There was a knock at the door, and Tiffany looked up from pouring the wine and called for Abbey to come in.
Once they were all seated, practically holding hands as they looked nervously at Tiffany, she told them the bad news.
“Deb Leventer knows.”
There was a thick silence before Loreen asked, “What, exactly, does she know?”
“She knows enough.” Tiffany swallowed hard. “She has my phone. She talked to Ed.”
“Oh, no.” Sandra shook her head.
“Yes.” Tiffany shook a shaky breath. “And she called this afternoon and demanded that we all resign from the PTA by tomorrow at noon or she’s pretty much going to call a press conference.”
Abbey gasped. “She can’t.”
“But you know she will,” Loreen said sharply. This was sickening. “Unless we can somehow stop her.”
“Short of hitting her with a bus, I don’t think that’s possible,” Abbey said, her usually gentle voice tinged with anger. “Though I’m not advocating hitting her with a bus, no matter how tempting that might be at the moment.”
“It’s all my fault.” Tiffany put her hands over her face. “I was so stupid, walking around the grocery store, talking about it right out loud even though the place is just full of people from the neighborhood and school.” She sniffed and looked up, red-eyed. “Never mind Deb, you guys must want to kill me.”
“Hang on, she figured the whole thing out from the conversation you and I had?” Loreen asked dubiously. Maybe there was hope.
It was short-lived. Tiffany shook her head. “No, but we dropped our stuff, and everything in my purse went flying, and she picked up my phone and took it with her. Then I guess she started getting calls.”
“How is that even possible?” Sandra asked. “You were logged in while you were in the grocery store talking to Loreen?”
Tiffany’s face grew an even deeper shade of red. “No, but for some reason Ed called and logged me on. Or logged Deb on. Or”—tears flowed—“all of us. I am so, so sorry.”
“What a mess,” Sandra said, pouring more wine into Tiffany’s glass.
“Brian will be ruined,” Abbey said in a tremulous voice. “If Deb comes out with this, he’ll never live it down.”
“She doesn’t know you’re involved,” Tiffany told Abbey quickly. “Or you, Loreen. For all she knows, I’m working for some company on my own. She’ll never know about you two.”
“But you’re not on your own,” Loreen said, reaching for Tiffany’s hand. She couldn’t let Tiffany take the fall for this alone. “We’re in this together.”
Tiffany gave a small half smile. “If she’s going to expose me, it’s not going to make me feel any better for her to expose you, too.” She drank the wine Sandra had just refilled. “The crazy thing is I left there on such a high because I thought I had the goods on her, but she trumped me. She trumped me big-time.”
Sandra refilled Tiffany’s glass again, then topped everyone else’s off, too.
Tiffany looked up abruptly, frowning. “Wait a minute.”
“What is it?” Abbey asked hopefully.
Loreen held her breath.
Sandra leaned forward in her seat, as if Tiffany were about to whisper something.
“I’m so stupid!” Tiffany cried.
“Please stop beating yourself up over this,” Loreen said, though she was half-ready to agree. That wouldn’t have been fair. This was a mistake any of them could have made, especially when someone as devious as Deb Leventer was involved. It wasn’t Tiffany’s fault.
“No, no.” Tiffany wiped her eyes. “You don’t understand. I do have the goods on her.”
“Better than what she’s got on us?” Abbey asked.
Tiffany nodded. “I think so. See, Deb’s husband is Mick.”
“I don’t get it,” Abbey said.
But Sandra did. “Like Mick Jagger Mick?”
Tiffany nodded.
Sandra explained to Loreen and Abbey, “He’s one of Tiffany’s regulars.”
“Can you prove it?” Abbey asked eagerly.
The mood in the room shifted, and suddenly there was an air of excitement all around.
“If you could get the phone records, you could prove it,” Loreen said. “But, of course, you can’t. It’s not a legal case.”
“It could be,” Abbey said thoughtfully.
“How?” Tiffany and Loreen both asked at once.
