“How did she get my baby bracelet, Dad? I thought you said she didn’t want to see me. Me, the it.”
“I don’t know, Ollie. Maybe the nurse gave it to her. All I know is when I picked you up, you weren’t wearing it. I asked. The nurse just looked befuddled. I even panicked, wondering if I was taking the right baby home. But then I realized I had the right baby because you were the only girl baby in the nursery. The other four were boys.” “How’s your charter going?”
“Fine. They’re booking again in September. I have to run, Ollie. They’re waiting for me to shove off. They want and expect their money’s worth. I love you, kid, and don’t you ever forget it.”
This was where she was supposed to say, “I love you, too, Dad,” but she didn’t. Instead she broke the connection. She picked up the diary and started to read.
The most meaningful entry other than the hit-and-miss one-liners dealt with the distribution of the loot.
We met at the Holiday Inn. I carried everything in a big satchel. Before I left to meet with them, I divided the stuff into three equal parts. It was supposed to be a high moment but somehow it was flat. We just looked at each other. Jill was so interested in my divorce she almost seemed oblivious to what we were doing. I’ve never seen her so hateful. She actually made me nervous because she acted like she wanted to kill me. Gwen was so high she couldn’t talk straight. She just babbled. I cautioned them about how and when to turn things over. I suspect they didn’t hear a word I said. Jill said she was seeing a man. Gwen said the same thing. Jill said some things about her husband. Neither of the men they talked about impressed me. Jill has gained weight. She looked pregnant to me. Gwen is fat. I think both of them worry a lot.
We agreed not to call or write. It’s better this way even though we did exchange addresses and phone numbers. Both of them were upset that I changed my name. Legally, of course. They acted like I was trying to put something over on them. I’m not. I just want to be done with them like I was done with Dennis and the baby.
We didn’t hug or anything stupid like that. We each went our separate ways. No one ate the pastries or drank the coffee I paid for. They’re such losers. I don’t know why I ever bothered with them. Fifty years from now they’ll still be like they are today. Stupid. I’m so glad to be rid of them.
The entries afterward were sporadic, dealing with adapting to her name change, her move away from the Winchester area, which she said was a good thing. Her first sale, her excitement.
The years fast-forwarded with nothing even remotely interesting. There was a brief mention early on about Gwen’s wedding announcements. A terse one-liner summed that all up.
Fools, both of them.
Olivia flipped through the pages. She sat up straighter in her chair when she saw a paragraph that referred to her.
I hired a private detective today. I put him on a retainer and he guaranteed me quarterly reports on Dennis’s daughter. Even after all these years I still can’t think of her as my daughter. She’s sixteen today. It’s strange how I always remember the girl’s birthday. It was such an ugly day for me. I guess that’s why I remember it. So why did I get a private detective to find out about her? Curiosity, nothing more.
Olivia winced. The girl sounded a tad better than it. Dammit, I will not cry. She jumped up and ran to the kitchen. She eyed the coffeepot but decided she had enough caffeine in her to take her through the day and opted instead for a can of apple juice. Her mouth felt like cotton, her eyes dryer than sand. She struggled with herself to take deep, calming breaths. Finally quieting down, she told herself that she needed to finish reading the diary so she could move on.
The next entry that had any meaning to her was one written after her college graduation.
It’s hard to believe twenty-two years have gone by. That stupid detective can’t understand why I don’t want pictures of the girl. I’m paying him for reports, not pictures. I think he’s ripping me off, too. The girl sounds as boring as Jill and Gwen. She never does anything exciting. She doesn’t date, she isn’t involved in anything. Do I really want to see pictures of her with her father hugging and kissing? No, I do not. A teacher for God’s sake. It figures. Good old boring Dennis must have put that idea in her head.
Olivia cringed into herself. “You bitch!” she yelled, seething with anger.
