“I could do a lot of things with that money, Rach,” she said softly. “Like have a life.” She glanced at the pantry door. “And eat something other than freeze-dried noodles.” At the mention of the noodles, her stomach growled.
Once more her attention went to the paper. Her gaze fell to the ad enclosed in the box. As the coffeemaker hissed and spat, dropping the last of the rich black liquid into her mug, Lina stared at the ad.
“Think about Drew and what that kind of money could do for him.”
Her brother was her responsibility. After all, she thought as she stared at the ad, she had survived. Although he had, he really wasn’t living. Just thinking of him being shuffled to a state-run hospital where individualized care was at a premium from the overworked staff, made her want to cry.
Her eyes zeroed in on the million dollars then skipped to the next number—thirty consecutive nights.
Could she handle thirty nights at the hands of some gross old man who had schoolgirl issues? She wondered. Could she give her innocence to some jaded despot in exchange for Drew living out his days in a facility like Cedar Oaks?
She didn’t have internet access at home but she did at work. Unfortunately, the emails were monitored. Answering the ad could get her fired.
But she could use one of the computers at the library.
Bottom lip folded between her teeth, she went to the junk drawer and opened it, took out a pair of scissors. Not giving herself time to think, to procrastinate, she ran the scissors up the page and cut out the ad.
* * * * *
The sub sandwich bread tasted like cardboard and the Italian herbs and spices baked atop it left a film in her mouth. The onions were too strong, the jalapeño peppers mildly lukewarm, and the lettuce was wilted. She’d had worse sandwiches from Drecker’s but this one topped the chart. Unfortunately, it was the closest fast food restaurant to her work, and with the pouring rain coming down hard enough to rock her car, she’d have to make do. After all, she couldn’t afford to waste the three dollars and fifty-seven cents she’d paid for the damn thing. Even the bottle of water in the cup holder on the console tasted off.
Sighing, she sat slumped in the seat of her car, watching the rain sheeting down the windshield and munched distractedly. Her hair was damp from having run into the shop and her blouse clung to her shoulders. Idly she wondered who had pilfered her one and only umbrella from the car and why and when.
“What kind of pervert steals an old umbrella with a broken rib?” she mumbled and wondered how much a new one would cost.
She took another bite of the sub, grimaced, and then took a sip of the tepid water.
“More than I can afford,” she answered her own mental question.
The sound of a car pulling up alongside hers made her turn her head. Through the rain she could see the sleek black vehicle with deeply tinted windows, the wipers flashing across the windscreen like a runaway metronome. A man got out of the car and ran hunched over through the downpour as though that would keep the rain from soaking him. He jerked the door open in his haste only to pause like a deer in headlights and step aside, the rain pummeling him. An elderly lady stepped through the door and opened a big red umbrella. Though she couldn’t see their faces, Lina knew the two were talking. The man took the umbrella and—huddled beneath it—escorted the lady to her car on the other side of his.
“I bet he knows her,” Lina said. “Maybe an old teacher of his.”
She saw him running back to the door and hurry inside the shop, shaking himself like a wet puppy. There was no way he couldn’t be soaked by now and she felt a wave of pity for the poor man.
And a sense of pride that there were still respectful gentlemen in the world.
She was listlessly chewing the last bite of her sub when he came out of the shop with a box in his hands. The rain had eased enough that she could make out dark hair—plastered to his head—and a nice suit. She wondered if he had been sent on a meal run by his boss. If so, he was a lowly peon like herself although the pricey black car made her question that impression.
“Maybe he’s the owner and is getting those sammies for his employees,” she said, watching him as he skirted the front of his car and got inside. She hadn’t seen his face but she pictured him scowling as the wet suit clung to him like her blouse did to her.
The expensive motor of his car purred into life and he backed out of the parking slot quicker than he should have. She turned her head to follow the car out of the lot, her curiosity poking at her. She wanted to know who he was, where he worked, and if he was as polite to everyone as he’d been to the little old lady.
“Some woman’s a very lucky girl,” she said and her overactive imagination built a whole scenario for him. Rich man, trophy wife, home in the ‘burbs with a pool and a golden retriever.
Crumpling up the sub wrapper, she stuffed it into the long plastic sleeve from which it had come, finished the last of her water, then slid the bottle into the sleeve as well. Blotting her mouth with one of the rough beige napkins with Drecker’s logo of a grinning cartoon sub sandwich on it, she added that to the sleeve. Laying the trash aside, she reached down to scoot her seat forward, dragged her seatbelt around her and started the car. Carefully, she backed out of the parking spot and headed back to work. She was just about to make her turn into the street when the engine died.
“Are you kidding me?” she snarled. She twisted the key in the ignition and all she heard was a click. “No!”
She tried again and again and when there was nothing but the clicking sound. A car pulled up behind her to blast her into mindless anger with its horn. She slammed her palms on the steering wheel.
