Fool Me Once

by Fern Michaels

  Ten minutes later Olivia literally crawled out of the powder room on her hands and knees, her face splotchy and red. She crawled across the slick hardwood floors she’d helped her father install. Tongue-and-groove. She’d thought that phrase so funny as a child. Her father had allowed her to hand him the pieces of wood and showed her how to lay them down. She’d been so proud that he allowed her to help. “It’s just you and me, kid,” he always said after they finished a project. Just you and me, kid. Yeah, right. I think you left someone out, Daddy.

  It wasn’t until she was back in her favorite chair that she saw that the will was still on the coffee table. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to touch that. No way was she ever going to touch that. Absolutely, she was never, ever going to touch that.

  Alice pawed her mistress’s leg for attention. When there was no response, the dog ran to the kitchen for her food bowl, carried it back, and dropped it at Olivia’s feet. Cecil barked. Olivia looked at her watch. It was time for Alice’s supper. Cecil, too, since she was dog-sitting. She felt a hundred years old when she heaved herself to her feet and made her way to the kitchen.

  Olivia reached into the cabinet for the dog food. Her father had allowed her to screw the knobs into the cabinets. Just you and me, kid. A duo instead of a trio. She started to cry again, the tears rolling down her cheeks like a waterfall. She sniffed as she scooped out the food into two bowls and watched as both dogs gobbled it down. She let them outside. It was snowing harder. It always snowed in February. Her father was probably basking on the deck of his boat, sharing a glass of wine with Lea at this hour. It was probably warm and balmy, and they were probably both wearing shorts and T-shirts.

  She needed to call her father. What should she say? How should she say it? Just you and me, kid. Now it was her father and Lea. And, she wasn’t a kid anymore.

  Nothing was what it seemed. Not even the picture of “her mother” on the mantel.

  Alice scratched against the door as Cecil tried to nip her ear. Olivia opened the door, towel-dried the dogs, handed each of them a treat. She should think about her own dinner. She reached for a box of Cheerios and carried it back to the great room. She set the box down and made a fire.

  Olivia was a little girl again as she hugged her knees to her chest and watched the flames dance behind the ornate grate. She picked at the dry cereal, sharing it with the two dogs sitting next to her. She had to think, but her brain suddenly wasn’t working.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Liar! Liar!

  Both dogs crawled into Olivia’s lap and snuggled with her. How warm and comforting they felt. Suddenly, a red-hot streak of rage, hot as the fire she was looking at, ripped through her. What kind of mother would…would…ignore her daughter for thirty-four years? Who was this woman who had left her entire estate to a daughter she’d ignored all her life?

  Well, the only person who could answer those questions, other than possibly the attorney, was her father. And only he could tell her who was in the picture on the mantel.

  Olivia got to her feet and rummaged between the sofa cushions for the portable phone. For some reason she always stuck it between the cushion and the arm. Most times the battery was dead, and she had to recharge it or use her cell phone. She took a mighty, deep breath and dialed her father’s cell phone. She wasn’t surprised when Lea answered, sounding happy and relaxed. Well, why the hell shouldn’t she sound happy and relaxed, with her father and all that warm sunshine?

  “Lea, it’s Ollie,” she said, using her father’s favorite nickname for her. “Is he there?”

  “Honey, you sound…funny. Are you all right? Do you have a cold or something? If you do, you need to start taking care of it. I saw on the news that it’s very cold and snowing in Winchester.”

  “Or something,” Olivia responded. “Is Dad there?”

  “He was until about ten minutes ago. He’s down on the pier watching some fisherman haul in a huge marlin. Can I have him return your call, or would you like me to go get him? I don’t think he’ll be too long. Let’s face it, how long can you stare at a dead fish?”

  Olivia knew she was supposed to laugh at Lea’s little joke. She didn’t. She wondered if she would ever laugh again about anything. “No, that’s okay. Tell him to call me when he gets in. It’s important, Lea.”

