Listen To Your Heart (12 page)
Read Listen To Your Heart Online
Authors: Fern Michaels
He thought about Josie Dupré and the dogs. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was nice. Pretty even, with that wild bush of hair. The smile got wider when he thought of the baseball cap he'd bought her and how pleased she'd been. He remembered her reaction when he dumped her in the rain puddle. What was she doing right now? Was she sitting in her pretty breakfast nook with the dogs at her feet drinking her early-morning coffee? He wished he could sprout wings and fly out of the room.
Paul's eyes started to burn. He knuckled them. When he opened them, he noticed a beautiful woman in a pink dress glance into his room. He sniffed when the faint scent of lily of the valley wafted into the room. The same visitor from yesterday. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was back in the courtyard in the French Quarter. He was ten years old and he was crying because he didn't understand what was happening to his family. Everyone was crying. He could see them through the doorway. All he knew was what the housekeeper told him and what he had seen with his own eyes. The white truck with the flashing lights had taken his sixteen-year-old sister away and she was never coming back. Just the way Jackie never came back. He'd run to his mother shouting, “
Mère, Mère,
what's wrong?” His mother had pushed him away and he fell. She didn't care because she was crying so hard her shoulders were shaking. She never stopped crying. She never looked at him again either. She looked over his head, at his feet, or to the side of him. At night he waited for her to come to his room to kiss him good night or to tell him a little story about what happened during the day. She never came again. Never. Old Réné came, though, waddling down the hall in her slippered feet. She'd hug him, smooth back his hair, listen to his prayers, and ask him if he had brushed his teeth. And always, the last thing she'd say before she turned off the light was, “Someday when you are older, you'll understand.” Someday was a long time coming and when it had come, he no longer cared that his mother didn't love him and didn't want anything to do with him.
Mère, Mère,
what's wrong?” His mother had pushed him away and he fell. She didn't care because she was crying so hard her shoulders were shaking. She never stopped crying. She never looked at him again either. She looked over his head, at his feet, or to the side of him. At night he waited for her to come to his room to kiss him good night or to tell him a little story about what happened during the day. She never came again. Never. Old Réné came, though, waddling down the hall in her slippered feet. She'd hug him, smooth back his hair, listen to his prayers, and ask him if he had brushed his teeth. And always, the last thing she'd say before she turned off the light was, “Someday when you are older, you'll understand.” Someday was a long time coming and when it had come, he no longer cared that his mother didn't love him and didn't want anything to do with him.
His name was Bushy and he was a little dog Réné smuggled into the house for him. It was their secret. God, how he loved that little dog. After Bushy there was Quincy and then Basil and Corky. All loved and adored.
Paul's eyes snapped open when the scent of lily of the valley wafted into his room again. He stared at the open doorway and saw a pale swish of pink. He wished he was the patient the woman was visiting. He wondered who she was and if someone she loved was seriously ill. He hoped not.
Paul rang the bell attached to the rail on the side of his bed. A candy striper came on the run. “I need someone to make a phone call for me.”
“I'll be glad to do it for you, sir,” the young girl smiled.
“Get a piece of paper so you can write this down. I want you to say exactly what I tell you. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely, sir. I'll be back in a minute.”
The candy striper, who said her name was Jennifer, sat down primly, a pad and pencil poised on her lap. “I'm ready, sir.”
“You're calling André Hoffauir at Brouillette Enterprises. I'll give you the number when we're finished. Tell him Paul asked you to call. Something came up, and I won't be back in the office for some time. Tell him he's totally in charge and to do whatever he sees fit. Tell him he answers to no one but me, not even my mother. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, very clear.”
“Do not tell André I'm in the hospital. If he asks, tell him you don't know where I am or where I'm going. Just say you're delivering a message and that I will be in touch at some point.”
“Very good, sir. I can do this. Do you want me to report back and tell you what he said?”
“Yes. Can you do it now?”
“Right away, sir.”
The pink dress swished by again and so did the light flowery scent. Paul blinked and then rubbed his eyes with his knuckles when the pretty woman smiled and offered a lazy wink. Double vision, imaginary vision, mirages, flower-scented people. Paul closed his eyes and then opened them immediately. He didn't want the candy striper to think he was sleeping.
