“And I’m beginning to think she took your brains with her the day she cut off your male parts.”
Disgusted, Jeff finished his beer in a few gulps, slammed the glass down, and surged to his feet. Pausing, he lay one palm flat on the tabletop for emphasis. “I’m warning you, Roger. Get that she-devil under lock and key and keep her there, before she does serious harm. Got it?”
Turning abruptly, he charged out onto the late August sidewalk, almost into the street itself, until the angry blare of a taxicab’s horn stopped him dead at the curb.
“Damn,” he muttered, allowing the whole day’s suppressed fury to sweep over him. Pacing back and forth under the curled languishing leaves of a honey locust, he tore loose the top button at his shirt collar and jerked free the loop of his necktie. “Damn it!”
“Excuse me, sir.” It was the bar’s young server, halting him mid-stride. “You forgot your credit card.”
“Oh. Thanks.” With a grateful smile, Jeff pocketed the plastic. “Thanks a lot.”
Alone once more, he pulled out his cell phone to check in at home base. Several minutes of conversation with Olivia convinced him that everything was fine; having time to allow her raging hormones quiet had inspired the baby to nap, and Nicky was out running off energy with Bruno in the back yard.
“All is well,” she reported. “Don’t worry, Jeff, we’re hunkered down as you requested. But—”
“But?” Jeff questioned, his heart suddenly pounding with renewed anxiety.
“Oh, call me silly, darling. But I’ll just be glad when you’re home again, that’s all.”
Chapter Five
“I had a call from Olivia today.”
“Hmm? Mhmph.” Which was the male head of household’s typical response as a way of paying attention while cutting into the pale pink slices of a delicious roast beef. All the while being distracted by one legal case in particular, among many, that needed a new direction if the client were to make any progress at all.
“Martin!”
Have a chat with that first witness again, pin down more of the details in order to… “Yes?” over a guilty gulp and swallow of perfectly cooked hash browns.
“Martin, for heaven’s sake. I realize your mind is a million miles away, but please listen to me.”
“Oh, I am, Jules. Listening to every word.”
“You were no such thing,” his wife said, miffed. “You think I can’t tell anymore if you’re with me, here, or back in that courtroom?”
The boys, happily—or unhappily, depending upon one’s point of view—returned to the fall session of classes, had been excused from the dining table to spend a little precious time outside playing, before tackling the day’s homework assignments. Meanwhile while their parents could enjoy a few minutes of quiet. Amazing how much space two rambunctious children could take up, in one household.
“Great meal, honey,” Martin offered in a conciliatory tone.
“Really. In contrast to the microwaved hot dogs we had last night?”
“Well, now that you mention—”
“Olivia’s call,” said Julia, returning him to the subject at hand. She leaned back, sipping at her iced tea, prepared for the long haul. “You’ll never believe what she told me.”
The story unfolded, in Julia’s usual chatty fashion, of their neighbor’s recent meltdown at Jeff Quinley’s office. The shock, the disbelief, the outrage of everyone concerned. The necessity for police action. The aftermath: personal, which Olivia had described; public, the particulars of which she was not yet aware.
“Holy Hannah,” was Martin’s unsurprising reaction. Shaking a shaggy head whose hair was in desperate need of a trim, he pulled his cup of coffee closer to add cream and sugar. “That woman has really gone off the deep end. Did the cops haul her away in shackles?”
“I don’t know, Livvie didn’t say.”
“Probably too upset to notice at the time. Is everybody okay?”
“Fortunately, yes. Oh, shaken up, of course; I gather it took a while for Livvie’s nerves to settle down, which in her condition is completely understandable. She did call her doctor to check in.”
“God.” Another shake of the head as he pondered the incredible situation. “Imagine being put through something like that, with your kids right there in harm’s way. Too bad Jeff couldn’t have dumped the old crone out of his office window.”
“I don’t believe they’re constructed to open,” said Julia in a masterful non sequitur. “But I get what you mean.”
