes. Enjoy your breakfast.”
    “Wherever did you find that jewel of a man?” Julia asked.
    “I knew Charles in my youth. My parents at the time didn’t think his