Fool Me Once

by Fern Michaels

  Olivia laughed. “I think you’ve established that you’re not involved with anyone.” Suddenly she felt wonderful. So wonderful, she smiled from ear to ear. “Do you like working in D.C.?”

  “It’s as good a place as any. Cost of living is high. It’s a good firm. I have the same dream most lawyers have of hanging out my own shingle someday.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “Money. I need to build up my bank account. To do that you need clients. Someday I want to practice family law. My brothers offered to back me, but if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it on my own, just the way they did.”

  Their food was brought just then by a tiny woman with eyes as dark as her hair. She smiled as she ladled out their food onto their plates. They ate with gusto, sampling each other’s food and laughing over absolutely nothing. They finished a second pot of tea and sat back to wait for the bill and the fortune cookies.

  Olivia cracked open her cookie, read her fortune, and smiled. “Mine says, ‘Good fortune awaits you.’”

  “You gotta believe a fortune cookie.” Jeff grinned. He broke open his cookie and laughed uproariously. “Mine says ‘You are popular with people and animals.’ Oh, if it were only true.” He slipped bills from his wallet and placed them on the plate. Then he helped Olivia with her coat. Somehow or other Olivia’s hand touched his, and she felt a jolt of electricity. She saw Jeff’s eyes widen, his face pinking up.

  The ride back to the house on Eagle Drive was tense. Neither spoke until Jeff pulled into Olivia’s driveway. All Olivia wanted was to escape into the house so she could think about what she was feeling. Jeff looked like he couldn’t wait to leave.

  “I’ll call you,” Jeff said, as she slipped out of the BMW.

  “Okay.” Olivia ran to the door, opened it, and raced inside. The dogs barked and jumped all over her as she dropped to her knees to pet and talk to them. They allowed themselves to be gathered close and suffered through her smothering hugs. She stayed with them until she felt herself calming down.

  Jeff Bannerman was no Clarence De Witt.

  Not by a long shot.

  It was almost three o’clock when Olivia carried the items she’d taken from Adrian Ames’s house to her office. She dropped them on her desk and turned on her computer. The diary glared up at her, but she ignored it. Before she allowed herself to read it, she wanted to search for Allison Matthews’s two friends. She did her best to clear her mind and started a search.

  By six o’clock she was ready to tear her hair out. Jillian Davis Laramie had married two years after Allison, then divorced Gill Laramie seven years later. She’d given birth to one daughter, named Mary Louise. That had to mean Mary Louise was about the same age as Olivia. Jill moved around a lot. She’d lived in Sladen, Mississippi, then moved to Birmingham, Alabama, and stayed there for several years before moving back to Sladen temporarily. Natchez, Mississippi, was her next home for a few years until she moved to Salt Lake City, Utah. The trail ended there.

  Olivia started a new search for a telephone number or e-mail address. In both instances she drew a blank. She realized then she didn’t have the capabilities to do a more extensive search. Her shoulders slumped.

  There had to be a way to find Jill Laramie. Maybe she was in hiding. Maybe, like Adrian Ames, she had changed her name. There was no point wasting time trying to find Gill Laramie or the daughter, Mary Louise, without having their social security numbers.

  Contacting the Alumni Association at Ole Miss, even with Jill’s social security number, was an exercise in futility. Jill had a password, which meant Olivia couldn’t log on to her info without it. Obviously, Jill had an e-mail address. The Department of Motor Vehicles showed that the last known address on Jill Laramie’s driver’s license was a Utah one. The license had not been renewed.

  Olivia called a halt to her search and headed for the kitchen to feed the dogs. She let them out and in, then heated up some of the soup from the day before. She was back on the computer by seven-thirty and worked till ten, with no better results. Not only was she discouraged, she was disgusted. She knew in her gut she wasn’t going to be able to find Gwen Nolan, either. She needed to switch gears, but she didn’t know how.

  Clarence!

  Clarence worked for the IRS. Everyone had to file a tax return. Everyone. Jill and Gwen would be no exception.