“Blackmail is against the law,” Abbey said. “Believe me, I happen to know this. If Deb blackmails us, we can call the police, and then everything will come out in the wash. She’s not taking us down without coming down with us.”
“You guys are diabolical,” Sandra said approvingly. “I like it.”
“It’s not us,” Tiffany said. “It’s me. If you keep talking about jumping off this cliff with me, you’re just going to make me feel worse.”
“No one’s jumping off of any cliff,” Loreen said. “You’ve got to call Deb. Right away. Until she agrees to back off, we still have a problem and you need to stop her before she starts telling her friends.”
“If she hasn’t already,” Abbey added, then looked skeptical. “She probably has. She and Kathy Titus are like clucking little hens in the coop.”
“I’m calling her now,” Tiffany said. She got up and retrieved the house phone from the counter, and the phone tree list for Mrs. Rosen’s class from the side of the fridge, and dialed Deb’s number on speaker.
Deb answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Deb, it’s Tiffany Dreyer.”
“Oh.” The response was flat. “What do you want?” It wasn’t the triumphant tone of someone who had just brought her opponent to her knees.
Loreen, Abbey, and Tiffany exchanged curious glances.
“As you might expect, Deb, I’m calling about the threat you made against me earlier.”
Deb sniffled and Loreen could imagine her straightening her back, readying herself for a fight. “It wasn’t a threat, it’s just my intention. Someone has to do the right thing.”
Abbey rolled her eyes.
“There are different degrees of right and wrong,” Tiffany pointed out. “Just like there are differences between legal and illegal. Now, having phone sex is legal.”
“Maybe so, but it’s not moral.” Deb’s voice was shrill. “And you know darn well that if the PTA body finds out you’re doing this immoral activity, they’ll call for your head.”
“Is blackmail moral?”
Two beats passed.
“What are you talking about?” Deb asked.
“Threatening to expose me if I don’t resign from the PTA and convince the other officers to do the same. That’s blackmail. And it’s not only immoral, it’s illegal.”
There was a long pause. Then Deb asked, tentatively, “Am I on speaker phone?”
“Yes,” Tiffany answered cheerfully. “Yes, you are. I wanted my lawyer to hear everything we said.”
“Lawyer?”
“Yes. So, as I was saying, it’s illegal to blackmail someone, while, according to you, it’s immoral to have phone sex. Presumably you’re talking about both participants, am I right?”
“What are you getting at?” Deb snapped.
“If you don’t drop your threats, I’m going to have to call the police, and if the police get involved, they will undoubtedly subpoena all of our phone records.” Tiffany looked up and shrugged.
Sandra gave her the thumbs-up.
“Do you know what they’ll find on those phone records, Deb?” Tiffany went on.
Loreen listened intently for the answer. Her heart was pounding so furiously that she could barely hear over it.
“No,” Deb said. “And I don’t want to.”
“Oh, but I think you do. Because I have a regular caller. His name is Mick. You know, like Mick Jagger?”
Deb didn’t answer.
Which was strange, actually, because that should have riled her.
“Are
you there, Deb?”
“There are a lot of men named Mick,” Deb said after another telling moment of hesitation.
“How many of them live in your house and use your husband’s cell phone?” Tiffany asked.
Deb hung up.
Tiffany frowned and looked around the room. “What do you suppose that means?”
“I think it means there’s only one guy in her house named Mick who uses her husband’s cell phone,” Sandra said with disgust. “And she knows it.”
Abbey looked thoughtful. “Yes, but I don’t like it. If she panics, she might spill the story without thinking about it first.”
“I don’t think so,” Loreen said. “Once she heard her husband’s name, she clammed up. She believed you, at least somewhat. I think the first thing she’d do is check with him.”
“But why would he tell her the truth?” Tiffany asked.
Loreen gave her a look. “Would you lie to that woman’s face? She’d reach in and rip your organs out if she thought you were being dishonest.”
“And I’ll bet Mick values his organs,” Abbey said.
“I can tell you he does,” Tiffany agreed with a laugh. “Some much more than others.”
