by Jo Goodman
Jay cut into his egg and used his knife and fork to lift a small portion of it onto his toast before he sliced off that section of toast and raised it to his mouth.
Watching the ritual—Jay didn’t touch food with his fingers, not even canapes—Ramsey was reminded that some things didn’t change. She would do well to keep that foremost in her mind. Early in their relationship, she became convinced his manners were the embodiment of what was proper, and it required little encouragement on his part for her to follow his example. She didn’t know when it happened, but at some point, she realized that his disdain for using his fingers was just peculiar, maybe even germophobic, and now she didn’t let the lack of a plastic party pick keep her from snatching an hors d’oeuvre from a serving tray and plopping its savory goodness into her mouth. She did resist the temptation, though, to lick her fingers.
“Well?” she prompted, dipping her toast again.
Jay made a face as droplets of yolk fell back onto Ramsey’s plate. “At least you didn’t get any on yourself.”
“There’s time yet, but not so much that you can avoid why we’re here. Start talking.”
He set his knife and fork down and sat back. “Very well. You were correct last night. I need money.”
Ramsey took a careful breath. “All right. And?”
“And I’m in deep.”
“You’ve been there before. I’m guessing you’ve been there a couple of times since our divorce. You always manage. How is this time different?”
“My luck hasn’t turned. I can’t see my way clear.”
“I’m not sure what your situation has to do with me. Do I have to say divorced again?”
“No. I hear you, and you need to remember that I never wanted it.”
“Maybe not, but I gave you everything to get it. The house. What was left in our accounts. The stocks. The car. Your retirement fund. My first lawyer told me to find other representation because I didn’t want anything from you but your signature on the paperwork.” Ramsey pushed her plate away, appetite gone. She wrapped her hands around her coffee cup to steady them. Closing her eyes, she visualized standing in Sullivan’s walk-in closet. White beaches and crystal blue water were never her thing. Sullivan’s perfectly ordered closet calmed her.
“Enough,” she said, meeting his gaze again. “I don’t want to do tit for tat. What is it you expect from me, Jay?”
“I told you. Money. It can be a loan. I’ll pay you back. You know I’m good for it.”
“I don’t know that. You just said your luck hasn’t turned.” She put up a hand, palm out. “Wait. Why do you think I have money to loan you? This is crazy.”
Jay shook his head. “Don’t do that, Liz. Don’t pretend I’m stupid. Don’t act as if I don’t already know.”
“You’re going to have spell it out because I don’t know what you think you know.”
“All right.” He leaned forward, slid his plate out of the way, and set his forearms on the table. Keeping his rich baritone modulated at a low pitch, he said, “Liz Carpenter, née Ramsey. Elizabeth Ramsey. I don’t know how you decided on Masters for your new surname. There’s no obvious connection.”
She’d had an appointment for a trim and eyebrow wax at Master Cuts following her court appearance for the name change. She was thinking about that when she told her lawyer what she’d decided her new last name would be. Until then she’d been leaning toward Smith.
“The name change threw me,” he went on. “I don’t mind telling you that. I spent a lot time looking at other leads. You disappeared from social media. Nothing on the dark web. None of your friends tagged you in their photos. Your family was a dead end. That should have tipped me off, but I believed you fed them stories that made them want to protect you. It took me too long to realize they didn’t know where you were.”
“Must have been difficult, all the Googling.”
“Which speaks to how little you know, Liz. I considered how difficult it might be for you to find a job with your online social profile at zero. Employers look to the web these days to learn something about their prospective hires. We do at Willow Garden.”
“Not so much at Burger King,” she said dryly.
Jay ignored the comment. “You were so bent on getting your degree it was natural to assume you’d look for a position in design. I searched architectural firms. Interior design agencies. I even looked at landscaping businesses. Nothing. I imagine you kept clear of all those things quite purposefully. You might think I grew frustrated, but you’d be wrong. I was challenged, Liz, and I came to realize it was the first time since meeting you that I felt challenged.”
His ego was not to be believed, but Ramsey let him go on.
“It was when I settled on the idea of your employment that I was able to move forward. I found you through the standard background check we use at Willow Garden. You changed your name but not your social security number. It took some finagling with human resources, but I had enough information to complete the background form. When the results came back, HR alerted me. There was concern that you had an alias that you didn’t disclose. I took the information and assured them you were no longer a candidate for hire. Then I went to work locating Ramsey Masters.”
“And here you are.”
“Yes. Here I am.” He removed the napkin from his lap, crumpled it, and tossed it on top of his plate. “Give me some credit. I could have been here over a year ago. I let you be.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He offered up a slim, supercilious smile. “It amused me.”
She almost called him a liar, thought better of it, and stayed quiet.
“I didn’t know everything then.”
Ramsey recognized that what Jay had just said amounted to a big concession for him and an even bigger confession.
“Are you going tell me now, Liz?” he asked.
She shook her head. She was not going to give ground. “You think you know? You say it.”
The waitress appeared to take their plates. Jay waved her away. Ramsey offered an apologetic glance but stopped short of giving up her plate.
