Fool Me Once

by Fern Michaels

  Dee Dee, alert to every nuance of Olivia’s expression, saw the tears that were about to overflow and stepped in. “I want you ladies to help dress me when I get married, too,” she said, laughing. “Like Ollie, I don’t have a mom. I can use all the help I can get.”

  “Really?” Gwen and Jill said in unison.

  “Really,” Dee Dee said and hugged both women.

  Jill bit down on her lower lip. “And now for the veil! The veil makes it official. I love it that you chose such a simple gown—high neck, heavy satin, small train. It does you justice. The fresh flowers on the crown of the veil make it all just perfect.”

  “I love lilies of the valley,” Gwen said in a choked voice. “I can smell them from here. You make a lovely bride, Olivia. May you always be as happy as you are right now.”

  “The music is starting. I have to run. Come on, ladies, let’s go,” Olivia cried.

  “Ladies do not gallop!” Jill said. “We go first. We’ll send your dad back, Olivia. Are you okay?”

  “I am more than okay.” Olivia smiled tremulously as she moved forward to wait for her father in the doorway.

  How handsome he looks, she thought when Dennis appeared. Her second thought was how sad he looked. “Dad…” she said as he drew near.

  “Ollie, you look so beautiful. My own little angel.” His voice was so husky, Olivia knew he was going to tear up just as she was about to do.

  Olivia’s voice was just as husky when she said, “You look pretty darn handsome yourself. Don’t you dare make me cry now, you hear?”

  Dennis cleared his throat. “Okay. Listen, Ollie. I’m not giving you away. I want you to know that. What I’m doing is, I’m…I’m sharing you with Jeff. I know giving the bride away is a wedding term, but I take it seriously. Just so we know.”

  Olivia’s smile was of the megawatt variety. “I know, Dad. Listen, did you…?”

  “It’s all taken care of, Ollie. We have to go now. There’s a young man waiting for you who, the last time I looked, was about to collapse in sheer fright. What do you say we put him out of his misery?”

  “I say let’s do it!”

  Thirty minutes later the minister concluded, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  And Jeff did, until her toes tingled, to the delight of everyone in attendance, even the dogs, who wore white satin collars in honor of the occasion.

  Flower petals flew in all directions as the dogs scampered about trying to catch them. Pictures followed. Then it was time to leave for the reception in town.

  Jeffrey and Olivia Bannerman stood in a small receiving line as the guests trooped out to the waiting cars. The newly married couple was the last to leave.

  “Are you as happy as I am, Olivia?”

  “Happier,” Olivia responded.

  “You can’t be happier than I am,” Jeff grumbled.

  “Okay, how about as happy.”

  “Sounds good. Come on, honey, we have to get to the hall to greet our guests. Besides, I’m starved. I hope we’re having something good for our wedding supper.”

  “I hope so, too. I can’t remember what I ordered for us. Does it matter?”

  “Nope. Not one little bit,” Jeff said, kissing her on the lips, a kiss that said life was going to be wonderful for the two of them.

  It was eleven o’clock when the deejay picked up his microphone to announce the last dance of the evening. “The bride and groom will now take the floor!” The guests formed a circle around the dance floor as the couple danced cheek to cheek to Whitney Houston singing, “I will always love you.”

  Then it was time to throw the bridal bouquet. Dee Dee caught it by jumping up in the air and clutching it with both hands. She gave a thumbs-up to Olivia, who laughed and laughed.

  They were at the door when a gaggle of people approached them. Olivia turned to see Mary Louise Rafferty with her twin sons. Behind them were Gwen’s son, Timothy, and his children. Both Mary Louise and Timothy looked as if they wanted to say something. Olivia brought her finger to her lips. “Shhh. Everyone deserves a second chance. This is your chance to be a real family. Don’t blow it now.”

  “How’d you get so smart, Mrs. Bannerman?” Jeff asked, as they headed for the limo.

  Olivia threw back her head and laughed. “By hanging around with you and my dad. By the way, he said he didn’t give me to you. He’s only sharing me with you.”

