Stolen Hearts, This is my story...

[Melody]

hey, well, i figured i'd put my story on here, wats been edited anyway. so here goes...

Chapter 1

Tess popped another chocolate into her mouth and settled lower into her bubble bath, the newest issue of ‘Vanity Fair’ in hand. How she loved reading about the rich and debauched, and here, right before another story about Hollywood shenanigans, was a Tiffany ad for a mouthwatering emerald necklace and earring set. Life, she thought, didn’t get much better than this: she had Debussy on the CD player, chocolates close at hand, her work, her health, and emeralds to die for. Maybe it was time to visit Tiffany’s again.
She added hot water to the huge garden tub twice before she finally decided she had wrinkled enough. Besides, she was running low on chocolates. They were her one and only vice—she considered jewel thief a pleasure, not a vice—and she shamelessly indulged herself at the least provocation.
With a contented sigh for an afternoon well spent, Tess got up, dried off, pulled on a caftan, and went to replace Debussy with Ravel on the CD player, when the doorbell rang.
She padded barefoot across the living room floor, her muscles still mush from the bath, and pulled open the door.
“You’re busted, babe!”
Tess’s knees nearly gave out on her. Clutching the mahogany door, she stared up at her past. “Bert?” she croaked.
Bert roared with laughter that echoed up and down the lushly carpeted outer hallway. “Oh, baby, if you could just see your face. You look like you’ve seen a cop!”
She felt like she’d been squashed by a Mack truck. Tess ordered herself to breathe again. “It’s just that it’s been seven years, Bert. I…heard you had left Australia and were working in South America.”
“I’ll give you my life story as soon as let me in.”
Every synapse in her brain had frozen. In? He actually wanted to come in? “Um, sure, Bert. Of course. Sorry about that.” Tess stumbled backward. She shuddered as the giant swept past her. He still wore the same cologne!
“Not bad,” Bert said as he looked around at the Manhattan apartment’s sunken living room, the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French and English furniture, the Monet, Matisse, and Degas originals on the pale peach walls. “How’d you swing it?”
“The…uh…owners are on an extended vacation in Europe. I’m…house-sitting.”
Bert’s chuckle was downright affectionate. “That’s my girl. You always knew how to work an angle. It looks like you’ve done well by yourself. I’m proud of you, babe. You were the only one of my girls who really had the gift.”
“Thanks Bert. Um…do you want a beer?”
“Now when have I ever turned down a beer? Just as long as it’s none of that domestic soda pop this country calls beer.” Bert said, strolling into the living room as if he owned it to sprawl on the delicate gold brocade Regency couch.
“Give me some credit.” Tess said, heading for the kitchen. “Nothing but imported graces my fridge.”
“She let the kitchen door swing shut and then the spasms convulsed her. Shaking so badly she couldn’t stand, she collapsed onto a white kitchen chair, wrapping her arms around herself. It didn’t help. Her skin was ice. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her.
His girl.
It had been seven years since they had last worked together and Bert still considered her his girl.
And in a horrible way, wasn’t that exactly what she was? Hadn’t he made her the woman she was today?
The nausea overcame her and Tess dashed for the sink, hoping Bert wouldn’t hear the retching. She hurriedly turned the water on full blast, rinsed out her mouth, then numbly rinsed her entire face. It had never occurred to her that she would react this way to seeing Bert again.
Still shaking, she walked over to a cupboard, pulled down a beer glass, grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and slowly poured it into the glass, careful not to make a head. Bert hated waste.
Watching the drink, Tess reminded herself that she was a professional and it was time she started acting like one. She wasn't eighteen or fifteen or eleven anymore. Things had changed. She had changed. Bert was no longer in control of her life. Bert knew nothing about her life. He couldn’t. She had been fanatically devoted to shrouding every moment of her existence these last seven years.
So why had he decided to reenter her life now?
Nothing pleasant came to mind. It never had where Bert was concerned. What did he want from her? Why had he tracked her down? Why had he suddenly appeared now? The trembling started again.
“Enough!” Tess muttered with self-disgust. She slammed a fist into her thigh. The pain was a shock, but it worked. It pushed the fear back into the recesses of her heart so she could concentrate on thinking like a rational adult, even though Bert was lounging in her living room. It was time to see what game he wanted to play now.
She carried the beer out to him, sat in the green striped brocade chair opposite him and, with forced cheerfulness, asked what he had been up to. Bert needed no further prompting. He had always liked to talk about himself. Really, there wasn’t anything else that interested him.
Leaning back in her chair, her breathing calm, her nerves taut but steady, one half on Tess’s mind listening to Bert’s account of the many illegal activities that had kept him happily occupied these last seven years, while the other half of her mind studied him as if her life depended on it…and perhaps it did.
It hadn’t been her childhood imagination, he really was huge, at least six and a half feet tall. All of the muscles were still there, but now they were covered by a layer of fat that, while not making him obese, made him a bit slower, a bit less sharp. Looks, however, could be deceiving where Bert was concerned. Tess had learned that lesson long ago.