Flipping the pages, she saw bank account summaries, brokerage accounts, then this entry:
I love seeing all these zeroes. In my wildest dreams I never thought I would be a millionaire a hundred times over. Gwen wrote and asked me for a loan. I just sat in stupefied amazement reading that letter. A loan. I ripped the letter into shreds. I knew she was stupid.
Gwen asked for a loan. That had to mean she went through her share of the money. How weird was that? Olivia couldn’t help but wonder how Jill had done with her share.
More meaningless entries, most of them dealing with foreign imports, new products—and then the ultimate betrayal. A longtime loyal member of Allison’s staff had been caught with his fingers in the till:
I’ll ruin him. If it takes my last cent I will see that man suffer. You can’t trust anyone these days. I was so generous to him and his family, and this is how he repays me. He’s going to regret the day he ever came to work for Adrian’s Treasures.
“Well, hot damn. Serves you right, you sanctimonious bitch. And I bet you didn’t call the cops, either. You handled it yourself. It figures—no cops for you, Adrian Ames, you thief,” Olivia muttered.
More blank pages.
Olivia clenched her teeth when she read the next entry.
Calendars for God’s sake! Dogs! Those filthy, smelly little creatures that lift their legs on everything they come in contact with. I can’t believe this. It’s Dennis all over again. Calendars! I’m embarrassed for her, and I don’t even know her.
Olivia bit down on her lip. To the best of her knowledge, she’d never been an embarrassment to anyone. Way to go, Adrian. You bitch!
No more entries for years. Then the big one. Olivia’s eyes widened.
That stupid doctor said I’m dying. I should know if I’m dying or not. I feel fine. I’m going to another doctor.
Another entry.
It’s been confirmed. Three out of three have agreed I’m dying. I can’t believe this. Well, I’m going to fight. Attitude is everything. One of those crappy doctors actually had the nerve to tell me to put my house in order. He wasn’t smart enough to tell me how to do that. That’s a man for you. I’m not going to write in this stupid journal anymore. I’ll take care of matters myself. Life is for the living, and I’m still living.
Olivia gathered up the loose pages and fit them snugly between the covers of the diary. She wrapped two rubber bands around the little book, then sealed it in an envelope and shoved it as far back as it would go in the bottom drawer of the desk.
Her eyes burning, Olivia walked out of the office and into the bathroom, where she washed her hands under hot water. She scrubbed her fingers and the backs of her hands with a nailbrush. Now her hands were burning as well. She staggered toward the kitchen, looked around in a daze. Why did I come in here? She made coffee, more to have something to do than anything else.
The dogs circled Olivia’s feet. She tried to smile at them. All they wanted was to be loved, fed, and kept warm. “Okay, we have a lot of meat loaf left from last night. I’ll warm it up for you.” The little dogs gobbled it down. Alice burped. Olivia burst out laughing.
Outside, the day was gray and dismal. More snow was probably coming.
Don’t think about that miserable diary or the miserable person who wrote it. Make plans to go to New Jersey. Call Mr. Hutchins. Call the airlines and a rental car service.
She did all of the above. She managed to get a 7:00 A.M. flight to Newark the following morning with a return flight at 7:00 P.M. Avis guaranteed a Ford Taurus for twenty-four hours. Mr. Hutchins promised to dog-sit and agreed to stay at the house until her return. He would arrive at five o’clock
in the morning. The only thing left to do was to go back on the computer to MapQuest and print out directions to Jill Laramie’s house.
I’m doing this because…because…I don’t know why.
Somehow or other, she managed to while away the rest of the day by going grocery shopping, dropping off and picking up her dry cleaning, and stopping at the pet store for some new dog toys with squeakers inside and some rawhide chews. At the last minute she picked up a fifty-pound bag of kibble she knew the dogs weren’t going to eat. But she bought it anyway.
On the way home, she stopped at Violino’s Italian Restaurant to buy her dinner, including a side order of garlic bread. Her last stop was the liquor store, where she bought a bottle of plum brandy for Mr. Hutchins and some beer for Jeff, in case he stopped by in the next few days.