  Olivia didn’t stop to think about what she was doing, she just did it. She called Clarence and asked him point-blank if he could get her the addresses for the two women. “Don’t ask me why, Clarence. It’s a personal family matter. I’ll never divulge where I got the addresses. I have to find these two women. It’s very, very important. I tried to find them on my own, but I can’t. You’re my last hope. I will be eternally grateful, Clarence. I’ll bake you a chocolate cake every day if that will convince you.” She listened to his excuses, his questions, and answered them as best as she could without really telling him why she needed the information. In the end, Clarence said no.

  “Fine, Clarence. I thought you were a friend. Obviously, I was wrong. It would take you ten minutes. Ten minutes. I just want an address. It’s important to me. Good-bye, Clarence.”

  Shit!

  Olivia headed for the shower. While she danced under the hot spray, her mind whirled and twirled. Now that she was back to square one, her only other option was to engage the services of a private detective to locate Jill and Gwen. That’s what she would do first thing in the morning.

  When she woke in the morning, she was surprised that she had slept through the night. A deep, dreamless sleep. After juice, coffee, and toast, she headed back to her office and her computer. It was time to do some research in regard to private detectives.

  Only a few minutes later, she turned her swivel chair around, reached for the phone, and dialed the number for “The Private Detective Agency.” No originality in that name! The Web site promised a full staff of professionals and guaranteed results or there would be no charge. Along with the latest high-tech equipment for surveillance, dedicated staff members, and reasonable rates, the firm also guaranteed privacy and confidentiality. Daily or weekly reports were offered, depending on the client’s wishes. TPDA had offices all over the area, five in all.

  After Olivia introduced herself, she was stunned to discover she was talking to the owner, Miki Kenyan, herself. She quickly stated her business while the detective took notes.

  “Thanks, sweetie. That should do it. I’ll get back to you tomorrow or maybe later this evening. Now, I’ll need your credit card number. One last thing, do you prefer e-mail or phone contact?” Olivia said either was fine and rattled off her credit card number and expiration date.

  The detective signed off by saying, “I’ll be in touch, sweetie. Sit tight. TPDA guarantees results.”

  Olivia dusted her hands. Done.

  Now she turned her attention to some housekeeping chores—washing and changing sheets and towels, cleaning the bathroom and building a fire in the great room, running the vacuum. Next she made herself lunch, then played with the dogs for a while before heading to the office. Before she sat down, she raced back to the kitchen to take out a frozen meat loaf and set it on the counter to thaw partially. Her dinner taken care of, she returned to the office and turned on the computer. Then she turned it off. She didn’t want to work on the computer; she wanted to start reading Adrian Ames’s diary.

  With a shiver of apprehension, she picked up the leather-bound burgundy diary and flipped through the pages, noting there were more blank pages than pages with writing on them. She licked her dry lips as she settled down to read Adrian Ames’s small, cramped writing.

  The book was old, the pages yellowed. The leather felt dry and was cracked in places. It was, after all, forty years old. She read the first entry.

  Jill and Gwen agreed. They were not exactly eager, but when I explained the entire scenario, all the pros and cons, they finally agreed, knowing we would get rich. Jill held out the longest, but she’s as g
reedy as the next one. I wasn’t surprised that she agreed. They trust me. I guess they finally realized I’m the smartest of us all. We spent hours telling each other what we would do with our money. It was hard to make them understand that if we succeed, we won’t be able to spend the money for five years. They didn’t like that one bit, but I finally convinced them we have to wait.

  Olivia read the entry several times. Allison Matthews, as she had been then, hadn’t used the word robbery or bank once. Not spending money for five years could mean a number of things. So what if she said she was the smartest of the three? Maybe she was. So what if she convinced them to go along with her plan? The entry didn’t say what the plan was. Waiting five years to spend money could be as simple as waiting for money to gather interest. Spending hours talking about spending the money could be considered girl talk. The fact that there was no date on the entry could mean it was written at any time, not necessarily prior to the bank robbery.

  Olivia turned the page to read the second entry.

