“Guess that finally got your attention, huh, Mrs. Laramie?” She clicked on the e-mail and it popped up on the screen. Olivia had to read it twice before she could comprehend what she was reading.
Ms. Lowell,
How dare you send me such a message! How dare you come poking around my home to invade my privacy! How dare you! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your mother’s death has nothing to do with me. For the record, I hated her guts. Yes, I knew your mother when we were in college, but that ended upon graduation when we each went our separate way. Your threats of an FBI investigation mean nothing to me. How dare you threaten me! Stay out of my life and look into your mother’s life, not mine. She was a hateful, conscienceless woman. I suspect you take after her to be doing such things.
It was signed Jill Davis Laramie.
Olivia rummaged on her desk until she found the slip of paper with Jeff’s e-mail address at his law firm. She forwarded the message, sat back, and waited for a response. The response from Jeff appeared almost immediately.
Sorry I cut and ran, Olivia, but when I saw all that snow I figured I better get on the road. I thought about you the whole time I was slipping and sliding on the highway. I’m going to do my best to make it out there this afternoon. If there is any way I can get out of here early, I will. I’ve got my portable radio here in the drawer tuned to the weather station.
As for Jill. It sounds to me like she’s getting ready to take it on the lam. That’s lawyer-speak for her doing a disappearing act. She’s in some serious denial. Perhaps you should e-mail her back and tell her about the proof Allison left in her safe. Gotta run. Jeff
Olivia printed out the e-mail so she could read it again and again. She then pulled up Jill’s e-mail to type a response.
Dear Jill,
Thank you for taking the time to answer my e-mail. I will take your comments one by one and address them. How dare I say and do the things I did? How dare you rob a bank? How dare you deny it? I have the proof. Allison Matthews photocopied all those bearer bonds. Your share is clearly marked, as is Gwen’s. Denial on your part is no longer an option. You don’t have a trust fund; you lied to your husband Gill and your daughter. You gave Gill fifty thousand dollars for Mary Louise’s care when you divorced. I understand your feelings for Adrian Ames. She wasn’t a nice person. I also understand the idea to steal the bonds was Allison Matthews’s. But you and Gwen were willing participants. I have the bank card where both you and Gwen signed for the safe-deposit box. That card has your social security number on it and Gwen’s as well. That’s where you three stashed the bonds until things blew over. In addition, Adrian Ames left a diary. I have all these things in my possession. I also have your wedding invitation and two from Gwen. For some reason, Adrian Ames saved them. I want to talk to you so we can resolve this with the least amount of trouble. You and Gwen, should this go public, could spend time in a federal slammer. Bank robberies are always on the books. I gave you my phone number but here it is again.
Olivia read and reread her message before she added her phone number and then typed in her name. She wondered if what she’d just typed was true. Somehow or other she thought bank robberies had statutes of limitations. She pressed SEND, and the e-mail was gone.
After showering, she dressed warmly in a fleece-lined sweat suit, knowing she was going to snowblow the driveway and patio. But not yet—it was still snowing. It looked to her like there was at least five inches of new snow on the ground. In the kitchen, she made herself scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, which she shared with the dogs. Her eyes on the falling snow, she opened the freezer and debated taking something out for dinner since she didn’t know if Jeff would make it. She opted for a pot roast. She hadn’t made one of those in ages. Carrots, string beans, potato pancakes. Hmmmm. She tidied up the kitchen, knowing she was stalling. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and ran to the computer.
There were no personal messages, but there were nine spams. She deleted them. She must be really stupid to have thought Jill Laramie was sitting there waiting for an e-mail from her. The lady didn’t scare easily. For some reason that surprised her. Well, she could wait. She had all the time in the world.
With nothing else to occupy her time, Olivia went to MapQuest and requested directions to Gwen’s home. She printed out the response. A trip to South Carolina might require an overnight stay. Then again, maybe not, if she could catch an early-morning flight. She called the airline and made a reservation for Saturday morning at 6:05, with a change in Charlotte, arriving in Charleston a little before ten. A half hour to pick up a car rental and get on the road, and she should be able to make Summerville no later than noon, possibly earlier. She scheduled her return flight from Charleston at 8:20 P.M. If all went well, she would be home and in her own bed by 2:30 A.M.
