Rage of Angels by Sidney Sheldon Page A

forced herself to eat whatever Otto Wenzel brought in, because she did not want to hurt his feelings. One Friday evening Jennifer was invited to the Wenzel home for dinner. Mrs. Wenzel had prepared stuffed cabbage, her specialty. The cabbage was soggy, the meat inside was hard, and the rice halfcooked. The whole dish swam in a lake of chicken fat. Jennifer attacked it bravely, taking small bites and pushing the food around on her plate to make it seem as though she were eating.
    “How do you like it?” Mrs. Wenzel beamed.
    “It—it’s one of my favorites.”
    From that time on, Jennifer had dinner at the Wenzel’s every Friday night, and Mrs. Wenzel always prepared Jennifer’s favorite dish.
    Early one morning, Jennifer received a telephone call from the personal secretary of Mr. Peabody, Jr.
    “Mr. Peabody would like to see you this morning at eleven o’clock. Be prompt, please.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    In the past, Jennifer had only dealt with secretaries and law clerks in the Peabody office. It was a large, prestigious firm, one that young lawyers dreamed of being invited to join. On the way to keep her appointment, Jennifer began to fantasize. If Mr. Peabody himself wanted to see her, it had to be aboutsomething important. He probably had seen the light and was going to offer her a job as a lawyer with his firm, to give her a chance to show what she could do. She was going to surprise all of them. Some day it might even be Peabody, Peabody & Parker.
    Jennifer killed thirty minutes in the corridor outside the office, and at exactly eleven o’clock, she entered the reception room. She did not want to seem too eager. She was kept waiting for two hours, and was finally ushered into the office of Mr. Peabody, Jr. He was a tall, thin man wearing a vested suit and shoes that had been made for him in London.
    He did not invite her to sit down. “Miss Potter—” He had an unpleasant, high-pitched voice.
    “Parker.”
    He picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “This is a summons. I would like you to serve it.”
    At that instant, Jennifer sensed that she was not going to become a member of the firm.
    Mr. Peabody, Jr., handed Jennifer the summons and said, “Your fee will be five hundred dollars.”
    Jennifer was sure she had misunderstood him. “Did you say five hundred dollars?”
    “That is correct. If you are successful, of course.”
    “There’s a problem,” Jennifer guessed.
    “Well, yes,” Mr. Peabody, Jr., admitted. “We’ve been trying to serve this man for more than a year. His name is William Carlisle. He lives on an estate in Long Island and he never leaves his house. To be quite truthful, a dozen people have tried to serve him. He has a bodyguard-butler who keeps everyone away.”
    Jennifer said, “I don’t see how I—”
    Mr. Peabody, Jr. leaned forward. “There’s a great deal of money at stake here. But I can’t get William Carlisle into court unless I can serve him, Miss Potter.” Jennifer did not bother to correct him. “Do you think you can handle it?”
    Jennifer thought about what she could do with five hundred dollars. “I’ll find a way.”
    At two o’clock that afternoon, Jennifer was standing outside the imposing estate of William Carlisle. The house itself was Georgian, set in the middle of ten acres of beautiful, carefully tended grounds. A curving driveway led to the front of the house, which was framed by graceful fir trees. Jennifer had given a lot of thought to her problem. Since it was impossible to get into the house, the only solution was to find a way to get Mr. William Carlisle to come out.
    Half a block down the street was a gardener’s truck. Jennifer studied the truck a moment, then walked over to it, looking for the gardeners. There were three of them at work, and they were Japanese.
    Jennifer walked up to the men. “Who’s in charge here?”
    One of them straightened up. “I am.”
    “I have a little job for you…” Jennifer began.
    “Sorry,