  “Is there anything I can do, honey?”

  “No. But thanks for asking.” Olivia clicked the OFF button and replaced the phone in its stand instead of letting it slide down between the cushions. She walked back to the fire, carrying an armful of pillows. She was so cold she ached. The dogs curled up next to her, and she fed them the crunchy cereal, one morsel at a time.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Chapter 3

  Three hours later, the dogs sound asleep on the pillows, Olivia’s phone finally rang. She looked at it through narrowed green eyes that were little more than slits. The rage she’d felt earlier was still with her. Getting up carefully so as not to wake the sleeping dogs, she barked a greeting into the phone.

  “Ollie, Ollie, how are you? I’m sorry I missed your call. Daimon brought in this glorious marlin, and we all had to stand around and watch him gloat. Then we had to go to Finnegan’s to make a toast. What’s up, honey? Lea said you sounded funny and wasn’t sure if you were sick or something was wrong.”

  There’s something wrong all right. “A lawyer came to see me this afternoon.”

  “Good Lord, don’t tell me someone is suing you! When are people going to understand the camera doesn’t lie? They look the way they look. Call up our attorney, offer to redo the photos, then touch them up. That should work. You aren’t upset over this, are you, Ollie? You know it goes with the territory. It happened so many times to me, I lost count.”

  How cheerful and upbeat his voice sounds, Olivia thought, when my own is so chilly and hateful. Just you and me, kid. “It wasn’t about a disgruntled client, Dad. It was about my deceased mother—your deceased wife. The woman whose picture is not on the mantel. It seems she rose from the dead and died all over again two weeks ago. Well, Daaadd, what do you have to say about that?”

  The silence on the other end of the phone was so total, Olivia had to prompt her father for a response. “Well?”

  “I’ll get the first plane out in the morning. I should be there by midafternoon. This is not something to discuss over the phone.”

  “Why the hell not, Daaadd?” Olivia wailed. “How could you? More to the point, how dare you not tell me? How dare you let me think that woman in the picture was my mother? How dare you, Dad?” With shaking hands, Olivia pitched the phone across the room. She watched as the small cover that held the batteries bounced off, and the batteries rolled across the tongue-and-groove floor. She cried harder but made no move to fix the phone. Instead, she went back to the fire and curled up with the dogs, where she cried herself to sleep.

  Olivia woke with a stiff neck. She struggled to her feet, all the while massaging her neck. She hoped a hot shower would work out the kink. The dogs raced to the back door, then did a double take when they saw the night’s snowfall piled up against the sliding door. Game little rascals that they were, they did their best to plow through snow that was taller than them. They peed quickly and raced back to the house. Olivia handed out treats, made coffee, and trudged off to the shower, where she stood under the pelting spray until the water ran cold. After dressing quickly in a fleece-lined blue sweat suit, heavy socks, and sneakers, she pulled back her hair in a ponytail and tied it with a red ribbon. The last thing she did before leaving the bathroom was to apply some face toner in the hope it would reduce the redness and puffiness around her eyes. Like she really cared how she looked.

  What she needed next was coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. As she sipped her second cup, she stared out the kitchen window, knowing that by eight o’clock, all her customers scheduled for the day would call to cancel. Considering her frame of mind, she thought it was a good thing. The only way she would be able to catch up
was to work weekends. That wasn’t so bad, because she rarely did anything on the weekends except maybe go to dinner or the movies with Clarence.

  In order not to dwell on her immediate problem, Olivia tried to shift mental gears and think about her personal life. With the exception of Dee Dee Pepper, all her old friends were married with families. Most of them had moved out of state, and she’d lost touch with them. Christmas was always an eye-opener, when the cards came in with newsletters, new-baby pictures, and family updates. She hated reading the details. Someday she was going to meet a guy who was going to sweep her off her feet. A guy who would like animals and respect what she did for a living. A man with whom she would want to start a family. She shrugged when she realized her biological clock was ticking. “If it’s meant to be, it will be,” she muttered to herself.