Olivia was putting the last of her groceries away when Jeff called. He sounded tired. She offered him a brief run-down on Adrian Ames’s diary and her plans to go to New Jersey the following day. “I’ll be home around nine tomorrow evening if you want to come out.”
“Okay, I’ll bring dinner. Be careful, Olivia. When it comes to money, people change. If they feel threatened by you, anything can happen. Just be alert and careful.”
“Okay, Daaad,” Olivia drawled.
“I think I missed you today, Olivia.”
Olivia’s hand went to her heart. She felt suddenly flustered. “You did?” What a brilliant comeback that was!
“Yes. I’m sitting here working on this confounded brief. I’ve written the same thing four times, and it still doesn’t make sense. And last night I dreamed about that dog Brutus chasing me around the Tidal Basin, and Cecil was chasing him. Would you like to go out to dinner Wednesday night? I’ll make plans to stay over. How’s Cecil?”
“Are you asking me for a date, Jeff?” God, what should she wear? She’d have to get something new. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a real date. Some guy named Brad who was the track coach at the local high school. It hadn’t worked out because she wasn’t interested in feeding his jock ego. Clarence simply didn’t count. “Cecil’s fine. So is Loopy. Whichever one is fine.”
“Are you sure? Does he miss me?”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure, and, no, he does not miss you. At least I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. He’s acting normal. By that I mean all the dogs are acting normal. Maybe he does miss you a little.”
“I bet!” the voice on the other end of the phone groused. “I gotta go, Olivia. I’ll see you Wednesday. No, I said I’d come out tomorrow. Okay, both nights. Howzat?”
Olivia found herself giggling. “Sounds good to me. I think I might have missed you. A little. See ya!”
Olivia ran to her room and yanked open the door to her closet. The contents looked pitiful. Truly pitiful. Her fingers were feverish as she moved hangers, peering behind them as though some wonderful designer outfit would suddenly appear. Truly, truly pitiful. There wasn’t one single thing that could qualify as a date outfit.
Olivia’s shoulders slumped. Then she brightened almost immediately. Wednesday morning, bright and early, she could go to the mall and pick up something. Maybe she’d get her hair done and even get a facial. The thought excited her. Then again, maybe what she was excited about was the date and not the wardrobe. Yes, the date. She almost squealed with excitement.
Giddy with what she was feeling, Olivia headed for her office and her computer. Her fist shot in the air when she saw an e-mail from the detective agency.
Like its predecessor, this e-mail, concerning Gwen Nolan, was short. A note at the bottom said Report to follow within 36 hours.
Gwendolyn Rose Nolan Pascal Hendrix
246 Indian Drive
Summerville, South Carolina
Subject has lived at this address four years.
Phone number is unlisted and there is no e-mail address.
Driver’s license is in name of Gwendolyn Rose
Hendrix. It is current.
Okay, ladies, get set, because I’m coming to see you!
Chapter 11
At eleven o’clock Olivia knew she was lost, even with the MapQuest diagram in her lap. Somewhere she’d taken a wrong turn as she’d tried to keep up with the speeding traffic on Route 1. She hated the eighteen-wheelers that whizzed by her. She made a left-hand turn on Amboy Avenue, wherever that was, just to get off the busy highway, and decided to stop at a gas station and ask for directions. She also needed to use the restroom and get something to drink.
The best-laid plans of mice and men, she thought, and snorted.
Ten minutes later, Olivia paid for her Diet Coke and asked for directions, pleased to hear that she was less than three miles from her destination. The clerk made her a crude map.
Back in the car, she drove slowly on Route 35 until she came to High Street and made a right-hand turn. This was it—Jillian Laramie’s street. She rode up and down until she was comfortable with the neighborhood. It was neat and tidy, a lot like Eagle Drive, where she lived. At this time of year there was snow on the ground, but she could tell it would be pretty in the spring and summer, when the trees were in full dress and the flowers and shrubs bloomed.