His pale brown hair had thinned, disappearing completely from the top of his head. His clothes and shoes were Italian, his watch Rolex, his silk shirt open to his navel. Twenty-four-carat gold chains dangled on his chest. South America, as Bert’s stories and appearance informed Tess, had been good to him. But then, cocaine had done so much for so many people, why not Bert?
“So why come back to the States if South America was doing so well by you?” she asked when he paused to take a long swallow of beer.
“I was a little fish in a large, lucrative pond, babe,” Bert said with a sad sigh.
“The locals took over your operation?”
“With a vengeance. But that’s ancient history,” Bert said, his massive hand waving away the past as if it were a dying mosquito. “I’ve come back to my homeland and to the best, the brightest of my girls for one final job that will set us up for life. You working on anything?”
Tess smiled. “There are some emeralds I’m considering, but they can wait. What’s up?”
“It’s a honey of a deal. I thought of you the minute it fell into my lap. It’ll make us rich beyond even the wildest of my dreams, and I always dream big, babe.”
It was, Tess thought, typical of Bert that he had not asked about her life these last seven years. Typical that she was expected to eagerly launch herself into another foray against the law.
And it had never been wise to disappoint Bert, so she asked about the honey of a deal.
“Ever hear of a kid named Elizabeth Cushman?” he asked and, when she shook her head, he continued. “She disappeared about twenty years ago, kidnapping, never turned up. She was the heiress to the Cushman Auction House. Ever hear of that?”
Tess crossed her legs, totally at ease now. This was just like old times and she knew what was expected of her, how to think, how to act. “Who hasn’t? They handle the best goods in the world. Lots of money, lots of prestige, lots of power, though they prefer to call it influence.
Bert uttered what was, for him, an affectionate chuckle. “That’s my girl. You got it in one. But don’t forget the Farleigh necklace.”
Tess’s surprise and the interest were genuine. “You mean these Cushmans are the Cushmans with the most valuable emerald necklace in the western world?”
“Thought that would catch your interest,” Bert said with a leer. “The old Cushman patriarch died about eight months ago. His son, Elizabeth Cushman’s father, killed himself about a year after Elizabeth disappeared. Couldn’t handle the guilt I suppose. You know what those snotty-nosed rich kids are like. The mother died in a riding accident a few years back and that leaves no direct heir to the Cushman millions. And we’re talking hundreds of millions.”
“And the Farleigh necklace.”
“Exactly,” Bert said, stroking his gold chains. “The grandmother is still alive, and should hang on for a few more years. By all accounts, she’s a tough old bird. She’s running things for now and trying to figure out how to pass on the empire and the Farleigh. That’s where you come in. The eldest Cushman daughter always collects the Farleigh necklace on her twenty-first birthday and hands it back into the family coffers on her death. So, with my help, you’ll pass yourself off as the old lady’s long-lost granddaughter Elizabeth and collect the Farleigh as your due.”
Tess’s mouth fell open, and then she burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. This was just the sort of preposterous, grandiose scheme Bert WOULD think of.
“What is this, ‘Candid Camera’?” she said.
“I have come here with a serious business proposition, Tess, and you will treat it accordingly.”
His voice was cold steel and Tess sobered instantly. She had the crescent scar on her right temple to remind her dangerous it was to disobey Bert when he had that tone in his voice.
“Sorry, Bert, you just surprised me,” she said in an appropriately abashed tone. “This wasn’t what I was expecting. I mean, how am I supposed to pass myself off as some long-dead rich kid? You and I both know my blood is the farthest thing from blue.”
Bert looked her up and down, as if for the first time, inventorying her, dissecting her. Tess felt the bike rise in her throat. Then he relaxes back onto the gold couch. “Mongrels fake it all the time, babe. You’ll do just fine after I’ve coached you. You always were the best actress of the lot. Now, I’ve got some pictures of this Cushman kid and her family and you’ve got enough resemblance to them to pass yourself off without any telltale surgery or hair dyes or contact lenses. You’ve got the coloring and the height and the age. You’ve even got that appendix scar. That’s what first made me think of you. Nothing faked. I’m going to give the Cushmans the genuine article.”
“After a sufficient amount of coaching,” Tess remarked dryly.
Bert smiled with immense self-satisfaction. “I’ve done some digging on the Cushmans and that kid. I know stuff that, when used properly, will convince them you’re Elizabeth. Then it’s only a matter of getting the old lady to fork over forty-three point five million dollars’ worth of necklace, we disappear like a head-on with the Bermuda Triangle, sell the necklace to a collector I know, and split the proceeds. What do you say?”
“What’s the cut?”
Bert shrugged his massive shoulders. “The usual.”
Tess smiled and shook her head. “Uh-uh. I’m older and wiser now, Bert, and I’ll be the one in the trenches on this job. No ten-ninety split for your best girl. Let’s make it fifty-fifty.”
Bert’s gray eyes narrowed to slate. “I don’t bargain with my girls, Tess. You know that. The split is ten-ninety. Take it or leave it.”
Tess was undismayed. “But I’m the good actress with the appendix scar remember? You need me Bert. That’s why you’re here.”
His eyes bored into her. “Don’t play games with me, little girl. I taught you everything you know. There isn’t a dodge you can make that I can’t see.”
“True enough,” Tess said quietly. “But I’m not a kid anymore, Bert. I’ve been independent for seven long years and, while I may not be your equal, I am no longer your…property. The way you’ve described this, I’m going to be your partner. A junior partner, but you partner nonetheless.”
