Sara's Song (23 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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“It certainly is.”
Long after the food was gone and the fire had died down, Carly spoke sleepily. “I don't think Hank is the one for me. I want rockets and flares when he kisses me. All I do is sweat. Maybe we should go to some third-world country and offer our services.”
Sara wadded up her napkin and threw it at her sister. “It's time for bed, Carly. We'll do the dishes in the morning. Set the alarm and let's go upstairs.”
“You're right of course. I have to admit something. He was a hunk.”
“Who?”
“Who? Who do you think? Adam Lord. He's much better-looking in person than he is on television. He's so ... chiseled. Hard, cold, and chiseled. Stiff, too. I bet he never smiles. How could two brothers be so totally different?”
“I don't know, and I don't care, and no, I don't think he's a hunk. I think he is one greedy, ambitious man. Ten thousand dollars for that song! He must think I'm stupid.”
“He'll be back,” Carly said as she opened the door to her bedroom. “I guess I better take my phone off the hook, too, huh?”
Sara nodded.
“Night, Sara. I'm glad you're back among the living.”
“Me too. Night, Carly. Remember to say your prayers.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Sara smiled. It was her first real smile in weeks.
 
 
Adam carried the pot of coffee he'd just brewed into Dallas's studio. Maybe here he could find some answers. Then again, maybe there was nothing to find. Was Al Cherensky telling the truth? If he had to bet the rent on Al or Sandi Sims, he'd have to pick Al. There was something about the backup singer that didn't ring true. Then there was Dr. Sara Killian and her mouthy sister. He knew in his gut there was a song, and he knew Dr. Killian knew he knew. Where was it? Did the good doctor have it? He looked up when he heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”
Tom Silk poked his head in the door. “They're all settled. I hate to tell you this, but they're settled in your room. Izzie kept taking them out of their beds the minute I put them down. Those pups were getting dizzy from all the back-and-forth trips she was making. She wants you all together. I think for now it might be best, Adam. Izzie is scared, but then so are the pups. You're their constant. Do you know what I mean? They all sense your uneasiness, so I took the room next to yours in case they get frisky during the night.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Does that mean you want some company?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do. Are you a good listener?”
“Try me.”
Tom Silk was the friend Adam never had time for, the brother he always wanted. They talked into the night with Adam doing most of the talking.
“Coffeepot's empty. My head feels the same way. Jesus, I can't remember when I talked this much. Any last-minute bottom-line summaries you want to give me, Tom.”
“I don't understand something. If your brother gave the doctor the song, then he gave it to her. It's hers. What right do you guys have to take it back? If your brother hadn't died. you probably wouldn't even know about it until he or the doctor was ready to tell you, which could very well be never.”
“You didn't know, Dallas. He had no conception of money. None whatsoever. Knowing Dallas as I did, I know he never gave a thought to the value of the song. He would never think she'd sell it. If there really is a song, and I think there is, it's no penny-ante little ditty. We're talking a Dallas Lord song. We're also talking platinum here and megamillions to the owner. His estate is the owner.”
“If you don't have it in hand, then you don't own it. Possession is nine points of the law. I understand your reasoning. Bud to bud here. The ten thou was an insult. I think you're selling the doctor short. If she were going to marry your brother, she's all torn up inside. She wasn't asked to the memorial service. No one has been in touch with her. How the hell do you think she feels? You gotta have some smarts in this world to be a doctor. She's probably strung as tight as you are right now. Let me be the first to tell you that pot of coffee didn't do you one bit of good. On top of all that, you led those ghouls out by the gate to her house. She's a target now. How's that going to look to a hospital or her patients? What you did was invade her life. In my opinion, and remember you asked for it, she had every right to tell you her personal life is none of your business.”
“So you're saying I should give up on the song and just let her keep it? What if Sandi was telling the truth and it was her song? It's possible the doctor stole it. It's more than possible Sandi is lying. Dallas often . . . what he did was give things away for services. I could see him giving the doctor the song because she took care of Billy. If he wrote it for Sandi, he'd just change the name on it. Maybe he didn't even do that. Sandi knew the words. The doctor wouldn't even admit there was a song, but the housekeeper said she heard Dallas and the doctor singing the song. She could be confused about the words. Then again she could be on target. I've learned, Tom, when money is involved, there are no rules. For now I have to believe the song, if there is a song, belongs to Dallas's estate. Maybe she's holding out for big bucks. The hell with it. Let's go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Just for the record, it's already tomorrow. Give some thought to playing Mr. Nice Guy. My mother always said you catch more flies with sugar than vinegar.”
Adam's voice was gruff when he said, “Dallas and I never had a mother.”
“Hey, I'm sorry. If you want my advice, then do what you did when you found Izzie. Don't just think with your head. Use your heart, too. The doctor is a person, and as such she feels and hurts just like you do. Just the way Izzie did. She trusts you now. That's a plus in anyone's book. How much more money do people like you need? When is enough enough? I thought money was supposed to make people happy. I admit I've only been here a short while, but I never saw such a miserable bunch of people in my life. Aside from their grief is what I mean. I must be some kind of
schlump
because I can't wait to get up in the morning. Simple, honest living is the way to live. That's why I like animals so much. You can learn a hell of a lot from an animal if you're interested in listening and learning. I thought you were on the right road, Adam. Now this song business is taking you right back to where you were before Izzie came along.”
Adam cringed. He shrugged because he was tired of defending himself, his position, and everything else that went with it. “See you in the morning, Tom.”
“Sleep tight.”
“You bet.”
In his bedroom, Izzie's tail swished before she jumped off the bed. She waited to be nuzzled before she nudged Adam along the row of small beds. All the pups were sleeping peacefully. Dallas Six had one of Adam's socks curled under his tiny head. Izzie bent down as if to take it out. “No, let him have it. Tomorrow we'll give him one of Dallas's socks for comfort. Guess that little guy is the runt, huh? Don't you worry, Iz, we're going to take good care of him. C'mon, let's hit the sack. It's been a hell of a day. Tomorrow we'll switch to Plan B as soon as I can decide what Plan B is.”
How much money do people like you need? When is enough enough?
 
