Page 40 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Cissy sighed. Between the house phone and her cell, she must’ve fielded over twenty phone calls: all short, one-sided conversations about her grandmother. Family members, including her father’s cousin Cherise, whom she could not stand, had phoned. People who knew her grandmother from her civic work, or friends of Eugenia who had played cards or taken trips with her, even some woman from Sacramento who claimed to have roomed with Gran at Vassar had called. Cissy’s e-mail in-box was filled with inquiries and expressions of sympathy. Heather, a friend from her sorority at USC; Gwen, her personal trainer; and Tracy, who had ridden horses with her when they were in grade and high school—all of them had e-mailed or sent text messages to her phone. Of course, there was the press too: reporters fishing for some information about Gran’s death, and, if they got the chance, they asked about Marla as well. As promised, Deborah had e-maile

d her the names of the Cahill attorneys and accountant, so Cissy was dealing with legal matters and tax issues as well. It was getting so overwhelming, she’d started screening her calls, avoiding those she didn’t want to take and just leaving them in her voice-mail box to access later. Ditto for the e-mail.

It was a flippin’ nightmare.

And things were only getting worse as the afternoon wore on. Cissy was working in her office, a little niche by the exercise room, while Tanya was supposed to be taking B.J. for a stroll before it got dark. The sun, setting low, was peeking from behind a veil of clouds, out for the first time all day. For the next forty-five minutes, if they were lucky, there would be some light. Since Tanya hadn’t gotten around to taking Beej out yet, Cissy decided it was time she and her son hit the streets. She clicked off the computer, nudged aside Coco, who had been sleeping at her feet, and stretched out of her chair. Snapping a rubber band around her ponytail, she then changed into jogging pants, finding her favorite running shoes in the back of her closet. After snagging a hooded sweatshirt for herself, she headed to B.J.’s room and grabbed his little down coat and stocking cap, another piece of headwear he detested.

“Tanya, I’ll take Beej out, I need the exercise,” she said as she hurried downstairs.

The front door opened as she reached the bottom step, and a gust of cold air and her estranged husband swept inside. Cissy instantly put on the brakes and tried not to notice that it seemed right for him to walk into the house after a day of work. Just like he had every weekday throughout their ill-fated marriage. She ignored any sense of nostalgia as he glanced up at her. “Did you forget you don’t live here anymore?” She shot Tanya a don’t-interrupt-me look when she saw an explanation or protest of some kind forming on the nanny’s lips.

“What?” he asked, in the cocksure way of his that irritated the hell out of her as he slid his arms out of the sleeves of his overcoat. “No martini waiting for me? No wife in a cute little French maid outfit?”

“Oh, excuse me. Let me run upstairs and change,” she said with an edge.

He laughed, and Cissy, who’d tried for sarcasm, found herself melting a bit. Damn the man.

Coco, slower than she once was, hopped awkwardly downstairs. Realizing there was an interloper in the house, she began to bark wildly at Jack in her high-pitched yip, growling and snarling at him as if he were a murderous intruder. Tanya, uncertain which way to jump, said quickly, “I’ll go get B.J.,” then hurried off to the living room.

Too late. Beej, who had been playing with a toy that made animal noises upon pressing a button, had already realized his father was home. He’d just hit the cow button, and the room echoed with a loud “Mmmmooooo” as he, squealing in delight, let out the predictable “Dad-dee home!” Like a rocket, he was on his little feet and scrambling to greet his father with uplifted arms.

“Hey, big guy! Glad to see you’re over your bad mood.” Jack hooked his coat over the curled iron arm of the hall tree, then grabbed his eager son and lifted him into the air. An eruption of giggles and “More! More! I want more!” came flying out along with wiggling legs and arms.

The dog was in a froth.

“Coco, hush!” Cissy snapped.

The terrier didn’t listen. As Cissy stepped into the foyer, the little beast hid behind her legs and kept up the racket.

“Miserable little rat-dog,” Tanya muttered under her breath as she gathered up her things. “I guess B.J.’s in good hands already, so I’d better go.” She found her raincoat and umbrella at the hall tree and with one eye on the furious little white terrier said reluctantly, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“See you then,” Cissy said, though she was already mentally replacing Tanya with someone who was nonallergic and animal-friendly.

Jack and B.J. had moved into the living room and were playing with the animal-sounds toy together. A cacophony of braying, growling, roaring, bleating, and peeping was erupting, one noise after the other, as if Noah had just dumped the contents of his ark in their living room. “Hey, how about this one,” Jack said, seated cross-legged on the floor with his son on his lap. He pressed a button and a loud “woof, woof, woof” echoed through the rooms.

“Doggy!” Beej said. “Like Coco!”

“Just like Coco,” Jack agreed, though the recorded dog bark sounded more like an eighty-pound German Shepherd than a tiny terrier mix.

It was utter chaos, and Cissy, filled with conflicting emotions, detached herself a bit. Through the window, and in the gathering dusk, she watched Tanya climb into her battered Subaru, light a cigarette, then take off, red taillights disappearing around a corner farther down the street.

Yeah, she was overdue for a new guardian for her child.

A lion’s roar reverberated through the house. “Does that thing have a volume control?” she asked.

“We like it loud.”

Cissy walked to a side chair and dropped into it. B.J. was delighted to be with his father. Of course. Was he more “into” Jack since he’d moved out? Had her son already missed his father? Guilt gnawed a big hole in her heart. She hated being the bad guy, and if she looked at it from her eighteen-month-old’s eyes, she was. She’d kicked Dad-dee out.

“So,” she said when the roar had died down for a second, “you came back here for a reason?”

As an elephant trumpeted, Jack said, “I wanted to see that you and B.J. were okay.”

“We are.” She clasped her hands between her knees and noticed that it was already getting dark. Too late for the stroller. “But even if you were coming here after work, you’re early. It’s not even five.”

“Well, I do have an ulterior motive.”

“This should be good.”

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