  We did it. Jill and Gwen were magnificent. There wasn’t a tremor in either one of them. I was so calm I thought I was going to doze off. I think I missed my calling. I bet I could do this for a living. The three of us are going to celebrate tonight. I am going to tell Dennis I can’t see him tonight. This is our night. We three deserve the celebration. Now all we have to do is work on phase two and wait for five years. We made a pact to never discuss this matter until the five years pass.

  So they “did it,” and the girls didn’t so much as twitch. “Did it” could mean a thousand different things. Allison had nerves of steel. They were going to celebrate, and she was blowing off a date with Olivia’s father. Nothing incriminating here. Not talking about something for five years could refer to a secret other than a bank robbery.

  Olivia walked to the kitchen and turned on the oven. When the oven buzzer pinged to announce the temperature, she prepared the meat loaf and slid it in. Then she carried a can of soda pop back to the office.

  The third entry was interesting. Short but interesting.

  I’m getting married tomorrow. I asked myself why, and the only response I can come up with is, why not? I don’t love Dennis. He’s incredibly boring. Nice but boring. He has a good job, and we’re going to move to Winchester, Virginia, and live there. All around, it will be easier. A name change could prove to be beneficial. I hope. I told the girls. They were surprised. They were even more surprised when I told them the first thing I was going to do when the five years are up is divorce Dennis. They laughed. That annoyed me. I didn’t like the look I saw in Jill’s eyes. Gwen asked me how I could marry someone I didn’t love. I told her it was easy. She asked me about the sex part. I didn’t answer her.

  “You were one ugly person, Allison Matthews,” Olivia snarled, tossing the diary across the room. The dry pages parted from the leather binding and scattered all over the floor. With no dates, how was she going to put them back in order? “Who cares,” she snarled again as she gathered them up in a bunch.

  Olivia read other entries, all boring, about Allison’s job, Dennis’s late hours, keeping house, and grocery shopping. Then she read the entry concerning her. Her tongue was dry. She swigged from the soda can, the soda dribbling down her chin.

  I damn well can’t believe it. I’m pregnant. I’ve done everything I could think of that might possibly help me to abort. Nothing works. I told Dennis. What else could I do? The stupid clod was overjoyed. I called Jill and Gwen. Both of them laughed as they offered up aborting remedies. I tried them, but they didn’t work either. I’m doomed to have this kid. Jill told me I should take a tumble down a staircase. I told her we don’t have a staircase. She laughed like a hyena. I don’t want this kid. I made Dennis move out of the bedroom. I will never have sex again. He can have the kid. I certainly don’t want it.

  Olivia placed the loose pages on the desk. She reached for a tissue. She was an it. Allison Matthews Lowell thought of her as an it.

  “Damn you! Damn you!” Olivia said, breaking into sobs. “Damn you to hell!”

  Chapter 10

  Olivia woke with a start, all four dogs on the bed nudging her to get up. She rolled over and groaned. She didn’t want to get up. She wanted to stay under the warm covers and forget about all the bad dreams she’d had, one after the other, during the long night. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her head started to pound. Damn, now I have a headache.

  Tying the belt to her robe, she shuffled through the house to the sliding glass doors to let the dogs out. There was a light dusting of snow on the patio. Such a long time till spring and warm breezes! The temperature gauge said it was thirty-seven degrees outside. It felt colder. Before she made coffee, she turned the thermostat to eighty.

  It. She was an it. Olivia started to grind her teeth in anger. If Adrian Ames had been standing in front of her at that moment, she’d have punched her silly. Where was it written that a person had to love her mother? Nowhere, that’s where. The title of “mother” came biologically, but love for a mother had to be earned.

  The last cheerful plop of the water dripping into the pot alerted Olivia that the coffee was done. She poured a cup, swallowed some Tylenol, and sat down just as the phone rang. Her voice turned surly when she recognized Clarence’s voice. Before he could say anything more than hello, Olivia said, “Look, Clarence, I’m sorry I called you and asked you to find those addresses for me. It was wrong. I wouldn’t want some agent giving out information on me. Let’s just forget it. I had a temporary lapse of good judgment.”