Finishing off the last few bites of a crescent roll on his plate, Martin pondered. “I’ll have to see what info I can pick up tomorrow in court, see what’s being done. The best thing that could happen is if that woman gets locked away permanently somewhere. I mean, it’s anybody’s guess who her deranged mind will send her after next.”
“I’m afraid that’s true, Marty. Something I must admit I’ve been worrying about a little bit. Her paranoia about simply everything has gotten worse; I don’t know how Roger puts up with it. And anyone included in her list of enemies seems to be fair game. I can only hope my name isn’t on it!”
His poor wife, generous to a fault, did appear to be quite rattled by the revelation of her former friend’s apparent collapse. He stretched a long arm across the table top to take her hand in his, for reassurance. “Think she has a vendetta?”
“Possibly. How does one go about the normal business of living with such craziness taking place? How does one cope? How does one handle a house, a family, a job?”
“Hmmm.” Best to lead her away from those possibilities into more practical considerations. “Speaking of decorating, my dear, how exactly do you plan on finishing that mess Annajane has made of our living room?”
A thunder of sneakered footsteps at the back door announced a brief return of the boys into the kitchen, a rustle and rattle through several kitchen drawers, and a hasty departure.
“Chris! Chad!” called their mother, to no avail. “Wait a minute!”
“Long gone,” Martin murmured. “Those two have made ignoring adult demands a fine art. So. You were saying?”
With the long-suffering sigh of the martyr, Julia began to stack plates for a trip to the dishwasher. “No, you were asking. What do we do about the living room? Well, I suppose I will be finding someone else to finish up and put things back in order. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
Beaming, he rose and gathered up his own used china. “There y’ go, sweetheart. Exactly what I wanted to hear. And toot sweet, yes? Sure would like to get the place together again. It’s been making me cranky.”
“Oh, cranky!” Julia, already on her way through the doorway, muttered in high dudgeon.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Damn and blast,” said an irritated Roger, in response to a ringing of the front doorbell.
Somehow neither his supercilious expression nor his faux British accent seemed quite as elegant when he allowed true emotion to show through. And today, beset from all sides by problems with which he was not prepared to deal, it was doing exactly that.
Eight o’clock on a sweet September morning was an indecent hour for anyone to come calling. He’d only just showered and shaved but was still meandering about the house in his silk dressing gown, taking his ease with the daily newspapers, current financial reports at a favorite internet site, and the cook’s contribution to anyone’s well-being of coddled eggs, bacon, blueberry muffins, and coffee imported from some exotic locale in the Hawaiian Islands.
The doorbell rang again. Persistent fellow, whoever was trying to get in.
Ignoring the noise, and the maid who started down the hall only to be waved away by Roger’s impatient hand, he attacked the muffin with slabs of butter and orange marmalade. There. Perfect. The market was up, the value of his portfolio had substantially increased, and he might actually be able to…
“Damn and blast!” as the doorbell rang for the third time. A
nd the fourth. The sound of those relentless chimes was beginning to grate on his nerves.
Then came the pounding, like the beat of an incessant headache, and a muffled shout from outside.
Time to call a halt to such nonsense.
Flinging his paper aside with a burst of spleen that did not usually slip under his guard, Roger stalked from his dining room into the foyer and jerked open the heavy wooden door.
Jeff Quinley charged inside as if he were being pursued by the hounds of hell. His hair stood up like a rooster’s crest, his eyes flamed manic blue, his brown and navy tie hung askew. “Where is she?” he demanded without preamble.
Roger, borne backward by the brunt of sheer fury, found himself flat against the wall. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your wife! That crazy woman you married! Where is she?”
“I’m sure I have no idea. When I last spoke with her, by telephone, she was enjoying a chance to rest at her father’s—”
“Yeah, I know. Her father’s estate.” Suddenly Jeff surged forward, to press his forearm across the other man’s throat, with full weight brought to bear.
Roger goggled in utter shock. No one of his acquaintance would dream of laying a physical hand upon an adversary. How dare he!
