Fool Me Once (6 page)

How had it all started? Baby bracelets. Those little beads new babies were given at birth to identify them. “I took it one step further by making the beads colorful and sizing them accordingly, with a tough, resilient elastic,” Ames said. “A money-back guarantee was offered. One has to stand behind one's products. The bracelets led to other articles until I had enough for a full-featured catalog. I bet my shirt and gambled. It worked.”

The article went on to ask if she'd ever married. Ms. Ames said she was married to her business. Did she regret not having children, a family? She said her customers were her family, and one couldn't miss something one never had.

And the rest was history.

There was a little more to the article. The long hours, doing things herself. Her confidence. Her philanthropy. Her collection of cars, her many houses. Her incredible wealth. How her employees adored her. The lavish Christmas presents she bestowed on her faithful staff. She had no immediate family.

“What a crock.” Olivia clicked on a button to bring up pictures of the home of Adrian Ames, a.k.a. Allison Matthews Lowell. She whistled approvingly. “Way to go, Mommie Dearest,” she mumbled as she scanned the lavish estate and its designer rooms. Obviously mail-order was the way to go.

Olivia clicked on the
BACK
button and proceeded to print out the articles and pictures for her father's benefit. Certainly not hers. After he looked at them, she'd toss them into the fireplace.

Olivia reached for the envelope. It felt heavy. Great. It was probably Adrian Ames's life story—a missive. She opened it. No, not a missive. A missive was many pages. There were only three sheets of paper, lined paper ripped from a legal pad. The writing was large, taking up two lines for each sentence. She was surprised to see a tissue-wrapped square among the three pages. She opened it carefully and was stunned to see her baby bracelet. It said,
BABY LOWELL
. Olivia tossed it onto her desk before she leaned back in her chair and propped her feet up on the desk. She looked down at the letter. It was dated ten months earlier. It was written in April, Olivia's favorite month of the whole year.

Olivia bolted off the chair, the letter clutched in her hands. “Daaaaaddddd!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Daaaaddd!”

D
ennis Lowell shrugged out of his down jacket and ran to his white-faced daughter, who was shaking from head to toe. The jittery dogs at his feet danced and pranced as they tried to make sense out of the high-pitched babble around them. “What? For God's sake, what happened, Ollie?”

“Read this! Just read this!” Olivia shrieked. “Your wife is a thief!” She corrected herself. “Was a thief. Her friends are thieves! She robbed a damn bank! She wants me to…she wants me to…Read the letter, Dad!”

Dennis reached for the yellow sheets of paper in his daughter's hands. He had to pry her fingers loose. “Ease up, Ollie. Ease up.” Olivia relaxed her hold on the letter and handed it over. She started to pace as her father read the letter. “Well?” she shouted. “Say something, Dad.”

Dennis sat down at the kitchen table. “I don't know what to say, Ollie. I never had a clue. Not one. For some reason, though, it doesn't surprise me. Allison was never afraid to take risks. What does surprise me is that she convinced Jill and Gwen to go along with her. Obviously, that little caper was something she couldn't pull off on her own. Don't look at me like that, Ollie. Don't blame me for this.”

Olivia ran her fingers through her hair. The color was coming back into her face. “I'm not blaming you, Dad. She wants me to…The nerve, the gall of the woman! She said she had no maternal feelings. She made these arrangements because…because it was the right thing to do. Damn her to hell! I'm not doing it! No one can make me do this. Almost forty years later she wants me to return the money, anonymously. She's still not willing to take responsibility for what she did. Explain that to me, Dad.”

“I can't, honey. No one can make you do anything you don't want to do. The letter was sealed. That has to mean the lawyer doesn't know what's in it. I seriously doubt Allison, I mean Adrian Ames, would have confided in her attorney even though the communication would have been privileged. Don't even think about buying me a boat anonymously.”

Olivia continued her frantic pacing to the annoyance of the four scampering dogs as they circled and whined at her feet. “We need to make some coffee, and we need to put
something
in it.” She ran water until it cascaded over the pot and down to the floor. The dogs lapped it up. Then she spilled coffee grounds all over the counter. Her father reached for the paper towels to clean it up. “How much brandy do we need to dull our senses to make this all go away, Dad?”

“It's not going to go away, Ollie. You have to deal with it. Like it or not, she was your mother. I hate to say this but…a person's last wishes should…
be honored
.”

Hands on her slim hips, eyes dark with rage, Olivia glared at her father. “Okay, you do it! You were the one who was stupid enough to marry her! Oh, God, Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, I did sort of mean it. How in the hell did she get away with robbing a bank? Think, Dad.”

