Gotcha! (22 page)

A
nnie stood in the doorway, staring at two miniversions of Julie Wyatt. They were all bustling about as they worked at turning their old bedroom into a little girl’s fantasy room. Gossamer pastel butterflies hung from the ceiling, swaying in the draft from the air-conditioner vents. The twin beds the sisters had grown up with were gone, replaced with a double bed that had a lacy canopy matching the bedcovers. Sheer curtains, white as snow, covered the windows, which overlooked the backyard and the playhouse, where the twins and even Ollie had played for endless hours. The names on the colorful toy chest had been replaced with Ollie’s name in bright gold script.

Bookshelves lined one whole wall and were filled with Ollie’s old toys, the ones she had left behind when Darlene stopped allowing her to visit. Books, some belonging to the twins, others Ollie’s books, which her real mother had read to her when she was little, filled the top two shelves. A white clothes rack stood in the corner, with brightly colored animals clinging to the spokes, which jutted out. A bright red jacket hung from the lowest spoke, along with shiny yellow rain gear. A pair of ladybug boots stood underneath.

The closet door was open, revealing ice skates, roller skates, and a skateboard just waiting for Ollie.

In the far corner was a pink nylon tent that was perfect for two giggling little girls to hide out in. Ollie and a friend on a sleepover. How wonderful.

Annie’s eyes were wet as she stared around the room and at the happy faces of Julie and her daughters.

Julie cleared her throat. “We had all this stuff, we just didn’t know when we would be able to . . . to fix the room for Ollie. I think she’s going to like it, don’t you, Annie?”

“Absolutely. Ah, Julie, I wonder if you could spare a few minutes; the boys and I need to talk to you about something.”

“You girls can finish here, can’t you?” The twins nodded.

“I was just about to come downstairs to start dinner. I was wondering, Annie, if I get it all ready, can you and Myra serve? Mr. Goldfeld called and wants to meet with me. He suggested dinner, and I agreed. I feel so terrible about Mace, and I’ve purposely put his . . . death and my . . . his will out of my mind with all this going on with Ollie. I have to go and meet with him. There are just some things in life you can’t put off. You understand, don’t you, Annie?”

Julie’s voice was so sad, Annie wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “Of course I understand. You have to do what you have to do. We can take care of things while you do whatever it is that you need to do. Come along, dear, we need to talk. There’s been a change in plans. Harry is not happy with our current plan. Harry is . . .”

“Different? I already sensed that. Cooper did, too. I guess we should pay attention to what he thinks and says, then,” Julie said. “Oh, look, Annie!” Julie said as she peered out the window on the landing of the stairway.

Annie looked down into the yard and smiled. Harry was sitting in the middle of the yard in the bright sun, in a lotus position. Cooper was sitting next to him, still as a statue. Gracie and Lola were busy chasing squirrels at the far end of the yard, completely oblivious to Harry and Cooper.

Annie could feel Julie suddenly tense up. She reached for her hand, and together they walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, the boys and Myra were standing by the sliding doors in the sunroom, their eyes on Harry and Cooper.

“I know that means something. I just don’t know what,” Jack said fretfully.

“Figure it out later, boys. Julie is here, and she has to go out, so we need to cut to the chase and let her be on her way,” Annie said.

They all gathered around the kitchen table again. Bert took the floor. “Harry seems to think waiting till Monday would be a mistake. He says thirty-six hours is too long to wait, and he believes—at least, I think he believes—that the child might be in danger. Do you think we could pull this off tomorrow morning, Julie? I know it’s Sunday, and everyone in the neighborhood will be home, so that might pose a problem.”

Julie drew a deep breath. “On the contrary. Everyone will be at church. Tomorrow morning should work fine. I know all of Darlene’s neighbors, and they all belong to Saint Ann’s Church. Services start at eight, Bible school is at nine, then there’s a brunch at ten thirty. Everyone goes and helps out. The neighborhood will be pretty much empty.”

Julie moved over to the kitchen counter, where she set to work preparing the dinner she’d promised. She could still hear and talk as she bustled about preparing a stew in her pressure cooker. Within twenty minutes, she had everything ready. She wiped her hands and looked at her guests. “I’m for whatever will work for Ollie. You don’t need my approval. Just, please, make it work for us. I don’t know how to thank you. Last week at this time, all of this was just a dream. Cooking dinner for you hardly seems enough.”

