Gotcha!

by Fern Michaels

  Julie climbed out of her truck and headed up the driveway to a cracked and broken slate path, which led to the ramshackle front door. It opened just as she set foot on the lopsided steps. She picked her way carefully, her fingers crossed that she wouldn’t fall through the rotted wood.

  Julie liked the smile she was seeing on Oliver’s face. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” she said.

  “The Realtor put me in touch with some people who, for a ton of money, say they can turn this dump into a showplace.” Julie laughed.

  Oliver stood aside for her to enter the house. “They tell me there’s a history to this old relic. I plan on reading up on it. The staircase, or I should say, dual staircase, is straight out of Gone With the Wind. It’s in perfect condition, as are the floors. For the most part, the inside is in good condition. The floors are heart of pine and need to be sanded. Everything needs to be updated. The kitchen and bathrooms and the seven fireplaces have to be rebuilt. The major part of the work is outside. So I can live here while the work is going on. I think I see what Mace saw. I’m going to do it. That’s the bottom line.”

  “It’s a big piece of property, Oliver. You’re going to need a full-time gardener.”

  “Nope. I’m going to do that myself. I went on the Internet last night and ordered every book ever written about gardening and the upkeep of yards such as this. First thing Monday morning, I’m heading to Burns Hardware so I can buy one of everything that I’ll need. That was Mace’s plan, and now it’s mine.”

  “I love old houses. There’s such character in them, such history. I’m all for a modern kitchen and bath, but I hope you don’t tamper with the walls and doorways and such.”

  “Nope, they will stay the same. Coffee? Something cool to drink? I have some iced tea.”

  “Iced tea sounds good. Does the air-conditioning work?”

  “Nope! Nothing really works,” Oliver said cheerfully.

  In spite of herself, Julie burst out laughing. Oliver laughed with her. She decided at that moment that she liked the man sitting across from her at the table.

  “So where would you like to go to dinner, Julie Wyatt? You know the town, so you pick the place.”

  Julie thought about the question and decided she really didn’t want to go out to eat. “Do you have any food here?”

  “Cheese, crackers, eggs, muffins, that’s about it. I have to find a grocery store, so I can buy . . . you know . . . real food.”

  “I could eat some scrambled eggs. I can even make them for us if you don’t mind. Breakfast has always been a favorite meal of mine. More often than not, I have breakfast for dinner when I’m by myself. So, what do you say? You do have pots and pans, right?”

  “One pot, one fry pan, one spatula. But I do have two forks. But only because I found them in a drawer. Don’t worry, I washed them.” Oliver chuckled. “Believe it or not, there is a raggedy garden out back. I think it was an herb garden at one time. Do you want to take a look and see if there’s anything you can use if you’re planning on an omelet? Hint, hint.” He grinned as he opened the kitchen door and headed out to an overgrown garden.

  Even from where she was standing, Julie could smell the rich scent of basil and parsley. If there was one thing she loved, it was an herb garden, be it one on her windowsill or one in an overgrown, uncultivated backyard.

  She broke off stems as she walked along. “You should, if you have the time, Oliver, clear all the weeds away and try to save the herbs. You have everything here. You can harvest them in a few months and dry them out and put them in jars. Fresh is best, of course. Or you could root some and put them on the windowsill in a sunny spot and have fresh herbs all the time.”

  “That’s assuming I learn how to cook. I was thinking of hiring a housekeeper.”

  “Oh.”

  Oliver looked sheepish. “I guess that ‘oh’ means I should take care of my own house like Mace was going to do. Learn as I go along, screw it up, then call someone in to fix it.”

  “Something like that,” Julie said as she picked her way through the weed-choked yard back to the kitchen.

  Oliver decided it was time to get a little huffy, and his tone showed it. “I don’t see myself as Mr. Homemaker. I’m a lawyer.”

  Julie reacted to his words. “Uh-huh,” Julie said as she rinsed off the herbs and diced them with a knife whose blade was so dull it couldn’t cut through the wind. In the end, she tore the leafy herbs into tiny pieces and dropped them into the eggs she scrambled into the fry pan. God alone knew how these eggs were going to come out, she thought as she scraped the chunk of cheese with a fork. This whole visit was starting to irritate her. She was only as good as the tools she had to work with. And she said so.

