Listen to Your Heart - Fern Michaels [32]
Three miles into his run, his head was still pounding, and his thoughts were just as jumbled as when he started out. If he’d been more alert, not so focused on his dark thoughts and the path in front of him, he might have seen the thugs coming at him from the left and the right. One moment he was running on the sun-dappled path. A moment later the sunny world around him turned black as he fell to the ground.
“Shit, man! Twenty fucking dollars! You could bench-press that Rolex. Grab it! C’mon, c’mon! We’re outta here, man. Go! Go!”
A nanny wheeling a baby in a stroller found Paul Brouillette fifteen minutes later. She dialed 911 on the cell phone the baby’s parents insisted she carry with her at all times. She watched, her eyes tearful when the runner’s unconscious body was lifted into the waiting ambulance by EMS workers. In a shaky voice she answered the questions the police asked her over the wailing cries of the child in her care.
Josie looked down at her wrist to check the time. It was hard not to notice the date. Paul had been gone five days, and he hadn’t called her. Five days was 120 hours. He said he would call. Men were such bastards. Why did they lie and say they would call when they had no intention of doing so? Jerks. She mentally added Paul’s name to her long list of no-call jerks. Kitty was right: He just wanted a dog-sitter, and I fell for his tired old line. I just might decide to keep this dog. Possession was nine points of the law.
Her shoulders slumping, Josie checked on the two dogs, who were lying under the oak tree next to the cottage. They both looked tired. From the moment she let them out in the morning they ran each other ragged until they both collapsed under the tree. She knew they were only getting their second wind before another game of run and chase. For the moment, they were good for at least an hour. She smiled when they both barked as she made her way to the test kitchen. She noticed Kitty at the window, motioning her to wait outside. She pulled up short and waited.
Her eyes wild, her shoulders shaking, Kitty looked on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong, Kitty?”
“Everything and nothing. I didn’t know until today Yvette has cataracts and her vision is almost nil. That’s okay because Charlet has a hearing problem and wears two hearing aids. She’s Yvette’s eyes and Yvette is Charlet’s ears. It kind of evens out except for the mess they make. Réné can see and hear, but she can’t cook worth squat. She does have a plethora of recipes, though. Right now I have her cleaning up. She’s been ragging on Yvette and Charlet for two hours. I don’t think this is working out, Josie. All they do is fight among themselves. They pretend each dish they’re making is for the stars on the soap operas they watch. All morning, when they aren’t squabbling, they’re whispering about Marie and some family crisis. I tried to . . . you know, listen but they caught on to that real quick. They’re sweet and they are adorable but, Josie, this isn’t going to work. I don’t know how to tell them either.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have to tell them,” Josie whispered as she pointed to the three ladies exiting the kitchen, wearing their hats and white gloves. Josie found herself smiling. They looked so genteel, so sweet and charming.
“We are terribly sorry, Miss Dupré, but we won’t be able to continue working with you. Marie has just called on the cell phone and we are needed. You will forgive us, no, chère.”
“But . . . is something wrong? Can my sister or I help? I’ll . . . I’ll miss your . . . invaluable help,” Kitty managed to croak.
“We feel terrible, deserting you like this but family must come first. We left our recipes on the counter for you to use. It is the least we can do. Everything is spick-and-span, chère.”
“Thank you for all your help, ladies. Are you sure about the recipes?”
“We are sure. Marie said it was the fair thing to do. We always do what she says. We called a cab so as not to trouble you,” the sprightly Réné