Deadly Deals by Fern Michaels Page A

here, Agent Goodwin.â€

 
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    Chapter 2
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    I t was Thanksgiving eve, and the compound on Big Pine Mountain was quiet. The reason for the silence was the late hour and the fact that snow had been falling for the past nine hours. A giant white blanket covered the mountaintop, making it picture-postcard perfect.
    Charles Martin prowled the confines of his command center, his thoughts all over the map as he stared down at the paperwork Maggie Spritzer had brought with her earlier in the day. With the investigation his own people had done, he felt like he had a solid basis to move forward when the guests left on Sunday and the Sisters got down to the mission at hand. He now walked out of the command center, slipped on a heavy mackinaw, and opened the front door. A blast of early-winter air rushed through the room. He smiled at the high drifts of snow on the porch. He stood under the overhang and fired up his pipe. The smoke from the cherry tobacco in his pipe and the heady scent from the evergreens were an intoxicating mixture. He loved it. Loved seeing the steady snowfall, knowing all his chicks inside were safe and sound. For now.
    Tomorrow they would all sit down to a huge dinner he would begin preparing in just a few short hours. They would all pray and give thanks for so many things. He hoped his voice didn’t falter when he offered up his own thanks. As he puffed on his pipe he thought about the son he’d never gotten a chance to know. He knew that if he let the tears flow, they’d freeze on his lashes. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It wasn’t that he was banishing all thoughts of Geoffrey, but that it was unbearable to think about his son, the traitor.
    Charles listened to the silence around him. He wondered what it would be like to live in a world as silent as the one he was standing in. Never to hear the sounds of laughter, never to hear the wind rustling in the trees, never to hear the birds chirping early in the morning. That was an unbearable thought. He shifted his mental gears to the work at hand. Not that dinner was work. He could prepare a Thanksgiving feast with his eyes closed. What he couldn’t do with his eyes closed was figure out what was going on with Baron Bell. Or with his eyes open, for that matter.
    He whirled around when he sensed a presence. “Myra! What are you doing up at this hour?â€

 
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    Chapter 3
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    W hile their faces were rosy pink with the frigid temperatures, they were also glum. Except for Annie and Isabelle, who for some reason spent the whole holiday weekend smiling.
    The snow had finally stopped late Saturday afternoon. Sunday was spent clearing it away with snowblowers. Now they had single-file paths that led to the different buildings. It had taken them hours, but they had managed to clear out a wide path to the cable car. All that remained to be done was to deice the gears, oil the machinery, and hope it didn’t start to snow again before the assembled guests were due to depart.
    â€œI don’t think I’ve ever been so tired in my whole life,â€

 
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    Chapter 4
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    I t was barely light out when Charles set the last breakfast dish on the sideboard. The girls lined up and filled their plates. Out of the corner of their eyes, they watched Charles don his stout boots and fur-lined parka.
    â€œI heard Charles’s cell chirp, so that must mean our guest is at the foot of the mountain. That means he has to send the cable car down manually. Around four o’clock I saw him going out with the oil can,â€

 
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    Chapter 5
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    L izzie Fox looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon that guaranteed the works as she gathered up her purse and briefcase. Only the flight attendant knew she’d worked through the five-hour flight. She’d