The phone took that moment to ring, saving Dennis from a reply. He turned around to pick it up and growled a greeting. “Lea!” Dennis listened, a frown building on his face. “Let me talk to Ollie, and I'll call you back. Oh, yes, it's cold here. There's a good bit of snow on the ground. It might snow again before the day is out. Give me an hour or so, and I'll call you back.”

“Is something wrong?” Olivia asked after her dad hung up the phone.

“Not really. My fishing party is arriving early. They want to add a couple of extra days to their itinerary. If I want the charter, I'll have to leave tonight. Otherwise, I'll have Lea turn it over to Daimon.”

Olivia felt her eyes well up. “It's okay, Dad. Since I'm not going to do anything, it won't make any difference if you're here or not. Go on back to Lea and your charter, and don't worry about me. I'll just…you know, roll with it.”

Dennis looked like he was torn as he gazed at his daughter. “Are you sure, honey?”

No, she wasn't sure, but she sensed her father wanted to get as far away as he could from the memories of his ex-wife. “I'm sure,” she fibbed.

“Well, all right. But if you change your mind, call Lea, and she can get me on the ship-to-shore. I can always come back if you need me.” His demeanor made it clear he hoped that wouldn't be necessary. “Do you mind if I use the office?”

Olivia poured two cups of coffee. It looked blacker than coal. Dennis looked at it and grimaced. “I'd say this is strong enough to grow hair on my chest.” Olivia managed a sickly smile in response.

“I printed out some things from
your wife's
Web site. I left them on my desk. You might want to take a look before I burn them.”

Olivia glared at the ugly-looking coffee in her cup. She couldn't drink it. She tossed it and made a fresh pot. While she waited for the water to drip down, she squatted on the floor with the dogs. They ran to her to be cuddled. At that precise moment, as she stared at Loopy and Cecil, she panicked. Where was Loopy's collar? Which one was Cecil? She couldn't tell. She tried calling them by name, but they both responded. Markings? They were the same. Teeth? She pried open their respective mouths. Teeth were teeth. Her heart started to thunder in her chest. “Alice, which one is Cecil?” Olivia asked in a jittery voice. Alice looked up at her, then at the two Yorkies in her arms. She barked playfully. Panic-stricken, Olivia upended both dogs. Two pink bellies. Boys, obviously. Both neutered. “Do I need this? No, I do not need this. Absolutely I do not need this,” she mumbled as she continued to search for a difference in markings on the dogs. She drew a blank.

“What's wrong, honey?” Dennis asked as he set his cup on the counter. It was still full of the horrible-looking coffee.

“Loopy's collar is gone. One of the other dogs must have loosened it. Now I can't tell them apart, Dad. Can you?”

Dennis squatted next to his daughter. He eyed both Yorkies. He did everything Olivia had done, with exactly the same results. He finally threw his hands in the air. “I don't know, Ollie. I can't tell. Which ones am I taking with me?”

“None, Dad. I can't do that. I have to give Cecil back. I'm going to try to talk to Jeff, or maybe the trustees. I don't know, maybe we can work something out.”

“So now you have four dogs!”

Olivia managed a rueful laugh. “Looks that way. I…I suddenly have no desire to break the law. So, did you manage to change your flight?”

“Yep, leaves at eight this evening. I'll take a cab. I don't like leaving you like this, Ollie. But the charter is important to me—it will take care of the lean months. I hate reducing it to dollars and cents, yet I really don't have much of a choice. Ah, fresh coffee. I'll have a cup after I pack. I called a cab. It'll be here in an hour. With all the security at Reagan National, I have to be there extra early. Are you sure you don't want me to take the dogs?”

“I'm sure. I must have had a brain freeze even to suggest it. That would put me in the same category as your ex-wife if I went through with it.” She looked up at her father from her position on the floor. He was somewhere else. Probably planning his charter. She'd never felt more alone in her life. A second later she was on her feet and handing out dog chews. The dogs accepted them and trotted into the great room, where they lay down by the fire and chewed contentedly.

With nothing else to do, Olivia made her way to the studio, where she reached for her appointment book. “I must be crazy,” she muttered over and over to herself as she called to cancel a month's worth of appointments. She made the last call just as her father called her from the kitchen.

Dennis poured coffee for them both. “Now, let's talk seriously, Ollie. I can only imagine how you feel. I see the bitterness and sense of betrayal in your eyes. You have to leave that behind you—otherwise, it will fester like a bad sore. I want you to do whatever feels right to you, but be sure that whatever that turns out to be, you can live with it. When you hit a rough patch, you have to slow down and think it through. Whether you know it or not, you're a very strong, capable person. You
can
deal with all this. You really can, Ollie. Plot out a course of action and go on from there. Do it the same way you plan a photo shoot. Set it up. You're the one in control, and don't ever forget it.” Then he started to laugh and couldn't stop. “The first thing you have to do before you do anything else is figure out which dog is Cecil.”

