The Blossom Sisters

by Fern Michaels

  Gus settled his reading glasses more firmly on his nose.

  Elaine Sara Ramsey was born in Newark, Delaware, to parents Helen and John Ramsey, twenty-seven years ago on January 3, 1985. Subject resided with parents until the day she turned sixteen, when she left and hitchhiked out of town, according to parents. Parents say they have had no contact with subject since that day.

  Subject was a poor student because of lack of home supervision and barely made it from one grade to the next. There are no records to indicate any type of further education. Parents appear to be honest, hardworking people. They said subject was promiscuous starting at the age of thirteen. Father said subject was a bad seed. Mother just cried at interview. Father said subject was a beautiful girl and used her beauty to get what she wanted. Said subject could pass for eighteen at the age of fourteen. He also said she was a liar and a thief, that there was no controlling her, and that they eventually gave up because they had three other children who were good and decent and needed to be cared for, too.

  Tracking subject by Social Security number and work history, subject worked many jobs, mostly in the food industry—waitressing, hostessing, or tending bar. Mostly in upscale establishments where she could meet well-to-do men. At the age of nineteen, she married her first husband, Ian Larsen, a young dentist just starting his practice in Richmond and loaded with debt. Before divorcing him, she hung around long enough to use him to meet other white-collar professionals who did have money. Divorce record states that Dr. Larsen took out a loan and paid her $25,000 to get out of his life. When interviewing Dr. Larsen, who is now happily married and has a thriving practice, he said subject was a living nightmare, and refused to discuss details. The only thing he would say was that she pretended to be going to college and had stacks and stacks of books. Once she married him, she refused to work. They were married for fifteen months.

  Husband number two was a man named Clayton Mitchell, a stockbroker to whom she had been introduced by one of Dr. Larsen’s colleagues. Subject married him fifty-five days after her divorce from Dr. Larsen was final. According to personal interview with Mr. Mitchell, it was anything but a marriage made in heaven. Same MO with this guy—said she was about to graduate, lied to him about her age, lied about everything. Nothing domestic about her. Wanted to dine out every night and meet his wealthy clients. She flirted with them all and hit on some of them. She drove him to the brink of bankruptcy with her outrageous spending.

  Things went from subject’s being verbally abusive to becoming physically abusive. Mr. Mitchell moved out of their town house to get away from her. She came to his office, threatened him, and made wild scenes. He paid to get rid of her. She got the town house and the mortgage that went with it. She promptly sold it and netted $146,000. He still doesn’t know how that happened, because he said the town house wasn’t worth anywhere near that much. He, too, is happily married now, lives in New York, and is quite successful on Wall Street. He also said subject pretended to be studying and she said that she would graduate from the University of Virginia the following year. It was, of course, a lie on top of an elaborate charade. They were married for seventeen months.

  Subject then married Hugo Hintermyer—a real-estate broker who had aspirations of becoming a real-estate tycoon—three months later, although she had moved in with him two weeks after he sold the Mitchell town house for her. When they married, HH bought her a Mercedes convertible. They lived in what he told her were properties that he owned. Actually, the properties were investment properties belonging to people who were out of the country and never bothered to check on them. HH was conning her in much the same way that she was conning him. This marriage only lasted nine months. Subject kept the Mercedes convertible and HH gave her $78,000, so she wouldn’t turn him in to the licensing board. He had to raise the money from friends and by helping himself to several escrow accounts.

  Despite what had happened, he said he was sorry to see the last of her because she was so good in bed, even if she was a bitch on wheels. He also said she pretended to be a student and, from time to time, when she wasn’t out charging up a storm on his credit cards, she actually looked like she was studying. HH hopes never to see her again.

  There are no records to indicate subject has ever personally filed state or federal income taxes, even though she worked and drew a paycheck. (Check last page of this report for the establishments where subject worked.)