Jay said, “Did you know that Maryland is one of seven states that do not require lottery winners to be named publicly? No appearances holding that giant check. No interviews. Hush-hush, if that’s the way the winner wants it.”
“Sounds like real secret squirrel stuff.”
“Mm-hmm. You would know.”
“Why do you think so?”
“You had twenty-three million reasons to keep it out of the papers. I imagine you thought you had twenty-three million reasons to keep it from me, being that I am your husband.”
“Ex.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop it, Jay. There is no maybe. Even if what you say is true, you are not entitled to anything from me. Your financial troubles are your own.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “That’s twenty-three million after taxes. I know. I checked.”
“Doesn’t’ matter.”
“You still don’t have a head for money matters. At your age, you should have taken your winnings as an annuity, not a lump sum.”
Ramsey sat back, balled up her napkin and tossed it on the table. “We’re done here. If you really did your homework, you’d know I make fourteen dollars and twenty-six cents an hour. I don’t have a sou, a peso, a farthing, or a cent to spare, and even if I did, you’re not a charity I want to sponsor. Sell your suits, your car, take a mortgage out on your house, put your Italian shoes on eBay, get a second job. Settle your debts on your own, Jay, and while you’re doing that go back to Gamblers Anonymous.”
Ramsey picked up her coat and slid out of the booth. Ignoring Jay’s request that she return to the table, she picked up her check, and began walking away. When she reached the cashier counter and confirmed that everything had been fine, she paid for her meal with cash and left a tip to be given to the waitress. When she stepped back and turned to go, she saw Jay was approaching from the sid
e. She paused at the exit to make sure he paid for his meal, not because she changed her mind about bailing him out, but because she didn’t want to be a party to him stiffing the restaurant or their waitress.
She heard him say something about forgetting his wallet, and when she turned, she saw him making a show of patting down his coat and then the inside of his jacket. Given the size of Jay’s balls, it was surprising there was room for anyone else in the restaurant. Ramsey retraced her steps to the counter, gave the cashier a ten—her last—and pretended not to see or hear Jay’s feigned embarrassment at his oversight. She also did not acknowledge his thanks.
He followed her out to the car, apparently with the intention of holding up his end of the conversation. Ramsey was of an entirely different mind. She opened the driver’s side door and slid in. He stood at the passenger door, but it didn’t open automatically when the driver’s door opened. She often found it an annoying feature to take the extra step to unlock the other doors when she had a passenger, but at the moment, she was grateful for the safety feature. She knew a moment’s childish delight bearing witness to Jay’s annoyance.
Ramsey put the SUV into reverse and backed out of the parking space. Jay rapped on the window until he was forced to stand away when she started for the exit. She resisted the urge to look at him in her rearview mirror so she didn’t know if he was hurrying toward his car or standing in the lot taking stock of what was left of his dignity as he decided what to do next.
She hoped he decided on Baltimore.
30
Ramsey drove aimlessly for several miles, purposely avoiding the highway, making use of the residential neighborhoods and corner stop signs to keep her speed in check while she palm slapped the wheel and talked herself out of doing something incredibly ill-conceived where Jay’s health was concerned. Shooting him was out of the question, but running him down? That idea had merit, and she knew better than to reverse gear and back up over him. If she did that, even a semi-competent prosecuting attorney would be able to prove intent. No, whatever she did had to look accidental.
“Do you hear yourself, Ramsey? A half-hour in his company and you’re a lunatic. Jesus.” She let the car idle at a four-way stop and rested her forearms on the wheel. When that wasn’t quite enough, she leaned forward and rested her head against her forearms. She stayed that way until another motorist rolled up behind her and beeped. She had no idea if she’d been sitting there five seconds or five minutes. Raising a hand apologetically, Ramsey signaled a right turn and moved on.
She was well over an hour late when she pulled into the employee lot at the Ridge, but at least by then she knew who bore the larger share of responsibility for what was happening and it wasn’t Jay Carpenter.
Hindsight gave her clarity that she did not have at the time she was making decisions. She didn’t realize it then, of course. She’d believed she was being clear-headed and setting a thoughtful course for herself. Changing her social security number hadn’t been an option. She wasn’t in witness protection, for crying out loud. Employee background checks? She thought it was enough to stay away from the career she’d planned and studied for. She carefully designed her departure and gave no information to her family. None. Unless Jay told them something, they still didn’t know where she was. She hadn’t had many friends, not the kind that would worry about her when they lost touch. Her attorney knew everything, and she imagined Jay had pressed him for information, but that would have been a dead end.
It had always hovered somewhere in the back of her mind that Jay might make good on his promise to find her. The passage of time had not made her careless, but she had begun to feel more confident that she had been successful. Foolish, foolish girl.
Ramsey shook her head, cleared her thoughts of everything to do with Jay Carpenter and prepared to face Paul. There was no chance that he wouldn’t have something to say about her late appearance. That was all right, though. Paul couldn’t know it yet, but she was already contemplating her retaliatory strike. She had absolutely no plans to catch a single shoplifter today. Not one.