  The phone rang in the kitchen. Olivia looked at the clock. Five minutes to eight. It was Cecil’s handler, Jeff Bannerman, pleading for her to keep Cecil another day, what with the snow-clogged roads. Olivia agreed, reminding Jeff that her services were fifty dollars an hour. As on the previous day, he readily agreed and said he would bring a check for the full amount when he came to pick up Cecil.

  The phone rang three more times, her three morning clients canceling and rescheduling. Outside, the skies were gray, and it looked like more snow. Her father was going to be in for a shock when he stepped off the plane. He was also going to have to take a taxi. There was no way she was going to the airport with road conditions what they were.

  Olivia refilled her coffee cup and carried it to the table, positioning it on one of the cheerful place mats she’d made last winter. She loved this kitchen, with the white cabinets and colorful greenery on the counters. She loved the whole house and was delightedly stunned when her father had deeded it to her when he and Lea went off to the islands. The hanging plants were thick and lush, thanks to a weekly dose of plant food and a good water spritzing every other day. Her collection of saltshakers and pepper grinders graced the tops of the cabinets. Her father had built a special shelf on top of the cabinets when she said she was going to start collecting something. He’d always acquiesced in everything she wanted and got right on it, making it happen. He’d been a wonderful father. Until now. Now she thought of him as a liar. He’d betrayed her in the worst possible way. How could she ever forgive something like this?

  Was there a reason for his deception? Surely he had a reason. She wished she knew more about motherhood. All she knew was what she read in magazines and stories and what she’d observed as a child with her friends’ mothers. The bottom line in those magazines and stories was about mothers loving their children more than life itself. Why did her mother give her away? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant. Maybe she hadn’t been mother material. Or maybe Olivia had been an ugly baby. Maybe something had been wrong with her when she was born that offended her mother. But then she snorted at such thoughts.

  Was she blaming the wrong person? It was possible, she supposed, that her father only did what her mother wanted. Since she didn’t know anything about her mother—not even what she’d looked like—she couldn’t really say. What she was sure of was that her father loved her with all his heart. She was certain in her own mind that he still loved her and that there had to be reasons why he’d done what he did. And now he was on his way to her to try to make all this right.

  Olivia felt like crying, but she bit down on her lower lip. Crying was for wimps. At least that’s what her father said. She leaned over and turned the radio on just to have some sound. Music filled the kitchen and lifted her spirits. Since her father was going to be there, maybe she should think about what she was going to make for dinner. She eyed the Crock-Pot sitting on the counter. With her busy schedule, it was a lifesaver. But today, even though she had the time, she didn’t feel like cooking. She’d just dump stuff in it from the freezer, and whatever it turned out to be, she and her dad would eat.

  It took her all of ten minutes to drop a package of chicken parts into the oversize pot, along with celery, carrots, frozen peas and corn, and a can of chicken broth. At the last minute she opened the cabinet over the stove and sprinkled every spice she had on the rack into the mess. She covered it, adjusted the cook time, then dusted her hands dramatically. Done.

  Olivia opened the freezer again, withdrew a Boston cream pie, and set it on the counter to thaw out. Her father loved Boston cream pie. These days, Lea made the pies from scratch.

  Just you and me, kid.

  Somehow Olivia managed to while away the hours by tidying up the studio, playing with the dogs, checking the Crock-Pot, and washing a load of towels. She looked at the time on her watch at least a hundred times until she heard the pinging sound of the doorbell. With the dogs at her heels, she ran to the foyer, where she skidded to a stop, opened the door, and stared at her father.

  He looked wonderful, tanned and fit, wearing heavy winter clothes that looked brand-new. But there was such sadness, such regret and weariness in his eyes that she knew he hadn’t slept. She burst into tears. He reached for her, and she fell into his arms. He held her so tightly she wanted to squeal with the pain, but she didn’t.

