Mother Knows Best Page 4

  Diana eased the car up the gravel drive and pulled in behind the moving van. Pocketing the car keys, she turned to the girls. "Stay here," she said, offering them each a biscuit. "I'll be right back."

  "And then pizza?" Kath asked, ever-hopeful.

  Diana's stomach rumbled in anticipation. "And then pizza." Goodbye to her diet. It would be a miracle if she didn't dive headfirst into a carton of rocky road before the night was over.

  Casually she strolled past the moving van and peeked inside. In the gathering dusk it was difficult to make out the various shapes inside the truck but she did manage to pick out enough paintings and sculptures to fill a small museum. An odd feeling grew in the pit of her stomach and this time she didn't think it was hunger that caused it.

  She hurried up the walkway to the front door. "Mrs. Geller?"

  The short dark-haired woman turned, her sensible shoes squeaking against the brick step. "Ms. Travis?"

  Diana nodded. She didn't trust her voice.

  "Oh, dear!" muttered Mrs. Geller, wringing her worry beads. "I had so hoped I would have this small difficulty ironed out by the time you arrived. We had believed everything had been repo -- I mean, appropriated already."

  "'Scuse us, ladies. We got a wide load."

  Diana jumped out of the way as two burly moving men carried a stack of crates past them.

  "This is Gull Cottage?" she asked.

  Mrs. Geller's fingers fairly flew over her worry beads. "Cottage is a bit of an understatement, isn't it?"

  Diana watched in amazement as a trio of movers carried out enormous bookcases made of pristine Swedish oak.

  Mrs. Geller draped her beads around her right wrist and pulled a ring of keys from the pocket of her white linen jacket. "Well, here you go, Ms. Travis. Front door, back door, garage. You'll find instructions inside detailing everything you need to know about the housekeeping service, pool man, security system..." She paused, her brow furrowed. "I can't think of another thing."

  "I can," said Diana as another burly mover headed toward the van. "Where is the furniture going?"

  "Oh, dear," said Mrs. Geller, as if the question surprised her. "I do hope this won't prove to be a problem."

  "Look out!" boomed a brawny mover who had a rolled-up Persian carpet slung over his shoulder. "Pool table's bringin' up the rear then the place is all yours."

  "Where is everything going?" Diana repeated, ducking out of the way as the rug passed uncomfortably close to her head. "Why is everything going?"

  Mrs. Geller's fingers did a tap dance on her beads. "Delicate matter, that. It seems our Mr. McClellan made a few bad investments -- Broadway is a risky business -- and he is attempting to recoup his losses."

  Diana arched a blonde eyebrow. "You mean they're repossessing his furniture."

  "I was searching for another way to put it." She turned her worried gaze on Diana. "I have already contacted your brother-in-law and he's accepted another reduction in the monthly rental fee."

  "How nice of him," Diana muttered. "Did he also arrange for a fridge and a stove and the other amenities of 20th century life I've grown to know and love?" Mother may know how to can tomatoes, make strawberry jam, and preserve peaches with the best of them, but she did it with the help of every modern convenience she could get her hands on. Mrs. Geller brightened. "Not to worry, dear. All major appliances stay with the house. In fact, I believe the master bedroom suite does, as well."

  "That's a relief. My two nieces are with me and I -- "

  "Oh dear. How old are your nieces?"

  "A little over two."

  "There aren't any cribs, Ms. Travis. Mr. McClellan's children are adults."

  "The girls are out of cribs." Diana hadn't expected Gull Cottage to come equipped with baby furniture, but she had expected a bed or two. "You did say the master suite is intact."

  "Oh, yes."

  "Complete with a bed?"

  Mrs. Geller's plump cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink. "Oh, yes, my dear. It has a bed and a sunken tub and a breathtaking view. "

  It could be worse. Diana had no house, no condo, no apartment to call her own and unless she intended to spend the next four weeks cooped up inside a motel room with the twins and Ignatius, this version of Buckingham Palace, Long Island-style, was her best bet.

  "Why not?" she said. "I come from sturdy pioneer stock. I can rough it with the best of them." Mrs. Geller, bless her humorless heart, nodded and the two women watched as the moving van maneuvered its way around Diana's rented station wagon.