If Jill knew where Gwen was, there was every possibility Jill gave her the heads-up and the trip would be fruitless. Still, she had to try.
Back in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee to warm up, Olivia wrestled with her conscience. Why was she doing this? Why did she even care? I don’t owe those women a thing. She had said she wanted no part of this, yet here she was threatening Jill Laramie. She’d probably threaten Gwen, too. Adrian Ames said if they didn’t cooperate, she was to repay the whole amount out of her own funds. Maybe Adrian’s estate did deserve to repay the whole amount of money, since the idea to rob the bank was Allison’s. As her father always used to say, right is might.
Olivia argued with herself. Just look at you, Olivia Lowell. You were so willing to steal a dog and lie about it. What makes you any different from those three women? On top of that, you imposed on your friendship with Clarence to ask him to do something illegal for you.
Olivia hung her head in shame. Yes, she’d wanted to do those things, but—she lifted her head—in the end she hadn’t done either of those things. She still had Cecil, but with Jeff’s okay. As soon as they resolved that issue, Cecil would be taken care of. Those women—her mother and Jill and Gwen—were greedy and selfish. They robbed a bank for their own personal gain. All I wanted was to make a little dog happy. And I’m doing the best I know how in regard to my mother’s last wishes. Why, I don’t know. Yes, I do know. Dad raised me always to do the right thing. And the right thing to do here is to return the bank’s money—and to honor Adrian Ames’s last wishes, because at the end the woman who was my mother cared about those other women’s lives and the guilt she was sure they bore. So it isn’t apples and oranges, but it’s damn close.
Olivia spent the next few hours washing the dogs’ beds, then snowblowing the driveway and patio, knowing full well she’d have to do it again in a few hours, and running back and forth to the computer to see if there was a message from Jill Laramie. There wasn’t. There were no messages from Jeff, either.
At three o’clock, after a second bout with the snowblower, Olivia eyed the thawing meat on the counter, glad that she’d taken it out of the freezer. Even if Jeff did make it over to her house, they wouldn’t be going out to dinner in this weather. She worked steadily in the kitchen for the next half hour, braising the meat, paring vegetables, and baking a coconut custard pie. Midway into her dinner preparations Jeff called her. She literally danced around the kitchen while she talked to him. Later, she couldn’t remember what they said. All she heard was that the office was closing, and he was leaving in five minutes.
“Expect me when you see me. I don’t know how long it will take, but I’d like a big cup of hot chocolate with some brandy in it, a roaring fire, and some warm clothes on my arrival,” he announced, laughter ringing in his voice.
“Yes sir. Drive carefully.”
“You bet. See ya.”
A grin stretching from ear to ear, Olivia walked over to the sliding doors to stare out at the snow. She crossed her fingers that it would continue. Being snowbound with someone like Jeff…well, what could be better?
At seven o’clock, dinner was ready. All she had to do was fry the po
tato pancakes. The table was set with her best dishes and silver. She’d even added a pair of sweet-scented vanilla candles to the table. A date was a date. So what if she was wearing a sweat suit.
It was also still snowing.
Olivia wearily donned her parka and headed for the garage and the snowblower to clear the driveway for the third time. She was just finishing when a pair of headlights approached. Jeff! She backed up, pulling the blower with her. She ran back down the driveway just as Jeff climbed out of his snow-covered car. He looked so good she wanted to hug him. She would have if his leather-soled shoes hadn’t slipped on the packed snow the blower couldn’t move. He reached out, and they both went down.
Both their arms and feet moved as they tried to get traction. Olivia was close enough to smell his aftershave and minty breath. Snow continued to fall as they ended up rolling down to the end of the driveway. He kissed her because her face was mashed against his. Olivia heard him groan. The kiss was every bit as wonderful as the one the night before last, with a slight difference. This kiss held the promise of things to come.
