Listen To Your Heart (11 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Listen To Your Heart
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Jack groaned.
Oh well, there are other fish in the sea. But not like Marissa.
He knew he had some major sucking up to do, and he would do it because he didn't want to lose her. Marissa was
okay.
An hour later, his hair still damp from the shower, Jack got dressed in khaki shorts and a Polo T-shirt and open-toed sandals. He searched his trouser pockets as well as his jacket pockets for the address and phone number of Zip's temporary guardian. There was no paper to be found. Somehow he must have lost it. Shit! Now what was he supposed to do? Paul would be fit to be tied.
Jack perched on the side of the bed, his head pounding as he dialed Paul's private New York number. He cursed when he got his voice-mail. “Hey, good buddy, I hate to admit this but I lost Zip's info. Can you call me here at the house and give me the number of the fat chick with the big feet? I'll go right over there and pick him up. I'll wait for your call. It's eleven-thirty now.”
At four-thirty, his headache still with him, Jack called the main number of Brouillette Enterprises and asked for Paul. “You must have some idea of where he is. Fine, fine, tell him to call me as soon as he gets back. I'll wait for his call.”
At six o'clock, tired of sitting around, Jack walked into the family room, which now belonged to Zip. Outside of FAO Schwarz, he'd never seen such an array of toys, beds, collars, leashes, and even a red wagon. Zip's room. Paul had a chair and a small television set. The rest of the room was totally Zip's. He looked at the shelf over the wet bar. Every dog treat known to an animal lover was on the shelf. He reached for one of the hearty-looking leashes and made the decision to canvass the neighborhood. Paul had said it was within walking distance. He could call out to the dog, whistle, do whatever it took. The poor thing was probably sitting by the door whining and crying to go home. What kind of fun would he have with a fat chick with big feet? Zip was a man's dog. A real man's dog.
“I'm coming, buddy. I'm coming.”
Six
O
kay, that's the last of it,” Kitty said, blowing a wisp of hair off her cheek. “I think the Soileaus are going to be delighted with this intimate little dinner party for two. Celia reminds me of you—she can't cook worth a darn. Her husband loves her anyway. You should see the diamond choker he's giving his little cupcake. It's got to be at least five carats. And she doesn't do housework either. She has a housekeeper, and a nanny for her little guy. We must be doing something wrong.”
“Everything will go wonderfully. I just wonder what the little cupcake is going to do when and if we go out of business. We've been serving their dinners every weekend for three years,” Josie grumbled. Some people just seemed to step in good luck. Unlike her, who couldn't seem to do anything right where men were concerned.
“They'll hire another caterer who won't be half as good. You look anxious, Josie. Is something wrong?”
“No. I've had this weird feeling all day. I can't put my finger on it. He's back, you know. Back and he didn't call. We still have his dog, too.”
“What's with that
we
stuff?” Kitty said, slamming the door of the van.
“You
still have his dog. Maybe he got in late; maybe the phones don't work. Maybe he's sick. Maybe he's in love with you and too shy to make another overture. Maybe a lot of things. Time will tell the tale.”
“I hate leaving the dogs.”
“Get off it, Josie. You just want to stay home in case the phone rings. That's why we have three different answering machines. It will be a good thing if he does call and you aren't here.”
“I'm not playing anything. You know what? I'm
pissed.”
“Oooh, Josie, Mom would wash your mouth out with soap. N'awlins ladies do not use such language. Ever.”
“They don't run
naked
through the rain slurping on a mango either,” Josie snapped.
“Touché, big sister. C'mon, let's get this show on the road.”
“What is it we're serving again? For some reason I can't seem to remember anything these past few days.”
“You asked me that six times today. For the seventh time, we are serving baked oysters with braised leeks and tasso Hollandaise. Since this is a special night for our clients, I chose oysters because they have a reputation as an aphrodisiac. Now, how many times have you seen a car sticker that read: Eat Louisiana oysters and live longer? Thousands, right? See, perfect choice. We also have roasted eggplant and garlic soup. We have a side dish of creole-spiced blue crab with green onion dipping sauce. Celia passed on a salad this time and wanted us to double up on the dessert. I made fresh coconut ice cream and
profiteroles.
I made enough so they can eat this stuff all week. As usual, it will tide them over until next weekend. How's it sound?”
“Wonderful. They'll go to bed drunk on good food.”
“And we laugh all the way to the bank. Lighten up, Josie. You look way too grim.”