  Jeff held Olivia’s train up as she slid into the limo. “He scared the living daylights out of me when he said the same thing to me. He wagged his finger under my nose to make his point.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He did!”

  “What now, Mrs. Bannerman?”

  “A kiss would be nice.”

  Jeff obliged.

  “Are we going to live happily ever after, Jeff?”

  “Hmm,” Jeff said. “That’s a yes, Mrs. Bannerman.”

  “That’s good enough for me, Mr. Bannerman. Let’s go home now!”

  “Now, that’s a plan if I ever heard one.”

  If you enjoyed Fool Me Once, read on for a special preview of Fern Michaels’s emotionally rich and wonderfully

  compelling new novel.

  The Windsors have been living on the Windsor Hill estate in Crestwood, South Carolina for centuries. Now, on the anniversary of her daughter Emily’s death, Sarabess

  Windsor fears she may be the last to carry the family name—unless she can locate her second daughter, Trinity, the child she gave up for adoption. Sarabess enlists the help of her lawyer, Rifkin, and his son, Jake, in tracking down

  Trinity. But finding her will stir up buried secrets, past wounds, and loves old and new. And for Trinity, Sarabess’s quest will have lasting—and surprising—repercussions….

  UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL

  A Kensington hardcover on sale in August 2007!

  Prologue

  The hour was late, the middle of the night to be precise, and the silence was so total it was ominous. The woman standing at the window stared out at the dark night. Here and there she could see tiny pinpricks of light, but she had no idea what they were. She could also see her reflection in the dark window as well as the entire room behind her.

  The woman closed her eyes and wondered if she would ever sleep again. How long could a person go without sleeping? She should know the answer. Why didn’t she know? When she opened her eyes she could see the reflection of a woman standing in the middle of the open doorway. She was still as a statue.

  The woman knew the figure in the open doorway wasn’t going to speak until she was spoken to. Strange how she knew that and didn’t know how long a person could go without sleep. “Did you do as I asked?”

  The woman waited for a response. None came. “Grace, I’m speaking to you. Did you do what I asked you to do?”

  Five seconds passed, then five more seconds before the woman said, “Yes.”

  The woman at the window turned. She peered at Grace, and said, “You sounded unsure. You can’t lie to me, Grace. I gave you enough money to put your four boys through Ivy League colleges. When you told me your husband had medical problems I gave you enough money to buy a small lake house so you could both retire. With the additional money you demanded, you can both live quite comfortably for the rest of your lives. Now, I am going to ask you again, did you do what I asked you to do?”

  The woman turned back to the window. She stiffened when she heard the single word, “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Grace. I’ll be leaving in a few hours. Thanks to you, I’ll be able to leave with a lighter heart. I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’t want our paths to cross again. It will be best if you never return to this state again. When you leave you will follow all my instructions to the letter. Do we understand each other, Grace?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we understand each other.”

  The woman watched Grace Finnegan’s reflection in the window as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Long ago she
had committed Grace’s face to memory, not that she had any intention of remembering her in the days to come. There was no need to say goodbye. After all, they weren’t friends. Business associates if you will. She banished the picture of Grace Finnegan from her mind as she continued to stare out at the tiny dots of light. Soon the sun would rise, and she’d walk away from this place and never look back.

  Chapter 1

  It was a beautiful summer day, but the agitated woman pacing and kneading her hands barely noticed. Warm golden sunshine flooded the sunroom where she was pacing, doing its best to warm the trembling woman. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t avoid the gallery of pictures that lined one wall. She knew she shouldn’t have come here this morning of all days. Yet she’d carried her coffee cup in with the intention of sitting on one of the rattan chairs. Not to think. Never to think. She knew it was impossible, but she’d come anyway. The sunroom had been Emily’s favorite room in the whole house.

  Once this room had held every toy known to a child, a life-size giraffe, easels, paints, brushes, blackboard and pastel chalks, a television, a pink polka-dotted sleeping bag with the name EMILY embroidered across the front in huge white silky letters. An oversize toy box, again with the name EMILY stenciled on it, stuffed with animals and assorted toys. Deep, comfortable furniture suitable for a sickly little girl had been covered in all the colors of the rainbow just waiting for her to sit or lie down with her storybooks.

