Fool Me Once (7 page)

Now they were tainted.

A lone tear escaped her eye, followed by another, until she was crying openly. The dogs, tired out from their busy day, slept through her torment, and she finally joined them, dozing until the doorbell pealed. Then all hell broke loose as the startled dogs woke and raced to the front door. Olivia rubbed her eyes and opened the door. “It's about time,” she snapped.
It must have been hard to leave that chirping, whiny voice,
she thought uncharitably.

For some reason, she was surprised to see how tall Jeff Bannerman was. The only time she'd met him was when he'd come to the studio door, bent down, and let Cecil out of his carry crate, leaving immediately thereafter. Talking to him on the phone hadn't quite prepared her for his tall, rumpled good looks. Right then he looked pissed to the teeth. Olivia stood aside to let him enter the foyer. She continued to observe him. Nice tight jeans, scuffed Nikes, Ralph Lauren jacket, baseball cap on backward. A hunk.

“You look different. I guess it was your suit that first day.”

“I'm a lawyer. Lawyers wear suits. I'm on my own time right now. I'd like to get back to my own time, so tell me what the problem is and I'll get out of your hair.”

“Come in where it's warm,” Olivia said, leading the way to the great room. The dogs leaped and tried to chew at Jeff's leg as he scrambled to follow Olivia.
Pissed to the teeth
was probably an understatement.

“Do you want a beer, a cup of coffee, maybe some wine?” Olivia asked. Her hands were twitching so badly that she shoved them into the pockets of her sweatpants.

“No thank you. Just please tell me what the problem is so I can go back home. I have company, not that you care.”

“Oh you mean, chirp, chirp, chirp, and this is the last time I'm going to ask you who Cecil is?” Olivia imitated the woman's voice in an obnoxious falsetto.

Jeff Bannerman clenched his jaw. His face turned pink.
Men blush. How interesting,
Olivia thought. “I thought you just had one dog,” he blurted.

“I do. Did. I went to get a playmate for Cecil and ended up getting another one for…for other reasons. Now I can't tell them apart. Can you?”

“Me? I'm no dog expert. Look, the president of our law firm, one of the trustees of Lillian Manning's estate,
appointed
me to care for Cecil because Lillian Manning requested me specifically. I'm the one who drew up her will. I did not volunteer. With a rather nice stipend, I might add. All I had to do was bring him here for his photograph and take care of him until Mrs. Manning's estate was settled. I agreed. However, the dog has ruined my apartment. He chewed everything in sight, he poops anywhere he feels like it, and he hates my guts. He's a fussy eater, too. He doesn't like dog food. He wants a meal. A meal! I have to bring takeout home for him. The dog eats better than I do. Did I mention, the dog hates my guts? That's the sum total of my involvement with that little terror. Oh, yeah, one other thing—he's screwing up my social life. What in the damn hell do you mean, you can't tell them apart?” Dark brown eyes that matched his unruly hair sparked dangerously with the question.

Olivia twirled a hank of hair over her ear with her index finger. “I can see why Cecil would hate you. You have to love a dog. The dog needs to know you love him. You need to care for him, walk him, feed him at regular times, and—of course—you have to play with him. That's another way of saying I don't give two hoots about your social life. You have a responsibility to the richest dog in the United States, maybe the world, and you're getting it on with some bird who chirps in the background. Let's get real here. We, and I stress the
we,
have a problem. Why isn't this dog living in his owner's mansion the way it says in the newspapers? Those very same newspapers said Cecil was being catered to twenty-four/seven and was living like a king. Ha! You all lied. I wouldn't trust a hamster with you, Jeff Bannerman.”

