Once Upon a Time (The Wacky Women Series, Book 3)

by Day Leclaire

"Okay. Golly gee. Though I did warn you about the attic." She looked at him hopefully. "Did you find anything? Anything at all?"

  Julian shook his head. A little cloud of dust spun off him. Brutus sneezed and Callie covered her mouth to hide a grin, amazed she could still laugh, considering the circumstances. Their situation wasn't the least bit funny. In fact, it was downright bleak.

  He tugged her to her feet. "Come on upstairs. We can talk while I shower and change." He lifted an eyebrow. "Unless you'd care to join me in the shower?"

  "Tempting." Very tempting. "But maybe we should stay focused on the will."

  To her disappointment he nodded in agreement and the three of them trooped to the second floor. He parked Callie in his office before striding through a connecting door to his bedroom.

  Up until now he'd kept her as far from his office as possible, probably to avoid any mayhem in here. Now she looked around with interest. Neat piles of paper sat stacked on his worktable. Curious, she studied them.

  "Are all these rules?" she called out to him. "Why do you need so many?"

  "They're for my time management book. Read them. You might find one or two useful."

  She frowned at his dreaded first rule, the one she hated so much. "Never be so dependent on something you'll do anything to keep it."

  Callie made a face. It could have been written specifically for her and the situation at Willow's End. Not that she agreed with it. She couldn't bear the idea of leaving her home, any more than she could bear the idea of some stranger living here, changing things. She thrust the thought from her mind. It wouldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. And rule or no rule, neither would Julian.

  She skimmed further down his list and began to giggle. Surely he hadn't written this one on purpose.

  Julian stuck his head into the room, beads of water from his shower gleaming in his hair. "What's so funny? My rules aren't supposed to be funny, you know."

  Callie wiped the grin off her face. "It's rule number seven."

  "Yeah? So? 'Your workplace should be like your mind,'" he quoted, "'Channeled, Harmonious, Adaptable, Organized and Serious.' What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing. At least, not exactly." Her gaze snagged on a droplet of water inching down the tanned hollow of his throat to his breastbone. She licked her lips. "I mean, it's not what you're saying. It's..."

  "Out with it, sweetheart. What's wrong with it?"

  "It's chaos."

  Julian walked into the room, yanking a shirt over his head. Callie fell back a pace, struggling in vain to control her breathing. The man did incredible things to T-shirts. Or they did incredible things to him. Bright red cotton lovingly outlined every ripple and curve of his chest. Her glance dropped lower. His cargo shorts weren't bad either, she decided, admiring the unending length of muscled legs.

  "You think it's chaotic?" he repeated, looking none too pleased.

  "What?" She yanked her gaze back to his face.

  He scowled. "That rule's the least chaotic one I've got. In fact, none of my rules are chaotic. Not a single one."

  Callie fought to return her attention to the conversation. "Not chaotic." Maybe she shouldn't have brought this up. "It spells chaos. You know, an acronym. All those words make an acronym that spells chaos."

  He snatched up his list of rules and studied them. "Damn. You're right." He looked at her and smiled wryly. "You would notice something like that."

  She lowered her eyes modestly. "I always do."

  "You never cease to amaze me." He tossed the list onto his desk in disgust.

  "It's not so bad," Callie comforted him. "All you need to do is change the order of your wording to spell something else. Like... 'Hocas' wouldn't work." She brightened. "How about 'casho'? You should like the sound of that."

  He sighed. "And I thought the attic would prove the highlight of my day. Shows how wrong you can be."

  "Was it bad?" she sympathized.

  "Have you been up there recently? It has cobwebs the size of Cincinnati."

  "I warned you about them." She glanced across the room, her critical gaze coming to rest on the antique highboy pushed against one wall. The attic wasn't the only thing with cobwebs. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cleaned this room. Probably before Julian took it over. She'd have to do something about it. Soon.

  "And those cobwebs had spiders to match. Big hairy ones..."

  She continued to stare at the walnut chest of drawers. "Julian, what's Aunt Maudie's rose vase doing over there?"

  "What?"