  "Well, well," said Mrs. Geller. "That would seem to be that."

  A loud squawk rang out from somewhere inside the house.

  "They left Boris behind?" Diana asked.

  Mrs. Geller's prim mouth pursed. "Messy, dirty creature. That bird has the vocabulary of a -- " She caught herself, apparently envisioning her real estate commission disappearing on the next ocean breeze. "He's rather elderly. I shouldn't imagine he requires a great deal of care."

  "To be or not to be," Boris boomed. "Only the Shadow knows..."

  "He has an impressive set of lungs for an old bird. I'd like to meet him."

  Mrs. Geller snapped to attention. "Why don't I give you a tour of the place before I leave?"

  "Let me get the twins and Ignatius and we're all yours."

  "Ignatius?"

  "My cat."

  "Oh, dear," said Mrs. Geller. "A cat and Boris...oh, dear."

  "Don't worry," said Diana, heading toward the station wagon. "Ignatius is the Orson Welles of the cat kingdom. Boris is in no danger."

  Mrs. Geller's look of skepticism changed the moment she saw the corpulent Abyssinian at the end of the leather leash. Ignatius looked for all the world like a deposed potentate in search of a new country to rule.

  "I see what you mean," said the real estate agent, her expression brightening. "He is rather..."

  "Fat," said Diana, juggling the twins against her hips.

  "I was about to say plump."

  "He passed plump about three years ago, Mrs. Geller, but it's kind of you to pretend otherwise." And if I don't start my diet tomorrow morning, Iggy and I will be the Bobbsey twins...

  They stepped into the foyer. "Welcome to Gull Cottage," said Mrs. Geller.

  Even Ignatius stopped in his tracks and stared at the incredible surroundings.

  "Are you sure this isn't Wonderland?" Diana breathed, putting the girls down on the immaculate slate floor. "This looks like Hollywood's idea of the perfect summer house." "Mr. McClellan would be thrilled to hear that analogy. I heard it said he wished to build a cottage worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald."

  "He succeeded."

  Mrs. Geller arched one unplucked brow. "One might wish he exhibited more concern toward paying his mortgage than he did toward Olympic-sized swimming pools."

  "There's an Olympic-sized swimming pool out back?"

  "Heated," said Mrs. Geller. "Long Island Lighting must rub its collective hands together in glee at the very thought."

  "Sounds wonderful!" Diana had no intention of letting the girls do more than get their toes wet in the ocean. The thought of currents and undertow and crashing waves was enough to make her blood run cold. It would be great fun, however, to take the girls swimming in the shallow end of the pool so they could show off the brand new aquatic skills that Paula had been so insufferably proud of. She looked down at her nieces. "Swimming, girls!" she said brightly. "I'm glad we brought your water wings with us. Doesn't it sound wonderful?"

  Their china-blue eyes widened but neither toddler removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to say a word. They simply stared at the vast expanse of furniture-less foyer with something approaching awe. "They're tired," Diana said by way of explanation, even though Mrs. Geller seemed more interested in Ignatius than the twins. "It's been a long day."

  "Early to bed and early to rise!" Boris called out from somewhere close by. "That's the ticket!"

  "Why postpone the inevitable," said Mrs. Geller with a sigh
and she led the strange parade into the living room to admire the breathtaking ocean view from the banks of French doors that Diana sorely wished had childproof locks. "Quite remarkable, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Geller.

  "Quite," said Diana as they stepped out onto the deck that she would absolutely never let the twins play on alone. And then they entered the solarium with its soaring ceiling and copper-hooded fireplace and breathtaking view. Ignatius spotted Boris first. His tail shot straight up as he arched his back into an S curve and emitted a hiss that sent shivers up Diana's spine.

  "Oh dear!" said the ever-worried Mrs. Geller. "I don't think Boris will like having a cat stay at Gull Cottage." She made cat sound like a four-letter word.

  Diana was about to explain Iggy's devotion to sloth when Boris hopped down to the floor of his cage. The mynah bird tilted his head sideways, fixed Ignatius with a stern look then said: "Boo!" In a respectable display of athletic prowess, Iggy leaped a foot into the air then, paws scrambling, he raced for parts unknown.

