What You Wish For (23 page)

Read What You Wish For Online

Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: What You Wish For
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“Whatever. Just tell me we're going to come out of this void at some point.”
“Okay.”
“That's it, okay?” Artie grunted.
“I'm a vet, not an M.D.”
“And a damn fine one you are. I wouldn't take my dog to anyone but you.”
“You don't have a dog, Artie.”
“If I did, I would bring him only to you. This is all going to come out okay, isn't it, Gerry?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
 
Sam Tolliver looked at his watch. As if time really had meaning for him these days. He hated going home to the cold, dark house he'd shared with Helen and the dogs. He supposed he could go to the mall and start his Christmas shopping early this year. Or, he could stay here and pretend to be busy. He could also head to the nearest bar and drown his sorrows. Better yet, he could go home, turn up the heat and turn on all the lights, and handle the Sassie Lassie orders that came in before Helen's message went up on the web page. He knew enough about the business to fill the orders, call the suppliers, and notify UPS for pickups. Yeah, yeah, that's what he would do. He'd post another notice saying something clever. Something Helen would smile over when she saw it.
If
she saw it. He could eat leftover Chinese and work through the night. There were probably a
kazillion
orders already. His eyes started to burn as he packed up his briefcase.
Damn, he hated this time of day. It was dark outside, and it was only four-thirty. The long night stretched ahead of him. All he had to do was turn off the computer, turn off the lights, and lock his office. One stop at Grand Fortune for whatever and then home to an early dinner. His gaze went to his desk calendar. Thanksgiving was less than a week away. A long four-day weekend. What was he going to do with himself for four whole days?
Sam was about to turn off his computer when his mailbox started its crazy beeping and swirling. He found himself frowning. Who would be sending him an e-mail at this hour of the day?
Get with the program, Tolliver. Open it up and see what it says.
Sam sat down and crossed his fingers for good luck.
Please,
he pleaded silently,
let this be from Helen
. He clicked on the
READ
button, the frown deepening. He read the e-mail a second time before he downloaded the attachment. He stared, his eyeballs literally at attention. “Son of a bitch!” he shouted so angrily his voice could be heard all the way to the administrative offices.
Sam's fingers flew across the keyboard as he tapped out his message. He clicked the
SEND
button at the same moment he saw the telephone number at the end of the e-mail. A second later his phone was in his hand. He punched in the number and then let his breath out in a loud
woosh,
crossing his fingers a second time. Maybe, just maybe, he was finally going to find out what the hell was going on. His fist shot in the air the moment a gruff voice said, “Hello.”
“This is Sam Tolliver in New Jersey. I just got your e-mail.”
20
“It's
him
!” Artie said in a hoarse whisper. “Guess he got the picture!”
Gerry Davis grimaced. “We're breaking every one of Izzie's rules by doing this. You know that, don't you, Artie?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. This is the right thing to do, Gerry. Be quiet now so I can hear what he's saying.”
They hunkered down over the desk to speak and listen to Sam Tolliver. “This is Arthur King, Mr. Tolliver. Thank you for responding to my e-mail so quickly. Did the picture go through satisfactorily? It did. Good. Have you ever seen Daniel Ward? You had dinner with him! That's not good, Mr. Tolliver. That's not good at all.”
Gerry reached over and pressed the button of the speaker phone just in time to hear Sam Tolliver say, “I want to know everything, and I don't want the sanitized version either.”
Arthur King chose his words carefully as he told Sam what he wanted him to know. Gerry nodded agreeably as he listened to what Sam Tolliver called the sanitized version. Gerry knew Artie wouldn't give up anything he felt would hurt Helen or Sam himself.
“I want to know how that son of a bitch found her. Helen used to recite chapter and verse about your organization and how secure it was.”
“Mr. Tolliver, Dr. Davis and I will find out. There's something you need to know if you don't know it already. Helen ran because of you. She ran to protect you. Just like she ran that night to protect her dog. You have to deal with that.”
“I don't
have
to do anything but pay taxes and die. Helen knows I would protect her and Lucie with my life.”
“That's the whole point, Mr. Tolliver. Helen didn't want you to protect her with your life. She loves you too much to do that. Did she ever tell you she excelled in the self-protection program the shelters offer? Each guest takes two hours of self-defense a day, seven days a week. She's also a crack shot. Helen had eighty-five days of it. She can take care of herself. What you can do for all concerned is to sit and wait. As hard as that may be for you to accept, you have no other options at this particular moment.”
“I know all about that program, and it doesn't make me feel one bit better. Lessons are one thing. Reality is something else entirely. While I'm waiting around sucking my thumb, what are you two old codgers going to be doing?” Sam snapped. “I say that with all due respect. Helen told me you're both in your seventies. I'm almost thirty-five, thirty-four if you want to be exact. I'd say that gives me an edge over both of you. Not to mention I'm fit and I am goddamn well dedicated to finding Helen. I'm also prepared to take my chances with that jerk she was married to. With that said, do you want to run that line of bullshit past me again?”