“Our pal Gerald Parks has done some good work for us lately,” Loreen said. “Do you think he could get the phone records for us?”
“He might be able to,” Sandra said. “But they wouldn’t do any good. If you wanted to show them to this Deb person and she didn’t want to believe it, she’d probably just think they were forged.”
“Which would be easy to do,” Abbey agreed.
Tiffany sighed. “I wish I knew what was going on. Who has the upper hand right now?”
The phone rang.
Tiffany looked at the caller ID. “It’s Deb.”
“Put it on speaker again,” Loreen whispered. “Let’s all find out who has the upper hand.”
Tiffany did. “Deb.”
“I’ve decided to spare the PTA the pain of finding out what sort of woman they have running the programs,” Deb said without preamble.
Tiffany’s eyes widened. “What are you saying?”
Deb let out a hiss of breath. “I’ll keep your secret. Not because I believe any of that nonsense about my husband, you understand.”
“Of course not.”
“But if the truth about you came out, it would only hurt the children, and, well, that is my main concern.”
“That’s big of you, Deb,” Tiffany said, rolling her eyes. “I’m concerned about the children myself.”
“So . . . you wouldn’t want the truth to come out either.” Deb sounded uncertain. “Right?”
“Right,” Tiffany said. It was clear they both knew what they were talking about and they agreed they could both lose equally. “Why, if the client list became public, just think how many community members might be implicated. As a matter of fact, Deb, even you participated in this.”
“I did not!”
“You did. When you answered my phone.”
Deb made an exasperated sound. “You could never prove that.”
“Are you sure?” Tiffany asked. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“This conversation is over,” Deb said. “I don’t ever want to hear anything about it again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, yes.” Tiffany smiled. Finally, she knew beyond the shadow of any doubt, everything was going to be all right. “Crystal.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later
Girls’ night!” Tiffany opened Kate’s door. “Andy’s asleep, the pizza’s in the oven, and Anne of Green Gables is in the DVD player waiting for us.”
“Yay!” Kate came running toward Tiffany in her pink flannel nightgown and threw her arms around her mother. “I love girls’ night! Is Aunt Sandra coming?”
“Of course! She switched her plans with Doug to tomorrow night just so she could be here with us—isn’t that nice?”
“I love Aunt Sandra!”
“Me, too!”
They went downstairs and Tiffany checked on the pizza. It was almost ready. The salad was in the fridge, along with sparkling soda for Kate and champagne for Tiffany and Sandra.
Tonight was a celebration.
“Hello?” Sandra tapped on the door as she opened it. “Anyone here?”
“Aunt Sandra!” Kate went running to her. “Did you bring the ice cream?”
Sandra held up a Safeway bag. “Mint chocolate chip. Thank goodness you and I don’t like the same flavors, kid.” She smiled and handed the bag to Kate.
“Can I have some now?” Kate asked Tiffany. “I promise I’ll eat all my dinner.”
“Nope. Put it in the freezer.”
Reluctantly, Kate carried the bag to the kitchen, where she shrieked with delight upon seeing the silver foil Jiffy Pop popcorn package Tiffany had gotten for them to eat during the movie. It was a junk food extravaganza tonight.
Freedom was really suiting Tiffany.
Sandra, on the other hand . . . “Let’s see it,” Tiffany said excitedly.
“Hmm? See what?”
Tiffany flashed her a playful look. “Don’t play games with me, sister, let me see the ring.”
Sandra laughed and held out her left hand. The emerald-cut diamond sparkled madly between two straight sapphires, all set on a gleaming platinum band. Doug Ladd had excellent taste, both in women and engagement rings.
“Gorgeous!” Tiffany breathed. It truly was exquisite. “Are you happy?”
Sandra looked liked she could burst. “Yes!”
“So happy?” It was a game they used to play in childhood, only back then it used to be so sorry more often than anything else.
“So happy. I just . . . I can’t even believe it!”
“I can.” Tiffany gave her sister a hug and held on for just a moment longer than usual. “I’m so thrilled for you. Really. He’s just the greatest guy.”