He was silent a moment. “You know, “ he said at last, “if you play your part well, you’ll earn more than a ten-ninety split on a necklace. You’ll earn an empire worth hundreds of millions of dollars.”
Tess ruthlessly held back her smile. She had seen this one coming from a mile off. In the six years he had owned her-and he had reminded her of that status daily-Bert had taught her everything she knew about being a thief and a con. But in those six years, she had also learned Bert inside and out. How lovely that she could still follow his thought processes after all these years. “You mean…keep up the con until after the old lady croaks?” she said with feigned surprise.
“Exactly.”
“I admit it’s an intriguing idea,” Tess said, crossing her legs. “But what happens when I give you the necklace and go on being Elizabeth? The old lady will be sore when the Farleigh turns up missing.”
“We’ll replace it with a paste job.”
“Ok. And what happens if you sell the necklace to your collector and a year later the old lady takes it into her head to call me a fraud and kick me out?”
“Then you’re out in the cold, babe. The choice is yours: a ten-ninety split or a couple of years of hard work for the empire. Which do you want?”
“Ah, Bert, how can you ask?” Tess said with a grin. “You trained me. I think I’d make a great empress.”
He smiled at her. “Didn’t I say you were my best girl?”
“So, tell me how I inherit an empire.”
Bert spent the next hour going over his plans for the Cushman con and Tess couldn’t hold back her open admiration. He hadn’t lost his touch. As far-fetched as it seemed, she began to think the con really would work. And if it did, Tess suspected that Bert had no intention of settling for the Farleigh. He probably meant to walk off with a good chunk of the empire as well. Bert never took less when he could take more.
He handed her pictures of the Cushmans so she could begin to familiarize herself with her soon-to-be family. Tomorrow, she and Bert would begin an intensive training program for her newest role. In a few weeks, she would be ready to stroll into the Cushman mansion and claim what was unrightfully hers.
“This is the one you’ll have to convince,” Bert said, handing her the last of the pictures.
Tess stared at a man in his mid-thirties. Thick chestnut hair brushed an Oxford shirt collar. His green eyes were grim, his mouth tightly set. The sharp planes of his face denoted strength and, Tess thought, cynicism. It was just a head-and-shoulders shot, but she could easily imagine the rest of him. Those shoulders hardly belonged to a ninety-pound weakling.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“Luke Mansfield, the Cushman family lawyer.”
This surprised Tess. “Mansfield? Of Mansfield and Roper?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, come on, Bert! He’s just some rich kid keeping other rich kids out of jail and dallying on the side with every tall debutante in the pack.”
Bert’s narrow gaze pinned her to her chair. “Don’t start thinking you know more than me, little girl, and don’t underestimate Mansfield. He’s your worst enemy. He’s tough, he’s smart, and he’s the one who has to believe you’re Elizabeth before we’re in.”
Tess frowned at the picture in her hand. She had seen his name in the social columns countless times. How could a social butterfly threaten her? True, he didn’t look like a barrel of laughs, but she figured she could handle him with both hands tied behind her back…and hopping on one foot.
“If you say so,” she murmured, placing the picture on the table beside her.
“I say so and you’ll know sure enough. You seem to have forgotten some of the basic facts of life, babe.” Bert’s steel-gray eyes drilled into her. “You don’t question my decisions, you don’t second-guess me, you don’t follow anyone’s script but mine. Got it?”
He stood up, looming over her. Gosh, he was a behemoth! “Got it, Bert,” Tess said softly, staring up at him, feeling like she was eleven years old again.
When he finally left, Tess closed the door slowly behind him and turned to stare at the apartment. It looked like the rest of her world felt: tilted crazily, foreign, unreal.
It had actually happened! She was really going to work with Bert again. They weren’t going to relieve Cartier of a major portion of its diamonds. They weren’t going to remove a supposedly lost Reubens from the secret gallery of a private collector. They were going to con an emerald necklace from the doyenne of the western world’s oldest and greatest auction house.
And she, the mongrel who didn’t even know her own name, was going to become Elizabeth Cushman, a long-dead heiress with the right connections and the rarefied blue blood of New York’s old money.
“Far freaking out,” Tess murmured.
She walked over to the large gilt-framed mirror above the marble fireplace and stared at herself. She was still five feet nothing and unbeautiful. Ah, well. Jane Cushman wasn’t a demanding beauty, just an heiress. Her coloring would link her to John Cushman and, while she had no physical feature that really resembled Eugine Cushman, Tess had an abundance of strength that would more than link her by character. Then, of course, there was her appendix scar. Tess silently blessed her fishy forbearers for endowing her with a malfunctional appendix. It had given her a job, the biggest job of her life.
She turned slightly, her fingers drumming on the cool pink marble of the mantle, the hardness settling in her as it always did when she began to work. True, this job in no way resembled how she had fantasized working with Bert again. But he had named the game and Tess had been waiting for years for just such a honey of a deal. She would play his game to win.
A grim smile tightened her mouth as Tess headed for the phone. Gladys and Cyril were not going to believe her luck.

