Pretty Woman

by Fern Michaels

  Vickie fiddled with her paper napkin. “We’ll stay on top of it, Rosie.” She changed the subject. “Want to hear about my weekend?”

  “Nope. Want to hear about mine?”

  “You mean you have something exciting to report?” Vickie leaned across the table, her eyes wide and sparkling.

  “She had sex,” Luna Mae said, coming into the kitchen. Rosie rolled her eyes. “And this house was broken into, probably by that husband of hers. She told me Jack Silver’s gun was stolen from his car. I bet her husband did that, too!”

  Vickie sat up straighter in her chair. “Wow! Those were the highlights. Now, give me the details, and don’t leave anything out, Rosie. Not a thing.”

  Vickie looks so pretty today, Rosie thought. She didn’t even look tired from her transatlantic trip. She wore a melon-colored summer suit. With the gold winking in her ears and around her throat, her summer tan looked like rich honey. She must have highlighted her hair either before she went to Paris or while she was there. The soft glistening curls around her face only enhanced her tan.

  Rosie filled her in as she scrambled a dozen eggs and filled their plates. When she finally wound down, she looked shyly at her friend to see what she thought.

  “Hot damn! Good going, Rosie! Happiness is oozing out of your pores. Boy, are these eggs good. I didn’t eat much this weekend for the same reason you didn’t, Rosie.”

  Rosie flushed a bright pink. Both women eyeballed Luna Mae. In unison they said, “Well?”

  “You’re thinking because there’s snow on the roof that there’s no fire in the chimney. Well, ladies, you are wrong.” Luna Mae cackled.

  Later, when they’d finished eating breakfast, the women sipped at their last cups of coffee. Vickie broke the silence. “Listen, Rosie, I was thinking on the flight over and on the flight back that I’m going to take over the business for you for the next couple of months so you can train full-time for your triathlon. Luna Mae has her seniors lined up to step in and help. They’re due in tomorrow morning if I remember correctly. I can handle it, Rosie. I owe it to you for the three years I was gone and you did all the work. I want you towin that triathlon.”

  “Vickie, you’re making it sound like I’m training for the Olympics. It’s just a race, where you run, bicycle, then paddle a canoe. I can’t let you do all the work.”

  “I won’t be doing all the work. Luna Mae’s people are going to be our new employees. I want you to go out there and be the best that you can be. I want to see you even more happy than you are right now. If you set your mind to it, Rosie, you can win that thing.”

  Rosie stared off into space, envisioning herself crossing some imaginary finish line. “Are you sure, Vickie?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Okay, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Vickie clapped her hands in glee. So did Luna Mae.

  “I want to be the one to plan your victory party. Calvin is going to do his best to be here for Thanksgiving, so we can really do it up big. Luna Mae can come back for the holiday with Curly, and it will be a wonderful time for all of us. How does that sound to everyone?”

  “Like a real plan,” Rosie said.

  “I agree. Now, scoot. I have to clean up this kitchen and do some laundry,” Luna Mae said. “I’ll call an agency and see about getting you a housekeeper.”

  “No! I don’t want a housekeeper. I can manage by myself. Besides, no one could ever take your place, and I don’t want anyone sleeping in your bed but you. No housekeeper, Luna Mae!”

  “I’m not deaf. I heard you.” Luna Mae rolled her eyes for their benefit.

  Both young women could see the housekeeper was pleased with Rosie’s declaration.

  “Are you coming by the house today, Rosie?”

  Rosie nodded. “I have to shower, do some paperwork, then I’ll be over. I’ll have plenty of time to do all the paperwork for the business, so don’t give that another thought. Supplies are low. Orders have probably come in over the weekend. You’ll have your hands full.”

  “I’m going to leave my suitcase here and pick it up later, okay?”

  Rosie nodded.

  “Hey, girlfriend, did I tell you that you look great?” Vickie said, then watched as Rosie blushed with happiness.

  Rosie laughed as she headed up the steps.

  It was high noon when Luna Mae tooted the horn on the van in front of the Simmons house. Vickie and Rosie watched in stunned amazement, their jaws dropping, as sixteen seniors climbed out of the vehicle, purses and knapsacks slung around their shoulders. Walkers, canes, and one wheelchair followed.