  “I offered to take you out to dinner,” Oliver said. “This was your idea.”

  And it was all downhill from there.

  “Yes, it was, and it was a stupid idea. I’m not even hungry.” She turned off the stove to make her point. “I think I’ll go home.”

  “You just got here,” Oliver snapped.

  “And now I’m leaving,” Julie snapped back. “I have a lot of things on my mind, and I don’t have time to hold your hand. No one helped me. I had to do it all myself. I learned from my mistakes; you can do the same thing. How do you even know Mace would want you to be doing what you’re doing? You’re doing this to make yourself feel better. And I do not want Mace Carlisle’s estate, so take my name off whatever it’s on,” she snapped again. She stomped her way to the front door and out to the rotted front porch. “Don’t send me anything in the mail, either, because I won’t open it. Did you hear everything I just said, Mr. Goldfeld?”

  “I did, and I imagine everyone in the next county also heard. I told you, it doesn’t work like that. Man, was Mace ever wrong about you. He said you were the sweetest, kindest lady he had ever met. He said you were the real deal, all sugar and spice and everything nice. You snookered him, didn’t you? And he was hurting and gullible, and he fell for it,” Oliver shot back. “Not to mention he was dying. And to think I left his dog with you! Well, I want her back!” Stunned at his own tirade, Oliver couldn’t believe he’d just said what he said. In the whole of his life, he had never spoken to a human being that way, much less a woman.

  Julie stopped in her tracks. Her eyes glistening, she thought her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. “You are beyond hateful, Mr. Goldfeld. I considered Mace a good friend, even though he was pretending to be Oliver Goldfeld the whole time. I haven’t even had time to mourn his death. Yet. I don’t do well with . . . death. Not that it’s any of your damned business. You just try to take that dog back, and you’ll . . . be sorry. It’s a fair trade—I keep the dog, and you keep the estate. Read my lips: I-do-not-want-it! Now go back inside and eat those shitty eggs I almost made for you. I hope you choke on them!” Julie screeched as she tore down the front steps. A chunk of wood from the bottom step fell off. Julie stopped, picked it up, and threw it in Oliver’s direction. She didn’t even wait to see if she hit her target or not. She whirled and ran to her truck.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she headed for the highway. She drove aimlessly for a while as she swiped at the tears pooling from her eyes. Finally, she pulled to the right and entered the parking lot of a Walgreens drugstore. She drove around to the back of the lot and pressed the button to roll up the windows, then turned off the engine. Then she howled her misery. She banged on the steering wheel, kicked out at the gas and brake pedals, before she calmed down.

  When she felt like she had herself under control, Julie turned the engine back on and lowered the windows. The heat and humidity slapped at her like a wet blanket. She really needed to get the air-conditioning fixed. Had she really done what she just did? What was wrong with her? Why had she wigged out? She needed to place some blame here. But where? If she wasn’t on overload, she was on the fast track to getting there. She recognized the symptoms from way back when. She needed to get a grip on things, or
she’d be sitting in a corner sucking on her thumb.

  At that moment, though, she needed to get back home. She would grieve for Mace Carlisle when all her other affairs were taken care of. The most important thing was that she’d told Oliver Goldfeld she didn’t want Mace’s estate. That, he would have to deal with. What she had to deal with was the fact that Mace and their kiss didn’t mean what she thought it had meant at the time. If he thought it meant more than it had, and left her his estate because of it, then Goldfeld was right; she’d deceived Mace. But at the moment it happened, it was what it was. On Mace’s return, she would have come to her senses and explained that they just got caught up in the moment before his departure.

  She couldn’t worry about any of that now. Now, she had to think of her granddaughter and what was going to go down in the coming hours. She was going to be raising a child again, something she was meant to do. She didn’t have time for wills and probate and a lawyer who thought she was some kind of cheat. Sugar and spice and everything nice. Not. At least in Oliver Goldfeld’s eyes. Like she was really going to return Lola to him. Not in this lifetime or the next. No way, no how. Lola was hers. Possession was nine points of the law. Wasn’t it?