Olivia rolled away and struggled to her feet. She held out her hand to Jeff. He grasped it, and together they walked into the garage.
“Olivia…is something happening here? All I did was think about you today.”
Olivia licked the snowflakes off her lips. “I think so,” was the best she could manage in response. Arm in arm, they walked into the kitchen.
Jeff looked around, sniffed, observed the table, all the while trying to pet each one of the dogs. “This is nice. This is really nice. Did you do this just for me?”
“Sort of, kind of. Yeah, yeah, I did. Hey, a date’s a date. I’m keeping up my end. You made it here. It’s a date. I put some warm clothes out on the bed in your room—I mean the guest room. Take a hot shower so you don’t catch cold. I’ll have dinner on the table by the time you’re finished. It’s going to snow all night,” she added happily.
“All night?” Jeff called over his shoulder. Olivia, her back to him, didn’t see his clenched fist shoot in the air.
Curled up on the comfortable sofa, both Olivia and Jeff were dozing, the dogs curled alongside them. The phone rang sharply in Olivia’s ear, startling her. She grappled behind her for the portable, clicked it on, and muttered a sleepy greeting.
“This is Paul Hemmings. Is this Olivia Lowell?”
Olivia jerked upright. “Yes, Mr. Hemmings, this is Olivia. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t rightly know, little miss. I was standing on my front porch waiting for the boy to finish shoveling my walkway so I could pay him when I saw a car pull up to Mrs. Laramie’s house. We’re having a bit of a snowstorm here in Woodbridge. Saw on the TV that you’re having the same storm, little miss. It was one of those fancy town cars from Arrow Service. He tootled his horn and out comes Mrs. Laramie, carrying her purse and a shoulder bag. Neither one looked heavy to me. I thought you might want to know. I never would have known she was gone if I hadn’t been standing on the porch. Me and all the neighbors would go on thinking she was still in there. I talked to a few of the neighbors on the phone, and they agreed I should call you. Now, mind you, we don’t want to know her business, but it certainly is strange for that woman to leave after twenty-some years right after you come here looking for her. Mighty peculiar.”
“Thank you for calling me, Mr. Hemmings. You did the right thing. I appreciate it. Have a good night, Mr. Hemmings.”
After she hung up the words tumbled out of Olivia’s mouth so fast, Jeff had to tell her to slow down. “What do you make of it, Jeff?”
Jeff’s chest puffed out. “Didn’t I tell you she sounded in her e-mail like she was going to split, take it on the lam? If she hired a car service, that means she’s either taking the Metroliner or heading for the airport. Man, is that lady going to be shocked at the outside world if she hasn’t left the house in twenty years. It’s amazing how fear can goose a person. What are you going to do, Olivia?”
All romantic thoughts vanished from Olivia’s mind as she started to pace the great-room floor. She stopped her frantic pacing to toss two oak logs on the fire. “I don’t know. Does this mean I write her off and concentrate on Gwen? Or do I go back to the detective and have them try to track her? Jill must still have the money. Living like a hermit for twenty years probably means she didn’t spend much other than that fifty grand she gave to her ex-husband for her daughter’s care. The daughter said her mother did her banking online, so that has to mean she has investments. She might have a sizable portfolio if she’s invested wisely. Remember those high interest rates in the eighties? I wonder if the daughter knows. Do you think I should call her, Jeff?”
“Olivia, I don’t have a dog in this race. The daughter will certainly ask you questions. Are you going to want to answer them? Estranged or not, the woman is her mother.”
Olivia paced, wringing her hands. “I know, I know. I guess I really spooked her. That has to mean Jill isn’t giving up her share. Assuming she still has it. She shouldn’t get away with it, Jeff. Neither should Gwen.”
“Your mother got religion late, when she learned she was dying. Even though the statute of limitations for the robbery expired decades ago, going public could seriously embarrass the two living participants. And that’s not what Adrian Ames wanted. She wanted them to agree to return the money to help them overcome their guilt, not to see them held up to public ridicule.”