  Subject did not remarry for three years. She worked, and pretended to go to school; law school, to be precise. Had tons of law books, carried them with her. Sold her Mercedes convertible the second year after the divorce from HH, as she was short of funds. Hooked up at this point with the manager of an Avis rental. She moved in with him and drove the cars on the lot while she went on the prowl to find someone better than the manager, who showered her with gifts and allowed her to use his credit cards. His name was Leroy Denvile. She cleaned out his bank account, took off with one of his rental cars, and left him holding the bag. He said he wanted to marry her, but she told him he had no potential. He was devastated.

  This relationship lasted four and a half months.

  Two weeks after leaving Mr. Denvile, subject hit on a circuit court judge old enough to be her grandfather. Name was Nathan Perry. People thought subject was his granddaughter. He was a widower. His children became estranged when he married subject. Within three weeks, she had a brand-new Mercedes, candy-apple red; new credit cards; and plenty of cash. They lived in a fancy Tudor home complete with swimming pool and tennis court. They went out every night to dinner. The judge suffered a stroke; he was eighty-two. He died a week later. His children swooped in and swooped her out. One of them just happened to be an FBI agent. They paid her off with a three-hundred-thousand-dollar check, and she signed a ream of paperwork promising never to darken their doorstep again. The judge had been in the process of changing his will but had the stroke before he could sign off. If he had, she would have been set for life. They were married for nine weeks.

  Gus rubbed at his eyes. It was all so unbelievable. And he hadn’t had a clue. He knew that if his grandmother had handed him this report back then, he would have refused to read it. He felt sick to his stomach. He shuffled the papers in front of him. There was no need to read the rest of them, since they picked up with his meeting Elaine at his health club, where he worked out after work.

  For weeks, he had watched her on the equipment. He liked the look of her toned body, her classy workout clothes. He liked that she was serious about her workouts and didn’t mess with any of the male members. He liked seeing her leave the gym with her arms full of books and her gym bag. He’d slipped one of the attendants fifty bucks to let him see her application. All he got out of it was that she was single, was going to law school, worked nights as a bartender in a trendy joint in New Town, and drove a bright yellow Beetle. His kind of girl. He’d made it his business to visit the trendy joint two or three times a week, have one beer, then go home. He’d thought at the time that he was being clever, but she told him later that she had his moves down pat. Then she’d laughed at him when he approached her at the health club, saying, “Don’t I know you?” The most tired pickup line of all time.

  A month later, in June of last year, they were married. But before that happy event, at her insistence, he’d given her a tour of his business, the building he owned—along with the bank—and his paid-off house. They had gone to the farm where his grandmother lived with the two aunts. She didn’t like Wilson from the get-go, but she’d given in on the dog when he’d told her he would never ever part with Wilson even if he did make her itch and sneeze. Wilson hated her and stayed out of her way.

  Elaine Sara Ramsey Larsen Mitchell Hintermyer Perry Hollister. He wondered how she fit all those names on her driver’s license.

  Yessireee, he was one damned lovesick puppy back in those days.

  Gus shoved the papers back into the manila folder. Now what am I supposed to do? It was still raining, but it wasn’t a
s dark as it had been. The thunder and lightning seemed to have abated, along with his headache. Maybe he should go into the office instead of just sitting around sucking his thumb. If he did that, he could get a jump-start on next week’s work. Yeah, yeah, he’d go to the office. The only question was, which one of Barney’s cars should he take? Maybe the vintage Jeep Commander.

  Leaving from Barney’s house meant that the usual ten-minute drive to his office now took forty minutes, then another ten to wade across the parking lot to the back entrance of his building. He let himself in, climbed the back steps to his office, and opened the door with his brand-new office key. After he locked the door behind him, he turned on the lights and headed to the mini-kitchen, where he started a pot of coffee. While he waited for it to drip, he checked his e-mails and the voice mail. Two voice mails from his tenant on the top floor asking him to call. He did, and was told a client had come by earlier and said he would be back around noon. No, he didn’t leave a name, and the tenant hadn’t asked, saying just that the man had said he was a new client. Gus shrugged. He really didn’t need any new clients; it was all he could do to provide the ones he had with first-class service. Still, tax season was over, so it wouldn’t hurt to see what kind of help the guy needed. Plus, it would be someone to talk to.