  "I don't believe it. He hasn't moved that fast since the day I had him fixed."

  Mrs. Geller turned another shade of pink. "I don't think they like each other."

  "Probably not, but I don't foresee any problems. Boris is safe up there in his cage and Iggy is intrinsically lazy and earthbound. That wind sprint was an aberration."

  "Two children and a cat." Mrs. Geller shook her head. "You must have a great deal of patience, Ms. Travis."

  "Unlimited for animals and children. It's adults I have trouble with." She approached the cage where a wary Boris awaited. "You mind your business, Boris, and I'll mind mine. I don't think we'll have any trouble, do you?"

  Boris tilted his head as he had with Ignatius, his beady eyes intent upon her. "Come up and see me sometime," he invited, a Mae West in feathers, "because when I'm bad, I'm better."

  "Is he X-rated?" Diana asked, wondering how her sister would react if the twins came back with Joan Rivers' routine down cold.

  "I don't believe so. Mostly Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams and a bit of Las Vegas tossed in for good measure." "He doesn't sing Feelings, does he?"

  Mrs. Geller looked at her blankly but Boris, to her delight, laughed loud and long.

  "Boris," she said solemnly, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

  #

  Dave Reilly was pacing a hole in the tan carpet when Greg walked into the back office of the East End Animal Center.

  "Anything?" Greg asked, taking in the man's haggard face and uncombed hair. Amazing that what looked so sexy on the curly-haired blonde could look plain lousy on his partner.

  "Not yet." Dave lit a cigarette, grimaced, then stubbed it out in an overflowing ashtray on the desk.

  "How many minutes apart?"

  "Twenty and counting."

  "So what are you doing talking to me, man? Get your butt out of here."

  "It might be another false alarm," Dave said, grabbing for his car keys and fumbling through his pockets for his crumpled pack of cigarettes. "And it might be the real thing."

  "I'll be back if it isn't."

  "Stay with Peggy," said Gregory, pushing the younger man toward the door. "You only have one first kid."

  "This makes it three nights in a row. It's a hell of a way to build a partnership."

  "You'll owe me," said Gregory. "Believe me, it'll even out. Just come back in tomorrow night if it's a false alarm."

  "I really appreciate this." Dave pumped Gregory's hand in a display of such youthful appreciation that the older man could barely suppress his smile. "I'll work weekends and holidays for the next year."

  Gregory's smile broke through. "Damn straight you will. I'll be out on my boat before you know it."

  "Still going ahead with it?"

  "Nothing holding me back, Dave. It's a chance in a lifetime."

  Dave's expression darkened and he gestured toward the back of the building. "Joey's here."

  "This late?"

  "He's convinced it'll be tonight."

  "Kid's dying for one of Daisy's pups, isn't he?" Greg laughed, then caught himself. "Forget I said it."

  Dave nodded and checked his watch. "I'd better motor," he said, heading toward the door. "Maybe we'll name the baby after you."

  "Why not?" Gregory said as the door swung closed behind his partner. That was one way for the Stewart name to make it into the next century.

  "No regrets, Stewart," he muttered, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the machine atop the battle-scarred desk. Looking back had never figured high up in the scheme of things for him; looking forward was the only thing that made sense.

  He glanced at the huge calendar hanging on the wall behind the desk. The black x's were beginning to take over and he picked up a magic marker and placed another across the square for July 1st. There'd been a time when he hadn't believed he'd make it this far; those long dark months of pain and fear were never far away, burning at the edges of his consciousness when he was too tired to turn his mind away from the memories.

  Now after more than four years it was almost over. Soon he'd be out on the open seas where nothing could get him, where fear couldn't reach him, riding out the last of the wait on a wave of expectation.

  He flipped the magic marker onto the desk then strolled back to the kennel to check on Joey and their canine expectant mother. Bon Jovi blared from a small radio on a far table and the distinctive aroma of pepperoni pizza wafted through the open door. Gregory stood in the doorway, hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers and battled with a wave of emotion as violent and dangerous as the Atlantic Ocean crashing not too far away.