“I know! But let me tell you about his friend, Ron—”
“No way.” Tiffany held up a hand. “Not yet. For the first time in my life I’m sleeping in the middle of the bed; I’m making what I want for dinner when I want to make it; I’m in sole possession of the TV clicker. . . . Don’t mess this up for me.” She laughed. “I’ve never been a single girl before. To tell you the truth, I’m really liking it. So back to you. When are we going shopping for your dress?”
“Anytime,” Sandra said. “I’ve already got the shoes picked out, of course.”
“You’re going to match the dress to the shoes?” Tiffany asked in disbelief. “You’re not going to pick the dress first?”
Sandra shook her head. “Good Lord, no. A dress is easy to find, but when you find the perfect shoes, you have to grab them. And these”—she took a page from a catalog out of her purse and handed it to Tiffany—“are the perfect shoes for my wedding.”
“The Sandra,” Tiffany read, then looked at her sister. “Oh, my gosh, he named a style after you?”
Sandra beamed and nodded. “Read on.”
“Pointed-toe pump, in a white pearlized kidskin upper, with stiletto heel and cut-out side quarters.” She looked at the picture and commented, “They’re so sexy, they’re almost indecent!”
“I know!”
“Well, this is cause for celebration as much as anything else.” Tiffany led Sandra to the kitchen and took the bottle of champagne out of the fridge, along with two flutes from the cabinet. “What an honor.” She tore the foil off the bottle.
“It’s amazing,” Sandra said. “So what about you? How’s the real estate business going? Is Loreen a good teacher?”
“The best.” She pulled the cork off the bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into the glasses. “I think she was really glad to lighten her load by handing it over to me.” Tiffany handed Sandra a glass. “To the blushing bride and inspiration for the hottest shoes this season.”
“And to her sister, the uncontested president of the blue ribbon award–winning Tuckerman Elementary PTA.”
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“Hear hear.”
They clinked glasses.
“Close your eyes,” Brian told Abbey. “I’ve got a big surprise for you.”
“You’re not going to believe it,” Parker added excitedly.
“Don’t give it away, bud,” Brian said, then to Abbey: “Seriously, close your eyes.”
“You don’t need to give me anything,” she said. “It’s enough that I have you two.”
“That’s nice, sweetheart, and I know it’s true, but you don’t have to be a saint all the time.” He gave her a nudge. “Every woman likes a little something special now and then, so close your eyes.”
“Fine.” She laughed and closed her eyes. “They’re closed.”
“Sure you can’t see?” Parker asked, and she felt a tiny breeze on her face and knew he was fanning his hand in front of her eyes.
“I can’t see a thing.”
“Put your hands out,” Brian instructed.
She did.
“Here you go.” He set a long slender box in her hands. “You can open them now.”
She opened her eyes, and sure enough, the box was of the kind jewelry came in. She couldn’t help that her heart did a little leap.
Then she panicked. Quickly, unexpectedly, with the certainty of a premonition, she panicked, knowing that inside the box was the necklace she’d sold so long ago to give money to the church. The necklace Damon had almost killed Brian in order to get.
Brian had tracked it down. He’d probably saved his pennies for years to buy it back for her, thinking it was a long-lost token.
“You remember when we first met,” Brian said, as she listened, frozen. “You had a very special piece of jewelry that you sold in order to donate money to the church.”
“Yes.” Her mouth was dry. The sound that came from her throat was barely more than a croak with a vowel in the middle.
“Well, I’ve felt bad about that for a long time,” Brian went on.
Stop, she thought desperately. Please stop. Please please please don’t go on, don’t make me open this box.
“—because a woman like you, as beautiful as you are, deserves something beautiful for herself.” He nodded toward the box. “So . . . go ahead. Open it.”
There was no way she could get out of this. No way to just say no thanks and set it aside. Thanks for the thought, that’s what really counts. No, she had to open the box, see the necklace, and then . . . what?
Secrets of a Shoe Addict Page 27
