Dad, that’s what you always said.
Olivia looked up at the small calendar taped to the wall above the kitchen phone. She ran her finger down the long column of numbers she’d penciled in on the side. She punched out Jeff’s number and waited. When he answered, he sounded like he’d been running, or else he was just one of those people who was always harried. “This is Olivia Lowell, Jeff. I was wondering if you would mind if I kept Cecil for another day or so. I’d like to get some action shots of him out in the snow. You know, showing him at play with my dog. People love to see dogs playing. Cecil is such an interesting dog, and he’s so very rich. People want to know he isn’t being treated…you know…differently. By the way, I was just jerking your chain when I said I was going to charge you fifty bucks an hour. What do you say, Jeff?”
“I think that would be okay. So when do you want me to pick him up? I hate to say this, but that dog is controlling my life.”
“He just needs a playmate. Why don’t you get him a companion? I bet those trustees would applaud you for being so conscientious.”
“Do you think so? A companion, huh?”
“I could get you one, if you think it will be okay. I know someone who has Yorkies,” Olivia lied through her teeth.
Suddenly, old Jeff wasn’t sounding so harried. He was sounding relieved and happy. “I’ll call you back later this afternoon. I’m sure it will be all right, but I do have to run it by the trustees. So what you’re saying is, I should pick him and his companion up on Monday.”
Olivia sighed and held up her thumb for her father’s inspection. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It will free you up for the weekend, and I don’t really mind watching the little guy.”
“Okay, Olivia, I’ll be there sometime Monday afternoon.”
Olivia burst out laughing when she hung up the phone. “Hey, Cecil, you are no longer rich and famous.” Cecil opened one eye, then closed it.
“I’ll call the airlines and make arrangements for the dogs. Do you have carriers?”
A huge smile stretched across Olivia’s face. “Dad, I have everything but the replacement dogs.” Sobering, she added, “I sure hope we don’t get caught. This is serious stuff.”
“I think it’s worth the risk, don’t you? Some people don’t realize dogs have feelings. They suffer separation anxiety. They miss the people who care for them when they’re taken away. Their personalities change. Cecil already went through one trauma when Mrs. Manning died. He’s attached himself to Alice and you. What do you think would happen if he had to go back to that lonely house without Alice? Is it worth the risk? Ask yourself if Mrs. Manning would approve.”
“The end justifies the means, huh? You know what, Dad? She would approve. She loved that little dog. As long as he’s happy, warm, and well fed, I don’t think she’d have a problem with what we plan to do.”
“Good. Then it’s a go. I’ll clean up here, Ollie. Go take your shower.”
As Olivia stood under the steaming spray she wondered what was happening to her. One day she was the heiress of a criminal and the next day she was a criminal herself—almost. She wondered what it would be like in jail. The eggs Benedict in her stomach started to protest at the thought. Just think about the good life you’re going to give Cecil and the two new dogs. Assuming you can find two new dogs, she cautioned herself.
Not wanting to dwell on criminal activities, Olivia hopped out of the shower. She dressed quickly, applied makeup, and blow-dried her hair. She didn’t, as she put it, “dude up” for Mr. O’Brien. She was wearing camel-colored wool slacks, rubber-soled boots, and a cherry-red sweater. Her unruly hair was gathered into a loose bun and fixed in place by tortoise-shell combs.
Dennis Lowell was brewing a fresh pot of coffee when Olivia walked into the kitchen. He was dressed in the winter clothes he’d left behind before leaving for the islands with Lea. He looked distinguished, and he also smelled good. Olivia said so. Her father smiled, but Olivia noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He looked worried.
“I’m going to call my clients and cancel,” Olivia told him. “I can be ready to leave anytime you’re ready. I’m sure the roads are clear by now. Do you think I should call Mr. O’Brien, or should we just show up?”
“I think we should just show up. Go ahead and make your calls. I’ll take the dogs outside for a little while. Give a shout when you’re ready to leave.”
The law firm of O’Brien, O’Malley and O’Shaughnessy was a small one. But what it lacked in size it more than made up for in elegance. Even the address was an elegant one, on P Street in Georgetown, home to senators, congressmen, and diplomats. The sidewalk had been cleaned professionally, and little pebbles of salt could be seen between the cracks. Aged oak trees, bare now, lined the street on both sides. At first glance the building could have been a private residence. The polished brass plaque, though, was a giveaway as to what the three-story edifice housed.
Like most structures in Georgetown, it was narrow, with a small patch in the back that served as a lawn, and neighboring buildings so close that the inhabitants could have leaned out their windows and touched each other.
A desirable, high-end parcel of real estate.
A buzzer emitted a fuzzy sound as Dennis pushed open the door. Olivia gasped. Everything seemed to be green. Green marble walls, green marble floor so shiny she could see her reflection. A half-moon desk of polished mahogany had a top made from the same green marble. It was as glossy and shiny as the floor under her feet. The only things on the desk were a phone console, a computer, and a huge basket of fresh yellow tulips. Fresh tulips in February, Olivia mused. She stayed where she was as her father walked toward the receptionist and said, “I’m Dennis Lowell, and this is my daughter, Olivia. We’re here to see Mr. O’Brien.”
The receptionist resembled a polished, lacquered mannequin dressed in designer wear. Olivia wondered if she wore a wig. No one’s hair was that perfect except maybe Ted Koppel’s, and everyone knew he wore a rug. Olivia continued to stare at the receptionist as her father carried on a conversation with her. False eyelashes long and curly enough to balance a pencil. Makeup so perfect it looked like it would crack if she smiled. Olivia felt dowdy next to her.
“It seems we’re supposed to have an appointment,” Dennis told Olivia after walking back to where she stood waiting. “That young lady said this establishment is not a storefront, walk-in legal office.”
“Oh,” was all Olivia could think of to say.
“Would you like to leave, honey? He can make the trip to Winchester to see you.”
The mannequin held up a hand with blood-red, inch-long nails. “Mr. O’Brien will see you in five minutes. Please, take a seat.”
Five minutes stretched to ten minutes, then fifteen. When the hands on the clock registered twenty minutes, Olivia got up in a huff and marched to the door, her father behind her.
Dennis was unlocking the car door when a mousy young woman with thick glasses ran up to them. She was breathless and full of apologies as she pleaded with them to follow her back to the office. Dennis shrugged in acquiescence. “I hate lawyers,” Olivia hissed as they followed the young woman back to the law offices.
“Me too, honey. Me too.”
Prentice