  Once, a long time ago, a hundred years ago, a lifetime ago, this had been Emily’s favorite room. Before she became bedridden.

  Tears puddled up in Sarabess Windsor’s eyes. Why had she come in here? She looked around for her coffee cup. She reached for it and sipped at the cold brew. Okay, she’d had some coffee. Now it was time to leave. But could she walk out of this room today? Of course she could. She had to.

  Sarabess looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the back of the door leading into a small lavatory. She’d taken exceptional pains with her dress. She was wearing her grandmother’s pearls, her mother’s pearl earrings, and a mint-green linen dress that was so far unwrinkled. If she sat down, it would wrinkle. She wanted to look put together when Rifkin Forrest arrived and part of that put-together look did not include tears. Every silky gray hair was in place. Her makeup was flawless; her unshed tears hadn’t destroyed her mascara. Just because she was sixty didn’t mean she had to look sixty. Rif had told her she didn’t look a day over fifty the last time he’d been to the house. Rif always said kind things. Rif said kind things because he’d loved her forever.

  Sarabess turned around at the door, seeing the sunroom as it was. Other than the gallery of pictures, all traces of Emily were gone. Now the room held rattan furniture covered with a bright-colored fabric. Dozens of green plants and young trees could be seen through the wall-to-wall windows. Overhead, two paddle fans whirred softly. There was even a wet-bar set in the corner. She was the only one who ever came into this room. Once a year on this date she unlocked the door, walked into the room, and allowed herself ten minutes to grieve. Most times she cried for the rest of the day. For weeks afterward she wasn’t herself. Still, she put herself through it because she didn’t want to forget. As if a mother could ever forget the death of her child.

  Sarabess closed and locked the door. Maybe she would never go into the room again. Maybe she should think about moving away but did not see how she could? Emily was buried here in the family mausoleum. She could never leave her firstborn. Why did she even think it was a possibility? Then there was Mitzi Granger lurking on the fringe of her life. Even Rif couldn’t do anything about squirrelly Mitzi. Something had to be done about Mitzi.

  The Windsors had lived on Windsor Hill in South Carolina for hundreds of years. She was the last of the Windsors, though only by marriage. Then again, maybe she wasn’t the last of the Windsors. She would have to wait for time to give her an answer.

  As the mistress of Windsor Hill walked down the hallway toward the heavy beveled-glass front door, she realized she’d left her coffee cup in the sunroom. Well, it would have to stay there for another year. Or, until she felt brave enough to unlock the door and enter the room that was simply too full of memories. At the end of the hallway, she opened the door and walked out onto the veranda. She looked around as though seeing it for the very first time. She was surprised to realize the gardener had hung the giant ferns, cleaned the wicker furniture, laid down new fiber rugs, and arranged the colorful clay pots of petunias and geraniums. Even the six paddle fans had been cleaned and waxed. How was it possible she hadn’t noticed? Because she was so wrapped up in herself, that was why. She tried to remember the last time she’d sat out here with a glass of lemonade. When she couldn’t come up with any answer, she started to pace the long veranda, which wrapped itself around the entire house. Where was Rifkin? She looked down at the diamond-studded watch. He was ten minutes late. Rif was never late. Never. She wondered if his lateness was an omen of things to come.

  For the first time since getting up, she was aware of the golden June day as she stared out at the Windsor grounds. Once the endless fields had produced cotton and tobacco. Now they produced watermelons, pumpkins, and tomatoes that were shipped coast to coast. The acres of pecan trees went on as far as the eye could see. The pecans, too, were shipped all over the country. On the lowest plateau of the hill, cows grazed, hence the Windsor Dairy. Horses trotted in their paddock. There was a time when she’d been an accomplished horsewoman. Once there had been a pony named Beauty and a little red cart that carried Emily around the yard. Just like Emily, they were gone, too.