“My dear man—”
“Kendricks. I’m gonna ask you one last time. Where the hell has Annajane disappeared to?”
Firming up his voice and his spine, Roger managed to draw himself to his tallest height. “Unhand me, you ruffian.” Sounding exactly like some cartoon character.
Jeff, halfway diverted by the irony of the situation, released his choke hold. Even, stepping back, brushed at the lapels of the dressing gown that had become mussed. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled an apology. “But you gotta realize how important this is.”
“Important enough to risk assault charges against you?” inquired his host in frosty tones. Pushing free, he moved toward the center of the hall. “Please show yourself out, Quinley. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t visit my home again.”
But there Jeff stood his ground. “Look, Roger, you have to know that Annajane is gone from her father’s house. Vanished, just like that. Poof! Maybe she took off on her broom. Maybe somebody threw a pail of water over her head and she melted. But, whatever, she’s gone.”
“That’s impossible. Mr. Merrill would never dream of allowing—”
“—her to leave? C’mon, Rog, since when has she ever obeyed the rules put out by anybody else? She lives in her own little world, remember? And it’s a damned strange one! I called there this morning, but the maid said she was no longer in residence. I took that to mean she had slipped away.”
“Oh, I hardly think—”
“For God’s sake, get your brain in gear,” exploded Jeff in renewed fury. “She’s got all the money and time she needs to make an escape, along with a whole medicine cabinet of illegal pharmaceuticals. And any cabbie, paid well enough, would be happy to make the trip out to that grandiose country home, no matter the mental condition of his passenger.”
For the first time in this whole emotional encounter, Roger looked briefly shaken. “But she can’t, you see. I mean, she isn’t supposed to. Her attorney pleaded for leniency, and the judge eventually approved his request. But only under the condition that she wasn’t to leave the grounds for any reason.”
“House arrest,” said Jeff bitterly. “That’s it, just house arrest, with all the mayhem she’s caused?” He turned away, pacing a few steps forward, then back, grinding his hands together in frustration. “That’s it,” he finally muttered, almost to himself. “That’s it, I’m done with this whole cockamamie situation. I’m callin’ the cops.”
“No!” Viscerally alarmed, Roger nearly leaped for his adversary’s throat.
“What the hell! Why not?”
“You can’t call the police, you can’t file any complaints. Don’t you realize what that will do to her? What will happen?”
Jeff could only stare, open-mouthed. Finally he drew breath enough to speak. “I take it back. My first call won’t be to the cops; it’ll be to the men with the butterfly nuts. Because, my friend, you are as certifiably loony as the woman in your life.”
A grimace, of either anger or disgust. Silence. Then, with an inclusionary wave of the hand, Roger turned and strode toward the dining room, where his meal sat curdled and cold.
“Might I interest you in a serving of breakfast?” he asked, as if the earlier altercation had not taken place.
“Of course not, whaddya think I’m here for? Wait, is that coffee?” With a sigh, Jeff collapsed onto a chair. “Okay, yeah, I’ll have a cup. Thanks.”
“She wants you back, you know,” Roger, reaching for the salt shaker, said in a casual conversational tone after the maid had brought in a fresh carafe and disappeared.
Jeff almost choked before he could swallow. “What? Who?” he spluttered.
“Annajane, of course.” A slow, almost musing movement about of the sugar bowl, then the creamer. “I was merely a dalliance, something to toy with when she was bored. You were always the one she wanted. The one she wanted to keep. She never wanted to let you go.”
“Strange way she had of showing it.”
A one-shouldered shrug of the elegant purple paisley dressing gown. “Alas. As with so many things in her life. But, trust me, Jeff, she felt a mountain of regret when you two split up.”
Over the rim of his cup, Jeff surveyed the man opposite with a steady, appraising gaze. “Then why did she try to kill me almost a year ago? Why did she go berserk at my office just last week? Huh? What’s the deal? Is this supposed to be some kinda touchy-feely oh-poor-misunderstood-baby psychological crap?”
