as I witnessed tonight.”
“First of all, Annabelle had nothing to do with it,” B.J. spoke up. “I tried to tell Lauren what I’d heard, and she wouldn’t listen to me.”
The executive producer leaned forward and slammed the football down on the desk. “That’s not the way Lauren remembers it!” he yelled.
“Well, that’s the way it happened,” B.J. said, quietly but firmly.
“Are you telling me Lauren is lying?” Linus pressed.
“I’m saying I made an attempt to talk to Lauren and she dismissed me,” said B.J.
Linus turned to Annabelle. “And you. What part did you play in all this?”
Before Annabelle could answer, B.J. spoke up again. “I told you, Linus. Annabelle had nothing to do with it. She didn’t know that I was going to call Eliza, and she didn’t know anything about what I was going to tell Eliza.”
“Well, damn it, she should have known.” Linus’s face was flushed now. “That’s her job.” He turned to Annabelle. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Annabelle looked Linus straight in the eye. She swallowed, knowing that she was about to commit professional suicide.
“Here’s what I have to say for myself, Linus. You are a bully and a tyrant and a nightmare to work for. But I have never given anything less than my all for this show. Yeah, I need my job, but I’m sick and tired of the crap you dish out.”
Annabelle rose from her chair, turned, and walked out, leaving Linus and B.J. staring after her.
CHAPTER 27
T he report on the Evening Headlines meant that it was probably just a matter of time before the police started calling around trying to figure out where the big dog had come from. If the Dane hadn’t been so damned heavy to move, he could have been stashed in the trunk of the car and dumped in some remote and nameless location. That had been the plan. But that hadn’t been possible. As it was, dragging the heavy, soaking-wet dog a few yards into the woods had been messy, and a lot of work.
But that guy from the shelter might have seen, or he would see in the days to come, the report of the dead Great Dane at Constance’s house and volunteer the information to the police. Even though great care had been taken to find a shelter that didn’t require personal references and picture identification, even though a fake address had been given for the license and a disguise of sorts had been worn, one could never be too careful. There might be some incriminating loose end. And that wouldn’t be good.
CHAPTER 28
T he kids were already fed, bathed, and in their pajamas when Annabelle arrived home at her Greenwich Village apartment. Thomas met her at the door and threw his arms around his mother’s waist.
“Mom’s home!” he called out to his sister.
Tara ran over, brown hair flying, her round, blue eyes sparkling and a satisfied smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re home, Mommy.”
“I missed you guys,” said Annabelle, hugging and kissing them. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s in the shower,” said Tara.
“How was the day with Mrs. Nuzzo?” Annabelle asked. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” Thomas answered. “We had pancakes for lunch.”
“Pancakes? For lunch? Wow, that’s neat,” said Annabelle.
There were many things for which Annabelle was grateful, and one of them was the fact that, at seven years old, her children didn’t hold grudges. Today they’d been looking forward to their riding lesson at the Claremont Riding Academy. Annabelle’s parents had given the twins a series of lessons for their birthday gifts. The children learned how to walk, trot, and canter their quiet mounts. The horseback program stressed patience and concentration along with physical coordination, strength, and agility. Students also developed a sense of responsibility in caring for their animals. Annabelle enjoyed the lessons, because the kids had fun.
But when the twins were told this morning that there was a change in
“First of all, Annabelle had nothing to do with it,” B.J. spoke up. “I tried to tell Lauren what I’d heard, and she wouldn’t listen to me.”
The executive producer leaned forward and slammed the football down on the desk. “That’s not the way Lauren remembers it!” he yelled.
“Well, that’s the way it happened,” B.J. said, quietly but firmly.
“Are you telling me Lauren is lying?” Linus pressed.
“I’m saying I made an attempt to talk to Lauren and she dismissed me,” said B.J.
Linus turned to Annabelle. “And you. What part did you play in all this?”
Before Annabelle could answer, B.J. spoke up again. “I told you, Linus. Annabelle had nothing to do with it. She didn’t know that I was going to call Eliza, and she didn’t know anything about what I was going to tell Eliza.”
“Well, damn it, she should have known.” Linus’s face was flushed now. “That’s her job.” He turned to Annabelle. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Annabelle looked Linus straight in the eye. She swallowed, knowing that she was about to commit professional suicide.
“Here’s what I have to say for myself, Linus. You are a bully and a tyrant and a nightmare to work for. But I have never given anything less than my all for this show. Yeah, I need my job, but I’m sick and tired of the crap you dish out.”
Annabelle rose from her chair, turned, and walked out, leaving Linus and B.J. staring after her.
CHAPTER 27
T he report on the Evening Headlines meant that it was probably just a matter of time before the police started calling around trying to figure out where the big dog had come from. If the Dane hadn’t been so damned heavy to move, he could have been stashed in the trunk of the car and dumped in some remote and nameless location. That had been the plan. But that hadn’t been possible. As it was, dragging the heavy, soaking-wet dog a few yards into the woods had been messy, and a lot of work.
But that guy from the shelter might have seen, or he would see in the days to come, the report of the dead Great Dane at Constance’s house and volunteer the information to the police. Even though great care had been taken to find a shelter that didn’t require personal references and picture identification, even though a fake address had been given for the license and a disguise of sorts had been worn, one could never be too careful. There might be some incriminating loose end. And that wouldn’t be good.
CHAPTER 28
T he kids were already fed, bathed, and in their pajamas when Annabelle arrived home at her Greenwich Village apartment. Thomas met her at the door and threw his arms around his mother’s waist.
“Mom’s home!” he called out to his sister.
Tara ran over, brown hair flying, her round, blue eyes sparkling and a satisfied smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re home, Mommy.”
“I missed you guys,” said Annabelle, hugging and kissing them. “Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s in the shower,” said Tara.
“How was the day with Mrs. Nuzzo?” Annabelle asked. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” Thomas answered. “We had pancakes for lunch.”
“Pancakes? For lunch? Wow, that’s neat,” said Annabelle.
There were many things for which Annabelle was grateful, and one of them was the fact that, at seven years old, her children didn’t hold grudges. Today they’d been looking forward to their riding lesson at the Claremont Riding Academy. Annabelle’s parents had given the twins a series of lessons for their birthday gifts. The children learned how to walk, trot, and canter their quiet mounts. The horseback program stressed patience and concentration along with physical coordination, strength, and agility. Students also developed a sense of responsibility in caring for their animals. Annabelle enjoyed the lessons, because the kids had fun.
But when the twins were told this morning that there was a change in
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