Fool Me Once (13 page)

“I don't rightly know, little miss. I was standing on my front porch waiting for the boy to finish shoveling my walkway so I could pay him when I saw a car pull up to Mrs. Laramie's house. We're having a bit of a snowstorm here in Woodbridge. Saw on the TV that you're having the same storm, little miss. It was one of those fancy town cars from Arrow Service. He tootled his horn and out comes Mrs. Laramie, carrying her purse and a shoulder bag. Neither one looked heavy to me. I thought you might want to know. I never would have known she was gone if I hadn't been standing on the porch. Me and all the neighbors would go on thinking she was still in there. I talked to a few of the neighbors on the phone, and they agreed I should call you. Now, mind you, we don't want to know her business, but it certainly is strange for that woman to leave after twenty-some years right after you come here looking for her. Mighty peculiar.”

“Thank you for calling me, Mr. Hemmings. You did the right thing. I appreciate it. Have a good night, Mr. Hemmings.”

After she hung up the words tumbled out of Olivia's mouth so fast, Jeff had to tell her to slow down. “What do you make of it, Jeff?”

Jeff's chest puffed out. “Didn't I tell you she sounded in her e-mail like she was going to split, take it on the lam? If she hired a car service, that means she's either taking the Metroliner or heading for the airport. Man, is that lady going to be shocked at the outside world if she hasn't left the house in twenty years. It's amazing how fear can goose a person. What are you going to do, Olivia?”

All romantic thoughts vanished from Olivia's mind as she started to pace the great-room floor. She stopped her frantic pacing to toss two oak logs on the fire. “I don't know. Does this mean I write her off and concentrate on Gwen? Or do I go back to the detective and have them try to track her? Jill must still have the money. Living like a hermit for twenty years probably means she didn't spend much other than that fifty grand she gave to her ex-husband for her daughter's care. The daughter said her mother did her banking online, so that has to mean she has investments. She might have a sizable portfolio if she's invested wisely. Remember those high interest rates in the eighties? I wonder if the daughter knows. Do you think I should call her, Jeff?”

“Olivia, I don't have a dog in this race. The daughter will certainly ask you questions. Are you going to want to answer them? Estranged or not, the woman is her mother.”

Olivia paced, wringing her hands. “I know, I know. I guess I really spooked her. That has to mean Jill isn't giving up her share. Assuming she still has it. She shouldn't get away with it, Jeff. Neither should Gwen.”

“Your mother got religion late, when she learned she was dying. Even though the statute of limitations for the robbery expired decades ago, going public could seriously embarrass the two living participants. And that's not what Adrian Ames wanted. She wanted them to agree to return the money to help them
overcome their guilt
, not to see them held up to public ridicule.”

Olivia stopped her frantic pacing, her eyes wide. “That was just a threat. I'm not turning them in. I just want them to pay it back. Unless…unless…Would the fact that I know about this make me guilty of obstruction of justice? I don't know anything about the law. Well, would it?”

Jeff threw his hands in the air. “Think, Olivia. If they cannot be prosecuted for robbing the bank because it was so long ago, you cannot be prosecuted for obstruction of justice for doing nothing about it now. As far as the law is concerned, there
is
nothing to do about it. So you're in the clear.”

Olivia started to pace again. “This can't be happening to me. How could that woman do this to me? Even if the law isn't concerned, now I'm part of her ugly past. I'm going to see Mr. O'Brien as soon as I can to find out when Allison Matthews's money will be available. The big question is, how will I get all that money in cash to pay it back? Someone is sure to notice that kind of withdrawal and start asking questions. I'm thinking it was a hell of a lot easier to steal it than it will be to return it. Oh, God, I have such a headache.”

Headache
. The magic word that alerted Jeff that he might as well go to bed. Tongue in cheek, he said, “You just keep right on pacing, and I'll let the dogs out.”

Olivia nodded.

Why was this bothering her? Why?

“I hate you, Adrian Ames. You had no right to ask me to do this. I don't owe you a damn thing. Not love, much less respect. You were too gutless to return the money yourself, so you brought me into it to do your dirty work. Damn you! Oh, damn you!”