  Luna Mae made a low, sweeping bow with her arm. “I bring you your new employees.” She rattled off introductions. “The two in the front are the brains of the outfit,” she whispered. “This,” she said, “is Mitzi Glass, and this is Ben Black. They have the most spit and vinegar. Not that the others don’t, they’re just a little slow. Trust me, you’ll want to give them a bonus when you see how they work.”

  “Ladies, gentlemen,” Rosie said, extending her hand as she went down the line to greet each new employee, Vickie right behind her. Buddy, thinking it was a party, barked joyfully as he allowed himself to be petted and tickled behind the ears.

  Mitzi Glass was a round ball of a woman with a hennaed topknot and bright blue eyes, which were sparkling behind granny glasses. She had rosy cheeks that weren’t real and a set of dentures that positively glistened. She wore sneakers with holes cut in the side for her bunions and corns. A giant whistle hung around her plump neck.

  Ben Black was tall and lean, with stooped shoulders and a dark brown toupee that was slightly askew. His eyes were denim blue behind trifocals that rested on his bony nose. No one was sure if his pearly whites were real or manufactured. He sucked on peppermints, his shirt pocket full of the wrapped candies. He doled them out to his friends, sometimes giving the ladies two. With hands as big as ham hocks, he offered them to Vickie and Rosie.

  The whistle sounded. Rosie cringed, and Vickie backed up a step. “It has to be loud in case their hearing aids aren’t turned up. Listen up, people,” Mitzi barked. “This isn’t a social. We’re here to work. So, let’s get to it!”

  As the parade passed them, Luna Mae, her hands on her skinny hips, looked at both young women. “What do you think?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, she said, “I’m leaving you both in good hands. Oh, I forgot to tell you, you’ll have to pick them up and take them home. They’re up for overtime, too. See ya,” she said, bouncing away. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll walk home. By the way, don’t let their infirmities scare you. They’re all sharp as tacks.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rosie said, borrowing Jack’s favorite comeback.

  “I can see it working, Rosie,” Vickie said, nodding. “I’m almost certain this is a good move. Age is just a number. They looked real alert. Sharp as tacks is good, isn’t it, Rosie?”

  “Uh-huh. Spunky. I like that. Okay, let’s see what we can do,” Rosie said, leading the way into the house.

  Inside, Mitzi eyeballed Rosie, and told her, “Luna Mae explained your business to us. We understand it. So, if you show us what you want us to do, I’ll assign our people their jobs. We all have our specialties. We should probably put our lunches in the refrigerator, if that’s all right with you.” Vickie nodded. “Ben, bring in our lunches.”

  “How we work…”

  Mitzi cast a critical eye around the storage room. “Assembly-line style. Luna Mae explained all of that to us. Drying the weeds, spraying them to preserve them, spreading them out. We have to wear goggles. You need to relax, ladies, we do meticulous work. You won’t be sorry you hired us. It doesn’t look like you have much stock. Are you sure you have enough business to keep us busy? We agreed to this job because we need to earn money.”

  “You’re right about our stock. Weeds are not as plentiful as one would think. At least the kind we use. My other two employees are in charge of product,” Rosie said defensively.

  “
Then they’re falling down on the job. Put us in charge, and this room will be filled to overflowing,” Mitzi said firmly.

  Rosie blinked. “Well, okay. Where…do you know a place…?”

  “Honey, I’m eighty years old. I know where every weed in this state is. So do Fred and Estelle. If you have someone to drive them, they can be back here by the end of the day with so many one-of-a-kind weeds, they’ll blow your mind. Do you have snake boots? We only have one pair between us.”

  “I do,” Rosie said smartly. She looked at Vickie, her eyes full of questions.

  “Okay, I’ll drive,” Vickie said.

  “You should get a trailer hitch and one of those things you pull. That way we won’t waste time, and we can have tons of weeds in various work stages,” Mitzi called out.

  “I’ll get one,” Rosie said hastily. “Just tell us what you need. You know, make a list.”