sorry its so long....

[Elli]

It's good, but the "babe" got a little redundant. And I was uncertain as to whether she was afraid of turning Bert down or coveteous of the necklace. I couldn't tell if she had good tendencies or bad tendencies. Her character is just not established... But that's just my thoughts.

I thought it was very, very good! it kept me reading from the beginning to the end! Great dialogue and description!

Bravo.

[Luthien]

I think it's a little bit of both.

And I think ur gonna really enjoy this, Elli. It's extremely fascinating.

[Melody]

oh, shoot. i forgot to ask u guys this. or maybe i should ask lu....should i edit the angauge for anar's forum? ill post more wen im un-grounded......

[Elli]

I don't really remember, but Armeth/Anarion may appreciate it.

[Melody]

or i could do it now....chapter 2....slightly editted....

Chapter 2

“I cannot believe you’re doing this!” Luke Mansfield said for the tenth time in as many minutes. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this! I had a deposition at nine, I have a lunch appointment at one, a hearing at three, I have to prepare for another hearing tomorrow, and what am I doing instead? Watching my oldest client go off the deep end!”
“You should relax more, Luke,” Jane Cushman said soothingly. “You’ll break into hives.”
Luke crossed one leg over the other and glared at her. “I am going to charge you double for this little goose chase. Make that triple. How many impostors have you traipsed through here in the last twenty years?”
“Thirty-two,” Jane calmly replied, refilling her cup from a delicate porcelain teapot. “I do not see the harm in interviewing one more.”
“You don’t see…! What about my schedule? What about my sanity? You’re a masochist, that’s what you are. And a sadist. You think nothing of breaking your heart once again or of ruining my entire day!”
“I have no real hope about this one, Luke, merely curiosity,” Jane replied, taking a sip of tea. “The approach these people have used is unique, and I am interested to see how they carry it off. Aren’t you even the least bit intrigued by Dr. Weinstein and his protégée?”
“No, just disgusted,” Luke retorted. “All you’re going to get is another bleached blond throwing herself into your arms and crying ‘Grandmother!’ and sobbing how she recognizes this vase and that painting. I’d think you’d have had enough of such bad melodrama by now.”
“A little variety in my days-however badly enacted-is always welcome,” Jane replied with an amused smile. “I’m not at all concerned. After all, I have you to look after me…at triple your normal hourly rate. You have your people checking into Dr. Weinstein’s credentials?”
“With a fine tooth comb,” Luke pronounced with grim satisfaction. “I’ll have him arrested for fraud by the end of the week…along with his Elizabeth.”
Jane sighed. “You’ve become such a cynical young man. Do try for once, Luke, to keep an open mind. What if Dr. Weinstein really has stumbled upon my granddaughter?”
“Then I will stand nude outside your bedroom window and serenade you with a superior rendition of ‘La Cucaracha’.”
Jane’s laughter was interrupted by her estimable butler, Hodgkins, who gravely entered the sitting room to announce the arrival of Dr. Weinstein and Company.
“Marvelous! The bad melodrama is about to begin,” Jane said, standing up. She glanced down at her attorney. “For shame, Luke Mansfield! Where your manners? Rise and greet our guests with all the pomp and circumstance that is their due.”
With a weary sigh, Luke stood up. Jane Cushman might be the shrewdest thing on two feet, but she was only human and she had occasional lapses of common sense. This was a prime example. She was wasting his extremely valuable time this morning and Luke bitterly resented it. Elizabeth was dead. Everyone had accepted that long ago, even Eugenie. But Jane had not. Well, Luke thought with another sigh, at seventy-four she was allowed to have a few eccentricities. He just wished they didn’t have to intrude on his workday.
“Dr. Weinstein and Miss Alcott,” Hodgkins intoned before withdrawing.
A massive man strode into the small, feminine sitting room, almost engulfing it. He had a leonine mane of salt-and-pepper hair of which he was undoubtedly vain. He was dressed in a conservative gray business suit, a red carnation in his boutonniere, his tortoiseshell glasses on his face, a gold wedding band his only jewelry. Quiet, sophisticated power and affluence was the impression created. Deliberately created, in Luke’s opinion. It was just the sort of effect a good con would choose.
The woman who had made a wreck of Luke’s schedule then followed the good doctor into the room.
Luke forgot to breathe.
She was lovely. Riotous blonde curls, pulled back into a ponytail, were springing gleefully around her forehead and temples. Her eyes were a blue so deep they were nearly violet.