Olivia heard the sliding door shut, heard the snick of the lock, heard the dogs racing to the laundry room for Jeff to dry them off. She heard the parade walking down the hall to the guest room. Then she heard Jeff call out, “Good night!”

“Night,” she mumbled.

Some date this turned out to be.

Shoulders slumping, Olivia walked back to the office. Like she could sleep. Maybe she'd never sleep again and would eventually wither and die.

Turning on her computer and opening her e-mail, she wasn't really expecting any incoming mail, but there were three, one from Gill Laramie, one from his daughter Mary Louise, and one from Paul Hemmings.

Olivia clicked on the mail from Gill Laramie first.

Olivia blinked back tears as she opened the e-mail from Mary Louise Rafferty. There was nothing on the subject line, nor was there a greeting. Just a short message.

Olivia reached for a tissue to wipe her drippy nose. “Yeah, well, I just wonder what you'd think if you knew what I know. I was trying to spare you and be discreet,” she mumbled as she opened Paul Hemmings's e-mail.

Olivia sat in her swivel chair and cried into the wad of tissues.

I
t was still dark outside when Olivia felt a gentle nudge to her shoulder. She mumbled something under her breath and tried to roll over. Soft, cushiony material pressed against her face. Her eyes snapped open. She was on the couch, and Jeff was standing over her. The dogs were whining and snarling to go outside.

“Olivia, wake up. You need to see the snow outside. What do you want me to do with the dogs? They're not going to be able to maneuver, the snow's too deep. Do you want me to get the snowblower out and do the driveway first so they can do what they have to do?”

Olivia struggled to get her wits about her. “What…what time is it?”

Jeff looked down at the oversize watch on his wrist. “Almost five. It stopped snowing a little while ago.”

Olivia swung her legs over the side of the couch. “A little while ago? Didn't you sleep?”

“Not much. I did doze off from time to time. The dogs slept with me. Do you believe that?”

Olivia stood up. No, she didn't believe that.
Little traitors
, she thought uncharitably. “What was the question again? Never mind, I remember. That sounds like a good idea. Let me get my jacket and boots and help you.”

“No, no, I can do it. I'm just going to clear a spot for the dogs. You can make breakfast if you don't mind. When it gets light out, I'll finish up the job. I heard snowplows earlier, so that means the end of your driveway is socked in, which also means I have to shovel. It's okay, I need the exercise.”

Olivia watched as Jeff pulled on his outer gear, the dogs dancing impatiently at his feet. “I'm sorry about last night. I really am. This…this mess is starting to consume me, take over my life, and I don't like it one little bit.”

Jeff nodded understandingly. “See you in a while.”

Olivia went to the kitchen to make coffee before she headed back to her bathroom, where she took a quick shower and dressed for warmth. She was wearing a new lavender sweat suit her father had given her for Christmas, heavy wool socks, and slippers. When it was time to go outside she'd switch to rubber-soled boots.

She quickly thawed frozen pancake batter, fried up some frozen link sausages, and warmed some syrup, which also came in a frozen packet. She absolutely refused to read the list of ingredients on the package labels.

The day moved forward until all practical matters were taken care of. It was late afternoon when the couple stood face to face by the kitchen sink, and Jeff said, “Why do I feel like we're some old married couple without all the marital perks?” He grinned mischieviously.

Olivia linked her arm with his and smiled as she led him over to one of the kitchen chairs. She popped open a soft drink and split it two ways. “I need your help, Jeff. I don't know what to do. My father is no help. Like you said, you don't have a dog in this race, so you should be able to be objective—give me some insight here.”

Jeff crumpled and uncrumpled a wad of paper napkins. “I can't tell you what to do, Olivia. Once you read the letter from Adrian Ames, you became a part of her past life. No one knows what's in that letter but you. Me too, of course, but I'm your lawyer, so I cannot divulge anything. Client confidentiality. Nothing on this earth, no agency, can force me to divulge a thing. You can drop everything, pretend you don't know anything, walk away from it. I suspect you aren't that kind of person, though. If you
were
that kind of person, you wouldn't have gone to New Jersey. You wouldn't be planning on going to South Carolina on Saturday. I did e-mail my friend Sean, and posed a hypothetical to him about your problem. He's a criminal lawyer and in the middle of a trial. He'll have the straight skinny on the legal aspects. Like I said, I'm a probate lawyer and rusty on anything in that vein. The information I gave you yesterday is straight out of Criminal Law 101, and needs to be verified by someone in the field.

