Page 43 of Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin

“Yeah, but I went overboard.” Lorraine wiped her nose with the sleeve of her jacket, puffs of goose down taking flight. “You tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. But your twin story...you have to admit it was hard to believe.”

Jack came up to stand behind me again, wrapped his arm around my waist. “One of them's enough for me.”

With that, Jack earned an elbow to the gut. He gave an oomph from my efforts.

“I'm sorry if you thought the worst. Ronald knows I'm on the Ski Patrol for Bridger Bowl on the weekends. I was only trying to help out a co-worker,” Violet added.

Lorraine looked down at her lap, then lifted her head, looked me in the eye. “I guess I need to come clean on what I did to your house then.”

Jack's hand tightened about my waist.

“Oh?” I said. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be good.

“The first time I saw Ronald and you...well, you”—she pointed to Violet—“together, I completely lost it.”

That was an understatement of the century.

“I didn't know who you were, but I saw you at the grocery store the next day. But it wasn't you.” Again, she pointed at Violet. “It must've been you.” Now she pointed to me. “I followed you home, watched your house. When I saw you leave, I went inside, had a cigarette as I considered what I wanted to do to you.”

“Oh, boy,” Goldie said, having a good idea of what was to come. I did, too. The way Jack was squeezing my waist, I figured he did as well.

“I was so mad, I dropped the cigarette onto some papers on your counter and it started a fire. I tried to put it out, I really did. That's how I got this.” Lorraine held up her bandaged hand. “I ran out the back door when I realized it was getting out of hand. I called 911, honest, I did.”

I could tell she was telling the truth. It made sense with how my kitchen was burned to a crisp. The only expression I'd ever seen on her face was anger with a big dollop of angst. She now looked contrite and very, very sorry. “I guess it wasn't old wiring after all,” I commented dryly.

Lorraine stood up, clumped over to me. She placed a hand on my sleeve, looked me dead in the eye. “Even though Ronald was trying to do a sweet thing by surprising me, his trickery led to all this.”

She didn't mention her own insanity, however.

“I'll make him pay every penny of the damages to your house. And, I'm...I'm sorry for all that I did to you,” she said, sincerely.

Wow. I was stunned. She'd actually set fire to my kitchen! “You...you...I mean I can't believe you?—”

“I'm sure Ronald will be happy to settle up with Veronica,” Goldie said, talking over me. She looked at me from behind Lorraine's back. I read it as,This poor woman's been through enough.

My house had been set aflame, I'd been stalked, had my house broken into. Violet's actually, but the intention was to mess with me. My van stolen. And Lorraine's been through enough?

I took a deep breath, found my inner chi or whatever it was when I had to deal with Goldie's usual crazy talk. “Lorraine, I think you've been put through more than anyone else with this whole mess,” I said sweetly, trying to lighten the mood. “Look at you.” She definitely wouldn't get a Stalker Of The Year award.

“Yeah, what happened to you?” Violet asked.

Lorraine turned the evil eye on Violet.

“Do you really want to ask that right now?” Goldie asked.

Violet tipped her chin down, pinched her lips tight. “No, ma'am.”

“If you weren't too old, I swear you'd get a spanking for all the headaches you've caused. And I don't mean because of this Ronald character,” Goldie said, her voice scolding.

“Give Mike Ostranski a call. He'll take care of it,” I mumbled. The thought of Dr. O smacking Violet on the ass with a paddle warmed my heart and made me chuckle. The only thing that would make me feel better was if I could do it myself.

Two hours later,Jack and I stood in front of security at the airport. The overhead voice talked about leaving bags unattended as we stared at each other. Even though it was warm inside the terminal, I didn't take off my hat or mittens. I wasn't staying long enough to get comfortable. Jack's bag had been checked and there was nothing left to do but say goodbye.

“I guess this is it,” I said, at a loss in that weird way when someone had to leave. It was as if you'd run out of normal things to say in that in-between time before a departure.

“Look, Miller,” Jack started, rubbing his hand over his head. Realizing he still wore his gray cap, he pulled it off, grasped it in his hand. His hair stood up in spots with static. “I?—”

I put my hand over his mouth. I knew how he felt, knew what he had to tackle back in Florida. I wanted him to stay, if just to shelter him from the bad stuff he had to face.