Fool Me Once

by Fern Michaels

  Jeff rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “I’m not opposed to any of this, Olivia. I will get fired, that’s a given. No one makes waves at my firm. I’ve never been fired before.” His voice was so grim, Olivia winced.

  “Fired and famous! Law firms will be forming a line to snap you up for standing by your principles. You’ll probably end up with a better job than you have now. Worst-case scenario, you’ll hang up your own shingle here in Winchester. The town can always use another lawyer. Bear in mind, animals and their welfare are as American as mom’s apple pie and hot dogs. This will be human interest at its best.”

  “How’d you get so smart?” Jeff teased.

  “I don’t know about the smart part—I just want to marry you. Maybe that does make me smart. Besides, I love Cecil. We are not giving him up. Maybe something good will really come from Adrian Ames after all. Now, let’s have a glass of wine while you tell me everything you know about Lillian Manning. Every single thing, no matter how small or inconsequential you might think it is. First thing tomorrow morning, I want to be geared up to put Operation Cecil into action. I have all kinds of ideas swimming around inside my head. Sort of like Plan A, Plan B, and, of course, Plan C in case things go awry.”

  Jeff’s eyebrows shot upward, then he burst out laughing. “Remind me never to go up against you. You are devious, Olivia Lowell, and I love it!

  “Okay, this is what I know about Lillian. She insisted I call her Lillian, said it didn’t make her feel so old when people called her by her first name. She wasn’t as rich as the papers made her out to be. The main reason she left her estate to Cecil was because she thought she didn’t have any other relatives. I made sure to do an extensive search, and this guy didn’t show up anywhere. It’s possible he was born on the wrong side of the blanket. If Lillian had known about the guy the firm found, I’m sure she would have mentioned him with a bequest in her will. That’s the only sticky part I can think of that might bite us. Well, maybe there is one other thing. Ambrose Martindale was a personal friend of Lillian Manning and handled her affairs for years and years until Lillian requested some ‘young blood,’ which is why he assigned me to manage her affairs and draw up her will. She and I really hit it off.

  “I’m digressing. When everything was said and done, she had a little over five million dollars, not the hundred and fifty million the papers said she had, but certainly more than enough to see Cecil through his final years. There was a special fund she had set aside to pay for one cook/housekeeper for twelve years. She paid her property taxes on the house for those same twelve years. Of course, if they raise the taxes in the future, the funds will have to come from the main account. There were, like, six or seven bank accounts set up to pay various household bills, outside maintenance, car upkeep, that sort of thing. There isn’t much in the accounts, but there is enough to take care of things. There was even an account set up for me as Cecil’s handler. I never touched a penny of it. I couldn’t take the money. Taking care of Cecil, ill prepared as I was, was more of a favor than a job. Lillian had it all down to a science. She said she wasn’t taking any chances that things would go awry. According to her will—and, by the way, I drew up the will—after…after Cecil is gone, the remainder of her estate is to go to various animal funds. Those are the people we need to get in touch with so they can rally round to protect their future inheritance. I’m the executor of the will.

  “Did I ever tell you that she had every picture you ever took of Cecil hanging in her bedroom? Didn’t you ever wonder why she wanted so many pictures?”

  “No, not really. I just knew she loved that little dog. She was so pleased when I made him Mister July on last year’s calendar. She hugged me. She did tell me she loved Cecil more than she had loved either one of her husbands. We both had a good laugh over that. She had a wicked sense of humor. I liked that.”

  Jeff laughed. “She told me the same thing. Now what?”

  Now what, indeed? “I’m going to call an old friend I grew up with who works at the Winchester Star and ask her to come by early in the morning. We want to get this in the papers before you get fired. While I’m doing that, you can get us some wine.”

  Wineglasses in hand, dogs at their side, Olivia and Jeff plotted and planned. Planned and plotted. They gave some thought to scheming and manipulating, but in the end they decided just to go for the jugular.