  “I have no words to tell you how very sorry I am, Ollie. This was never supposed to happen. Never!” he said vehemently. “Let’s go into the kitchen and have something hot to drink.”

  In the kitchen, Olivia reached for a cup and poured coffee for her father. She’d been making pot after pot of coffee since ten o’clock, then throwing each one out because she wanted the coffee to be fresh when her father arrived.

  Olivia waited until her father had taken his first sip before she whispered, “Tell me everything.”

  He did.

  “I didn’t know what to do, Ollie. I was numb. All I could think of was that you were just a few hours old, and I was the only one who wanted you. I signed everything they put in front of me. I was full of fear and panic. I think the look on your mother’s face told me there was no hope that she would change her mind. She had some pretty highfalutin lawyers back then. To this day, I don’t know how she paid for them. She said she wanted a divorce, didn’t want you, and didn’t want anything from me. She also said she was taking back her maiden name. All that was in the…the contract I signed. Allison agreed never to interfere in your life. I insisted on that when I finally got my wits about me. She readily agreed. She didn’t want either one of us. I know that must hurt you unbearably, Ollie, but I can’t change what is. From that day on, I never heard a thing about her. She kept her word.

  “I talked to our minister, your grandmother, anyone who would listen or who I thought could offer advice. They all agreed that telling you your mother had passed away would be best. I tried to be both mother and father to you. I did my best, Ollie. It was really rocky in the beginning, but you were too young to remember. I did what I thought was best for both of us.”

  “You did, Dad. I just wish you had told me. I’m not faulting you for the care you gave me. I loved our life. I love you. I just think I should have known.”

  Dennis Lowell ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair. “I always planned to tell you, but that time never came. And, of course, I had put that picture on the mantel and told you it was your dead mother. I didn’t know what would happen if I told you the truth and admitted to the deception.

  “You were so happy-go-lucky. I thought you’d become sad, upset…maybe even try to search her out or something. That was the selfish part of my thinking. I never, ever thought something like this would happen.”

  Olivia got up from her chair and started to pace the kitchen. The dogs tracked her until they got dizzy. “But it did happen, Dad. That lawyer wants me to call him back. He left her will. I didn’t even look at it. I don’t want anything from her. Can you take care of it, Dad?”

  Dennis stared at his daughter before he got up to lift the lid of the Crock-Pot. “You just threw stuff in here, eh?” Olivia nodded. “I’m afraid, Ollie, it doesn’t work like that. I g
uess your mother wanted to make amends for what she did. She can’t hurt you anymore. Just deal with it, then forget about her. I know that sounds easy for me to say, but it’s the best thing for you to do. If she left you an insurance policy, donate it to some worthy cause. You’re nothing like her, Ollie. You’re my daughter, and don’t you ever forget it. Now, where is that damn will? We might as well get started on this so we can lay it to rest. Do you forgive me, Ollie?”

  Did she? Did she have a choice? She forced herself to nod. “It’s on the coffee table in the great room.” Her heart thumped in her chest as she stared at her father’s back. His shoulders were slumped as he made his way into the great room.

  Olivia remained at the kitchen table, a table built by her father. She’d helped to sand it. She clasped and unclasped her hands as she tried to come to terms with what her father had just told her. The part that bruised her heart was that her mother had refused even to see her when she had been born. She’d just signed her away, all nice and legal. What kind of woman would do a thing like that?

  Time crawled forward as Olivia waited for her father to return to the kitchen. What was taking so long? She started to get angry all over again as she entered the great room. Her father was staring off into space. Fear washed through her as she raced across the room.

  “Dad, what’s wrong?”

  Dennis turned, and for a moment he still didn’t seem to be focusing on her. “This is going to be a little more complicated than I originally thought. It seems your…Allison changed her name. Does the name Adrian Ames mean anything to you?”

  Olivia shook her head.

  “How about Adrian’s Treasure Box? Does that ring any bells?”