Olivia stopped her frantic pacing, her eyes wide. “That was just a threat. I’m not turning them in. I just want them to pay it back. Unless…unless…Would the fact that I know about this make me guilty of obstruction of justice? I don’t know anything about the law. Well, would it?”
Jeff threw his hands in the air. “Think, Olivia. If they cannot be prosecuted for robbing the bank because it was so long ago, you cannot be prosecuted for obstruction of justice for doing nothing about it now. As far as the law is concerned, there is nothing to do about it. So you’re in the clear.”
Olivia started to pace again. “This can’t be happening to me. How could that woman do this to me? Even if the law isn’t concerned, now I’m part of her ugly past. I’m going to see Mr. O’Brien as soon as I can to find out when Allison Matthews’s money will be available. The big question is, how will I get all that money in cash to pay it back? Someone is sure to notice that kind of withdrawal and start asking questions. I’m thinking it was a hell of a lot easier to steal it than it will be to return it. Oh, God, I have such a headache.”
Headache. The magic word that alerted Jeff that he might as well go to bed. Tongue in cheek, he said, “You just keep right on pacing, and I’ll let the dogs out.”
Olivia nodded.
Why was this bothering her? Why?
“I hate you, Adrian Ames. You had no right to ask me to do this. I don’t owe you a damn thing. Not love, much less respect. You were too gutless to return the money yourself, so you brought me into it to do your dirty work. Damn you! Oh, damn you!”
Olivia heard the sliding door shut, heard the snick of the lock, heard the dogs racing to the laundry room for Jeff to dry them off. She heard the parade walking down the hall to the guest room. Then she heard Jeff call out, “Good night!”
“Night,” she mumbled.
Some date this turned out to be.
Shoulders slumping, Olivia walked back to the office. Like she could sleep. Maybe she’d never sleep again and would eventually wither and die.
Turning on her computer and opening her e-mail, she wasn’t really expecting any incoming mail, but there were three, one from Gill Laramie, one from his daughter Mary Louise, and one from Paul Hemmings.
Olivia clicked on the mail from Gill Laramie first.
Dear Ms. Lowell,
My ex-wife e-mailed me today. She berated me for talking to you. Whatever you stirred up is not sitting well with Jill. She said she was leaving the area because she doesn’t wish to be harassed. She said she was going to file a complaint against y
ou. I thought I should warn you. I don’t know why. Something tells me there is more to your visit to her than a simple deathbed wish of your mother to communicate with her. Having said that, I don’t want to know anything about it. Mary Louise is terribly upset. She thinks she was wrong to give you her mother’s e-mail address. She has always hoped Jill would come around where the twins are concerned. Now, that’s not going to happen. Please, I respectfully ask that you stay out of our lives. Whatever my ex-wife was involved in, or is still involved in, Mary Louise, her family, and I do not wish to be involved. Jill belongs to our miserable past, not our glowing future.
Olivia blinked back tears as she opened the e-mail from Mary Louise Rafferty. There was nothing on the subject line, nor was there a greeting. Just a short message.
I don’t know what your game is, Ms. Lowell, but I want you to know my mother left town. I worry about her out in the world since she’s been such a recluse all these years. I don’t know if she can cope. And, you dashed all hopes of her ever coming around where my little family is concerned. I’m sorry I gave you the e-mail address. Please don’t call or write to me ever again.
Olivia reached for a tissue to wipe her drippy nose. “Yeah, well, I just wonder what you’d think if you knew what I know. I was trying to spare you and be discreet,” she mumbled as she opened Paul Hemmings’s e-mail.
Little lady, this is Paul Hemmings. It’s late, and I didn’t want to call and wake you. I’m one of those night owls. An hour or so after Mrs. Laramie left, a young woman went to the house and carried out four large cartons. I don’t know if that’s important to you or not, but I thought I should tell you. I was taking my trash out because I don’t like leaving it in the house overnight when I saw her. I waved, she looked at me, but she didn’t wave or say anything. It was real nice talking to you, little miss. You perked up my day. If I hear or see anything else, I’ll let you know by e-mail.
Fool Me Once Page 13