  Dee Dee Pepper, Winchester’s ace reporter and photographer, arrived at 509 Eagle Drive at 6:00 A.M. on a bright red motor scooter that matched her flaming red hair, which in turn matched her freckled face. She hopped off the scooter, slung her camera over her shoulder, and marched up to the front door, where Olivia and Jeff were standing. The two women hugged, reminisced for a few minutes, then got down to business.

  “Damn!” the reporter said when Olivia finally wound down. “We gotta do this real quick if you want it in tomorrow’s paper, and you have to trust me, Ollie, okay? Hey,” she hissed, “that’s some good-lookin’ guy you got there. Does he have a friend?”

  Olivia laughed. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask. I’m going to kiss him good-bye now, so don’t look!” Dee Dee grinned as she turned around.

  The dogs liked the laughing young woman in the Doc Martens who romped in the yard with them as she snapped and snapped her camera. “Dogs need green grass, bushes to lift their legs on, and other dogs to play with for a full and rounded life,” Dee Dee babbled as she continued clicking and clicking her Nikon. When Cecil dug up a bone from under an azalea bush, she snapped again as he proudly laid it at her feet.

  The photo op took all of twenty-three minutes before Dee Dee shoved the digital camera back into its case. “With the pictures I took of Jeff cuddling Cecil and the ones I just took, I feel we have a really good pictorial. After I download and tweak these, I’m going to write up my article. Since time is of the essence, I need to know if you trust me enough to go to press without your okay? I can fax it to you, but it will be after the fact. You okay with that, Ollie?”

  “Sure. Just do a good job, okay? How can we get it in the Post and USA Today?”

  Dee Dee laughed. “Hey, this is me. If I have to, I’ll hand-deliver it to them. They’ll run it tomorrow. You owe me, Ollie. Make sure you ask that hunk of yours to bring a friend out this way. I’m getting a little tired of being a bachelorette. I find myself longing for that little house with a white picket fence. My clock is ticking. Damn, he’s good-lookin’. Way to go, Ollie.”

  Olivia took a step backward. The young woman was a whirlwind as she raced through the door and out to her motor scooter. Olivia knew she was in good hands.

  And all of this had happened before she’d had her first cup of coffee.

  Olivia crossed her fingers the way she used to do when she was little. Then she scooped up Cecil, checking to make sure she had the right dog, and whispered in his ear. The little guy yapped happily before she set him back on the floor.

  After playing with the dogs for a while, Olivia was waiting for the coffee to brew when she looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Jeff should be at the office already. Was he talking to his boss, or was he steeling himself to get up the nerve to do it? She crossed her fingers again as she made a wish that her fiancé wouldn’t get fired, but she knew it was a fruitless wish. Think positive, think positive, she told herself over and over.

  Jeff straightened his tie, smoothed back his unruly hair, and shrugged under his jacket so it would settle more evenly around his shoulders. Time to beard the lion. And Ambrose Martindale was a lion with a roar that had no equal. Yeah, well, I can roar, too, Jeff thought, when a vision of Cecil romping in the yard passed before him.

  Jeff looked around his office, which he’d packed up on the fly. There wasn’t much left—the pictures of his family, a shaving kit complete with toothbrush and a whitening toothpaste, along with his nail clippers. His briefcase, a gift from his parents when he’d graduated from law school and now containing the personal files he had downloaded from his computer, along w
ith his day planner, had already been placed in the trunk of his car.

  Standing in the doorway, Jeff wondered if he’d made a mistake in not calling Martindale’s secretary to ask for an appointment. Too late now, he thought, taking the elevator to the top floor, where Ambrose Martindale reigned supreme.

  The middle-aged secretary, who was stuffed into a peach-colored suit, looked like she could roar as loud as Martindale. She sat primly behind the polished desk that held only a computer and a phone console. She looked up from the computer screen, a frown on her face.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Jeff Bannerman, I work on the sixth floor, and I’m also Cecil’s handler. I need to speak with Mr. Martindale. Now.”