Sullivan eyed Buddy’s sad sack expression when his colleague reported for a shift after the chief sent Butz home on account of illness. He waited until Buddy flopped heavily into the chair behind his desk before he turned around and gave him a better than cursory glance. Sullivan shook his head. “You could’ve said no.”
Buddy used his fingertips to pick at his dark halo of springy curls. “I need the overtime pay. I got my eye on a new truck and a gym membership.”
“Who’s the girl?”
“Sophia.”
“Sophia who?”
Buddy shrugged. “Dunno. Her nameplate just says Sophia.”
“That’s what you know about her?”
“Hey. I know where she works. I can figure out the rest. Bet it’s enough to get a date.”
“You’re nuts, Buddy. You know that? Wait. Is this Sophia at Eat’n Park you’re talking about? The hostess?”
“That’s her.”
“Out of your league.”
“I’d be offended if it weren’t true.” He shrugged. “Guess I could say the same about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ramsey. She’s out of your league. Way out.”
Recalling what Ramsey had done for him in the Southridge parking lot only last night, Sullivan made an effort to keep his expression neutral. “Oh? How’s that?”
“I stopped at Eat’n Park for breakfast on way my home this morning. Saw Ramsey in a booth with some suit name of Carpenter. Really put together guy. Maybe not GQ cover type, but definitely inside material.” At Sullivan’s surprised look, he said, “Hey, I gotta look at something when I’m waiting for my lottery tickets at the newsstand. Anyway, he had the haircut. Clothes. Probably had the shoes, too, but I didn’t get a look at them. I bet the suit was pricy or he wore it like it was. Took him to be on the snooty side. He admitted he wasn’t from around here when I asked, but he didn’t offer any deets. I let it go because it struck me hanging around was making Ramsey uncomfortable.”
“Ramsey? Uncomfortable?”
“Yeah. Some. Enough so I noticed.”
“Huh.”
“Anyway, this suit was at least as good looking as…” Buddy stopped, mentally thumbing through TMZ celebrity interviews. “Zac Efron,” he said eventually. “Older, though.”
“Hmm.”
“And taller, maybe. Or Ryan Reynolds if all the humor was sucked out of him.”
“Okay.”
“You think you can compete with that?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Yeah, well, there’s that.” Buddy pushed back and stood. “Gotta go. Ramsey’s working today. Only a matter of time before there’s a call.”
There were calls. Plenty of them. But Buddy’s prediction that they would come from the Ridge did not pan out. Sullivan dealt with two overdoses, one incident of domestic violence, a rear end collision in which texting while driving was involved, and a frantic mother who called 9-1-1 when her three-year-old wandered out of the yard while she went into the house to grab her phone. He didn’t have a lot of time to think about the suit that had breakfast with Ramsey.
Sullivan was finishing his reports when Chief Bailey announced he wanted to see him. Bailey stood in his office doorway until Sullivan was on his way. He stepped aside and closed the door behind him. He did not invite Sullivan to sit.
“This will only take a minute,” the chief said. “Ramsey Masters called. She wants you to call her.”
Sullivan frowned. “Why didn’t she call me?”
“I figured she had your number, so I asked her. She did not want to interfere with your work. It’s a personal matter, she said, not professional. I asked her if there was anything I could do, and she said she would let me know. I have to say that her answer left me both intrigued and worried, but she didn’t elaborate and I chose not to inquire further. She was specific about a call. She doesn’t want you
to drop by the Ridge.
“All right.”
Bailey nodded. “If there’s something I can do, I want to know. I mean it.”
“Buddy said she had breakfast with someone from out of town this morning. Maybe her call has something to do with that.”
“Maybe.”
Sullivan thought the chief sounded neither hopeful nor convinced. He was reminded that Bailey had an interest in recruiting Ramsey Masters. Hadn’t Bailey warned him not to screw it up with her? “I’ll let you know if I can.”
“Do that.” He opened the door and indicated Sullivan could leave. “Give her my best.”
Because Ramsey put no restrictions on when he could call, Sullivan had a dial tone as soon as he was behind the wheel of his truck. He knew she was still at work so he was surprised she answered as quickly as she did. He did not waste breath on pleasantries.
“What is it, Ramsey? How can I help?”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“I just do. Tell me.”
She swallowed hard, wondered if he knew she hesitated in order to clear the ache in her throat. “Give me a moment. I have to move somewhere quiet.” She left the coffee shop and headed to lawn and garden, which was virtually deserted. She went to the back where steel shelves loaded with towers of clay pots mostly hid her from camera view. “Are you still there?”
“I am. It sounds quieter now.”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to say something else. When she didn’t, he prompted. “Ramsey? Talk to me.”
“Yes. Right. Of course. Um. I saw Buddy this morning.”
“I know. He told me.”
“Did he mention I was with someone?”
“He did.”
“I thought he might. I want to explain.”
“Is there something to explain?”
“I think so, yes, but I don’t want to do it over the phone. I get off at six.”
“Okay. Your house? A restaurant?”
“Neither. Can I come to your place?”
“Sure. I’ll make you dinner.”
