slimeball probably had spies everywhere to make sure clients didn’t skip town before their next loan payments. The calling card at the construction site had no doubt been his friendly reminder.
Laud stalked down the hall. The cold laminate floor bit into his bare feet. He never should’ve come back to this stinkhole town where everyone knew his business before he did. He couldn’t even hire a decent salesman here.
Laud snapped on his desk lamp and glanced at the glossy sales brochure for his new high-end offices. The salesman had attached a business card with his photo—slicked-back hair, gapped teeth, cheap suit. No wonder the idiot had scarcely leased half the units at the Harbor Creek development.
The muscles in Laud’s neck bunched. He dug his fingers into the knots and kneaded them loose. He’d have to find another way to raise enough cash to keep Petroski off his back until Ginny came through for him.
Laud poured himself a double Scotch, tossed it back in one swallow, and waited for its magic to take effect. But the slow burn was no match for the flames smoldering in his chest.
He sank into his leather chair and tapped in the password for his online banking account. As the please wait circle swirled on his computer screen, Laud fed Duke’s resignation letter to the shredder. The man might be just the distraction he needed to preoccupy his niece, and her meddling mother, until his plans fell into place. He should’ve silenced his sister-in-law when he had the chance.
His banking info blipped onto the computer screen. A lousy three grand in the account—not enough to cover a week’s interest on the three million he owed Petroski, let alone a month’s.
The heat in his chest intensified.
He rubbed his knuckles over his ribs and popped another antacid.
Lori smiled at him from the hand-drawn picture on the corner of his desk. The sloppy scrawl looked like a three-year-old colored it, all big heads and stick arms outlined in worn-down crayons.
His insides twisted.
The latest blackmail note lay unopened on his desk.
Popping a second antacid into his mouth, he tore open the envelope. Boldfaced letters, cut and pasted from a newspaper, read: “You’ll pay. One way or another, you’ll pay.”
Blinding pain clawed at his chest. He clutched his shirt with one hand and grappled for the phone with the other. Punched nine—breathe—one—breathe—The pain released a fraction, then a fraction more. Not a heart attack. Anxiety. Just anxiety.
Laud slumped over the desk and drew in a big breath. He tried to hang up the phone. Missed. Shifted the receiver until it fit into the cradle. If he landed in the hospital, everything would collapse. He couldn’t afford to give in to weakness.
He straightened, retrieved the blackmail letter and flattened out the crinkles with his palm. No instructions. No explanations. No demands.
Just threats.
But from who?
Laud flicked his lighter at the edge of the paper and let the flames eat the words.
Just words.
The phone rang.
Laud dropped the burning page into the metal waste bin and smoothed his hair.
The phone rang a second time.
He poured himself another drink, checked his appearance in the wall mirror, straightened his shirt.
On the third ring, he picked up. “Yeah.”
“I finished the background check on Duke Black and you won’t like what I found.”
So much for my ultimatum. Ginny scraped the supper leftovers into the bin under the kitchen sink, wishing she could expunge Rick from her thoughts as easily. She had enough crises in her life with trying to stop some crazy person from disrupting the group home’s progress. If she had to deal with Rick as well, she might be the one who needed an institution.
She’d given him two days to quit on his own. Not because she believed his woebegone story, but because the Bible says to forgive the person who sins against you. Seventy-seven times, if necessary. And the Lord knew she had plenty of experience putting that advice into practice living with an alcoholic mother.
Yet, not only hadn’t Rick cooperated, he’d dismissed the security guard she had hired to patrol the grounds and had practically throttled her after she invited the press to the construction site for a photo op. If her uncle had been in town, she would’ve outed Rick, then and there. Tonight, she would.
Ginny glanced out the window to see if she’d need an umbrella and noticed the same gray car that had crept past the house half an hour ago.
The phone rang. Lori dashed into the kitchen, sliding to a halt as Ginny grabbed the receiver. The muffled sound of Lori’s favorite game show drifted in from the living room.
“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Laud,” Uncle Emile’s newest secretary said in the overly formal tone of someone trying too hard to sound professional. “He asked me to inform you that Mr. Black will attend the council meeting in his place tonight.”
“What? No.” The building inspector had insisted they obtain a variance after someone—their saboteur, no doubt—complained that the location of the wheelchair ramp violated the town’s building codes. Facing town council would be stressful enough without adding Rick to the equation.
“Mr. Black apparently has experience dealing with government,” the woman assured her and clicked off before Ginny had a chance to respond.
Yeah, the justice department. Ginny slapped down the phone. “How could he?”
Glass shattered on the floor behind her. “How could he?” Lori parroted.
Ginny spun around to scold her sister, but at the sight of Lori staring wide-eyed at the broken shards, a laugh with an hysterical edge popped out instead. Brown moppy hair framed pudgy cheeks and a broad, flattened nose. Even at eighteen, Lori had the innocence of a young child. Sometimes she drove Ginny crazy, but Ginny could never stay mad at her.
Lori tossed another plate. “How could he?” she repeated, this time with a grin.
Ginny lunged for the remaining stack of dishes. “No, don’t.” She grabbed the bowl from Lori’s hand, but Lori wouldn’t let go. “Come on, sweetie. Give it to me. You can’t smash the dishes. It’s not funny. I’m sorry I laughed.”
They both let go and the bowl shattered across the floor.
Lori wagged her hands, shifting from foot to foot.
Glass crunched.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch,” Lori bellowed and plopped onto a chair, grabbing her foot.
Ginny gently peeled off Lori’s sock. As soon as Lori saw the blood, her tears started.
“Shh, now. I’ll put a bandage on that cut and you’ll be fine.”
Mom