“It’s enough,” Jack said. “We’re good here. We’ll fine-tune our plan, and by the time you get home, we should have all the kinks worked out.”

Julie nodded, then raced off to her room, where she quickly washed her face, combed her hair, put on lipstick, and changed into a clean blouse. She was out the door in ten minutes flat, her thoughts all over the map. Cooper and Harry. Mace’s death, her inheritance, Oliver Goldfeld. Darlene Wyatt and her punk boyfriend. Ollie and her new room. Her world was suddenly moving at the speed of light. She hoped she was up to all these changes in her life. Well, if she wasn’t, she damned well better get on the stick and get ready for the blizzard that was heading her way. She was wired too tight just then and didn’t like the feeling.

Fifteen minutes later, Julie stopped in front of the property that now belonged to Oliver Goldfeld. She stared up the slight incline to where the old house rested. She sighed. In real-estate terms, the house was a fixer-upper. All it would need, a cheerful broker would tell you, was a boatload of money, patience, and a dedicated construction crew working twenty-four/ seven, and even then the outcome would be iffy. In Julie’s opinion, a wrecking ball was what was required. But if this was what Mace had wanted and Oliver Goldfeld was prepared to do, who was she to even offer an opinion?

Julie climbed out of her truck and headed up the driveway to a cracked and broken slate path, which led to the ramshackle front door. It opened just as she set foot on the lopsided steps. She picked her way carefully, her fingers crossed that she wouldn’t fall through the rotted wood.

Julie liked the smile she was seeing on Oliver’s face. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” she said.

“The Realtor put me in touch with some people who, for a ton of money, say they can turn this dump into a showplace.” Julie laughed.

Oliver stood aside for her to enter the house. “They tell me there’s a history to this old relic. I plan on reading up on it. The staircase, or I should say, dual staircase, is straight out of
Gone With the Wind.
It’s in perfect condition, as are the floors. For the most part, the inside is in good condition. The floors are heart of pine and need to be sanded. Everything needs to be updated. The kitchen and bathrooms and the seven fireplaces have to be rebuilt. The major part of the work is outside. So I can live here while the work is going on. I think I see what Mace saw. I’m going to do it. That’s the bottom line.”

“It’s a big piece of property, Oliver. You’re going to need a full-time gardener.”

“Nope. I’m going to do that myself. I went on the Internet last night and ordered every book ever written about gardening and the upkeep of yards such as this. First thing Monday morning, I’m heading to Burns Hardware so I can buy one of everything that I’ll need. That was Mace’s plan, and now it’s mine.”

“I love old houses. There’s such character in them, such history. I’m all for a modern kitchen and bath, but I hope you don’t tamper with the walls and doorways and such.”

“Nope, they will stay the same. Coffee? Something cool to drink? I have some iced tea.”

“Iced tea sounds good. Does the air-conditioning work?”

“Nope! Nothing really works,” Oliver said cheerfully.

In spite of herself, Julie burst out laughing. Oliver laughed with her. She decided at that moment that she liked the man sitting across from her at the table.

“So where would you like to go to dinner, Julie Wyatt? You know the town, so you pick the place.”

Julie thought about the question and decided she really didn’t want to go out to eat. “Do you have any food here?”

“Cheese, crackers, eggs, muffins, that’s about it. I have to find a grocery store, so I can buy . . . you know . . . real food.”

“I could eat some scrambled eggs. I can even make them for us if you don’t mind. Breakfast has always been a favorite meal of mine. More often than not, I have breakfast for dinner when I’m by myself. So, what do you say? You do have pots and pans, right?”

“One pot, one fry pan, one spatula. But I do have two forks. But only because I found them in a drawer. Don’t worry, I washed them.” Oliver chuckled. “Believe it or not, there is a raggedy garden out back. I think it was an herb garden at one time. Do you want to take a look and see if there’s anything you can use if you’re planning on an omelet? Hint, hint.” He grinned as he opened the kitchen door and headed out to an overgrown garden.

Even from where she was standing, Julie could smell the rich scent of basil and parsley. If there was one thing she loved, it was an herb garden, be it one on her windowsill or one in an overgrown, uncultivated backyard.

