Plain Jane by Fern Michaels Page A

pocket of his white T-shirt. He was alone.
    Not wanting to jump to any conclusions, Jane looked to every corner of the room and as far beyond it as the view from the window would take her. Nothing. No one.
    Where was Mrs. Ramsey?
    In the bathroom? But the two opaque windows she’d assumed were bathroom windows had been dark.
    Jane gasped when Brian turned his gaze toward the window. She ducked and ran, faster than she’d ever run before, across the lawn, down the sidewalk, her shoes sloshing. When she reached the corner she realized that in her panic, she had gone in the wrong direction. Cursing under her breath, she retraced her steps, taking the long road back to her car. The moment she was safely inside, she locked the door and started the engine, her heart hammering in her chest. For one bad moment she thought she was going to black out. She forced herself to take long, deep breaths, the air hissing from her mouth in a long, unsteady stream. She didn’t turn on the car’s headlights until she was three blocks away.
    â€œYou disobeyed me, Ollie,” she scolded once she was on the open road. “I heard you bark.” The dog moved closer to the passenger window, pinned her ears flat against her head, and hung her head in shame. “You’re a naughty dog, Ollie. No more rides for you this month.” It was an idle threat—she knew it and so did Olive.
    She’d just risked her professional standing to get a peek at the elusive Mrs. Ramsey. And what had she gotten for all her effort? A look at Brian Ramsey sitting in his chair like a zombie, the same way he did in her office. If he had a wife, the woman either spent her life in the summer kitchen or hid out in a darkened bathroom. Because it was a tract house, it was highly unlikely that there was a summer kitchen. That left the dark bathroom. The thought was too ridiculous for words.
    All the way home Jane chastised herself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she hissed between her teeth. She glanced sideways at Olive. “I think he saw me, Ollie. I swear to God I think he saw me. He looked right at me.” Sighing, she returned her gaze to the road. “If I hadn’t hightailed it out of there—I can just see him catching me, calling the police, and having me arrested for being a Peeping Tom. Boy, when I do stupid things, I really do stupid things. We aren’t ever going to mention this again,” she said, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. “Never, do you hear me, Olive? Never!”
    Olive inched toward her mistress and lightly pawed her arm.
    â€œCome here,” Jane said, putting her arm around the dog and pulling her close. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean that about not taking you in the car.” Olive snuggled next to Jane’s side and licked her face.
    Jane’s nerves were still twanging when she arrived home. After closing the curtains and checking to make sure the doors were locked, she went into the kitchen and rummaged around until she found the special “brew” she kept on hand for Trixie and Fred. She poured herself two fingers of the finest Kentucky bourbon the state had to offer and tossed it down her throat in one swallow. Coughing and sputtering, her eyes tearing, she collapsed in the chair and waited for the bourbon to do its thing, but after ten minutes, she still didn’t feel any better. Maybe a cigarette would help. She wasn’t a smoker, but Trixie and Fred were, and Trixie always said there was nothing like a good smoke to calm her down and help her think. As with the bourbon, Jane kept a pack of their favorite brand in her catchall drawer as a precautionary measure in case they ran out while visiting. She lit up, broke into a fit of coughing, and stubbed it out. What satisfaction her godparents got out of smoking was a mystery—one better left unsolved.
    Tomorrow morning, when she did her five-mile morning run, something she hadn’t