  Sarabess heard the powerful engine then. She looked down at her watch once more. Twenty-three minutes late. What would be Rif’s excuse this fine Monday morning? Did it even matter? He was here now.

  When the Mercedes stopped in front of the steps leading to the veranda, Sarabess waved a greeting before she rang the little bell on one of the tables next to a wicker chair, Martha’s signal that she should serve coffee on the veranda. She walked back to the top of the steps to wait for Rif’s light kiss on her cheek. She smiled when she realized there was to be no explanation as to why he was late. Rif hated to make explanations. It was the lawyer in him. She motioned to one of the chairs and sat down across from the attorney.

  He was tall and tanned from the golf course. His hair was as white as snow. His eyes were sharp and summer blue and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She loved it when he smiled at her. An intimate smile, she thought. Because he was semiretired, Rif felt no need for a three-piece suit on his days off. He was dressed in creased khakis and a bright yellow T-shirt. His only concession to his profession was the briefcase he was never without. He dropped it next to his chair before sitting down. His voice was deep and pleasant when he said, “You’re looking particularly fine this morning, Sarabess.”

  “Why thank you, counselor. You look rather fit yourself this fine morning. Are you playing golf today?”

  “Unless you have something important you need taken care of. You sounded…urgent when you called.”

  “It’s time, Rif.”

  The attorney didn’t bother to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. He knew his old friend was waiting for him to say something, but he opted for silence. Sarabess raised an eyebrow in question. Instead, he reached for the cup of coffee the old housekeeper poured for him. He sipped appreciatively.

  Sarabess set her own cup on the table. “I want you to hire someone to find her. It’s time. And it’s also time to do something about Mitzi. I…I want her taken care of once and for all. Do we understand each other, Rifkin?”

  Rifkin watched as a tiny brown bird flew into one of the ferns. He knew the little bird was preparing her nest. “Let it be, Sarabess. You need to stop obsessing about…about Mitzi. There’s nothing I can do legally, and we both know it.”

  Sarabess leaned forward. “How can you say that to me?”

  “I can say it because I’m your friend. Mitzi aside, you sho
uld have called me fifteen years ago to ask me to find her. I warned you this would happen. Now, it’s too late.”

  Sarabess stood up. “It’s never too late. You hounded me daily for years to do what I’m asking you to do now, and suddenly you’re telling me it’s too late! I don’t believe that. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will. Mitzi may have me on a short leash financially, but I am not without influence in this town. As you well know, Rifkin.”

  Rifkin. Using his full name meant Sarabess was serious. Suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. “You waited fifteen years too long. If you think for one minute that girl is going to forgive you, you are wrong.” Rif brought the coffee cup to his lips. He didn’t think he’d ever tasted anything so bitter.

  “She’s my daughter. I’m her mother.”

  Rif sighed and closed his eyes. His voice was so low Sarabess had to strain to hear it. “You gave birth to her. You were never her mother. You were Emily’s mother. As your attorney, I’m advising you to let matters rest. As your friend and lover, I’m asking you to let matters rest. Please, Sarabess, listen to me.”

  “I have no intention of following your advice, Rifkin. It’s time.”

  “For you, perhaps. Not for Trinity. If she wanted to see you, she knows where you are. She could have come home anytime. The fact that she hasn’t called or written in fifteen years means she doesn’t have any interest in seeing you.”

  “She doesn’t even know Harold died. She should know that,” Sarabess said coldly. Mitzi knows. If you could just get inside that…that squirrelly head of hers, we could find Trinity in a heartbeat.”

  “Almost fifteen years after the fact you think Trinity should know her father died! I can’t believe I’m hearing what I’m hearing. I advise you to think seriously about what you are contemplating, Sarabess. You gave birth to Trinity so you could use her bone marrow so that Emily would live. Then you gave that child to your foreman and his wife to raise. You hauled her up here one day a year on Princess Emily’s birthday and any other time Emily pitched a fit. You had the Hendersons dress her up like a poor relation, then you sent her away after the party. One day a year, Sarabess! One goddamn day a year! Those other command performances simply don’t count. You’re delusional if you think Trinity will want to see you.”