She was small and delicate, perfecting her emerald green jumpsuit. She held herself with calm and assurance, her blue eyes widening slightly when they met his gaze, her expression unreadable.
Jane moved forward to greet the newest players in a very old game, giving Luke a chance to jump-start his respiratory system.
“Dr. Weinstein, how good of you to come,” Jane said, shaking the massive hand of the alleged psychiatrist who towered over her.
“It is good of you to see me, Mrs. Cushman,” Dr. Weinstein replied in a deep, basso voice. “This is the young woman I mentioned to you, Tess Alcott. Tess, this is Mrs. Cushman, your grandmother.”
“That has yet to be proved to my satisfaction, Dr. Weinstein,” Jane said sharply in the voice she used to quell obstreperous collectors. Then she turned to the young woman with a smile. “My dear, I am very glad to meet you.”
“I don’t know why,” Tess Alcott said, her voice frank and amused. “You don’t really believe this lost-granddaughter routine, do you?”
Luke, Jane, and Dr. Weinstein stared at her.
“Look,” Tess continued, “you seem like a very nice lady, Mrs. Cushman. You shouldn’t be encouraging some shrink who dabbles in hypnosis and some woman who doesn’t even know her own name. People will begin to say rude and embarrassing things about you.”
“Oh, you mustn’t worry about me. I’ve got very tough skin,” Jane replied, her pale eyes shuttered. “And I tend to give better than I get.”
“I’ll just bet you do,” Tess said, an appreciative smile tugging at her mouth. Then she shrugged. “It’s your call. I’m game if you are.”
“I believe,” Dr. Weinstein said stiffly, “that I may have mentioned to you during our phone call yesterday, Mrs. Cushman, that Miss Alcott is in denial about the truth of her identity. This is often the case when dealing with traumatic amnesia.”
“I see,” Jane said and then called Luke over to her side and introduced him.
Having been brought back into some semblance of order, Luke met Dr. Weinstein’s gray eyes, which oozed benign disinterest, and kept his hands behind his back, avoiding the large hand extended to him. Luke never touched slime when he could avoid it. Then he turned to Tess, meeting her direct gaze with one of his own.
It was a mistake.
His brain short-circuited.
Jane led them to the small tea table, she and Tess sitting opposite each other, the men on either side. Luke caught a faint scent that was pure Tess Alcott.
Get a grip Mansfield, he ordered himself.
He spent the next minute insulting himself. He was a lawyer, darn it, one of the best around, and he would start acting like one! If Tess Alcott thought she could win him over with her big blue eyes and pretty hair, she was in for a shock.
Hodgkins brought in a fresh cup of tea, filled their cups and gravely withdrew. Jane ignores her teacup to lean back in her chair, critically studying Tess, who cheerfully returned the scrutiny.
“In the letter I received last week,” she said coolly, “Dr. Weinstein informed me that you have led a rather adventurous life, Miss Alcott.”
Tess grinned.
Luke grinned inwardly. Dimples. She had dimples.
“Well, that’s one way of describing my disreputable past,” Tess said wryly. “I was a thief, Mrs. Cushman. The best around. I may be on the straight and narrow now, but I still take pride in that earlier career.”
“How very forthright, Ms. Alcott,” Luke sneered. “What, may I ask, do you consider the highlight of your career? Forcing insurance companies to shell out millions of dollars to recompense the people you stole from? Wasting the valuable time of our police forces? Having Jane invite you into this house?”
“Actually,” Tess said after a sip of tea, “the best job I ever pulled off was conning a university education out of Oxford. The paperwork and footwork were horrendous, but the free education was worth it.”
“Fascinating,” Jane said and, to Luke’s disgust, she meant it. “What was your major?”
“Art history. Impractical, I know, but I figured I already had a career, so why not enjoy myself at school?”
“About your so-called career,” Luke grimly broke in, “have you ever tried to scam an inheritance from a wealthy family?”
“Luke!” Jane said disapprovingly.
“No, I never tried that one,” Tess replied, her blue gaze calmly meeting his. “I always figured the lost-heir doge was just too risky, too many unknown factors. No, jewel and art theft were the mainstays of my career. Stealing beautiful things provides the greatest satisfaction, you see. Anything else just isn’t worth the effort.”
“Very sensible,” Jane said, “And what made you reform your successful career?”
“A sudden, blazing enlightenment,” Tess said wryly. “I was twenty-one years old and I had half the police forces of Europe and all of Interpol on my tail. it came to me that crime simply wasn’t worth it anymore. So, I turned myself into the World Enforcement Bureau.”
