Finders Keepers (38 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Finders Keepers
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“What will be will be,” he muttered.
 
Jessie watched the evening news as she chomped on a sour green apple, her eyes watering at the tartness. She watched the man she'd once adored as he tried to stand tall in front of the microphones and cameras, his wife at his side, her hand protectively on his arm. He looked ill, like a wounded warrior who knows the end is near. She couldn't help but wonder why his children weren't standing next to him. Did she dare call him? Did she even
want
to call him? What could she say? I'm sorry you betrayed your constituents and your family? She bit into the apple, juice trickling down her chin. Some things, she decided, were better left alone. Whatever the senator did or didn't do was none of her business. Just because she was married to his son didn't mean she belonged in their fold.
Jessie continued to listen to the news as the announcer and his colleagues put their own spin on Senator Kingsley's breaking scandal. Why did they have to go on and on about it? Why beat a dead horse? She was ready to turn off the television set when the news anchor announced they would go live to Washington National Airport, where Senator Kingsley and his wife were set to depart for Corpus Christi, Texas. Did she want to see this? No. The immediate silence thundered in her ears the moment she turned off the set. Later that evening she would read the paper. In her opinion, it was easier to read something horrible and sad than to see it front and center.
In the kitchen, Jessie stared at the phone. Should she call Luke Holt and invite him to dinner? No. Maybe. No. She certainly had enough spaghetti. In the end she threw her hands in the air. “What kind of life is this? I'm not doing anything. I'm not contributing. All I do is walk from room to room or go to the grocery store. I must be desperate to want to invite someone to dinner I just met. This is simply existing; this is not living.”
Jessie backed up until she was once again staring at the telephone. The urge to reach out and call someone was so strong, she clenched her hands into tight fists. Whom could she call? Her parents, Luke Holt, Tanner, Arthur? “None of the above,” she muttered through clenched teeth.
Minutes later, Jessie reached into her closet for a cherry red canvas bag and started to fill it with some of the new clothing she'd just purchased. The bag almost full, she stopped. What was the point in going to Atlanta or New Orleans? There was nothing there for her. Why torture herself. She unpacked and replaced the bag in the closet. “I need to put down roots. I need to do something. I need to get a job. I need to live my life. If I leave, there won't be anyone to sign for all the things I ordered. It's part of my new life. I need to stay here. I need to make sense of my life. From now on it's what Jessie wants.” She hated it when she muttered to herself. Her mother always said her father was addlepated when he walked around muttering under his breath.
Jessie slammed her palm against her forehead as a brilliant idea surfaced. She raced to the offices, punched in her birthday code. A moment later she was sitting in front of the computer scrolling down the list of companies she owned. She continued to scroll until she found the firm she wanted—International Designs. One-of-a-kind collectibles, with an address in Milan. She continued to scroll through the financials and the operating offices until she saw the name of the store's general manager as well as a list of collectibles sold since the beginning of the year.
Jessie pushed her swivel chair back against the wall as she let loose with a sharp whistle. International Designs was certainly a money-maker with astute management. She couldn't ask for a better outlet to send her pieces once she crafted them. Maybe she should think about a glossy catalog. She was excited now, her thoughts carrying her in all directions. Importing, exporting, catalogs for domestic use and possibly internationally. All she needed was the talent to make it all come true. How hard could it be to sculpt what she sketched? A second thought struck her. Before she acted on the thought, she copied down the address for International Designs and then turned off the computer. She raced to the entranceway of the building where she walked from picture to picture. She could remove the pictures from the frames, airmail them in rolled containers to be framed in Milan to hang in the gallery of International Designs. If she attached outrageous price tags, they were sure to sell. Anyone foolish enough to pay fifty thousand dollars for a snuffbox would surely pay five thousand dollars for one of her pictures. Think big, Jessie told herself as she removed the pictures from the wall. She had thousands of these sketches. Big ones, little ones, medium-sized ones, poster-size, and miniatures, but she would have to go to Atlanta to get them out of storage. There were hundreds of them in her old playhouse back in Charleston. There were even some sketches that she'd left behind in Sophie's house in New Orleans.