“Not was, is, Mr. Tolliver. Helen is still married to Daniel Ward. Secrecy and safety are the keystones that make the foundation work. If it makes you happy to call it bullshit, then call it bullshit. We have rules. As it is, I'm breaking one of them by being in touch with you. We weighed the consequences and decided your safety was more important than this particular rule.”
“There you go. You break one rule, you might as well break a few more. I want to find Helen.”
“Would the inheritance have anything to do with you finding Helen?” Artie asked sourly. He didn't like the way this conversation was going at all. Gerry looked like he didn't like it either.
“What inheritance?” Sam demanded.
The two old men looked at one another. Gerry shrugged. Artie's lips stretched into a nasty, thin line. “Isabel Tyger left her entire fortune to Helen. It's been in the papers and all over television. Are you saying you don't know? If so, I find it very hard to believe.”
Both men heard Sam suck in his breath. “No, I didn't know. I swear to you on Helen's life, I didn't know. I have enough doom and gloom in my life. Lately there has been so much garbage on television and in the papers I gave up in disgust. I don't think I've read a paper in three weeks. In addition, I'm on so many committees I don't have time for anything else, much less watching television. Helen didn't say a word about that to me.”
“Helen didn't know until after she left. She said she doesn't want it. All she wants is you and the dogs.”
“Listen, did she really say that? Damn, I knew I loved that woman for a reason. If she said that, then she means it. Helen never says anything she doesn't mean.”
“Yes. Us two old codgers more or less came to the same conclusion. However, Daniel Ward isn't of the same mind. Now, Mr. Tolliver, do you see the problems facing us?”
“Look, that crack I made about you two old codgers . . . no offense. It was uncalled for and I apologize.”
“No offense taken, and we accept your apology. Just sit tight. With age comes a certain amount of wisdom. Let us handle this.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know, Mr. Tolliver. We need to think on the matter. Helen is safe. The dogs are safe. That's the most important thing right now.”
“Wisdom, huh?”
“It comes in stages, Mr. Tolliver. We'll be in touch via e-mail if we come up with anything.”
“If nothing else, I want to know how that bastard found her. I should think you would want to know the same thing. Doesn't this compromise your foundation?”
“We'll be in touch, Mr. Tolliver.” Arthur King broke the connection a moment later.
“I don't think that young man has a very high opinion of us, Gerry.”
“Why should he? He's right. When you're right, you're right. You yourself called us old codgers the other day. Face it, Artie, we
are
old. We can't run with the sharks anymore. Half the time we can't remember things. We fuss and fret over every little thing. Our piss and vinegar ran out a long time ago. If I was Tolliver, I wouldn't have much confidence in us either. He's the kind of guy who believes in game plans, and we ain't got one. I believed him when he said he didn't know about Helen's inheritance.”
“Izz must be spinning, knowing Helen doesn't want her inheritance. I wonder why she never considered that,” Artie said.
“We don't know that she didn't. Izzie worked in mysterious ways. You know what I think we should do, Artie? I think you should go through Izzie's files, find out where that private dick said Daniel Ward lived. Then what I think we should do is a little B&E. I have a tool kit. That's a plan. If we get caught, we get caught. Maybe we can find out something, especially if he left in a hurry. We'll say we're his uncles. Or his grandfather. All our white hair should cover our asses on that score. What do you think?”
“It sounds like a plan. Okay, let's do it.”
“Are we going to stop coming here then, Artie?”
“We'll stop when Helen kicks us out.”
“Between the two of us we could buy this house from her.”
“I don't want to
own
it. I just want to come here. If we own it, it won't be the same.”
“Yeah, I guess you're right. Find the dick's address and let's check it out. Do we need a gun?”
“Hell, why not? Izz owned a gun, so it's got to be here someplace,” Artie said. “You do realize neither one of us knows anything about firearms.”
“Knowing that, people will take us seriously for fear we'll discharge it and actually
hit
something,” Gerry said as he riffled through Isabel's desk drawers.
Fifteen minutes later, Arthur King held up a manila folder in one hand and Isabel Tyger's gun in the other.
“Is that thing on or off?” Gerry asked nervously.
“How the hell should I know? Does it have a switch or something?”
“I don't know anything about guns. Don't stick it in your pants the way they do on television. Izzie would know. She knew everything.”
“Of course Izz would know. It was her gun. I'll just . . . what I'll do is . . . dump it in this envelope and carry it that way.”
“Sounds like another plan to me.” Gerry guffawed. “We're too old for this shit, Artie. We should be playing shuffleboard, or checkers, or something. Instead we're packing a gun that neither one of us knows how to shoot in preparation to breaking and entering the home of one of your former employees.”
“Izz would love it.” Artie grinned.
Gerry snorted. “Yes, she would. After we broke down the door, she'd probably push us out of the way and enter, gun blazing. Somehow, some way, we are going to screw this up. You know that, don't you?”
“If we don't shoot the gun, we'll be okay. Besides, he's gone. We're only taking it for protection.”
“Then let's go,” Gerry said. He hitched his pants higher on his lanky form. “Who's driving?”
“You drive. I'm packing the gun. Since we don't know where the on/off switch is, I need to watch it. Don't go over any bumps.”
A devil perched itself on Gerry's shoulders. “Who loves ya, baby?” he said in his best Telly Savalas cop voice.
“You do,” Artie said, playing along.
 