Ninety-nine High Street was a two-story house with a big screened-in porch. She could see a side door to her left. Six steps led to the screened-in porch. There was a garage, but the door was closed. Then she remembered that Jillian Davis Laramie had let her driver’s license expire. How did she get around?
Going over in her mind what she was going to say to Allison Matthews’s friend, Olivia continued to stare at the house. All the shades and draperies were closed. What did that mean? Maybe Jill no longer lived there. Well, there was only one way to find out. She got out of the car and marched determinedly up the walkway and the six steps. At the top she was thwarted. The door leading onto the screened porch was locked. There was a bell, however, and she rang it. The draperies on either side of the main door didn’t move. She rang the bell again as she tried peering through the foggy Plexiglas of the storm door. There was no response. She rang the bell a third, then a fourth time.
Finally she turned around and walked down the steps and around to the left and the side door, where she banged on the glass in the door since there was no bell or door knocker. The upper portion of the door was a six-paned window with a venetian blind that was closed. Obviously, Jill liked privacy. Olivia knocked again, with no result. Then she pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sound inside such as a radio or television. Silence.
Frustrated, she walked back to the front of the house and out to the sidewalk. Maybe one of the neighbors could tell her if Jill was away, if perhaps she was the type to head south for the winter to get away from the snow and cold. Olivia made her way to the house on the left, walked up the steps, and rang the bell. An elderly man with a shock of white hair and matching beard opened the door and smiled. “What can I do for you, little lady?”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Laramie. She doesn’t answer the door. Do you happen to know if she’s away?”
The old man cackled with laughter as he hitched up his suspenders. “Come in, come in. It’s cold out there.” Olivia obliged. “Can I offer you some tea or coffee? I just made a pot for myself. Can’t drink coffee first thing in the morning, but by noon my stomach can handle it. Just follow me, and we can talk.”
Olivia trailed behind the man through the stiflingly hot house. She smelled licorice and Ben-Gay. The house was neat and tidy, the furniture old but comfortable-looking. The kitchen was warm and full of bright sunshine from the bay window. A small television sat on the counter, tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station. The old man turned the volume down. He held out his hand. “Paul Hemmings.”
“I’m Olivia Lowell. I live in Winchester, Virginia. What can you tell me about Mrs. Laramie?” Olivia said, getting right to the point.
The old man raised a bushy white eyebrow at her question as he poured coffee into a pretty flowered cup. A comp
any cup, Olivia suspected.
“Can’t tell you a thing. She moved in here about twenty years ago. Saw her go into the house and haven’t seen her since. She didn’t acknowledge my wife’s death or even send a card. ’Course, that was eight years ago, and she didn’t really know us, so I might have expected too much. In the beginning the neighbors talked some. Most of it made up, I’m sure. People do that when they don’t have the real story, whatever the real story is. Deliveries are made to the side door. The neighborhood used to fret about her, not knowing if she was alive or dead in that house. After a while we stopped fretting and just ignored the whole thing. There’s a daughter who lives in Avenel. Someone said she works for the News Tribune. Someone else said her name was Mary Louise, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Would you like some cookies? They’re store-bought, but they’re okay.”
“No thanks, Mr. Hemmings. The coffee is fine. Does the daughter come to visit?”
“Not that I know of. I’ve never seen her. Some of the neighbors thought they, mother and daughter, might be estranged, but I don’t know that for a fact. Are you wanting to see her about something important?”
“Yes, Mr. Hemmings, it’s important. Do you think I could trouble you for a piece of paper and some tape? I’ll put a note on her door, then go see if I can find the daughter. Can you give me directions to the newspaper?”
Paul Hemmings ripped out a sheet of paper from a spiral notebook, found a pen and an envelope, and handed them over. “I’ll do better than that—I’ll draw you a map.” Olivia watched as he found a stub of a pencil, spit on the end of it, and proceeded to draw a detailed map that would lead her to the local newspaper.
Olivia scribbled a note identifying herself.
It’s imperative that I speak with you at Allison Matthews’s request as soon as possible. I am her daughter.
Fool Me Once Page 11