“How very commendable,” Jane said.
“No, just practical. It’s no fun having to look over your shoulder all the time. Besides, I had enough money socked away to keep me in Godiva chocolates for life.”
A dry, appreciative laugh escaped Jane. Luke glared at her. She was not supposed to be enjoying herself. She was supposed to be getting her heart broken by yet another impostor. Women, Luke thought with disgust.
“And in what prison did you pay your immodest debt to society?” he demanded, skewering Tess with the gaze prosecuting attorneys had learned to dread.
“No prison, I worked a deal with WEB,” Tess replied, leaning back in her chair, unperturbed. “They’d been after me for years, but they could never come up with any hard evidence against me. Not that they didn’t try. I was just too good for them and they knew it. So, they agreed to have me work for them gratis for three years and made me return whatever ill-gotten goods I still had on hand. There was this one emerald ring, I dearly wish I’d kept it. It…Ah, well. In exchange, WEB wiped my slate clean. I’ve been working freelance this last year.”
“As what?” Luke demanded.
Tess grinned. “You might call me a consultant. WEB is actually very fond of me now that I’m no longer making them look like incompetent fools.”
“For a young woman of only twenty-five, you have led a remarkable life,” Jane said, her eyes veiled as she studied Tess. “Tell me ,Miss Alcott, what lured you into the criminal milieu?”
For a brief second, Tess’s face hardened with a bitterness that shocked Luke. It was replaced by an amused smile so quickly that he couldn’t be sure he had really had that brief glimpse behind the mask.
“I fell in with the wrong crowd,” she replied.
“I believe,” Dr. Weinstein interposed, setting down his teacup, “that I mentioned the Carswells to you? They were infamous, prior to their incarceration, for their use of children to execute their crimes.”
Alarm bells began clanging in Luke’s head. This was all wrong. Every aspect of Tess’s life that she and Dr. Weinstein had provided thus far could be checked and double-checked. What kind of a con were they running?
He caught his breath, Elizabeth. Where was Elizabeth in all of this? He studied Tess with growing admiration. She really was very good at what she did.
“Tell me Ms. Alcott,” he said mildly, “do you ride?”
“Sure,” she replied. “I’ve got a great ten-speed at home.”
“I did not mean bicycles, Ms. Alcott. I meant horses.”
Tess gaped at him. “Are you nuts? And get myself killed? Thank you, no. Horses terrify me.”
It was, Luke thought, an intricate maze she had constructed. What was at the heart of it? “Terrify you?” he said. “How odd. Elizabeth, the real Elizabeth, was raised on horseback. Her mother, Eugenie, was a renowned equestrian and horse breeder.”
“Then Eugenie had more guts than sense,” Tess retorted.
It was all Luke could do to hold back a laugh. Darn the woman!
“I prefer to think my daughter-in-law had an abundant supply of both,” Jane broke in.
“You know, I’m puzzled Jane,” Luke said. “I couldn’t help but notice that Ms. Alcott has a crescent scar on her right temple. Elizabeth didn’t have a scar like that, did she?”
“No,” Jane calmly replied, “she did not.”
"How do you explain this discrepancy, Ms. Alcott?"
"I got the scar when I was sixteen," Tess replied with equal calm.
"Might one ask how?"
Tess glanced at Dr. Weinstein and then smile at Luke. "I said no."
"To whom?" Jane inquired.
Again that glance at Dr. Weinstein. "To my mentor in crime, "Tess replied. "He took it badly."
Jane paused again before taking a sip of tea. "You have no memory of you family, Miss Alcott?"
"None," Tess replied, crossing her legs. "Well, nothing linear and nothing concrete. My first real memories begin with the Carswells and I must have been four or five when they got me."
"Then you don't remember this house," Luke demanded. "or your grandmother?"
Tess's blue eyes met his squarely. "Max, here, says I should, but I don't. And I don't want to. The police are no longer after my hide. I've got a nice, steady, honest life for myself: a lovely home, a good job, and plenty of chocolates. I don't want some unknown family unsettling what I've built. I don't remember Mrs. Cushman, or this house, and I thank God for it."
"Now Tess," Dr. Weinstein remonstrated as Luke turned this unusual declaration over in his mind, "you know that is not entirely accurate. You have recalled a few fragments of your early childhood in our hypnosis sessions and they mesh remarkably well with what I have been able to learn about the Cushmans and what we have already seen of this house."