Jessie struggled to remember the last time she'd been this excited, this exuberant about
anything.
Never, that's when. She'd been excited about leaving Charleston, getting away from her parents, and being on her own. She remembered the feeling well, but it was nothing like what she was feeling now. That alone had to mean something. Had she finally found her niche in life? Was this what she was supposed to do? “Who cares!” Jessie shouted, her voice ringing with pure joy. “I'm doing it!”
Maybe she would pack that red canvas bag after all.
 
Luke Holt snapped the newspaper on the side of his chair, a sign that Buzz was to lie quietly until he was finished watching the early news, at which point they'd go for a walk.
Calm by nature, Buzz was definitely off his routine. First he'd growl, then he'd flop down on his belly, only to get up, his tail swishing angrily against his master's ankle. He whined now, his paws scratching at the carpet under Luke's rocking chair. “Shhh, I want to hear this, Buzz. It looks like the Kingsleys' chickens are finally coming home to roost. You know what they say, ‘What goes around comes around.' Right now I'd say the senator looks like a tired old dog who has finally given up. Okay, okay, let's get to it, Buzz.”
Luke's glasses came off and the newspaper dropped to the floor. “I give up. What the hell is eating you? You've been
antsy
all day. What do you want? You already had two chews, a bone, and all those Fig Newtons. No more treats. You're going to get sick with all the junk I give you. It's almost suppertime, and you're getting dog food. You're making me crazy. Stop looking at me like I cut off your tail. I need a clue, something to go on. Jesus, I wish you could talk. Show me!”
The big dog ran to the kitchen, looked around, then sat down by the stove.
“Yeah, it's almost dinnertime. Dog food. Okay, okay, we'll go for a walk. Come on.”
Instead of running to the door like he usually did, the yellow dog raced back to the den and then up the steps to the second floor. Luke followed him, cursing as he went along.
“You better not be showing me a spot where you lifted your leg, or you're sleeping in the barn tonight.”
Buzz barked as he leaped onto Luke's king-size bed.
“You've been doing that since you were two months old. If this is your clue, it doesn't mean much. It wouldn't even pass as a good trick. Okay, okay, I think I'm starting to get the point.” Luke watched as his pillow was pulled from underneath the spread and nudged to the floor.
“Why don't I make this easy on you since it's going to take you an hour to tug that cover off the bed.” Luke yanked at the coverlet and dropped it to the floor. “Now what?”
Buzz sat back on his haunches, his head tilted to the side. “Woof.”
“You liked her, didn't you? Yeah, yeah, I get it. She said she'd call and invite us to dinner. It's too soon. I suppose we could, you know, sort of drive by her place and maybe she'll be outside cleaning the windows or something. I don't see how doing something like that would hurt anything. We could even knock on the door. We could say we were in the neighborhood, that kind of thing. It's probably a really bad idea, but I'm game if you are.”
Buzz barked as he dived under the bed, where he kept his stash of toys. Luke listened to him rummaging to find his favorite squeak toys. When he finally bellied out from under the bed he had a latex miniature of himself in his teeth. He dropped it in Luke's lap.
“I know this is supposed to mean something. Clues, Buzz, I need clues.”
Buzz pushed and nudged the small toy until it was in Luke's hand. He gave it a playful squeeze. Buzz barked and barked as he pushed the toy into the crook of Luke's arm.
Luke sat down with a thump, his back pressed against the bed, his eyes on the panting dog. “Whoever it was that said dogs are dumb sure as hell didn't know about you. You want us to get her a dog and take it there. That's my best guess. What, no barking? Am I right?” Buzz licked Luke's face, his tail swishing so fast Luke got dizzy. “Okay, let's do it! It will be a reason to knock on her door. That business of us being in the neighborhood wasn't going to fly anyway. How about a puppy
and
Chinese?”