“This can’t be happening!” she said and the horn blared again. She looked in the rearview mirror, her voice filled with tears as she spoke. “Come around me, you jerk!”
Once more the horn blasted—long and loud—and when she didn’t move, the car backed up and pulled around her. As the driver wedged between her and the Drecker’s Sub Shop sign, he flipped her the bird.
“Screw you!” she said and stuck the middle finger of her right hand in the air, wrapped the fingers of her left hand around it then drove her middle finger repeatedly through the cup of her left hand. The stunned look on the rude driver’s face made her laugh. She laughed harder when he laid on his horn like the juvenile twit he was and peeled out of the parking lot.
Her uncharacteristic moment of revenge fleeting, she crossed her arms against the steering wheel and lowered her head as hot tears began to fall.
* * * * *
“Twelve hundred,” Lina told Rachel on the phone. She sneezed then wiped her nose and red eyes. “Where the hell am I going to get twelve hundred dollars for a new engine, Rach?”
“The ad?” Rachel prompted.
“Will you stop with the ad already?” Lina snapped. Her eyes were red from crying. Her feet were killing her from walking the three blocks to work—forty minutes late after the tow truck pulled her dead car from Drecker’s—and her ears burning from the lecture Mr. Albright had given her for not being at her desk when the clock struck two.
“Let them repo the car,” Rachel said.
“Like I have a choice?” Lina asked. “How am I going to get to work?”
“I’ll swing by and take you in the mornings,” Rachel said. “Maybe Steve can take you home in the afternoons?”
Lina thought of the handsome man in charge of the computers who flirted with all the girls in the office. He lived a block from her but she barely knew him. Having to ask him for a ride home seemed presumptuous.
“Or you can walk the two blocks to the bus stop,” Rachel said helpfully.
“The bus doesn’t go anywhere near my street,” Lina said. “I’d have to walk another four blocks. That’s okay in good weather but what if it rains again? I don’t even have an umbrella.”
“Did that die, too?” Rachel asked and Lina could hear the laughter in her friend’s voice.
“No, someone�
��” She sighed. “Never mind. It’s not important.” She stood up to peer over the partition of her cubicle to see if Steve was at his desk. She found him at the water cooler—flirting with one of the temp workers. He turned his head, saw her and smiled.
“Ask Stevie,” Rachel said. “Maybe he’s in a cherry-picking mood.”
“Screw you,” Lina whispered into the phone and hung up as Rachel’s laughter echoed from the receiver.
Sitting down, Lina opened her desk drawer, took out her pocketbook and opened it, rummaging inside for her bottle of ibuprofen. Her head was hurting again and the sub sat in her stomach like a lead paperweight. The Italian herbs and spices clung to her tongue. The pungent taste of the onions filled her mouth and the jalapeños were giving her heartburn. Popping open the ibuprofen, she shook two caplets into her palm then plopped them onto her tongue, washing them down with another tepid bottle of water she kept on her desk.
She had to call the car place where her junker was financed. They would repo the car but she knew she’d still owe the balance. Knowing the man from whom she’d purchased the car, she knew he’d tack on as many charges to what she owed as he could.
Then there was the towing company she’d have to pay. That was another thirty dollars she didn’t have.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes again.
Her stomach churning, she recapped the bottle of ibuprofen and tossed it back into her purse.
Her gaze went to the newspaper ad she’d stuffed beside her wallet and held.
“At least think about it! Think what you could do with a cool mil.” Rachel’s voice drifted through her mind like a sinister worm.
She picked up the ad, unfolded it, smoothed it out on her desk, and reread what was written there. The email address seemed to pulse from the page like a heartbeat.
“Think what you could do with a cool mil.”
An image of Drew formed over the ad.
“Think what you could do with a cool mil.”
Her eyes went to the keyboard on her desk. She couldn’t use that computer to answer the ad. The computers in the office were carefully monitored. There was a keystroke program in place. Any personal emails that were sent from the workstations would be read, logged in and the offender called on the carpet. People were fired for an infraction of the ironclad rule. Not to mention the address on the ad would be noted and she’d bet dollars to doughnuts someone would have seen the ad. Something like that would not stay secret long in a place like Dunham, Belvoir, and Brell.
She was staring at the ad, chewing on her bottom lip, when her phone rang. It startled her and she jumped before fumbling to pick it up.
“Acquisitions, Miss Wynth,” she said into the mouthpiece.
“Miss Wynth, this is Dodd’s Supermarket,” the caller said. “I’m calling about a check you gave us last week.”
Lina winced and closed her eyes, knowing what was coming.
“Miss Wynth, are you aware the check bounced?”
Opening her eyes, her attention went to the ad.
“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “Friday is payday. I’ll come by on Saturday to pick it up.”
“There is a twenty dollar charge,” the woman said almost with triumph.