"They would, of course," Luke murmured and was surprised to see Tess suddenly grin at him. He found himself smiling back. Double / the woman! What on earth was wrong with him today? "You realize, Ms. Alcott," he said coldly, "that I believe none of this fairytale you and Doctor Weinstein are spinning?"
"You'd be a fool if you did, Mr. Mansfield," Tess replied.
"You will soon find that I am the farthest thing from a fool," Luke retorted. "Let's put those hypnotic memory fragments of your to the test, shall we? The pictures first, I think, Jane."
"Very well," Jane replied. She pulled a large manila folder out from under the table and took from it five eight-by-ten color, photographs, each of a different, well-groomed pony. "Do you recognize any of these, Miss Alcott?"
Tess glance at them and then looked up at Jane. "Those are horses. I told you, I don't like horses."
"They are ponies," Jane corrected, handing the pictures to Tess, "and Elizabeth adored one of them. Which one?"
Tess thumbed through the pictures quickly and then tossed them back onto the table. "How on earth should I know?" she demanded and then turned to Dr. Weinstein. "I told you this was pointless, Max. Come on, let's go."
She was already out of her chair.
"Now, now, Miss Alcott," Jane said soothingly, "you scarcely looked at those photographs. Why don't you try again?"
"Because it's useless," Tess said, rounding on the elderly woman. "I have no memory of horses or ponies except the ones I saw in Westerns on television. You show me a pony that swishes its tail when you say 'Howdy' and that pony I'll remember for you!"
There was a moment of silence.
"This one," Jane said calmly, pulling out the photo of a palomino pony with a long mane, "belonged to the Mansfields. Luke trained her to swish her tail when anyone said 'Howdy'. It used to make Elizabeth hiccup with laughter."
"Oh," Tess said. She sat back down in her chair.
And again there was silence.
She seemed, Luke thought, uncomfortable, as if she didn't really want to believe that she might have one of Elizabeth's memories. He began to understand why she had been so successful in her criminal career. The performance was masterful. Performance it had to be. Luke refused to believe he could be looking at Elizabeth Cushman.
"Do you speak any foreign languages, Miss Alcott?" Jane said, breaking into the silence.
"Six."
Luke and Jane stared at Tess. "Including French?" Jane asked.
"Oh, sure," Tess replied, her assurance back in full swing. "French is vital. It's spoken by some of the richest people in the world. I speak any language that will profit me, Mrs. Cushman."
"French was Elizabeth's second language," Jane said. "My daughter-in-law, Eugenie, was French, you see."
"With that name? I should hope so. American kids would have ragged her silly otherwise."
"This hard-boiled persona is all very amusing, Ms. Alcott," Luke said, "but it occurs to me that a successful jewel and art thief would have to adopt a somewhat softer facade to successfully ply her trade, to appear before the social elite in possession of said jewels and art either as intellectual and sophisticated, or at least innocent and forthright...somewhat like the character you've adopted today."
"Absolutely," Tess blithely replied. She seemed to have remarkably thick skin. "A good thief has to be a good con. I've been everything from virgin shopkeeper to a jaded computer analyst to a European princess." A fond smile touched her lips. "I quite liked having people bow and scrape whenever I went by. It's amazing what you can get people to believe in few hours or days. You see, a good con is like a blitzkrieg: in and out so fast that no one has a chance to question your credentials."
"And is the hardened criminal sitting before us a con?" Jane inquired.
Tess stared at her a moment and then a grin curled across her lips, bringing out her dimples in all their glory. "Only a little one," she confessed. "I really am hardened, but I am a bit more sophisticated."
Jane laughed and reached over to pat her hand. "My dear, I am so glad you came to tea today. I have enjoyed our conversation enormously. You and Dr. Weinstein must stay to lunch if you have no other plans."
"We would be delighted," the alleged psychiatrist replied.
It would have shocked Luke if he had said anything else. "Why don't you ring for Hodgkins to bring those other items?" he said to Jane.
"Certainly, Luke," Jane replied, her amused glance assuring him she was fully aware of his impatience and growing temper.
Hodgkins was summoned. He entered the sitting room like a glacier slowly sliding into the ocean. Luke had never seen him with any other expression other that of frozen, self-effacement. He placed a full silver tray on the table, collected their tea things on a smaller tray, and stolidly withdrew.
Jane took a silver cup from the tray and held it out to Tess. "Do you recognize this, Miss Alcott?"
