Fool Me Once. Fern Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ And why did she keep it all these years? Her father had never shown it to her. He was sentimental and would have kept it if he’d had it. He’d kept her first baby booties and her pink blanket. Why wouldn’t he have kept the baby bracelet? She made a mental note to ask him the next time she spoke to him.

      Everything came back to one thing, the letter. Since she knew it by heart, Olivia folded it up and shoved it into the drawer of the coffee table. The pictures of the estate were shuffled into a neat pile, and she placed them on top of a stack of books. She dropped the baby bracelet into a crystal candy dish that had held Cisco candies until her father had eaten them all.

      Feeling churlish and out of sorts, she decided she shouldn’t be sitting there alone at eleven o’clock at night with only four dogs for company. But then her mood lightened when she looked at the contented dogs. A smile crept across her face—until she remembered her problem. Fortunately, she had kept Jeff’s phone number. So what if it was eleven o’clock on a Friday night? She punched in the numbers. His voice wasn’t harried when he offered up a greeting. It was sleepy and lazy-sounding. She heard a giggle in the background. A female giggle.

      “Well, hi there, Jeff. This is Olivia Lowell. I’d like to talk to you about Cecil.”

      “Now? You want to talk about Cecil now? It’s after eleven o’clock.”

      Olivia heard a voice chirp, “Who’s Cecil?”

      “Well, yes, Jeff. Eleven is just a number. Tomorrow is Saturday. I’d like it if you’d come out here now, please.”

      “Wait just a damn minute, Olivia. It’s almost midnight, it’s cold as hell outside, and you want me to get into an ice-cold car and drive seventy-six miles out to your house?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “Why? Oh, God, is something wrong with Cecil? Tell me there’s nothing wrong with Cecil. Olivia, please tell me nothing’s wrong with Cecil.”

      The voice in the background chirped again, “Who’s Cecil?”

      “It took you long enough to ask about the dog, Jeff. He’s fine. I guess you have other priorities. Yeah. I want you to crawl out of your nice, warm bed—that’s where you are, right?—and get into your nice, cold BMW and drive seventy-six miles to my house. Now. You coming or not?”

      The voice chirped in the background once again. “Jeffie, baby, this is the last time I’m going to ask you who Cecil is.”

      Olivia looked at the pinging phone in her hand. Then she laughed. The dogs woke, and she let them out. Jeff was right, it was frigid outside. She could see icicles hanging from the roof. They glistened like diamonds in the light from the patio. She shivered. The dogs trotted back indoors. She still couldn’t tell who was who. She handed out treats and returned to the sofa, but not before she replenished the fire that was starting to subside. The shower of sparks racing up the chimney reminded her of fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her father had always bought her one box of sparklers, then took her and Dee Dee Pepper to see a display in town. She’d loved it, thinking it was somehow magical. She’d had such a wonderful childhood. So many special memories to cherish.

      Now they were tainted.

      A lone tear escaped her eye, followed by another, until she was crying openly. The dogs, tired out from their busy day, slept through her torment, and she finally joined them, dozing until the doorbell pealed. Then all hell broke loose as the startled dogs woke and raced to the front door. Olivia rubbed her eyes and opened the door. “It’s about time,” she snapped. It must have been hard to leave that chirping, whiny voice, she thought uncharitably.

      For some reason, she was surprised to see how tall Jeff Bannerman was. The only time she’d met him was when he’d come to the studio door, bent down, and let Cecil out of his carry crate, leaving immediately thereafter. Talking to him on the phone hadn’t quite prepared her for his tall, rumpled good looks. Right then he looked pissed to the teeth. Olivia stood aside to let him enter the foyer. She continued to observe him. Nice tight jeans, scuffed Nikes, Ralph Lauren jacket, baseball cap on backward. A hunk.

      “You look different. I guess it was your suit that first day.”

      “I’m a lawyer. Lawyers wear suits. I’m on my own time right now. I’d like to get back to my own time, so tell me what the problem is and I’ll get out of your hair.”

      “Come in where it’s warm,” Olivia said, leading the way to the great room. The dogs leaped and tried to chew at Jeff’s leg as he scrambled to follow Olivia. Pissed to the teeth was probably an understatement.

      “Do you want a beer, a cup of coffee, maybe some wine?” Olivia asked. Her hands were twitching so badly that she shoved them into the pockets of her sweatpants.

      “No thank you. Just please tell me what the problem is so I can go back home. I have company, not that you care.”

      “Oh you mean, chirp, chirp, chirp, and this is the last time I’m going to ask you who Cecil is?” Olivia imitated the woman’s voice in an obnoxious falsetto.

      Jeff Bannerman clenched his jaw. His face turned pink. Men blush. How interesting, Olivia thought. “I thought you just had one dog,” he blurted.

      “I do. Did. I went to get a playmate for Cecil and ended up getting another one for…for other reasons. Now I can’t tell them apart. Can you?”

      “Me? I’m no dog expert. Look, the president of our law firm, one of the trustees of Lillian Manning’s estate, appointed me to care for Cecil because Lillian Manning requested me specifically. I’m the one who drew up her will. I did not volunteer. With a rather nice stipend, I might add. All I had to do was bring him here for his photograph and take care of him until Mrs. Manning’s estate was settled. I agreed. However, the dog has ruined my apartment. He chewed everything in sight, he poops anywhere he feels like it, and he hates my guts. He’s a fussy eater, too. He doesn’t like dog food. He wants a meal. A meal! I have to bring takeout home for him. The dog eats better than I do. Did I mention, the dog hates my guts? That’s the sum total of my involvement with that little terror. Oh, yeah, one other thing—he’s screwing up my social life. What in the damn hell do you mean, you can’t tell them apart?” Dark brown eyes that matched his unruly hair sparked dangerously with the question.

      Olivia twirled a hank of hair over her ear with her index finger. “I can see why Cecil would hate you. You have to love a dog. The dog needs to know you love him. You need to care for him, walk him, feed him at regular times, and—of course—you have to play with him. That’s another way of saying I don’t give two hoots about your social life. You have a responsibility to the richest dog in the United States, maybe the world, and you’re getting it on with some bird who chirps in the background. Let’s get real here. We, and I stress the we, have a problem. Why isn’t this dog living in his owner’s mansion the way it says in the newspapers? Those very same newspapers said Cecil was being catered to twenty-four/seven and was living like a king. Ha! You all lied. I wouldn’t trust a hamster with you, Jeff Bannerman.”

      The baseball cap had been turned around. He fiddled with it. And he looked uneasy. Nervous and jittery. “Well…they’re…repainting or something. They let Mrs. Manning’s rather large staff go, and they’re going to get a person to live there with Cecil. I’m just—”

      “An appointee. In other words, you lied, and the trustees lied to the public. I’m going to report you to the newspapers. I’ve been taking care of this dog. You were only too willing to let me do it for you. Chirp, chirp, chirp. СКАЧАТЬ