Sam felt like a tired old dog when he locked his office door. He'd been so hopeful when the e-mail from Arthur King arrived. Now even that slim thread of hope was gone. And to make things worse, the woman he loved was now a multimillionaire. What would she ever want with someone like him? Oh, he'd talked a good game to the old boys, but that's what it was, a game.
His guts churned as he walked across the parking lot. He was halfway to his car when he realized he'd left his jacket hanging in the office. Like he really cared if he got pneumonia or not. He longed for Max.
Thirty minutes later, Sam pressed the remote on his visor. The garage door flew upward. He drove the Blazer in and cut the ignition.
Now what, Tolliver? You had a plan to get you through the night, didn't you? One step at a time. Change into sweats and go for a run. Maybe the cold air will clear the cobwebs from your brain. Come home, shower, eat that five-day leftover Chinese food in the fridge, and then pack up Helen's orders. Fall into bed and dream about Helen and Max all night long.
“Get on with it, Tolliver,” he muttered to himself. “So what if the house is cold and dark. You turn on some lights, and you turn up the heat. If you want noise, you turn on the stereo. Get on with it.”
Sam waited to be certain the garage door closed tightly before he pressed the button by the door that led into the kitchen. The moment he heard the little snick of the lock going into place, he opened the kitchen door with his key.
Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the destruction that faced him when the kitchen exploded with light. Cabinet doors hung drunkenly on hinges. The oven door was halfway across the room, the refrigerator door hanging wide open. Water puddled on the floor from the automatic defrost system. Flour, coffee, and sugar were everywhere. The long, trailing fern that Helen had nursed back to health was just a memory—the fronds everywhere, the dirt in clumps on the chairs and top of the table. A mound of it was sitting on one of the oven shelves.
Sam took a deep breath before he turned on the hall light switch. His beloved beanbag chairs from his early college days were ripped wide open, the beans everywhere. The small television and the stereo system were a mass of black plastic parts on one side of the room, some in the hall, and others crunched into oblivion. He took another deep breath as he marched his way to the bedroom he'd shared with Helen.
Everything in the room was ripped, slashed, or gouged. Drawers were splintered, the contents destroyed. The drapes hung in tatters, the blinds ripped and bent out of shape. He blinked at the sight of the toilet seat in the middle of what was once his bed. He poked his head into the bathroom to see the shower door off its track, the glass shattered and broken, half on the floor, half on the bottom of the tub. He looked down when he realized he was standing in water almost to his ankles. He stretched his neck farther and saw the tank to the toilet lying next to the vanity, whose sink was overflowing. He sloshed his way to the vanity to turn off the faucet.
Sam's shoulders slumped as he backed out of the bathroom. There was one more place to look—Helen's workroom, where her inventory was stacked to the ceiling. Did the intruder go into that room? “Intruder my ass,” Sam snarled. He knew who had ransacked his house, and it wasn't a nameless, faceless intruder. It was Daniel Ward. He knew it as surely as he knew he needed to take another breath to stay alive.
Do it,
his mind ordered.
Open the damn door and see what the bastard did. Do it, Tolliver. Get it the hell over with.
Sam's hand snaked out to grasp the doorknob. He didn't know if he should pounce, shout a warning, or turn on the light. He did all three at the same moment.
“Eiyah!”
he bellowed, dropping to a low crouch, his long arm reaching up to turn on the overhead light. He straightened, his gaze unbelieving. Tacked to every inch of wall space was Helen's Sassie Lassie lingerie with lewd printing on each and every garment. Whore, slut, and bitch were some of the kinder words. He ripped the garments from the wall, hating to touch something Daniel Ward had had his hands on. Sam took a moment to wonder if Daniel Ward always traveled with a staple gun and red spray paint. Then he got sick and bolted for the bathroom.

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