Tess took the cup and turned it over in her hands. She suddenly shivered and hurriedly handed it back to Jane. She didn't look at Weinstein. "It doesn't ring any bells," she said.
Luke stared at her. What sort of game was she playing now?
"No?" Jane said. "How very odd. It was Elizabeth's favorite. What about this?" she said, holding up a gold bracelet.
Tess took it and turned it over in her hands a moment. Then she gave it back to Jane. "It's sweet, but I've never seen it before."
It would have surprised Luke if she had. The bracelet belonged to his sister, Hannah.The white teddy bear, which Tess also negatived, had been his brother Joshua's. Luke sighed inwardly as he settled back in his chair to watch the rest of the performance. He had hoped to trip up this newest impostor with these fake mementos, but Tess Alcott was too surefooted for such a trap. It would take more than a bogus teddy bear to catch this thief.
"What about this one?" Jane said, handing her a brown teddy bear.
Tess grasped the bear in both hands, its feet resting on the table. She suddenly smiled, as if entranced. "Hello, Fred," she murmured.
Jane leaned across the small table. "Why do you call it Fred?"
Tess blinked at the older woman. "I don't know. It just seemed to fit. He's a cute little guy."
"Elizabeth named that bear after Fred Flintstone."
"She was a perceptive kid," Tess said, setting it back on the tray. "The resemblance is uncanny."
Luke bit his lower lip.
Jane had been winding a brightly painted carousel music box. Now it began to turn and the tinkling music of "All the Pretty Little Horses" fille the room.
The color drained from Tess's face. She jerked herself to her feet, shaking violently. "Turn that damned thing off or so help me I'll smash it with my bare hands!"
Luke, Jane, and Weinstein stared at her.
"Turn it off!!"
Her gaze never leaving the impostor's stricken face, Jane reached out and turned the carousel off. The minute the music stopped, Tess took a great gulp of air and then turned on her heel to stalk to the French doors looking out on the back terrace. She stared out the window, her arms wrapped around herself.
“Dr. Weinstein?” Jane said.
The alleged psychiatrist pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’ll see what has upset her.” He went across the room to Tess and spoke to her quietly, as if trying to calm her.
“What just happened?” Jane said in a low voice.
“I don’t know,” Luke replied, staring at Tess’s rigid back, “but I don’t like it.”
“What? Not knowing? Or Miss Alcott’s unexpected reaction?”
“Both.”
Tess turned to them, looped her arm through Weinstein’s, and walked back to the table.
“Sorry about the high flights of drama,” she said ruefully. “I told you I don’t like horses.”
“That’s quite all right, my dear,” Jane replied. “It must be stressful for you having Dr. Weinstein telling you one thing and Luke and me challenging you for all you’re worth. I daresay a nice long walk around the grounds will do your nerves a world of good. Luke, be a gentleman and give Miss Alcott a tour of the estate. I’m no longer as spry as I was in my youth,” she said to Tess, “so I shall remain seated here in quiet splendor and engage Dr. Weinstein in conversation. Psychiatry has always fascinated me, you know, Doctor.”
Luke smiled inwardly. Jane had very neatly boxed up Weinstein, leaving Tess in his clutches to be interrogated within an inch of her life. The day was improving. He rose from his chair.
“Shall we?” he said to Tess.
She shrugged. “Why not?”

wow, really long, again. maybe i should post in chunks....

[Luthien]

Yeah, that might be a good idea...

[Elli]

Oh, did you just write that? Wow... Also good. You forgot one of the words...but...

Just as a guess...are Luke and "Ms. Alcott" going to fall in love?

[Melody]

ok, first.
*throws hands up in frustration* how do people alway know that?!?! GAH!

2nd, no, its already written. its in the editting stage. im just postin a lil @ a time so u guys have time to read it

i love Jane. shes like one of my fave chars

[Elli]

Heehee...I'm just observant, that's all...(And I crave romance...clean romance...the good ol' boy-meets-girl, they fall in love, and marry and don't do anything bad before marriage...)

btw...what grade are you in? Just curious...because your writing style seems very...mature... (No, I'm not talking about the swearing. Just how you write...get what I'm meanin' here?)

[Melody]

ill b 15 in 3 wks

[Shalista]

wow.. i thought u were older....

[Melody]

negative....

[Elli]

So you're about a month or so older than me. Are you going to post more?

[Melody]

hmmm, i MITE b able to post more in a sec, probly in chunks
but yea, i just reread ur question *smacks self on forehead* im a freshman.
(but not 4 much longer!!! YIPPPEE!!!)
ahem. im ok.