style="font-size:15px;"> “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Speaking of the market…are you in it?”
“The stock market, you mean?” He moved on to the potato salad, wondering how he’d managed to get left alone with Joanna’s parents. Where the hell was everybody else? “Some.”
“I don’t know about you,” Roger said, “but our portfolio’s taken quite a few hits this past little while.”
“Yeah,” Dale said. “It’s been rocky, all right.”
Then Glynnie picked up the thread of the conversation. “But with that salary you must’ve been getting, I’m sure you’re sitting pretty, aren’t you? And I hear pro players get very nice pensions.”
What the Sam Hill was all this about? Still, wasn’t like his earnings weren’t a matter of public record. What he did with his money, however, was not.
“That’s true, ma’am. But like your husband said, times’ve been rough this past little while.”
Salad tongs poised over her plate, Joanna’s mother said, “You mean to tell me there’s nothing left?”
A deaf man could’ve heard the shock in her voice. Not to mention the disappointment. And suddenly Dale understood.
Warning, warning—gold digger dead ahead.
“Ma’am?” he said quietly, and with a smile—putting folks in their places generally went down easier, he found, when you were pleasant about it. “I’m not one for discussing my finances with people I know, let alone perfect strangers. So pardon me if I find your questions a bit personal for my taste—”
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