Josie bared her teeth in a grimace. “Is that better?”
Kitty sighed. “No, but I guess it will have to do.”
 
Jack Emery loped down the street, calling Zip's name and whistling. He was three houses away from Dupré Catering when a boy of eight or so stopped, his bike squealing on the sidewalk.
“You lose your dog, mister? For five bucks I can help you find him. What's he look like?”
“Big boxer with ears standing straight up. Brown and white. Big dog. I didn't lose him, but I did lose the paper with the woman's name on it who's watching him. His name is Zip.”
“I seen him. Yeah, I did, mister. I seen her pulling him in a wagon. Nah, that's wrong, some guy was pulling him and the lady was pulling the little dog in a wagon. I'm telling you, I seen him, mister.”
“Give me an address and the five bucks is yours, and you don't even have to go looking for him.”
“Right there where that sign is in the driveway. Miss Josie is the lady. Miss Kitty, she don't have no truck with dogs. She cooks.”
Jack wondered if he was being had as he forked over a five dollar bill.
“Go around to the back, mister. Them dogs are always fenced in. That's so they can't get out. The one with the big ears could jump the fence, but he don't. He likes it there. See ya, mister.”
Jack walked up the driveway, his eyes and ears alert. He tucked his tongue down and pursed his lips. A shrill whistle ripped through the air. He was rewarded with a howl that made his short-cropped sandy hair stand on end. “Yo, boy. It's me, Jack! Where are you, Zip?”
A second earsplitting howl rocked the quiet evening. Jack followed the sound. He heard the door rattle on the back porch as he climbed the steps. He rang the bell and waited. “Anyone home?” Jack bellowed. He jabbed at the bell again and again. “Guess the fat lady with the big feet left you all alone. Paul isn't going to like that one little bit.” He jiggled the handle but it held tight. “I'll just sit right here and wait for your . . . the lady to get home. I missed you, big guy. Man, do I have some stories to tell you.”
He heard the noise, felt the vibration, and then he was tumbling down the steps to the lawn. “What the hell . . . ? Zip! How the hell? Oh, oh, you pushed open the door. That lady isn't going to like that. No, siree. And what's this?” he said, reaching for Rosie, who whined as he held her up to his cheek. She was soft and cuddly, kind of like Marissa when she was in one of her cuddly moods. A heartbeat later, he was astounded when Zip reached up and daintily removed Rosie from his grasp. He sat her down right between his two big front paws.
“I get it—it's a package deal. You and her. I know she's a girl. Paul didn't say he got a new dog. Or, does this little beauty belong here? Probably. That's going to be a problem. The door's broken, so we can't leave her here. That means she has to come with us. Okay, we'll take her with us, and I'll bring her back in the morning.” Zip reared backward, his right front paw pulling Rosie with him. “I guess I said the wrong thing. Okay, we won't bring her back. We'll take it on the lam and let Paul deal with the chick with the big feet. I wonder what they do to dog-nappers. Paul can worry about that, too. We'll say she followed us. Yeah, yeah, that's what we'll say. But let's see how this grabs you. We're switching up here and going to
my
house instead of Paul's house. I don't feel like dealing with any women right now, and that includes Marissa. We're all happy campers now, right?”
“Woof.”
“Woof.”
 
“Celia's husband did us proud tonight, Kitty. A hundred dollar tip! What
does
that guy do for a living? Boy, did you see them eat? I bet he'd hire you to cook for him every day if he could. I don't think you made enough food to last all week, though.”
“They'll order something in or go the fast-food route. Then they'll drool for our stuff for two days. Next week Celia said her husband wants potato-crusted lobster tails on a bed of mugbug mashed potatoes, sweet water prawns over spinach
pappardelle
with a champagne and salmon roe butter sauce, poke salad with sesame vinaigrette. For dessert,
malassadas
with extra pastry cream, macaroon tartlets with some creole cream cheese ice cream. I thought I would throw in a praline cream pie just for the heck of it. Oh, I almost forgot. He said he would look on us real favorably if I could somehow manage to whip up a favorite of his—duck Andouille, and scallion pancakes with ginger orange sauce. Of course I said okay. I can make them while I'm there so they'll be hot when we serve them.”
“The man will die if he eats all that,” Josie sputtered. “Celia will get fat!”
“No doubt. You asked me what he does for a living. He's a venture capitalist. I don't even know what that is, but he makes tons of money.”