The baseball cap had been turned around. He fiddled with it. And he looked uneasy. Nervous and jittery. “Well…they're…repainting or something. They let Mrs. Manning's rather large staff go, and they're going to get a person to live there with Cecil. I'm just—”

“An appointee. In other words, you lied, and the trustees lied to the public. I'm going to report you to the newspapers. I've been taking care of this dog. You were only too willing to let me do it for you. Chirp, chirp, chirp. Mrs. Manning must be spinning in her grave. I bet you could lose your law license or whatever it is lawyers have. I hate lawyers. You're scum of the earth. My father hates them, too. Now, let's get back to the problem at hand. Pick up Cecil.”

“Which one is he?” Jeff said, bending over to peer at the two dogs that looked alike.

Olivia looked helplessly at the young lawyer. “You tell me. You can take them both. Cecil needs a playmate. I was going to give you Bea, but I've become attached to her. That means you have to take Loopy.”

Bannerman continued to twirl the baseball cap in his hands. “Yeah, well, I may have spoken too soon. My boss vetoed the idea. I was going to call you tomorrow to tell you. And, on top of that, the condo association doesn't allow dogs. I more or less sneaked Cecil in, but he blew it when he started to bark. He did it on purpose because he hates me. I did mention that, didn't I? I was hoping I could make arrangements with you to take care of him. He seems to love you and the other dogs. No one would have to know,” he pleaded.

Olivia's heart soared. She might get to keep Cecil after all. “You're trying to bribe me! For shame!” she said dramatically. “Then, of course, you would pretend you still have him and obviously keep that generous stipend. You lawyers are all alike.”

“Yes. No. I would continue, but I wouldn't spend it. If it's in Cecil's best interests, why not?”

“See? See? That's why I hate lawyers. You twist everything around till you can make it work for you. In this case, me taking care of Cecil. Covering your ass so you can make Brownie points with your boss. No dice, Counselor.”

The lawyer shifted from one foot to the other. “Let me put this another way, Ms. Lowell. I know nothing about dogs. I'm not even sure I like dogs. I work sixty, sometimes seventy hours a week. That's what new lawyers do. I have to go home at lunchtime and take him out. I don't get home till late. It's no life for a dog. You've got the perfect setup here. Never lose sight of the fact that I was
assigned
this gig. Cecil is happy. Isn't he?” Bannerman asked anxiously.

Olivia could feel hot tears start to prick her eyelids. “Of course he's happy,” she said in a choked voice. “That's why I hate it that you have to take him. My dog Alice loves him. Bea and Loopy love him. They all bonded instantly.”

The man standing in front of her sat down. “Look, under other circumstances, I think I could be a real animal lover. I just don't have the time right now. Help me out here, Ms. Lowell.”

Olivia then made the mistake of sitting down, her gaze going to the pile of printed pages on the coffee table. She turned, her eyes full of unshed tears. “Say it, damn you. Just have the guts to say you don't want the dog, you're rejecting him because…because you have things to do and places to go, and a dog doesn't fit into your schedule—after you agreed, for a generous stipend, to care for him. You know what? That's what my mother did. Now take your dog, and get the hell out of my house.
Now,
damn you!”

Bannerman reared back, then jerked forward. “
Whoa
. Whoa. Whoa. Okay, okay. Which one?”

Deep, gut-wrenching sobs ripped from Olivia's throat. It was all the little herd of dogs needed. They attacked in full force, clawing, snapping, biting, and sniping until Bannerman shouted at the top of his lungs. “Enough! Sit! That means you, too, Olivia!”

Olivia, her vision blurred by tears, picked up the crystal candy dish that held her baby bracelet and heaved it at the lawyer before she turned around and marched out of the room. “Take your dog and go!”

The four dogs defied him to get up. Bannerman knew he wasn't going anywhere. He sighed, removed his jacket, and stretched out on the sofa, but not before he picked up the crystal candy dish, which miraculously had not broken, and the baby bracelet. He clutched it in his hand. He slept that way, his fist curled into a tight ball under the pillow. He'd think about all this in the morning.

He really would.

The last thing he saw was four pairs of eyes watching his every move as he drifted into sleep.