 
Adam swung his legs over the side of the bed the moment the first early streaks of dawn crept into the room. As one, the pups leapt from their beds and beelined for the door, Adam and Izzie in hot pursuit. Dribbles and puddles dotted the steps as the pups' fat little bodies barreled through the open door.
While the coffee perked, Adam cleaned off the stairs before heading for the shower. He needed a plan.
How much money do people like you need? People like you. When is enough enough?
People like you meant himself. All night long he'd searched in his dreams for what Tom Silk called people like you. Before Izzie. After Izzie.
Did he dare go back to Dr. Killian's house? Did he dare call her again? Maybe Tom was right, and he needed to play Mr. Nice Guy. Well, hell, he was a nice guy. “Shit,” he said succinctly as he wrapped a large fluffy blue towel around his middle.
The phone on the wall at the end of the vanity rang. In his opinion, bathroom phones were decadent. He picked it up and barked a gruff greeting.
“Jon James from the
Tattler
, Mr. Lord. Would you mind commenting on your brother's commitment to donate new wings to Benton Memorial Hospital?”
“No.”
“Then would you mind commenting on Dr. Killian? Benton's administrator told me, and he didn't say it was a secret, that the doctor and your brother were planning on getting married.”
“No.”
“Would you care to comment on your visit to Dr. Killian's home last evening?”
“No.”
“What are your feelings about Dr. Killian's contract not being renewed? Does it have anything to do with Billy Sweet's death?”
Adam ground his teeth together.
People like you
. “Print that statement and you and that rag you work for will be in court for the rest of your lives.”
“Then it does have something to do with it.”
Adam slammed the phone back in the cradle so hard it bounced off the wall. Now he had a second legitimate reason to visit Dr. Sara Killian's home. If nothing else but to warn her of what she was up against. He wished he could turn the clock back to when he was in South Carolina and his only worry was how to handle seven dogs.
 
 
Sara carried her coffee cup to the sink. “I'm looking forward to having breakfast out, Carly. I think it's my favorite meal of the day. I'm ready when you are. I checked all the doors and windows, and we'll set the alarm when we get into the garage. They're still out there, but there are only four of them.”
“There goes the phone again,” Carly grumbled.
“Let the machine take the messages. We should think about getting voice mail. Dallas had it. No extra gadgets, no wires, and no blinking red light. You have a code to get your messages. Dallas loved it,” Sara said.
Carly took a last look around the kitchen before she pulled the cloth shade to the windowsill. “I just hate the idea that we have to hide out like this.”
“It is what it is. There goes the phone again. Let's go. We are going to have a wonderful day. All the stores will be decorated. It's really brisk outside. We even have some money to spend. We need to give some thought to getting Nellie something really nice for Christmas.”
“They're going to follow us, Sara.”
“Let them. They'll be bored to tears. They might even give up.”
“Anything is possible,” Carly said. She revved the engine of the Jeep before she raced out of the garage and down the driveway. She gave two sharp blasts to her horn before her middle finger shot high in the air. “I had to do that, Sara, I really did.”
Sara laughed as the brisk wind whipped through her hair. “I know. I wanted to do it myself. Let's buy ourselves something really . . . decadent.”
“Two decadent something-or-other gifts coming right up. They're following us, Sara.”
“When we get to town, we'll lose them. This is our day, and we aren't going to give them one more minute of our attention. Drive, Carly.”
 
 
Sandi Sims drove up and down the street three times before she decided to park her car on a side street. Her “cover,” as she thought of it, was her neighbor's baby stroller. She yanked it and a pile of baby blankets out of the trunk. She strolled down the street the way the other young mothers on the block did. When she came to Sara's driveway, she turned the stroller and nonchalantly walked up the drive to the garage door. She withdrew a slender strip of wire from her pocket, slid it under the garage door, maneuvered it upward, and yanked the wire. The latch released, and the door slid upward.
Sandi pushed the stroller through and then crouched down to crawl under the door. She slammed it downward immediately. She waited ten long minutes to see if anyone was interested in her movements. Satisfied that no one was, she advanced to the alarm pad positioned next to the door leading into the kitchen. Duke Luchera, the band's drummer and electronics expert, had fallen for her story about her own alarm system. “Just come up with something that will deactivate my alarm in case I forget the code. I'm forever setting it off because I forget the sequence of numbers. The bells and whistles drive me out of my mind.” She played with the little black box in her hand until the numbered sequence she was looking for appeared at the bottom of the keypad. She punched in the numbers. The armed red light turned to green. It was safe to enter the house. With the aid of her credit card, a skinny pick, and a steady hand she was able to open the door.

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