She broke off stems as she walked along. “You should, if you have the time, Oliver, clear all the weeds away and try to save the herbs. You have everything here. You can harvest them in a few months and dry them out and put them in jars. Fresh is best, of course. Or you could root some and put them on the windowsill in a sunny spot and have fresh herbs all the time.”

“That’s assuming I learn how to cook. I was thinking of hiring a housekeeper.”

“Oh.”

Oliver looked sheepish. “I guess that ‘oh’ means I should take care of my own house like Mace was going to do. Learn as I go along, screw it up, then call someone in to fix it.”

“Something like that,” Julie said as she picked her way through the weed-choked yard back to the kitchen.

Oliver decided it was time to get a little huffy, and his tone showed it. “I don’t see myself as Mr. Homemaker. I’m a lawyer.”

Julie reacted to his words. “Uh-huh,” Julie said as she rinsed off the herbs and diced them with a knife whose blade was so dull it couldn’t cut through the wind. In the end, she tore the leafy herbs into tiny pieces and dropped them into the eggs she scrambled into the fry pan. God alone knew how these eggs were going to come out, she thought as she scraped the chunk of cheese with a fork. This whole visit was starting to irritate her. She was only as good as the tools she had to work with. And she said so.

“I offered to take you out to dinner,” Oliver said. “This was your idea.”

And it was all downhill from there.

“Yes, it was, and it was a stupid idea. I’m not even hungry.” She turned off the stove to make her point. “I think I’ll go home.”

“You just got here,” Oliver snapped.

“And now I’m leaving,” Julie snapped back. “I have a lot of things on my mind, and I don’t have time to hold your hand. No one helped me. I had to do it all myself. I learned from my mistakes; you can do the same thing. How do you even know Mace would want you to be doing what you’re doing? You’re doing this to make yourself feel better. And I do not want Mace Carlisle’s estate, so take my name off whatever it’s on,” she snapped again. She stomped her way to the front door and out to the rotted front porch. “Don’t send me anything in the mail, either, because I won’t open it. Did you hear everything I just said, Mr. Goldfeld?”

“I did, and I imagine everyone in the next county also heard. I told you, it doesn’t work like that. Man, was Mace ever wrong about you. He said you were the sweetest, kindest lady he had ever met. He said you were the real deal, all sugar and spice and everything nice. You snookered him, didn’t you? And he was hurting and gullible, and he fell for it,” Oliver shot back. “Not to mention he was dying. And to think I left his dog with you! Well, I want her back!” Stunned at his own tirade, Oliver couldn’t believe he’d just said what he said. In the whole of his life, he had never spoken to a human being that way, much less a woman.

Julie stopped in her tracks. Her eyes glistening, she thought her heart was going to pound right out of her chest. “You are beyond hateful, Mr. Goldfeld. I considered Mace a good friend, even though he was pretending to be Oliver Goldfeld the whole time. I haven’t even had time to mourn his death. Yet. I don’t do well with . . . death. Not that it’s any of your damned business. You just try to take that dog back, and you’ll . . . be sorry. It’s a fair trade—I keep the dog, and you keep the estate. Read my lips: I-do-not-want-it! Now go back inside and eat those shitty eggs I almost made for you. I hope you choke on them!” Julie screeched as she tore down the front steps. A chunk of wood from the bottom step fell off. Julie stopped, picked it up, and threw it in Oliver’s direction. She didn’t even wait to see if she hit her target or not. She whirled and ran to her truck.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she headed for the highway. She drove aimlessly for a while as she swiped at the tears pooling from her eyes. Finally, she pulled to the right and entered the parking lot of a Walgreens drugstore. She drove around to the back of the lot and pressed the button to roll up the windows, then turned off the engine. Then she howled her misery. She banged on the steering wheel, kicked out at the gas and brake pedals, before she calmed down.

When she felt like she had herself under control, Julie turned the engine back on and lowered the windows. The heat and humidity slapped at her like a wet blanket. She really needed to get the air-conditioning fixed. Had she really done what she just did? What was wrong with her? Why had she wigged out? She needed to place some blame here. But where? If she wasn’t on overload, she was on the fast track to getting there. She recognized the symptoms from way back when. She needed to get a grip on things, or she’d be sitting in a corner sucking on her thumb.