  She pointed at the large squat vase resting on the top of the highboy. "Her rose vase. She always kept it in the library. What's it doing up here?"

  Brutus whined mournfully, then crossed to her side and grabbed a chunk of her shirt in his mouth. He pulled, tugging her toward the door to the hallway.

  Callie pushed him away. "Stop it, Brutus. I don't want to go out. I want to see that vase." He released her shirt and shook his head. She looked at him, his actions arousing her suspicions. "It's in there, isn't it? Something to do with Maudie's will?"

  He shook his head again. "I don't believe you," she told him and started toward the highboy. Brutus barked sharply. When that failed to stop her, he whirled and ran from the room. Callie didn't bother to question his odd behavior. All her attention remained focused on the vase.

  "You think it's in there?" Julian asked, following her. "Why?"

  "Because that particular vase doesn't belong in here. It belongs in the library. Maudie always kept it there and always, always kept it filled with flowers. Mostly roses, which is how it got its name." She waited for the significance of that fact to sink in. "Remember her other note? The one we found in the library? The one requesting we plant flowers in her memory?"

  Julian began to grin. He reached up and lifted down the piece of porcelain and peered into its cavernous depths. With a cry of triumph, he reached inside and pulled out a pink, rose-scented envelope. "Clever, Callie. Very clever. A bit of a stretch, but well done, nonetheless."

  Her heart pounding wildly, Callie slit the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet of paper. Aloud she read:

  "Dear Callie and Julian,

  Very, very good, my dears. You've found my final note. Now you must find my will. Not that I'm going to make it easy for you. As I've always said, it's not worth getting if it's gotten too easily."

  "When did she say that?" Julian demanded. "I never heard her say any such thing. 'Simple is as simple does,' she'd say. Or, 'If you can't do it right, don't bother doing it at all.' Not once did she ever say any of that 'not worth getting' business. Not once."

  "I think I heard her say it," Callie admitted. At Julian's black frown, she hastened to add, "But only once, I'm sure." She glanced back at the note. "Why don't I just finish this?

  "...if it's gotten too easily. (Though if Julian, with his love for classical literature doesn't figure out this clue, I'll be very disappointed.)"

  "What the hell is she talking about now?" he complained. "I hate classical literature."

  "You're interrupting again. Would you please be still and let me finish?" She rattled the paper and kept reading:

  "...I'll be very disappointed.) Ready? Here's the clue: 'You, too?' Get it? Of course you did, smart boy. I knew you loved the classics."

  "I hate the classics! Stop saying I loved them."

  "Julian, hush."

  "I love you both. Maudie."

  "That's it? That's all she wrote?"

  "P.S. Are you two friends again? Actually I'm hoping by now you're much more than friends. Has my plan worked?"

  Julian thrust a hand through his hair, impatience visible in every line of his body. "We've been put through all this because Maudie wanted to play matchmaker?" He scowled, then admitted grudgingly, "I guess you can't argue with success."

  "Sweet of her, isn't it? There's another postscript:

  "P.P.S. Don't let Jonathan get his hands on Willow's End. He'll only sell it for one of his mad adventures."r />
  "Of course my father will sell it." He groaned. "Damn it, Maudie. If you didn't want that to happen, why didn't you just tell us where the will is, instead of playing Cupid?"

  "Julian, you're being very irreverent. Besides, you're talking like she can actually hear you. Do you realize how strange that is?"

  "That from a woman who talks to beagles and tulips?"

  "St. Bernards and daffodils."

  "Case in point. You realize we'll have to burn this note. It's the only way. If my father ever reads it, he'll have Maudie declared insane. And he'll get away with it, too. Because no one in their right mind would believe the woman who wrote this bunch of nonsense could possibly be of sound mind and body."

  "I resent that! That's my Aunt Maudie you're talking about."

  "My Aunt Maudie. And resent away, sweetheart. It won't change the facts." He snapped his fingers. "I've got it. Come on." He practically ran from the room.

  Callie raced after him. "You know what it means? You've figured it out?" She followed him into the library, watching in dismay as, in a very un-Julian-like manner, he thrust through the piles of books decorating the floor. "What are you looking for?"