O
livia woke and knew instantly that it was still dark outside. She rolled over so she could see the digital clock on her nightstand—5:30. Where were the dogs? Alice and Cecil liked to sleep on the bed. Maybe it was too cold in the bedroom. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom and her robe. Then she remembered what had happened before she had fallen into a tearful sleep. She raced down the hall, skidding to a stop when she saw Jeff Bannerman sitting up on the couch.

“Well, good morning, Ms. Lowell,” he snarled. “I really have to go to the bathroom, so I'd appreciate it if you'd call off these hounds and point me in the right direction.”

Hounds
. She didn't like the sound of that. “I thought I told you to leave last night. I'm not doing you any favors, Jeff Bannerman.”

“What? You're just going to let me sit here until I—? Well, lady, it's your couch!”

Olivia's eyes widened at the implication. “Come on, guys, let's go into the kitchen. Ohhh,” she trilled to the dogs as she looked out the window, “it's snowing again. I just love snow.” While the water dripped in the coffeemaker, she slapped bacon into a fry pan and cracked eggs into a bowl. Normally, Olivia didn't eat more than a bagel or muffin for breakfast, but on weekends she made it a point to have either scrambled eggs or pancakes. When she was growing up, her father had served skimpy breakfasts during the school week but always managed a super, colossal breakfast on weekends, and she continued the tradition. Weekend mornings were a special time to eat slowly while reading the newspapers.

As she turned the bacon, Olivia pondered her day. If it continued snowing, and it looked like it might, maybe she'd stay in, make some chicken soup and even a cake. She did have a sweet tooth. Maybe she'd use her father's secret recipe—triple chocolate mousse cake. The one he'd entered into her eighth-grade bake-off for parents. He'd come in seventh out of eighty-eight entries. When they called his name for honorable mention, they called him Denise instead of Dennis. Her father had laughed, and she'd cried. The only father in the bakeoff.

The dogs barked to be let in. She obliged, then dried them all off with a towel from the dryer. She looked up to see Jeff watching her. She wished she knew what he was thinking. “Why are you doing that?” His voice sounded curious.

“So they don't get sick. Dogs get sick just like humans. It's wet and cold out there. Dogs like to be warm. Watch this bacon, and don't let it burn while I replenish the fire. They like to lie by the fire and chew on their treats.”

“Oh.”

Olivia wondered if Bannerman was this articulate in the courtroom. She built up the fire, handed out dog chews, and returned to the kitchen, surprised to find the table set.

“Let me cook,” he said. “I know how. My mother made all of us boys learn early. She taught us to do our own laundry and how to clean house. I have five brothers.”

Well, that was certainly more than she needed to know. Olivia just looked at him as he rummaged for a clean fry pan, greased it, then dropped the whisked eggs into it.

“They all live in Pennsylvania. On a farm. In a town called Ebensburg. They raise corn and alfalfa.”

That was
definitely
more than she needed to know.

“Two of my brothers are dentists. They have a partnership. One brother is a thoracic surgeon, Jack is an architect, and Kirk farms with Dad. I'm the only lawyer. Think about it,” he babbled. “I get a lifetime of free dental care. I have the best teeth in the family. No cavities, no veneers, no bridges. And I still have my wisdom teeth, but they have to come out. Jack is drawing up plans for a house for me. It's going to be a work of art. I just have to come up with the money to build it. If I ever need a thoracic surgeon, I just have to call my brother. I get corn on the cob and other vegetables free all summer long.”

“And I need to know this…why? I don't remember inviting you for breakfast.”

Jeff whirled around. He was still wearing the baseball cap. He shrugged. “You seem to have an unfavorable opinion of me, like the dog. I'm really a nice guy. You can even ask my mother.” At the murderous look in his host's eyes, Jeff cut off whatever else he was going to say. He scrambled the eggs and pressed the plunger on the toaster at the same time. “I invited myself. I'm starved. I can pay you for it if money is the issue.”