  Olivia listened as Clarence prattled on about everything and nothing. He didn’t even accept her apology. “I’m heading out of town for a full-blown audit. A big one, Ollie. I might even get a big promotion on this one. I’m just calling to tell you I won’t be able to make dinner this week.”

  “Fine. I have to go now, Clarence. Say hello to everyone at the IRS for me.” Before he could comment, she hung up the phone. It rang almost immediately. Thinking it was Clarence calling her back, she let it ring four times before she picked it up. It was the detective agency.

  Olivia looked at the clock, surprised to see that it was only a quarter after nine. The detective was on the ball. They made small talk until Miki Kenyan got to the point. “Okay, I just sent you an e-mail and a fax. We found Jillian Davis Laramie in Woodbridge, New Jersey. We’re still working on Gwendolyn Nolan with all the many different names. I expect to have something for you later today.”

  “You actually found one of them! Do you have any details?”

  “The report is sketchy. It’s all in the e-mail. If you want us to do a more thorough background check, it will cost. Read the report, and get back to me. If you take the Metroliner from Washington, D.C., you can be in New Jersey in three and a half hours. It’s a forty-minute flight to Newark. I’ll get back to you later today.”

  Olivia leaned back in her chair. Her headache was just a dull throb. She hoped with a shower it would disappear completely. A fresh cup of coffee in hand, she made her way to the office, the dogs following. She took a moment to watch them. How happy the little pack was. They all got along, played and tussled and even looked out for one another. She still had no clue which Yorkie was Cecil.

  When she clicked on her e-mail, there it was, TPD Agency@earth link.net. She read all eight lines:

  Jillian Marie Davis Laramie

  99 High Street

  Woodbridge, New Jersey

  Time of residence: 19 years

  Phone number is unlisted and there is no e-mail address.

  Subject has no driver’s license on record in maiden name or married name.

  Eight lines.

  Olivia blinked. She’d hoped for more. But, she’d hired the agency to find Jill, and that’s what they’d done. No telephone or e-mail address meant a face-to-face meeting was called for. Well, she could do that. She could leave in the morning and come back the same day. Her father’s buddy down the street would come in and let the dogs o
ut. Alice liked Tom Hutchins, a retired mailman, because he always carried treats in his pocket when he stopped by. If Alice liked him, so would the others.

  Woodbridge, New Jersey. A long way from Ole Miss for Allison Matthews’s friend.

  Olivia swiveled her chair around so she could watch the dogs growling over a pull toy. Her gaze settled on the diary. She needed to continue to read it. She had to finish it before she went to New Jersey, but first she needed to take a shower and get dressed for the day.

  An hour later, dressed in jeans, a shell-pink sweater, and ankle-high boots, Olivia made her way to the kitchen, where she scarfed down a toasted bagel and a container of yogurt. She definitely needed nourishment before tackling the leather-bound diary with Adrian Ames’s secrets.

  It.

  The phone on the desk pealed to life. Olivia looked at it long and hard. A client? Jeff? She yanked at the receiver and brought it to her ear. She heard her father’s cheerful voice. The headache that had almost been gone started to pound behind her eyes. “What’s up, Ollie?” It was the way he started all his phone calls.

  “Stuff,” was always her response.

  “Details, please.”

  “Well, I went with Jeff Bannerman, Cecil’s handler, to your wife’s estate. We almost got mauled by a vicious dog. There’s a caretaker there. We opened the safe, and there was a diary, photocopies of the bearer bonds the trio stole, and a few other things. We took the pictures, the photocopies, and the diary. I read some of it last night. She referred to me as an it. Did you know that, Dad?”

  “Yes. It was a long time ago, Ollie.” How defensive her father sounded!

  “I hired a private detective to locate Jill and Gwen when my own search didn’t pan out. The detective called a little while ago and said they found Jill in New Jersey. So far no luck on Gwen.”

  “I assume you’re going to talk to her.” It sounded like a statement, but it was really a question.