  "There's a book of quotes in here somewhere. Aha!" He snatched up a thick volume. "You, too... You, too... If it's a quote from something classical, it should be listed here." He scanned the table of contents, then flipped back to the index. Meticulously, he went through all the listings beginning with you. "Nothing." He snapped the book closed and tossed it down. "Maybe I should try an Internet search."

  "Let's take a minute to think this through. Maudie had to get the idea you like classical literature from somewhere. Where?"

  "Thin air?"

  "Julian, be serious."

  "I am. I haven't the vaguest notion where she got any of her ideas, least of all this one."

  "She must have seen you reading Hemingway or Thoreau or Shakespeare or something. Think! You had to have done something to give her that impression."

  Brutus stuck his head around the corner and peeked in at them. Julian stared at the door. His eyes narrowed. "No. It couldn't be."

  "What? What is it?"

  "It's too ridiculous. Not even Aunt Maudie... You, too? Could she have meant... And you? Et tu?" He took a step toward the door, his eyes fixed on Brutus, his hands closing into fists. "You mangy mutt. You had it all the time, didn't you? And dear Aunt Maudie. What a memory. She remembered I played Julius Caesar in my senior year of high school."

  He began to quote. "Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar! Shakespeare. Act Three, Scene One. I hated that play."

  He advanced on the St. Bernard, his grin not a pleasant sight. "Here, doggy, doggy. Let's see what's in that old brandy cask."

  Brutus backed away as fast as his bulk would allow. Then, with a yelp of terror, he took off running, with Julian hot on his tail.

  "Julian, wait. You've scared him."

  She ran after the two, wincing at the loud crashing noises coming from the kitchen. Her poor pots and pans. She'd left them all over the floor. It would be a miracle if any survived. By the time she got there, man and dog were gone and the back door stood wide open. Her pots and pans lay scattered from one end of the room to the other.

  Ignoring the mess, she stepped outside into the cool night air. The sun had set long ago, but a surprising amount of light remained. The moon was full and bright, the sky dusted with more stars than she could count in a lifetime. She looked toward the lake, expecting to see Brutus and Julian locked in mortal combat. The water, a perfect reflection of the sky above, lapped peacefully against the sandy shore.

  Where were they? She studied the lawn, noticing the flattened spots in the long grass where feet had crushed a pathway. With a determined stride, she followed it around to the front of the house—and found her quarry on the front porch.

  "Brutus, get off Julian," she ordered in exasperation. "That's no way to act."

  Her words had absolutely no effect. Brutus continued to perch on Julian's back, oblivious to the muffled threats emanating from the man beneath.

  She climbed the porch steps. "He's only trying to get the will out of your brandy cask. It is in there, isn't it?" Brutus gave what she assumed was a woof of agreement. "Then what's the problem?"

  "Would you stop arguing with the miserable mongrel and get him off me?"

  "I'm trying," she snapped. "In case you hadn't noticed, he doesn't want to cooperate. Maybe if I found out why he's being so stubborn—"

  "I can't believe this."

  "—we might be able to reach a compromise." She put her hands on her hips. "I don't think he fully appreciates the ramifications of our situation."

  "I don't think you fully appreciate the ramifications of my situation. I'm on the verge of being made a total cripple. Don't compromise with him. Don't cooperate with him. Just get him the hell off my back!"

  She glared at Julian. "Okay, fine. Be that way." She turned her fiercest look on Brutus. "You asked for this, so don't say you weren't warned. If you don't get off him right this instant, you now and forever more will be nothing but a dog to me."

  She folded her arms across her chest, waiting. Not that it took long. In two seconds flat, Brutus was sitting beside Julian instead of on top of him. "Now, give us the brandy cask." The dog backed away and Callie sighed.

  "What's the problem?" Julian asked, managing to sit up.

  "He won't hand it over."

  "Maybe because he doesn't have hands. Try finding out what the problem is."

  She grinned. "Really? You want me to reason with him? You're willing to do that all of a sudden?"