Buzz was a streak of golden light as he raced from the room. He was outside and in the truck before Luke got to the kitchen. “Forget the pork chops, we're dining out tonight,” he said to his housekeeper. “Next stop the Corpus Christi Animal Shelter!”
Buzz chomped on a leftover Fig Newton.
Thirty minutes later, gravel spurting up behind his back wheels, Luke ground to a halt. “Hey, Alvin, hold on. Don't close up yet.”
“Luke, what brings you way out here? Hey, big guy, how's it going. Biggest mistake I ever made was giving you this dog.”
“Your loss, my gain. I'd part with the ranch before I'd give him up. Listen, I'm looking for a dog for . . . a friend. This particular friend, in my opinion—and Buzz's, too—is in need of a dog. I could be wrong, but I don't think so. Look, I know what you're going to say. If it doesn't work out I'll take the dog. Deal.”
“I call this divine intervention. You stopping by like this,” Alvin said. “Dave Palmer came in here on Monday with this dog he found on the side of the road. She was barely alive, and she had a pup with her. I got her fixed up, and she's doing real good. The pup, too. I can't separate them, Luke, because the pup is still nursing. I'd say she was well taken care of until just recently. God, some days I wish they could talk. No collar. She's been groomed because her nails have been clipped. I called all the local vets but didn't get anywhere. Is this . . . friend the type to take care of a dog like I'm talking about?”
“I think so, Alvin. Like I said, I'll take them both if it doesn't work out. What breed?”
“She's a full retriever. Beautiful animal. She's young, too. This is a guess on my part, but I'd say she's only had one heat. She doesn't like the cage and she sure as hell hates the dog food I've been giving her. I think whoever owned her gave her table food because she gobbles that down lickety-split.”
“Let's see her.”
Buzz backed up until his backside was touching the truck. He started to whine. “You remember, don't you?” Luke said gently. “It's a good place, Buzz. You wait here.”
“So what do you think?” Alvin asked.
“I think that's one good-looking dog, Alvin. The pup is just as good-looking. Boy or girl?”
“Boy. Let her get a good whiff of you. I wish Buzz would come in. She's skitzy when it comes to her pup, Dave said. Weak as she was, she put up a fight when he tried to get her into the truck. She'll make someone a hell of a companion. I was thinking of taking her myself.”
“I'll take her, Alvin. Go outside with Buzz while I talk to her. I don't want her to be afraid. Do your best to get Buzz in here, okay? Does she have a name?”
“The girls have been calling her Silky. The pup is Sam. They don't respond to either name, so you can call them whatever you want. They have all their shots. I gotta charge you, Luke.”
Money changed hands. “Buy some extra dog food for the rest of these guys. Can't you find homes for them?”
“In time. You know we don't put them to sleep. By next week most of them will be in new homes. The people around here always come by once I go on the evening news. I'll see about getting Buzz in here.”
Luke opened the kennel door and reached in to stroke the silky head, his voice low and gentle. He talked for a long time before he reached for the pup. “C'mon, girl, we're going someplace where you're going to be happy. I don't know how I know this, but I do. We're not going empty-handed either. We'll stop for some real food, some gear, and I'll present you with a big red bow. Nobody in their right mind would turn down a deal like that.” He turned when he felt his leg being nudged. “This guy is Buzz. Okay, let's get this show on the road.”
“Fixed a bed with some old towels in the back of your truck, Luke. I'd let Buzz sit back there with them.”
“You don't think she'll jump out?”
“Hell no. First of all her primary concern is the pup. She's taken to you, I can see that. She's still a little wobbly. A few more days with some good food and she's going to be raring to go. She knows how to walk on a leash, too. I think she got lost is what I think. Probably some tourists passing through stopped and she wandered off. Put the pup in first, then you lift her in. Buzz goes last. If you're nervous, I can ride along with you, but I think she'll be fine. Buzz will watch out for her.”

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