  Gus scrolled through his e-mails. A few from friends, some forwarded jokes, some political cartoons some nitwit thought he would enjoy, an invitation to speak at next week’s chamber of commerce luncheon. He typed OKAY and sent the e-mail off after he marked it in his day planner and copied his secretary/receptionist.

  Gus walked back to the kitchen, poured his coffee, and returned to his office, where he decided to read the morning news online. Normally, he read the real newspaper while he had his coffee because he didn’t like reading online, just the same way he didn’t like reading a book with a Nook or a Kindle. When he realized he had forgotten his reading glasses, he turned off his computer, propped his feet on the desk, and drank his coffee. His headache was totally gone by now, thank God.

  He should have stayed home. He tried to shift his mental gears to pleasant thoughts, happier times, but it didn’t work. He thought about Wilson and how he missed him. Did he dare risk his grandmother’s wrath again by going to get the dog and forcefully taking him from her? He wondered if he had the guts to threaten his granny with the cops if she didn’t hand over his dog. That was a no-brainer if ever there was one.

  Before he could change his mind, he pulled the desk phone closer and pressed in the digits that would connect him with Blossom Farm. His grandmother answered. He identified himself politely and said he would be there within the hour to pick up Wilson, and to have him ready.

  “In that case, Augustus, you will have to take Winnie, also. Wilson won’t leave without her, and Winnie will cry, and I cannot stand an unhappy animal.”

  Gus loved Winnie almost as much as he loved Wilson. “Are you sure about the little lard bucket? She never objected before when you kept Wilson, and we left.”

  “I’m sure,” Rose said curtly. “And stop calling my dog a lard bucket.”

  “Okay, I don’t have a problem taking Winnie. But, Granny, she is fat, and she waddles.”

  “I’ll have them both ready in an hour. Good-bye, Augustus.”

  Maybe Granny was relenting a tad. She loved Winnie, and for her to let him take her dog had to mean something. Gus felt almost happy as he looked around to see where he’d left his umbrella. He was checking his computer one last time and turning off the lights when the buzzer outside his office sounded. The new client, he supposed. Well, since he didn’t have an appointment, he would just have to come back later on or next week. Right now it was more important for him to pick up the dogs. He opened the door, the dripping umbrella in his hand.

  The man was a nice-looking guy, a little damp, but he smiled. “Are you Augustus Hollister?”

  “I am. Are you the new client? Look, I’m just leaving, and I can’t stay right now. Can you come back next week, and we can talk then?”

  “I don’t think I need to come back as long as you’re Augustus Hollister. Here! You have been served, Mr. Hollister.”

  Son of a bitch! “That’s a lousy way to earn a living!” Gus shouted to the process server’s retreating back. He winced at the man’s laughter. He’d earned his sixty-five bucks first crack of the bat. “New client, my ass!” Once a fool, always a fool. There should be a law about those guys lying just to make $65. He had to hand it to his wife; she worked at the speed of light. Then again, maybe not, if, as he suspected, she’d been planning this for some period of time. Everything could have been drawn up and just waiting for her to kick him out. Out of his own goddamned house. Bitch!

  Gus folded the summons and shoved it in his hip pocket. He’d read it when he got back to Barney’s house.

  Chapter 7

  GUS WAS SOAKING WET BY THE TIME HE CLIMBED BEHIND THE wheel of the Jeep Commander. And he’d just ruined another pair of shoes. It was black outside, and lights were on everywhere as far as he could see. What the hell kind of April shower was this, anyway? Like none he’d ever seen. A worm of fear crawled around his belly as he goosed the Jeep through the water in the parking lot and out to the main road. Maybe it was the end of the world. Well, if so, he wanted to be with his granny and have his dog at his side when he went to meet his Maker.