Olivia groaned, but she, too, started to laugh. “Hey, I hear a horn. I guess your taxi is here.” She ran to the window. “Yep, it's here. He's gonna love you—a trip to Reagan. Big fare, big tip.”

Dennis zipped up his jacket, then hugged his daughter. “I love you, Ollie, and I'm sorry you have to go through this. Call me if you need me. If you want someone to come and stay with you, I'm sure Lea wouldn't mind.” He squeezed her so hard she squealed for mercy. The horn blew again.

And then he was gone, and Olivia was alone.

Again.

So much for good intentions,
Olivia thought as she tossed the pictures from Adrian Ames's Web site onto the coffee table. The letter followed, the one she knew by heart. She'd planned on burning the lot, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to drop the pages into the fire. She wondered why that was. There should be somebody she could ask, but there wasn't. Her father would say the letter was the only thing she had of her mother's, which was pretty damn sad if you considered that she was thirty-four years old. No, no, that was wrong. She had the bracelet. In the blink of an eye she ran down the hall to the desk where she'd thrown it. She reached for it and clutched it in her hand. Now she had two things. A letter and a bracelet. But the bracelet was
hers
. Some kindly, smiling nurse had probably put it on her wrist within minutes of being born. Such tiny beads. Today they put little plastic strips that passed for bracelets on babies. Today they put them on the baby's ankle instead of the wrist. She'd read that in some dentist's office.

Olivia frowned. Didn't her father tell her that Allison had never seen her, refused to see her after she'd given birth? Of course he'd said that.
So how did she get my baby bracelet? And why did she keep it all these years?
Her father had never shown it to her. He was sentimental and would have kept it if he'd had it. He'd kept her first baby booties and her pink blanket. Why wouldn't he have kept the baby bracelet? She made a mental note to ask him the next time she spoke to him.

Everything came back to one thing, the letter. Since she knew it by heart, Olivia folded it up and shoved it into the drawer of the coffee table. The pictures of the estate were shuffled into a neat pile, and she placed them on top of a stack of books. She dropped the baby bracelet into a crystal candy dish that had held Cisco candies until her father had eaten them all.

Feeling churlish and out of sorts, she decided she shouldn't be sitting there alone at eleven o'clock at night with only four dogs for company. But then her mood lightened when she looked at the contented dogs. A smile crept across her face—until she remembered her problem. Fortunately, she had kept Jeff's phone number. So what if it was eleven o'clock on a Friday night? She punched in the numbers. His voice wasn't harried when he offered up a greeting. It was sleepy and lazy-sounding. She heard a giggle in the background. A female giggle.

“Well, hi there, Jeff. This is Olivia Lowell. I'd like to talk to you about Cecil.”

“Now? You want to talk about Cecil now? It's after eleven o'clock.”

Olivia heard a voice chirp, “Who's Cecil?”

“Well, yes, Jeff. Eleven is just a number. Tomorrow is Saturday. I'd like it if you'd come out here now, please.”

“Wait just a damn minute, Olivia. It's almost midnight, it's cold as hell outside, and you want me to get into an ice-cold car and drive seventy-six miles out to your house?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why? Oh, God, is something wrong with Cecil? Tell me there's nothing wrong with Cecil. Olivia, please tell me nothing's wrong with Cecil.”

The voice in the background chirped again, “Who's Cecil?”

“It took you long enough to ask about the dog, Jeff. He's fine. I guess you have other priorities. Yeah. I want you to crawl out of your nice, warm bed—that's where you are, right?—and get into your nice, cold BMW and drive seventy-six miles to my house. Now. You coming or not?”

The voice chirped in the background once again. “Jeffie, baby, this is the last time I'm going to ask you who Cecil is.”

Olivia looked at the pinging phone in her hand. Then she laughed. The dogs woke, and she let them out. Jeff was right, it was frigid outside. She could see icicles hanging from the roof. They glistened like diamonds in the light from the patio. She shivered. The dogs trotted back indoors. She still couldn't tell who was who. She handed out treats and returned to the sofa, but not before she replenished the fire that was starting to subside. The shower of sparks racing up the chimney reminded her of fireworks on the Fourth of July. Her father had always bought her one box of sparklers, then took her and Dee Dee Pepper to see a display in town. She'd loved it, thinking it was somehow magical. She'd had such a wonderful childhood. So many special memories to cherish.