“I'm tired just thinking about all that food. Let's do the dishes in the morning. I just want to take a shower and go to bed. Did they pay for the wine tonight?”
“Yep, all four bottles. Everything was included in the one check. I'll lock the car and be in in a minute. I don't hear the dogs barking.”
“They're probably sound asleep and snoring. For a little dog, Rosie snores real loud. Kittyyyyy!”
“What? What's wrong?”
“Look! The door is broken—it's off the hinges. Zip got out. Oh, God, what am I going to tell Paul? Rosie! Come here, Rosie. Where are you, baby? Help me look for her, Kitty. Oh, God, what if she went on the run with Zip. People steal dogs all the time for experiments.”
“Didn't you lock the door Josie?”
“Of course I locked the door. One swipe of his paw and Zip can move the dead bolt. You saw him do it. He got the big door open and just slammed through the screen door. Maybe Paul came here and he wanted out. That's it. I bet he's at Paul's house. Keep looking, Kitty, while I call. There's no answer,” she said, disgust ringing in her voice. “I'm going over there!”
“Not without me, you aren't. I'll drive.”
“That son of a bitch stole my dog. I know it. How could he do that, Kitty?”
“We don't know that he did, Josie. If he did, I'll help you kill him. I told you not to take his dog. Did you listen? No, you did not.”
Josie was out of the car before Kitty turned off the engine. She raced around the back of the house to the French doors. A second later she was inside, her hand on the light switch. “Rosie! Rosie! Come on, baby. Damn, they aren't here! Zip would be barreling through the house barking his head off. Unless they're upstairs in his room and the door is closed.” She galloped up the steps, taking them two at a time as she called her dog's name over and over, Kitty just behind her.
“There's no one here, Kitty. The bed is unmade. There was no car in the driveway.”
“Maybe he's out walking them,” Kitty said. “It is a possibility.”
“No, it isn't, and you know it. He's gone. The dogs are gone. The house is dark. He took my dog!”
“Hey, look at these pictures. They look familiar. Do they look familiar to you, Josie?”
Josie barely glanced in the direction of the long dresser. “No, and I'm not interested in his family. Who cares what they look like? I want my dog!”
“Are you sure he was here today?”
“I saw him with my own eyes. He was sleeping in that damn bed! That bed!” Josie said, pointing to the king-size bed. He's probably out wining and dining some other fool so she'll watch his dog and mine, too. Do you have any idea how much I hate that man? Well, do you?”
“I think I have a pretty good idea. Let's drive around with the windows down. We can call out.”
“It's almost midnight. Do you want to get locked up for disturbing the peace?” Josie said. “What if they ran off somewhere? Rosie doesn't know how to fend for herself.”
“Get in the car, Josie. We'll drive around real slow. If they're on the loose, they'll pick up our scent. For now it's all we can do. In the morning you can call his offices or come back to the house. We'll think of something by then. Hey, maybe they'll be on the porch waiting for us when we get home.”
It was two o'clock when Kitty turned off the headlights of the Explorer. There were no joyful barks coming from the back porch. She felt like crying. “I'll make some coffee, and you can call the police. The night patrols might spot them if they are on the loose. I know they're safe, Josie. I just know it.”
Josie nodded, her face miserable.
 
“And how are we feeling this morning, Mr. Brouillette?” a young nurse asked cheerfully.
“We
aren't feeling much better than
we
felt last night,” Paul muttered. “Let's just skip the sponge bath.”
“Now, Mr. Brouillette, you know we can't do that. Rules are rules. Germs are germs. How's the headache?”
“I still have it. What are the chances of me going home today?”
“About the same as me going to Hawaii when I get off duty. We'll ask the doctor when he makes rounds. In case you forgot, you have a severe concussion, Mr. Brouillette. Do you need someone to make phone calls for you? If you hire a private duty nurse, the doctor might consider discharging you a little early. It's something to think about.”
Paul suffered through the sponge bath, his teeth clenched in frustration.
“This is just an off-the-wall question, Mr. Brouillette, but do you know how to relax?”
“Of course I know how to relax. Why do you ask?”
“Because you're much too tense. The headache might ease up if you'd loosen up.”
Paul closed his eyes. She was probably right. As Jack would say, he was wired to the nth degree. And why shouldn't he be wired? He'd been mugged and left to die in the park. He made a mental note to ask for the name of the nanny so he could call and thank her for her intervention. He'd have his secretary send her a nice gift of appreciation.

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