  Gus crawled along behind the cautious driver in front of him, the taillights a faint, pinkish color. Since Gus was driving one of Barney’s prize cars, he tried to stay a good car length behind the other car in case the driver braked suddenly. Barney did like his toys.

  As Gus drove, his eyes straining to see ahead of him, his headache came back. He was too tense; he needed to relax, to take deep breaths—inhale, exhale. He prayed then, something he didn’t do on a regular basis even though his granny had taught him to pray. She had taught Barney, too.

  Gus did pray sometimes, but more often than not when he wanted something to go his way. I really am a shit of the first order, no doubt about it.

  Forty minutes later, Gus turned off the road onto a service road that would take him to Blossom Farm. He was driving through water that was midway up his tires. At the first sign of the post lamps—which were like beacons—that started at the entrance to the farmhouse, Gus knew he was less than a mile from the front door and safety. He crawled along, saying all the prayers he could remember, one after the other. When he finally stopped in front of the house, he had a bad moment wondering if the Jeep Commander would start up when he was ready to leave. Would his granny let him stay until the storm eased off, or would she kick his butt out the door? More than likely, she would let him stay since he would be taking Winnie and Wilson with him. He needed to calm down. He sat quietly, the spring storm raging all about him as he struggled with his breathing. It was hard because he was chilled to the bone.

  That’s all I need now, to get sick. His wild thoughts took him to a wicked place in his mind, his own funeral, with no one in attendance but Barney and his dog. Maybe Elaine, dancing on his grave while his grandmother and aunts hid behind a tree watching the proceedings. Old people got off on funerals, didn’t they? Happy to attend one as long as it wasn’t their own. Maybe Barney wouldn’t make it home from Hong Kong in time, and they’d keep his body in a freezer until he arrived. Maybe someone would give the order to fry him. Elaine! They were still married, so she could do whatever she wanted with his cold, dead body.

  “Enough!” The single word exploded from Gus’s mouth like a gunshot. He opened the car door and stepped down into water that was almost up to his knees. He slogged through the water to the steps and raced up like a runner, lightning crackling and thunder booming overhead. He couldn’t believe that the power was still on. Maybe that was a miracle. But, if it went out, Granny had a kick-ass generator that would take care of all her needs. He and Barney were the ones who had insisted on the generator, and she hadn’t balked at the cost or the installation. He mentally patted himself on the
back for that one.

  Gus rang the doorbell. Iris opened the door and handed him a towel. He kicked off his shoes and did his best not to drip on the floor. Wilson bounded into the foyer, took one look at him, barked, then rushed him. Gus dropped to his knees and hugged the big dog as he whispered in Wilson’s ear. Winnie waddled over to them and managed to wiggle next to Wilson. His happy little family. Gus wanted to bawl at what he was feeling. That little ditty that you never knew what you had until you lost it rang in his ears. Just more confirmation that he was a real shit.

  “Come along, Augustus, you need to change your clothes before you catch cold. Violet brought down some of the clothes that you left behind in your old room. You can change in the laundry room. Your grandmother is making you some hot tea.”

  All Gus could do was say thanks. He was shivering so badly, he could barely make it to the laundry room. He closed the door and looked at the contents of the dryer, which were tumbling around. He could see a pair of his old boxer shorts. He stripped down in record time, goose bumps all over his body. He stopped the dryer and couldn’t get into his old clothes quick enough. Then he put the clothes he had been wearing in the dryer and turned it on. Nothing ever felt as good as warm clothes next to his body. Who but his grandmother would think to put his clothes in the dryer for him? His eyes burned. He swiped at them as he made his way out to the kitchen and the hot cup of tea that waited for him. His eyes continued to burn.

  As Gus took his seat at the table and saw the huge mug of tea, he knew that if some fairy godmother came along and offered him one wish, his wish would be that he could unring the bell and go back to the day he’d first seen Elaine Ramsey. But that was wishful thinking, and it wasn’t going to happen. He cupped his hands around the heavy mug and sipped at the blackberry currant tea that his grandmother loved. He loved it, too. Wilson lay down by his feet, Winnie next to him.