  Joey wore a Yankee baseball cap pulled low over his forehead and a bright red t-shirt with the words "Party Animal" scrawled across the chest. Pink patches of scalp showed behind the boy's ears and the back of his neck was blotchy from the sun. Only the practiced eye would see the pallor beneath the beginning tan, the faint tremor in the fingers stroking the ear of the heavily pregnant dog.

  Gregory noticed it all because he'd been there himself.

  Stepping back into the hallway, he took a deep breath, called up his best smile from the old days and strode into the room. "Hey, Joey." He tugged at the bill of the boy's baseball cap. "How's Daisy tonight?"

  "Hungry." Joey offered the dog a piece of his pizza.

  "Big piece for a small dog."

  "She's eating for two, remember?"

  Gregory quickly palpated the dog's abdomen and grinned at the boy. "More like eating for five or six. You ask your mom about the puppy yet?"

  Joey shrugged his thin shoulders and stared down at the pizza as if it were a Madonna poster. "No problem."

  "You haven't asked her yet," Gregory stated.

  "I'll get around to it."

  "Daisy's going to deliver any time now. You plan on showing up at your back door with a puppy in tow?"

  "I kinda figured when she sees the puppy, she couldn't say no."

  "A deal's a deal, Marino. You don't ask, you don't get."

  Joey grimaced; his cheekbones jutted out like twin scalpels in his thin face. If Gregory had his way, the kid could have a score of puppies, a Rolls-Royce and a miracle or two, but he knew Mary Ann Marino and he knew she had more than her share to cope with. Cute as Daisy's pups were bound to be, they just might be enough to push her over the edge.

  "Ask her," Gregory repeated, filching a slice of pizza from the white cardboard box on the desk. "What can it hurt?"

  "She might say no."

  He bit into a circle of pepperoni hot enough to singe his eyelashes. "She might say yes."

  "You don't know my mom."

  "Short, curly red hair, freckles on her nose?"

  Joey's grin was quicksilver; it disappeared almost before it registered itself on Gregory's heart. "Must be her twin."

  Gregory scooped up a long string of mozzarella with his fingers and rolled it deftly into his mouth. "Must be."

  He'd known Mary Ann since the day he opened the
doors to the animal hospital three years ago. She'd been the first and last applicant he'd interviewed for the position of office administrator. Young, ambitious and recently divorced, she'd attacked the job with the ferocity of a small and feisty terrier and before Gregory knew it, he had a successful veterinary practice and a good friend.

  Mary Ann had listened to his ramblings about his broken engagement; fed him tea and sympathy when the uncertainty sometimes got to him; offered him shelter and a hot meal on those nights when the future seemed particularly dark.

  Joey grabbed another slice of pizza. "I wish I had a beer."

  Gregory, who'd been thinking the same thing himself, tried hard not to laugh. "Bud Lite?"

  Joey's face wrinkled like his mother's did whenever a perfectly coiffed French poodle with pink toenails showed up in the waiting room. "Lite's for kids."

  "Pepsi is for kids. Beer's for adults."

  "I still want one."

  "We can't always get what we want."

  Joey was also as pigheaded as his red-haired mother. "I want to see what it tastes like."

  "Tastes lousy. You wouldn't like it."

  "You have Coors in the fridge in the garage."

  Gregory's eyebrows arched. "I do?"

  Joey nodded. "From the Memorial Day picnic."

  "What else do I have in there?"

  "Some green stuff in a Tupperware and a package of bologna."

  "You take the bologna; I'll take the beer."

  "I'm going to be thirteen soon," Joey said, his brown eyes huge in his narrow face. "That's old enough to try beer."

  "Twenty-one is old enough in this state, pal."

  Gregory regretted the words even as he was saying them. The boy's expression lost its sparkle and he turned into a scared little boy right before Gregory's eyes.

  "Got to obey the law," he said off-handedly, as if reality hadn't made a sudden and unwelcome appearance between them. "You don't want me carted off to jail for aiding and abetting a minor, do you?"

  Joey's sparkle returned. "If it meant I could try Coors, I wouldn't mind."

  "You're a hell of pal, Marino," Gregory said, heading toward the garage. "Remember me when the cops show up."