“Sir, I delivered your message. Mr. Hoffauir said I should tell you, if I spoke to you again, to have a hell of a good time. He said he'll man the ship just the way you did and not to worry about a thing. He said he will also handle the business with Marie. He said you would know what that meant. He said he will make you proud of him, and you are not to worry about a thing. He really didn't ask any questions about you, so I didn't have to fib.”
“Thank you very much, Jennifer. Do you know who the lady is in the pink dress? She keeps going past this room. She's pretty, and she wears nice perfume.”
Jennifer frowned. “Do you mean a visitor or maybe a volunteer?”
“I don't know. She was here yesterday, too. I remember the perfume.”
“It's too early for visitors. All the volunteers wear blue smocks. There are only two patients at the end of this hall, Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Stevens. Their wives come at night because they work during the day. As far as I know neither one has had other visitors. Both Mr. O'Brien and Mr. Stevens have been in the physical-therapy room since breakfast. I guess that doesn't help you much, does it?”
“Maybe I was dreaming or half-asleep or something,” Paul mumbled. “Then again, maybe it's my concussion. Thank you. I appreciate you making the call for me. Later on, I need you to make a few more once I get my thoughts straight. Can you come back?”
“Just press the call button on the rail, and I'll be back. It's a light day. Most of the patients are leaving this morning.”
Two hours later, Paul woke slowly. He stretched his legs and groaned. He was stiff and sore, but his pounding headache was almost gone. He heaved a sigh of relief. He tried a smile when the young candy striper poked her head in the door. “You're awake, Mr. Brouillette. Do you want me to make those calls for you now? I have my pad and pencil. I'm also supposed to tell you lunch will be here in fifteen minutes.” She wrinkled her nose to show what she thought of the lunch that was about to be served.
“I'm ready. The first call is to Miss Josie Dupré. The second is to Paul Emery. Tell Miss Dupré that I've been unavoidably detained. Tell her I'll make it up to her. Don't give any details. When you call Mr. Emery, just tell him I'm counting on him to take care of Zip and to guard him with his life. Tell him, too, that I'll be in touch in a few days. This is Miss Dupré's phone number . . .”
“Okay, I got it all. I'll bring your lunch on my way back. By the way, the charge nurse said no one wearing a pink dress has been on the floor this morning. She really has an eagle eye, so she would know.”
“I guess I was dreaming.”
“Guess so,” the candy striper said, tripping out of the room. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“A bottle of scotch.”
The young girl giggled. “You know I can't do that, Mr. Brouillette.”
Paul sighed. God, how he hated hospitals. He hated the smells, the canvas curtains that surrounded his bed, and he hated the sounds coming from the hallway. He wished he could swing his legs over the side of the bed and leave. Hell, he didn't even know where his clothes were, and he wasn't about to go traipsing around in the nightgown he was wearing with his ass hanging out. He wondered if he was being punished for sins he'd committed in his life.
Paul closed his eyes and thought about Josie Dupré. He wondered what she would say when he told her he wanted to hire her for a special Mother's Day event, if only he could find his sister's husband and child. What better gift to give his mother? The grandchild she hadn't seen in years and years. The daughter of her own daughter. He made a mental note to call the detective agency to inquire as to progress. In six months he should have found something. There had been so many hot leads that turned cold in the beginning. Now it was just tiresome gumshoe work, as the detective put it. His parting shot had been that if you persevered you would prevail.
Â
Jack looked at the phone in his hand, the dial tone ringing in his ear. A deep frown spread across his brow. What the hell was Paul up to now? More to the point, where the hell was he? “I bet you planned this all along, you
schmuck,”
he mumbled. Zip whined at his feet. With Paul a few more days could well turn into three months. He should know. He'd fallen for Paul's tricks before. In the end, what was a few more days? He loved Zip, and the little hairball was starting to grow on him. He tried not to think of the owner with the big feet and what she was going through. Maybe he should take both dogs back and suffer the consequences. Yeah, that's what he would do as soon as he showered and shaved. He tried not to make eye contact with either dog because he was convinced they could read his mind. Better to plop them in his car, which was returned during the night, and drive over to the house where he picked up the dogs.
schmuck,”
he mumbled. Zip whined at his feet. With Paul a few more days could well turn into three months. He should know. He'd fallen for Paul's tricks before. In the end, what was a few more days? He loved Zip, and the little hairball was starting to grow on him. He tried not to think of the owner with the big feet and what she was going through. Maybe he should take both dogs back and suffer the consequences. Yeah, that's what he would do as soon as he showered and shaved. He tried not to make eye contact with either dog because he was convinced they could read his mind. Better to plop them in his car, which was returned during the night, and drive over to the house where he picked up the dogs.