  Three hours later, while the seniors were eating lunch, Rosie made her way home, comfortable in the knowledge that Mitzi Glass had matters in hand. A germ of an idea started to form in her mind.

  Rosie lowered her gaze to her watch. Almost six. The ten-mile run left her with sweat running down her cheeks and neck. She couldn’t wait to take a shower. Buddy started to bark just as Vickie rolled into her driveway. She ran over to Rosie, laughing.

  Overhead, a roll of thunder sounded. “Rosie! You are never going to believe this! We have enough product to last us through spring even if the buying public goes nuts! That guy Fred, the one who had his own snake boots, took me to places I didn’t know existed. Three hours, Rosie! That’s all it took, and we’re loaded! They areun-bee-leave-able! Theylove working. And they work as ateam. Mitzi cracks a silken whip. It’s just perfect. The whole time they were working they talked about what they’re going to do with their money. Hiring those seniors is the best thing for all of us. I just love it.

  “They were all living in one of those retirement places. You know the kind. Sometimes your kids visit, more often than not, they don’t. They kind of banded together and moved out to this rental property, where they look after one another. All most of them have is their social security. Fred and Ben have pensions in addition to their social security, so those two are the heaviest contributors. The ladies cook and clean. John does the marketing. Everyone has a job. They work in tandem. And, Rosie, they haveideas. Helen thinks you should go global with a special catalog. They also think we should have an after-Christmas sale catalog. And…they have hundreds of friends in the same position they’re in.”

  “That’s wonderful! Too bad they aren’t interested in doing the bookkeeping,” Rosie grumbled as she massaged her leg muscles.

  “Ah, there is one person who used to be a bookkeeper at a tire company. She’s a whiz on the computer. Why don’t we try her out and see how it works? It would free you up for sure so you can concentrate on your fitness program. But best of all, you’ll have more time to spend with Jack.”

  Rosie stared at her lifelong friend, a smile stretching across her face. “Okay. As long as you’re comfortable with all this. Do whatever you want.”

  Vickie nodded. “Now, Rosie Gardener, I want to hear everything about your weekend. And I meaneverything. You look happier than I’ve ever seen you. Are you falling in love with Jack?”

  Rosie shrugged, then squealed with happiness. “In your wildest dreams, in my wildest dreams, I never thought…experienced such…oh, God, I don’t know the word.”

  “You don’t need words. Your face says it all.”

  Rosie sobered almost instantly. “Vickie, do you believe in the afterlife, or in things paranormal?”

  “Spirits and spooks, that kind of thing? Yes and no. I have an open mind. Why are you asking?”

  Rosie explained about Martha, the tree, the swing, and the moss. “While I was out at the river house I believed implicitly. Away from there, I’m not so sure. I think I felt her presence. I think she approved of me. Maybe I just want to think she approves because I care about Jack. It’s a magical, for want of a better word, kind of place. Maybe I fell under a spell or something.”

  “What does Jack say?” Vickie asked curiously.

  “He seessigns in everything in regard to the tree and swing, but he’s okay with it. It’s so weird, Vic. I wanted to get on that swing so bad. I was almost desperate about it. Jack said he tried sitting on it once, but Martha booted him off. It’sher swing,her tree,her mound of moss, which, by the way, is as green and smooth as an emerald.”

  “I don’t know what to say. What’s the house like, Rosie?” Vickie asked as she tried to change the subject.

  “It’s beautiful. It has lovely French doors in every room. Curtains billow inward with the breeze from the river. The floors are magnificent, and it’s full of antiques. Everything is old, worn, and so very comfortable. The kitchen is modern with a brick floor. Some of the nicest features are the deep window seats and the wide windowsills. If I lived there, I’d have herbs and flowers on all the sills. The verandah has bamboo blinds and a green fiber carpet on the floor with white wicker furniture. It’s old world yet new world. The shrubbery is ancient, pruned, and lush. There are flower gardens everywhere. Each bloom more beautiful than the next. It’s like a rainbow. The crepe myrtles were mind-boggling, all deep purple and deep crimson. Jack has a private dock and a boathouse. I loved it. It would be a great place to live and raise kids. Jack grew up there, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know. I hope everything works out the way you want it to, Rosie. Now, tell me about Kent, the gun, and the break-in.”