  Back on the front porch of the dump he had just purchased, Oliver Goldfeld stared down the long driveway. “Sugar and spice and everything nice, my ass,” he muttered as he tossed the chunk of wood from the broken step out into the yard. “Damn it, Mace, I told you it was a mistake. She’s not who you thought she was. Did you listen to me? Hell, no, you didn’t, and now I have to deal with that woman. Now I have to go in there and eat those shitty eggs your lady friend almost cooked for me.”

  Oliver wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear Mace laughing at him as he let the screen door smack him in the rear end.

  Chapter 24

  The house was so quiet, Julie was frightened. Five men in her upstairs, and she felt fear. It didn’t compute. She looked at the clock. It was ten minutes past one in the morning. She’d been sitting here for over an hour watching the clock count down the time. She stood up and looked through the kitchen cutout leading into the sunroom. Gracie and Lola were sleeping nose to nose. Cooper was nowhere in sight. That’s what was bothering her more than the episode with Oliver Goldfeld. Cooper and his toys were in the bedroom where Harry Wong was sleeping. Her eyes burned. She knew as sure as she was sitting there that Cooper was lost to her. The lump in her throat was so huge, she could barely breathe.

  Julie looked down into her teacup, wishing she could read tea leaves. How many cups had she consumed so far this evening? Four was the number she came up with. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep, so she poured another cup of tea, finishing the pot, and carried it out to the dark front veranda, where she settled herself in her favorite rocker. She turned on the paddle fans to stir the air. Even in the dark, she could see the fern fronds dancing in the breeze the fans created. She had so many memories here on this veranda, most of them good, a few bad.

  She thought about Larry then, the way she always thought about Larry. And after Audrey had died, how many times had she sat out here with him and Ollie and had tea parties? Too many to count. They had taught Ollie how to play checkers out here on rainy days. Larry. Larry. Larry. It always came down to Larry. She cried at her failure, hoping Larry understood. Now, tomorrow, maybe the tide would turn, and she would really have Ollie back where she belonged, in a loving home. Maybe then Larry would forgive her. Maybe. But what if Larry didn’t approve of her methods? Would the end justify the means? She sure hoped so.

  Julie closed her eyes and let her mind wander. She’d wake up Ollie in the mornings, the way she always woke up her own kids. She’d make sure she had a pretty outfit for school, which she would lay out the night before. She’d make sure she showered and washed her hair with soap and shampoo befitting a little girl. She’d have breakfast ready so they didn’t have to rush. Ollie loved pancakes and waffles cut into star patterns. And she adored Julie’s homemade syrup. She’d have her lunch money and her book bag on the counter ready to go.

  They’d never be late to school, because punctuality was a trait of hers. They would talk about her classes for the day, discuss her homework on the ride to school. Then she’d drop her off, kiss her good-bye, and pick her up again at two o’clock. They’d come home, have a snack. Then Ollie would play and romp with the dogs, play in her newly decorated room. Then they would do homework and have dinner. Dinner over, the two of them would cuddle on the sofa so that Ollie could begin the healing and bonding process.

  There was not going to be any room in Julie’s life for lotteries or pharmaceutical companies, and everything that went with that. Ollie had to come first. She was going to need friends, activities, when she felt secure. That was going to take some doing. But with the girls’ help, she knew she could make it all happen, and Ollie would be right where her real mother and father would have wanted her to be. Life would be so good. So right.

  Julie set her teacup on the floor, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. Was Ollie sleeping peacefully? What was she dreaming about? Did she cry herself to sleep with no one to comfort her the way she’d told the twins she did?

  Three blocks away, in her darkened bedroom, Olivia Wyatt covered her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear Adam and Darlene screaming at each other. She looked up at the little clock on her night table. The red letters said it was one o’clock in the morning. She crept from her bed on tiptoe and walked over to her closet and her hidey-hole, the feather from her Crayola box in her hand. She didn’t have a pillow, so she used the blanket from her bed. She tried not to look at the pile of stuff Darlene had destroyed. Now her little corner was bare. She curled into a ball and whimpered, the feather held close to her chest. “Please, Daddy, help me. Grandma said she’s going to get me out of here. Can you help her?”