Paul finished his coffee and then poured another cup, which he took with him to the upstairs shower. He was ready to go in less than an hour. He spent another five minutes trying to look contrite in front of the mirror. Satisfied, he called the dogs. “Got some errands to run, Zip. Want to come along?”
The big boxer raced to the door, Rosie on his heels. Getting them in the car was going to be the true test. In the end he had no trouble when he picked up Rosie and settled her on the backseat. He lost his balance and went flying into a flower bed when Zip raced past him and leaped onto the backseat.
“You need some manners, Zip my boy,” Jack grumbled as he started up the car. Ten minutes later he barely missed hitting a telephone pole when Zip howled in his ear. “Yeah, this is the place. I'm going to have to pay for that door you played with last night. Hold it, hold it! Let me turn the damn car off first.”
Whoever she was, she was mad as hell. He watched to see if smoke would billow out of her ears before he opened the car door.
“You stole my dogs, you son of a bitch! I see them in your car. Open the door before I pop you good.” Not bothering to wait for her order to be obeyed, Josie yanked at the door. Both dogs hit the driveway running. “Get back here, Rosie! Who are you? I'm calling the police! You stand right there, mister, and don't even think about moving.”
“Hey . . . listen . . . You got this all wrong . . . I . . .”
“Shut up!”
“Don't tell me to shut up! I'm doing you a favor. I brought your dog back. I didn't know it was a package deal. You should thank me. Where's the lady with the . . . ?”
“With the what?”
“The fat one with the big feet. Where is she? Wild-looking hair! Paul said she was watching Zip. He went through the door when I came to get him. Obviously, you weren't home. I couldn't leave the little one, so I took her, too. I called you several times. You don't answer your phone either.”
Josie tried to digest the information. Fat lady, big feet, wild hair! He came to get Zip. “Did Paul send you here?” Josie snarled.
“Yes, ma'am, he did. Now if you'll just fetch the other lady, I'll explain and take Zip with me. I'll be happy to pay for the screen door.”
“This is the second screen door Mr. Brouillette has ruined for me. Damn straight you'll pay for it. There is no fat lady here with big feet. It's just me and my sister. I don't appreciate your humor, and I sure as hell don't appreciate Mr. Brouillette's humor either. Where is he?”
“He . . . ah . . . he said he was delayed. I haven't talked to him in a few days. I did get a message this morning. He said he was going to call you. That's Paul for you,” Jack said, throwing his hands in the air. She was nice. Too nice for Paul. Hell, she looked even better than Marissa. He turned on the charm. “I really am sorry about all this. I thought I was doing a friend a favor. Somehow Paul justâwhat he does is . . . hell, he's a nice guy, but you know, not dependable at all. Think about it. You had his dog. I took his dog. I brought them back. You're angry. I'm angry. And where is Paul? Do we know? No, we do not know. He leaves messages. Nice guy, though. Real nice guy. You aren't fat at all, and your feet look pretty good to me. I like your hair. I love wild hair. I mean, I really like wild hair. When a woman has wild hair there's so much to hang on to. Listen, how would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Not in this lifetime. Do you have any idea how worried I've been? I drove around all night looking for those dogs. I called the police, sat by the phone. This is unacceptable.”
“I am so sorry, and you are rightâit is unacceptable. However, you can't shoot the messenger because you don't like the message. We need to lay the blame where it belongs : on Paul,” Jack said virtuously. “Why don't we have dinner this evening and talk this over? In the meantime I can call the hardware store and have someone come to fix your screen door.” At Josie's undecided look he switched gears. “Hey, I'm a nice guy. I clean up good. I have manners, and my teeth are my own. Look at this hairâit's not receding one little bit. I own my own business, and I know how to be charming. You can bring your sister if you want. I love animals. I really do. That's why Paul trusts me with his.”
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