“Olivia, just because you're angry with the circumstances, you can't go around threatening people to get what you want. In this case, you don't even know what you want. The can of worms is open. You can't stuff them back in. Legally you have no obligation to go to the authorities and tell them everything you know. If you decide to do so anyway, then tell them you are prepared to pay the entire amount of money back from the estate, plus whatever fines or penalties are involved, although I doubt that even that's required. I do not think there is anything the authorities can do to Jill and Gwen.

“If and when you decide to go to the authorities, you can say that it took some time before you decided what to do about the information in the letter Adrian Ames left you and what you found out from the items in her safe. Just because you read it right after Mr. O'Brien gave it to you does not mean you had to bring the information you acquired to anyone's attention immediately. I don't see them, whoever ‘them' turns out to be, going to your father. His life with Allison ended the day you were born. The bank robbery occurred before they were married. As I've already told you, I'm pretty sure any statute of limitations has run out, which means no one can be prosecuted after forty years.”

“Could I really be that lucky? You'd think that if Adrian Ames was as smart as she thought she was, she would have known she was safe as far as the time element goes. It's a lot to think about, isn't it?”

“You could be right. Obviously, when she found out she was dying, it became a moral issue, not just a legal one. Maybe Jill knows that, too, and that's why she could snub you like she did. Maybe Jill has some mental problems. I just don't know, Olivia,” Jeff said with a groan.

Olivia got up and watered the plants sitting on the counter. “I'm tired of thinking. I never asked for this. I don't want Adrian Ames's fancy house, her money, or any legacy. I don't want anything from her. Damn, it was forty years ago.” She moved over to the kitchen window to stare out at the blinding white snow.

Olivia felt his presence, felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. Her heart started to pound inside her chest as her feet took root on the floor. She felt herself being turned around, then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back.

A long time later she couldn't remember walking down the hall to her bedroom. Maybe Jeff carried her. But for the rest of her life she would remember what happened when they arrived at their mutual destination, physically as well as emotionally.

Jeff Bannerman was her destiny. She was almost sure of it.

Olivia closed her eyes the moment she buckled up. Her mind seemed to race as fast as the plane she was sitting in. She'd made the decision to wait until she talked to Gwen Hendrix before she made any concrete decisions in regard to Adrian Ames's request. She had, however, called the detective agency to start an additional investigation into Jill's whereabouts. She was promised a report within thirty-six hours, which would make the report due sometime on Sunday. Or, if private detectives didn't work Sundays, she would have to wait till Monday. That was okay, too.

Sooner than she expected, the flight attendant tapped Olivia on the shoulder to indicate she should bring her seat back to the upright position. The descent was short and smooth. When she deplaned she had to run to the gate to make her connection since her flight was thirty minutes late. After racing down the gangway, she barely made it. Buckled up, she closed her eyes again, and this time she thought about Jeff Bannerman and all her new feelings. She could hardly wait to get back to Winchester. She wondered how he was making out with the dogs and all the snow. Her lips still felt hot and bruised from the lip lock he'd planted on her before she left the house. She smiled to herself. Her destiny. She hoped Jeff felt the same way.

The fifty-minute flight was made with no turbulence. The landing—which she always dreaded—was smooth. She loved this small airport, the kind it was impossible to get lost in. Stopping long enough to buy herself a cold drink, she headed for Avis and her rental car and was on the road in less than ten minutes. A right turn on Dorchester Road took her to Old Trolley Road, where she made another right—and a mental note to stop for pizza at a shop called Pies On Pizza on the way back. She continued until she came to a five-street intersection, where she turned right on 17A. The car grew stuffy, and she rolled down her window, amazed that it was so warm here in South Carolina. And green in February. It looked like winter had forgotten about South Carolina. She thought about the frigid temperatures she'd left back in Virginia just hours ago.

As she whizzed down 17A, or Main Street, Olivia admired the pretty little town of Summerville. It reminded her of home—in springtime. Thoughts of home brought thoughts of Jeff front and center. She pushed the thoughts out of the way. She had to think about Gwen Hendrix and what she was going to say to her.