  “Everyone wants to speak to Mr. Martindale. Unfortunately, that simply isn’t possible today. Every minute of Mr. Martindale’s day is accounted for, and your name is not on any of those minutes.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Jeff said. “Just tell him I am not giving up Cecil to some long-lost relative of Lillian Manning. Lillian wanted me to take care of Cecil, and that’s what I’m going to do. If Mr. Martindale wants to sue me, tell him to feel free to do so, but also tell him I will go to the wall to keep Cecil. Another thing, tell him I quit!”

  Jeff turned on his heel but not before the secretary’s jaw dropped. She blinked rapidly as she tried to come to terms with the message she was to give to her boss.

  Jeff was almost to the door when she said. “You’re quitting over a dog, is that the gist of your message?”

  “Not just any dog. Cecil is the dog that inherited Lillian Manning’s estate. I’m his handler.” He opened the door, then closed it behind himself with a loud bang. Well, quitting was better than getting fired. He supposed he would have to quickly type up his resignation and take it down to personnel. Well, hell, he could do that. As a matter of fact, it would give him great pleasure to do just that.

  He’d quit, that was the important thing. He hadn’t gotten fired.

  The elevator stopped on the sixth floor, where he raced over to the secretary he shared with three other lawyers on his floor. “Type up a resignation letter and print it out so I can sign it. I want to drop it off at personnel on my way out. Snap to it, Hillary—I can’t wait to get out of here.” He realized suddenly that what he said was the truth. He really couldn’t wait to get out of the steel-and-glass building with its recycled air and artificial plants. Hanging out his own shingle was starting to look better and better. His own boss. A small office in Winchester. His clients would be his neighbors, his friends. He’d be a member of the community. Yep, it was looking better and better.

  Jeff scrawled his name above his printed name the minute the printer spit out his resignation letter. Holding it in his hand, he walked around the corner to his office, where he saw a tall man in a thousand-dollar suit standing in the doorway looking around.

  Ambrose Martindale. The lion had come down to the cub’s floor.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Jeff said, inching his way past the tall, imposing figure. He wore gold cuff links. Ha!

  “Ambrose Martindale,” the tall man, said extending his hand. Jeff ignored it. “Are you Jeff Bannerman? I believe we spoke on the phone yesterday. When we finished our conversation, I was under the impression you were a team player and on board.”

  “Yes sir, I am Jeff Bannerman. One should never assume or presume anything in this life, as I’ve just found out,” Jeff said, not missing a beat as he picked up the box with his personal belongings. “Here!” he said, holding out his resignation letter to the head of the firm. “You might as well take this and save me a trip to personnel.” He was out the door a second later, heading for the elevator.

  “Hold on there, young fellow. I want to talk to you!”

  Jeff didn’t bother to turn around. “Your secretary said every minute of your day was accounted for,” he shouted over his shoulder, “and my name wasn’t on any of those minutes. I’m in a hurry. By the way, I don’t work here anymore. I quit. That’s my resignation you’re holding in your hand.” Reaching the elevator, he stabbed at the down-arrow button and waited.

  The thousand-dollar suit had finally caught up to him. The pewter-gray eyes flashed angrily. “I want to talk to you, young man. I will not tolerate such behavior. Lillian Manning was a personal friend for many years. I will not allow you to turn this…mess into a circus. Well?”

  “I think, Mr. Martindale, you said everything you had to say to me yesterday. Today it’s my turn. I’m not giving up Cecil to some drugged-up jailbird who didn’t even know Lillian Manning. Mrs. Manning’s will clearly states that I am to take care of Cecil. I don’t want the money, I never drew a penny of it. If you want to sue me, sue me, but you’re going to have one hell of a fight on your hands because I’ll fight this firm till hell freezes over, and then I’ll fight you on the ice.

  “I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure working here, but it hasn’t been a pleasure, Mr. Martindale.”

  The elevator door slid open. Jeff stepped aside to allow three other lawyers, with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, to pass him. He stepped into the elevator just as the lion roared at him, “Get back here, Bannerman!”

  “In your dreams, Martindale. In your dreams!” Jeff mumbled to himself as the elevator descended to the lobby.