Olivia waved her hands in frustration. She felt like crying and wasn't sure why. She looked down at the plate he put in front of her. The bacon was just right, extra crispy, not a speck of grease anywhere. The eggs were fluffy and golden. The toast expertly buttered, not too much, just right. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly.

“My pleasure. I'm sorry if I said something…Obviously, I hit a tender spot somewhere along the way. Does it have anything to do with this?” he said, withdrawing the baby bracelet from his pocket. “When you pitched that bowl at me last night, it fell out. I picked it up.” He slid the little bracelet across the table. Olivia made no move to pick it up but couldn't take her eyes off it.

Olivia licked her lips. She nodded. “It has everything to do with my…attitude. I guess I should apologize. I said ‘guess,' and that doesn't mean I'm going to do it. Shouldn't you be leaving? Don't you have company waiting for you at home?”

Jeff blushed again. The sight pleased Olivia. “I don't think so,” he hedged. “You pretty much took care of that.” He grinned. In spite of herself, Olivia laughed.

“So, you take dog pictures!”

“Yep.”

“Nice in-home business. That overhead can kill you, though. How long have you been doing this?”

He sounded like he really wanted to know. “Forever. I took over from my dad when he retired. He lives in the islands and takes charters on his fishing boat. I do calendars, too. A dog a month, that kind of thing. All breeds. I'm working on next year's right now. I'd like to put Cecil on it, but I'll need permission. In case your next question is ‘which one is which,' I still don't know.”

Jeff groaned. “I don't do dishes,” he said, to avoid discussing the dogs. “I use those shiny plastic things you just toss in the trash. Listen, if you want to talk about…whatever it is that's bothering you, I'm a good listener. If you pay me a dollar, we can log it under attorney-client privilege. I was just going to hang out today and write a brief.”

She didn't mean to speak the words, but they tumbled out of her mouth anyway. “I was going to make chicken soup and maybe bake a cake. My dad always did that on bad-weather days.”

Jeff's eyebrows shot upward. He removed his baseball cap, suddenly aware that he was still wearing it. He shoved it in his back pocket. Olivia noticed how the cap had mashed down his unruly curly hair. “My mother does the same thing. If it isn't chicken soup and cake, it's stew and a pie. We had a lot of bad weather back in Pennsylvania growing up, so we did eat hearty in the winter.”

Again, words she didn't mean to utter tumbled from her mouth. “What's your mother like?”

Jeff leaned back in his chair. He didn't know how he knew, but he knew nonetheless that he was treading on troubled ground. “I wrote an essay on her once for school when I was little. I got an A. Mom framed it. She hung it up in her bedroom. I think my dad was a little miffed. She has a wonderful smile. I kind of look like her, or so my dad says. She's the one with the curly hair. All us boys have curly hair. My dad's hair is poker straight. She wears glasses, and her hair is gray now. She says she's a little heavier than she'd like to be. She's active in church stuff, 4-H and the like. She enters all the cooking contests when they have the county fair. She wins, too. She helps Dad and can drive the tractor. Sometimes she mows the lawn. She never went to college, never had a job outside the house. Six boys were enough to handle. On Thanksgiving we always had to have two turkeys. When we'd get brave enough to take a girl home for the first time, we always knew right away if Mom liked her or not. If she was polite and formal, that meant a no-go. If she was herself, that meant the girl was okay. None of us ever pushed our luck in that department.

“When we'd get sick, she'd sit by our beds and read to us, play checkers, stuff like that. She made more noise at our graduation than the whole stadium combined. You can't be embarrassed when it's your mother.”

Tears flooded Olivia's eyes.

Jeff ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks and chin. “What did I say? Talk to me. I'm a lawyer, I'm trained to deal with problems. If there are taboos, tell me.”