Fifteen minutes later she made a left-hand turn onto a rutted road that led to a run-down trailer park. Straggly shrubs, rusty bikes, and cars littered the roadway. Skinny dogs and stray cats abounded. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw two chickens trying to outrun a bushy-tailed cat. The noise of a motorcycle revving up sounded close, then another, and finally a third and fourth. A motorcycle gang. Her stomach churned at the thought. All at once four motorcycles roared past her. She had to pull onto something that passed for a road shoulder, half scrub weeds and a dangerous-looking ditch.

The address for Gwendolyn Hendrix was 246 Indian Drive. Olivia looked for some sign of oleanders, but there weren't any. She finally found Oleander Drive and turned to avoid a deep rut that would have ruined the underbelly of the rental for sure. Stopping the car, she looked across the road at a grimy, dilapidated trailer. Three wooden steps led to the door. The middle step was missing entirely. A sickly looking Christmas wreath still hung on the filthy front door. A broken screen hung from one of the front windows. The mesh part of the screen was hanging in tattered strips, its metal border rusted through in places.

Olivia sucked in her breath and walked over to the trailer, then hopped up to the top step, careful not to slip through the opening where the second step should have been. She heard a game show going on inside. The television seemed extra loud. Maybe Gwen had a hearing problem. She rapped sharply to be heard over the noise inside. When there was no response, she shouted Gwen's name. The sudden silence was startling. Then the door opened. The tall woman standing in front of her didn't have any of the features Olivia recalled from the photographs Adrian Ames had left behind. “Mrs. Hendrix?”

“Who wants to know?” The voice was hoarse and sounded cracked—what her father would call a whiskey-cigarette voice.

Olivia found it hard not to stare. Who was this slovenly looking creature? There wasn't one thing about the woman's features that resembled the photograph in her purse. Not one little thing. She said, “I'm Olivia Lowell. Allison Matthews gave birth to me. Dennis Lowell is my father. I'm sure you remember him from your college days. Allison…passed away a few weeks ago. Do you think I could come inside so we can talk?”

The woman fiddled with the buttons on her blouse, a threadbare white blouse that was on its last legs. “Depends on what you want to talk about. Why would Allison send you here?” So this
was
Gwen!

“Maybe because the three of you robbed a bank in Mississippi,” Olivia said bluntly. “Now, can I come in or not?”

The big woman moved aside, allowing Olivia to step through the opening. She was surprised to see that the rooms, while shabby, were clean, neat, and tidy. Gwen motioned her to an old corduroy Barcalounger, the best-looking chair in the room. A small herd of cats materialized from somewhere and settled fearfully near their mistress.

“Talk,” Gwen said succinctly.

Olivia cleared her throat. “Adrian Ames, the woman you knew as Allison Matthews, asked me to try to get in touch with you and Jill. It seems she had an attack of conscience before she died and wants to repay the bank-robbery money. She was…she was meticulous about her record keeping. There was a copy of the bank card you and Jill signed, with your social security numbers on it. That's pretty much how I was able to find you. That's where you…where you stashed the bonds until graduation, when Allison said it was okay to move them. Obviously, she was the one who held on to them until the division of the spoils, since she had copies made of all the bonds. She also made a separate list of the bond numbers and which ones you got and which ones Jill got. She asked that the return be made discreetly.”

The woman sitting on a spindly stool across from Olivia laughed, a raucous, phlegmy sound. “You're a little late, sweet cheeks. That money is long gone. Do you think I'd be living in this dump if I had money? I made some bad decisions. What that means to you is I married a bum the first time, and he spent half of it. You'd have thought I learned my lesson but, oh, no, I turned around and married an even bigger bum, who cleaned me out completely. I tried to borrow money from Adrian Ames, but she didn't even respond when I wrote her. I just could never get back on my feet. I'm lucky I have enough money to buy cat food for my kitties. I tend bar three nights a week. Doesn't pay much. I baby-sit once in a while. So, what does this mean? You're going to turn me in and collect a reward? What?”

Olivia ignored the question and asked one of her own. “What about Jill? Wouldn't she help you?”