  Shhh. I want you to listen to me, Ollie. And when I’m finished talking to you, I want you to go to sleep. I’ll watch over you. Pretend you’re sleeping on a pile of feathers. I’ll take them from my wings and put them all around you to keep you safe. Is that okay, little one?

  “Oh, Daddy, you came. I miss you. I miss you so much. Is it true? Is Grandma going to come for me?”

  Ollie, remember what I said to you? When you need me, just call my name. Yes, it’s true. When you wake up in the morning, your aunts will come and get you. You have to be ready. I always keep my promises, Ollie, you know that. I want to tell you something, and I want you to remember it so you can tell Grandma. Can you do that?

  “Daddy, I’m a big girl. I can remember. What is it you want me to remember?”

  You have to tell Grandma not to be sad, because Cooper is going to go away. Because he has a job to do. A very important job. It’s important that Grandma not be sad. So, can you remember that?

  “Yes, I can remember. What kind of job, Daddy? What if Grandma asks me, and I don’t have the answer?”

  Grandma will know, Ollie.

  “What will Adam and Darlene do when I go with Grandma?”

  I don’t want you to worry about them, Ollie. They’re going to go away, too. You won’t see them for a long time. Will you be okay with not seeing them?

  “If I can stay with Grandma and Connie and Carrie, I’ll be okay, Daddy. I can’t tell you a lie. I won’t miss Darlene. Where are they going, Daddy?”

  Far away, Ollie. I can’t tell you a lie, either. You might never see them again. That’s why I asked you if you would miss them. You have to tell me the truth, Ollie.

  “Okay, Daddy. Maybe I won’t miss them. It’s not nice to say bad things about people. Darlene never hugs me, Daddy. All she does is chase me away. Darlene is so mean to me, she makes me cry. I try not to cry, Daddy, but I do. She pulls my hair, slaps me, and makes fun of me. She calls me bad names. I don’t like it here any more.”

  I know. That’s why Grandma is coming for you in the morning. When you wake up, get dressed and wait for Connie and Carrie to come for you. I want you t
o go to sleep now, Ollie. I’ll stay right here with you, so you’ll be safe. Close your eyes now and dream about all the nice things that are going to happen tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and then all the tomorrows forevermore. Shhhh.

  Across the hall and down two doors, Darlene and her boyfriend were punching and jabbing each other as they cursed and bellowed.

  “I told you that little snot ripped up the pillows and shoved them in her closet. Did you do anything? No! All you do is yell and scream at me. You’re no man! You’re a loser! I must have been out of my mind to get mixed up with someone like you.”

  “Shut up before the neighbors call the cops. The whole world can hear your screeching. You cut up those pillows. I know you did it. Why do you hate Olivia? She’s just a kid, for God’s sake.”

  “Because she looks like Larry’s first wife, that’s why. Every time I look at her, I see his wife. Pretty, perfect, prissy Audrey. The wife who did everything right. She ironed his shirts, loved him, cooked for him, gave him a daughter.”

  “But Larry couldn’t give you what you wanted and got from me. You let him die because you’re a greedy bitch. Well, look at you now! Just walk over to that mirror and take a good look at what a loser looks like. That’s you, all right. Little Miss Perfect might be dead, but she beat you in the end. You got squat, hotshot. You’re going to go back to your roots, that run-down tenement where you were spawned. Then again, you won’t even be able to afford that; you’ll be living in a damned tent and pissing in the gutter. Which is where you belong.” Darlene ducked the blow coming her way and bolted from the room to run downstairs, Adam following her. Darlene locked herself in the downstairs bathroom.

  Adam didn’t feel like breaking down the door. Let her sleep in the tub for all I care. He opened the refrigerator and looked for a bottle of beer. There was none, so he made coffee. He sat at the table while the coffee dripped into the pot. He was forty-seven years old and had never, ever, been this miserable in his whole life. His whole life, what there was of it, was crashing down right in front of his very eyes. Thank you, Julie Wyatt.