  Julian fisted his hands in his hair. "I'm willing to do anything if it means getting that cask. Talk to him, jump him, paint him blue with purple polka dots. Just get it."

  "You refuse to understand, don't you?" She shook her head in disappointment. "Even knowing about Brutus, you still treat him as if he's a dog."

  "He is a dog!"

  Callie ignored him. "If he doesn't want to give us the will, there's probably a very reasonable explanation." Brutus endorsed her statement by rushing to her side and rubbing up against her. "See?"

  Julian gritted his teeth. "Hey, given half the chance, I'd rub myself all over you, too. Think of the time we've lost searching for that blasted will. Time we could have spent rubbing."

  "Julian," Callie protested in shocked tones, secretly thrilled to her toenails. "Not in front of Brutus."

  "Let him get someone of his own," he griped. "Until then, get that will. Explain it to the mutt, if you're so sure he understands everything. Tell him what will happen if he doesn't give us the will."

  Comprehension dawned and she snapped her fingers. "You're brilliant. He was never around when we discussed it before." She knelt beside Brutus and gathered his huge, hairy face in her hands. "Listen to me, sweetheart. I'm sure you have a very good reason for keeping the will from us, but if we don't get it, Jonathan inherits everything." She paused, before adding significantly, "And that includes you."

  Brutus let out an ear-splitting howl of anguish. Then he flopped over onto his back in the best "dead dog" imitation Callie had ever seen. She glanced at Julian who was struggling to his feet.

  "I told you," she said. "He didn't know your father would inherit Willow's End or he'd have given us the will in the first place. None of this would have happened if you'd talked to him, instead of treating him as if he were an animal or something." She walked over to Brutus, unstrapped the cask from around his neck, and handed it to Julian. "Happy now?"

  "No, I'm not happy now. I'm not even mildly content."

  He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her up against him, planting a warm lingering kiss on her lips. He started to release her, then apparently changed his mind, pulling her more fully into his arms. He cupped her face and kissed her with such loving passion, it brought tears to her eyes.

  "Now that," he whispered against her mouth, "goes a long way toward making
up for things." He hesitated and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Remember, sweetheart, no matter what it says, no matter who inherits, it's people who count." He started to add something else, then shook his head. "Come on. Let's go inside and find out whether it's been worth the effort. We'll use my office."

  Brutus made a mad dash ahead of them. When they arrived at the office, he sat waiting for them. Julian cleared his papers off the table and ceremoniously deposited the brandy cask there.

  They both sat and stared at it.

  "Why don't you open it?" Callie suggested. "After all, you figured out Maudie's final clue."

  "Which I wouldn't have done if you hadn't found her note," Julian pointed out.

  "All right," she decided. "I'll open the cask and you read the will." She picked up the miniature barrel and looked for an opening. "Tell you what," she said, handing it to Julian. "You open it and I'll read the will."

  He grinned and slipped his thumbnail into a nearly invisible slit, popping the two halves apart. Out fell a long narrow envelope marked "Last Will and Testament of Maude Margaret Hannigan."

  "We found it. We actually found it." She shivered. "You read it. I don't think I can."

  Brutus groaned and dropped his head onto her lap, his eyes huge and sad. Absently Callie rubbed his ears.

  Julian opened the envelope and pulled out the printed pages, scanning them. "It's been signed and dated. Looks genuine enough. We'll have Peters look it over, but at least it's been witnessed and notarized."

  "That's a relief. Do you think we should read it?" Brutus whined softly and she scratched his neck.

  Julian shook his head, staring down at the papers in his hands. "Seems strange, doesn't it? I mean, we've spent so much time looking for her will and yet, I'm hesitant to read it."

  "Because now it's final," Callie whispered. "She's dead and this confirms it."

  With great deliberation, Julian turned to the first page. "Give me a minute to read the pertinent information and then I'll summarize."

  There were four pages and it didn't take him long to work his way through them. When he reached the end, he flipped to the front and read it again. Finally, he picked up the envelope and looked inside, taking out a single sheet of stationery, which he also read.