  Rosie’s good mood changed instantly.

  “Kent is no longer on my speed dial. I’m beginning to feel afraid of him, Vickie.”

  15

  Kent’s briefcase on the floor next to his desk drew his gaze like a magnet. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off it. He’d wrapped the gun in two towels from the Days Inn and stuffed another towel into his briefcase so it wouldn’t slide around. He had to find a place to stash it or get rid of it altogether. He’d toyed with the idea of wiping it clean and hiding it in Rosalie’s garage in the middle of the night. Then he thought about driving back to River Road and tossing it in either the bushes or the river. His third thought was to take it apart and get rid of the pieces one by one. At the moment he was leaning more toward his second option—tossing it in the river. Just as soon as he felt safe enough to do it.

  On top of that particular worry, he had an appointment with his sleazeball lawyer, and it probably wasn’t going to be good news. Something about listing his assets and bills. He snorted at the thought. Obviously, there was no news on the Wonderball end of things, or he would have already heard something.

  Kent tore his gaze away from his briefcase to stare at the stack of pink message slips lying on his desk. There had to be at least thirty, 90 percent of them from Heather and Hillary he noticed as he flipped through them. Not bothering to read the messages, he tossed them in the drawer and booted up his computer. He had to act normal. Whatever the hell normal was. While he waited for the computer to come to life, he buzzed the front-office receptionist. “Holdall my calls until I tell you otherwise. Just say I’m across town at a closing or something,” he barked into the phone. He cursed under his breath.

  A picture of an antebellum mansion appeared on his screen. Kent narrowed his eyes. He knew the house but couldn’t place it. He’d seen it recently, but where? Was it for sale? If so, he had three Northern buyers who might be interested. He scrolled down to see who had the listing. Century 21. Four million dollars. A drop in the bucket to the Yankees who had buckets of money and wanted to claim a piece of history. If he sold it, he’d have to split the commission with the Century 21 gal. Half of something was better than nothing. Lillian Ormandy was the agent. He knew her. A loudmouth, obnoxious Chicagoan who took no prisoners. She was even greedier than he was. And she was long in the tooth, not to mention a good hundred pounds overweight.

  As he continued to read the description of the
property, his eyes popped. Of course, the last house on River Road, the property two houses down from Heather Daniels’s house. The one Heather said was vacant or belonged to some estate. He’d had to drive all the way to the end of the narrow, private road because Jack Silver’s car prevented him from turning around. He clearly remembered staring at the dilapidated building, wondering if it would ever go up for sale, and, if it did, who would be dumb enough to buy it.

  His ticket to safety. All he had to do was call Lillian Ormandy, make arrangements to pick up the key to the lock box, drive out to River Road on the pretext of examining the house, and dump the gun in the river. It was the perfect solution to a nasty problem.

  Kent spent the next forty-five minutes calling his three clients in upstate New York. Bob and Sara Schwager expressed interest when he told them there was a quilting room and a loom and a fully equipped workshop and a library with tons of books. The Logans said they could drive down in two weeks to take a look and requested a video. The Dennys said 4 million was a little steep and would have to call their business manager and get back to him. They, too, requested a video.

  Kent’s next call was to Lillian Ormandy. She told him he could pick up the key after lunch and had no problem if he wanted to video the property.

  It was all almost too good to be true. He’d covered his butt as far as having a reason to go to River Road. The police could find no fault with his trip if they were watching him. For the first time in days, he felt good.

  Kent was on his way to the kitchen for coffee when he heard his name called. He whirled around to see an angry Heather glaring at him. He sucked in his breath and led her outside but in view of his office window, where his briefcase sat.

  “I want an explanation, Kent,” Heather shouted.

  Kent squared his shoulders. “That’s my line. Don’t ever screech at me again. It’s not ladylike, and it certainly is not becoming. Do not, I repeat, do not, ever come to this office again and pull a stunt like you just pulled. I won’t tolerate it. Now, if anyone has a right to be angry, it’s me. What the hell are you trying to do to me? For starters, you never tell police anything. That whiny, schoolgirl confession of yours to the police has just put me on the hot seat. You need to grow up.”