  Chapter 24

  Olivia hopped into her car and headed for Valley Road to Gaunt’s Drug Store, where she bought a prepaid phone card. She didn’t know why, but each time she walked into the drugstore, she had a vision of Patsy Cline, the singer, behind the counter where she’d once worked as a soda jerk. The soda fountain was gone now, but there was a cutout of the singer in the front window these days.

  Olivia stuck the card in her pocket and waved to the owner, Harold Madigan, as she left in search of the nearest phone booth, where she proceeded to make two phone calls. The first call was to the local TV channel. She rattled off Cecil’s story and gave them Jeff’s cell phone number to call for confirmation. With nothing exciting going on in Winchester at the moment, she knew the station would run with the information she provided. Her second call was to WINC, the local radio station, where she again rattled off the same information and offered up Jeff’s cell phone number for confirmation for the second time.

  Pleased with herself, she went back to her car and headed for South Pleasant Valley Road to Martin’s, where she shopped for groceries to shore up her freezer and pantry. Her cell phone rang just as she inserted the key in the ignition. Joy and elation rang in her voice when she said, “Jeff! What happened? How did it go? Tell me everything! Did you get fired?”

  “No, I didn’t get fired! I quit, Olivia! I quit! I beat them to the punch. I’m unemployed! Do you still want me?”

  Olivia laughed. “Do I need air to breathe? Of course I still want to marry you, and we are not postponing the wedding, either. What happened?”

  “Listen, I have a call coming in. I’m on my way back to Winchester. We’ll talk later. Love you!”

  Before Olivia could return the endearment, the connection was broken. She smiled. Being in love was so wonderful. She beamed her happiness, waving to a few neighbors and acquaintances as she made her way out of the parking lot.

  Her watch told her she had to hustle because she had an eleven o’clock appointment to photograph a schnauzer named Annabell—a holy terror who wanted nothing more than to bite everyone she came in contact with. It was obvious the dog’s owner, a Mrs. Collins, had absolutely no control over the animal. Annabell also had a weak bladder. Olivia was not looking forward to dealing with Annabell and her owner, who always insisted on staying for the session so she could have “input.”

  Arriving home just at eleven, Olivia carried in her perishables and shoved everything in the refrigerator before she escorted a snapping, snarling Annabell into the studio.

  Annabell’s owner said she would not be able to stay owing to a hair-cutting appointment. “I’ll be at Today’s Hair in case you need to reach me.” Olivia
just nodded, relieved that she wouldn’t have to contend with the arrogant woman. The angry dog was enough of a challenge.

  The minute Mrs. Collins closed the door behind her, Annabell hopped up on the bench and stared at Olivia as if to say, let’s get with it. Olivia reached for her camera, focused, and snapped. Annabell stretched, yawned, moved to show her profile, first the left, then the right. Olivia clicked with the speed of light, muttering over and over, “You little ham! Keep this up and you definitely have a shot at being Ms. September. C’mon, c’mon, show me some leg!” Annabell dutifully stretched out her front leg and demurely looked downward. “Attagirl! You got it! Smile now!” Annabell showed her teeth. Olivia laughed till her sides hurt.

  When Annabell had enough of the bench she hopped down and sprinted over to the red wagon and sat down. Again she posed, turning this way and that way. Olivia laughed and laughed. When Annabell had enough of the red wagon, she scooted out and ran over to the rocking horse, backed up a step, and hopped into the leather saddle. She reached for the leather strap and held it in her teeth. When the horse started to rock, Olivia sat down, angling the camera as she continued to laugh. “Good girl, Annabell! Yep, you are definitely Ms. September. And for being so good, here’s a chewie!”

  Olivia was still sitting on the floor laughing when Jeff walked into the studio. His hair was on end, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie askew. He looked like a wild man. Olivia continued to laugh as Annabell, clutching her chew, joined the other dogs. “You know what, Jeff? That dog hates her owner.”

  “That’s a shame. The dog must be really unhappy. Where did he go?”

  “He’s a her. Her name is Annabell. When her owner is around she’s just awful. The minute she left, she was just fine. She posed like a pro before she ran off to play with the others.”

  Jeff nodded as though he understood perfectly even though his mind was a million miles away.