Olivia blinked away her tears. She got up and carried her plate to the dishwasher. With her back to him, she said, “I never had a mother. The day I was born, she told my father she didn't want me and that she wanted a divorce. My dad told me she'd died. Then a few days ago a
lawyer
showed up at my door and said my mother had just died a few weeks ago and left me her fortune.”

Jeff was suddenly at a loss for words. When he finally found his tongue, he said, “Well, that damn well sucks.”

Olivia busied herself unplugging the toaster, wiping it off, and sliding it back under the counter. She tied a twist-tie on the package of bread and put it, along with the bacon and eggs, back into the refrigerator. “Yeah. It does. I called my dad, and he flew up. He left last night before you came. He said he was sorry.”

Jeff struggled for words. The only thing he could come up with was, “You didn't pay me a dollar.” Olivia reached into the cookie jar and withdrew a dollar bill. She handed it to him. Jeff shoved it into his pocket. “We are now lawyer and client.”

“I hate lawyers,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, yeah, everyone hates lawyers until they need one. Is there more? There is—I can tell. You might as well spit it out right now.”

Olivia's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she stared out the kitchen window at the falling snow. “How do you know there's more?”

“My fine legal intuition, which is honed to a sharp point. Nah, it just stands to reason there's more.”

Olivia poured more coffee into her cup. Jeff held his out for a refill. She obliged before sitting down. “My mother changed her name from Allison Matthews to Adrian Ames. Does that ring a bell with you?”

Jeff looked perplexed. “No. Should it?”

“She is Adrian Ames of Adrian's Treasures. It's a huge mail-order house. Wait here a minute.” Olivia ran into the great room and returned with her printouts and the letter. She had no idea why she was suddenly confiding in a total stranger. No idea at all.

Minutes later Jeff said, “Wow! What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. I don't know. One minute I think I should do what she asked because ‘it's the right thing to do.' Then the next minute I say, screw it, she did it, I'm not making it right for her. What would you do?”

Jeff's eyes almost bugged out of his head at the question. “I don't know, Olivia. I guess it would depend on how much hate I was carrying around. You look to me like you're carrying a bushelful.”

“I had such a nice life before I was bombarded with all of this. I had wonderful memories. I had this fantasy that my mother gave up her life so I could live. In my mind she was a martyr. Her picture—well, not really her picture—was on the mantel. My whole damn life was a lie. If that wasn't bad enough, then I find out not only was my mother alive all those years when I hungered for a mother, but that she was a thief. I hate feeling like this. I don't know if I can…I just want it all to go away, but, like my dad said, that isn't going to happen. I have to deal with it.

“In addition, I have to deal with you and the dogs. Before I do anything else, I have to square that away. So let's get to it. What are we going to do in regard to Cecil?”

“I do my best thinking in the shower. Do you mind if I take one in your bathroom? By any chance, do you have a razor?”

“Everything you need is in the downstairs bathroom in the linen closet. I'm going to take my own shower. I sure hope you come up with something.”

“Yeah, me too….
Who am I kidding
?” Jeff mumbled to himself as he made his way to the bathroom.

Olivia was the first to return to the kitchen. She'd dressed quickly, in jeans and a bright yellow long-sleeved shirt. While she waited for her houseguest, she got out her soup pot and a frozen chicken from the freezer. She worked like a robot as she added frozen stock and water to the huge pot. She pared vegetables and proceeded to chop with a vengeance. Everything was simmering nicely when Jeff entered the kitchen, the four dogs at his heels.

“Smells good.”

“It gets better as it cooks. I love the smell. One of my friends used to say our house always smelled like celery and parsley. I think it was a compliment.”

“Our house always smelled like apples and cinnamon. Mom did a lot of baking. It was nice to smell when we came in from school. It still smells like that.”

Olivia looked out the window. “Let the dogs out, okay? While you're out there, you could sweep off the patio before the snow piles up again. You need to earn that dollar I paid you.”