Roger winced at the harsh tone. Or possibly the rough language. “She never really explained,” he said quietly, with dignity. “It didn’t matter. I loved her enough to let her go her own way.”
“Well, that’s just hunky dory. It was okay with you if she did her best to destroy me, and maybe my family, just because she’s a fruit cake?”
“It never would have come to that. I wouldn’t have allowed it.”
“Ha. As if you have any control over her. Obviously, not even her sainted papa can, since she’s already slipped through his net.”
“Well, you bought the house.” More marmalade spread over a half-muffin, fresh from its napkin and still gently steaming in the middle.
“Yeah, so?”
The sound of a lawn mower’s engine being urged into commission came from somewhere outside, around the curve of the cul-de-sac. Probably one of the neighborhood kids, getting an early start on his summer job. Or maybe not. Given this neighborhood, more likely it would be a maintenance company, firing up their equipment. Sipping at the serving of excellent coffee, Jeff sank back against his chair and studied his surroundings.
Nothing to his taste. Just the gloom and doom of heavy draperies that shut out most of the sun, and wallpaper that might have been imported from some medieval castle in the form of loomed tapestries, and thick rugs of oriental design rolled out to the molding. Must be hell to keep clean, he decided morosely. What were these people, anyway—vampires? The place gave him the fidgets.
“Annajane saw that as one more slap in the face,” Roger said. “Your way of taking away her power.”
“Well, she’s right about that. And, I have to admit, it felt damn good. But she didn’t want it, obviously, since you had a realtor’s sign out front.”
“Yes, I know. Expedience only, though. I’m merely trying to explain the way she was thinking.”
“The way she was thinking?” Aghast, Jeff leaned forward to emphasize his point. “Roger, may I remind you that the woman is dangerous? And on the loose somewhere? Good God, how can I protect my family when we don’t even know where she is?”
Roger took his time cutting into a coddled egg, taking a bite, savoring the taste. “How are the repairs and cleanup on her former residence com
ing along?”
“The two of you would probably know that better than I do,” countered Jeff angrily. “You’re here, watching what’s going on every minute.”
“Oh, hardly that. I do have more to contend with in my life than snooping at the window like some gossipy old lady.”
“Huh. Well, since you asked, the insurance company is overseeing the whole affair, and they’re making slow headway. Some of the damage done was excessive, and requires special procedures—or special materials—to bring back to standard.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Despite the smoothness of Roger’s tone, a hint of gloating could be detected.
“I’ll just bet you are. So. Back to the purpose of my visit this morning. What do you intend to do about Annajane’s being on the loose somewhere?”
“Do? Well, I shall undoubtedly contact my esteemed father-in-law shortly. I may even make a trip to the estate. Yes,” he went on slowly, pondering, “that’s exactly it. You needn’t worry, Jeff; I’ll have the situation well in hand.”
“Well in hand.” Jeff set down his empty cup with a bang, pushed back from the table, and stood. “Damn me, Roger. You’re as squirrely as Annajane if you figure I’ll depend on you to get the situation well in hand. Thanks for nothin’.”
The grim expression on his face, as he strode down the hall and outside, to slam the door behind him, boded ill for anyone daring to cross his path.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes, Nicky?”
Olivia’s voice sounded distracted. Not impatient. Not short. Just as if she had other things on her mind.
She and Bruno had picked him up in front of his grade school at 3:30, as usual, and brought him home to enjoy a snack of peanut butter bread, fresh strawberries, and a glass of milk. For dessert, a chocolate chip cookie. Her son was always starving by the time they pulled into the garage and he could burst through the kitchen door to ransack the fridge.
No homework, he had caroled happily on his way to the bathroom to wash up. A thunderous noise and a yelp indicated that, also as usual, he had tripped over the eager dog who was following right in his footsteps.
Romance: He Done Her Wrong (Cuddlesack Queens #2) Page 9