Lina nodded. “I’ll include that.”
“Cash, Miss Wynth,” the hateful woman said. “We cannot accept a check nor will we be accepting any checks from you here forward.”
“I understand,” Lina said. Tears were creeping down her cheek and one dropped to the ad—right above the email address.
“If you do not redeem the bad check this Saturday, we will be forced to turn it over to the—”
“I will pay you on Saturday without fail,” Lina said then slowly hung up the phone even though the woman was saying something else.
Her hand still on the receiver, Lina took a deep breath, released it, then calmly refolded the ad and placed it back in her purse. She got up from her desk and walked over to where Steve Ingram was standing. He looked around at her as she drew near and his killer smile engaged.
“Hey, Lina,” he said, his gray eyes drifting down her.
“May I speak with you a moment, Steve?” she asked.
“Anytime, anywhere,” he said with a wink. “What can I do you for?”
She took a steadying breath. “Would it be possible to get a ride home with you today?” she asked. “At least as far as the Newton Library?”
He grinned. “Sure. I heard about your car. Arm and leg to fix?”
“It can’t be fixed,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m carless now.”
“Tough luck, sweetie. Need a ride in the morning?” he asked, moving closer.
“No, my friend can take me in the mornings. I just need a ride home for a while.”
“I’ll take you wherever you want to go whenever you want to go. You can ride home with me for as long as you need to.” His gray gaze drifted down her once more. “I aim to please.”
“I’d appreciate it,” she said and wondered why she had the impression of a wolf nipping at her heels.
“Not a problem,” he said.
She thanked him and went back to her desk. As she sat down at her keyboard, she realized a heavy weight had settled on her chest. She splayed her hand between her breasts, tried to breathe away the pressure but couldn’t. Absentmindedly she wondered if she was on the verge of a heart attack and frankly didn’t care at that point. She didn’t think her life could get much worse.
She thought of the ad.
“Think what you could do with a cool mil.”
Taking a long, deep breath, she decided it was the only lifeline being offered. She would be a fool not to at least take a grab at it. Maybe there could be a bright dawn to chase away the darkness in her life.
Chapter Two
“Please have a seat, Miss Wynth,” he said in a voice that bore an unmistakable Boston accent. “My name is Jonas Tarnes and I will be conducting your preliminary interview.”
He was a handsome young man with dark, sparkling eyes and an engaging white-toothed smile. Slim of build and clean-shaven, he looked fresh out of high school, though Lina imagined he was older than he looked. The short black hair that was gelled into place atop his well-shaped head made her think of Alfalfa from the old Our Gang serials. The polka dot bow tie he wore only added to the impression. His fingernails were manicured and polished and his suit probably cost more than she made in five months.
“I must say your application caught my eye straightaway,” Tarnes told her. “Your high school GPA was very impressive and you did exceedingly well in college.” He looked down at a paper in his hand, frowned slightly, and then looked up at her. “Frankly, I am at a loss to understand why you were not offered a higher-paying job given your qualifications.”
“Jobs are scarce, Mr. Tarnes,” she said softly. “There are at least a dozen applicants for every one available.”
Tarnes sighed. “Sadly, this is true.” He placed the paper on his desk, precisely aligning it, adjusting it to suit him before folding his hands atop the page. “I see you are a regular blood plasma donor.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Very admirable,” he observed. He smiled. “Although I don’t imagine you donate entirely for altruistic purposes.”
“No sir,” she said, fidgeting. “I need the money.”
His dark eyes took on a sympathetic look. “Yes,” he said then leaned back in his chair with his folded hands resting on his flat stomach. “To pay for your brother’s care.”
She lowered her head. “Yes sir.”
“You also collect soda cans for recycling.”
She looked up. His knowing that surprised her and a slight shiver of unease rippled down her spine.
“Again,” he said, “not entirely for altruistic purposes.” He cocked his head to one side. “I can’t imagine you receive much money for that endeavor.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
His smile was encouraging. “Please understand, Miss Wynth. Every applicant has been fully vetted before she ever enters my office door. She will get no further unless I approve her. I am my employer’s eyes and ears and it is up to me to decide who among the candidates meets his qualifications. I am my master’s voice, if you will. He listens to my input. Of course he has final say in the matter. That said, there is nothing I don’t know about each and every one of you prior to you being asked to meet with me. Our investigators have spoken to your families.” He paused. “Well, in your case there weren’t any family members who could speak with us, but we have spoken to your friends, teachers, professors, neighbors, coworkers, your boss, your creditors.” His smile returned. “Your pastor and even your hair stylist.” He laughed. “You’d be amazed at the wealth of knowledge a hair stylist can give us concerning her clients!”
No, she thought, she wouldn’t. Marge Saltman was the biggest gossip in town and she was careful what she said around the woman. Unfortunately, Marge had a way of weaseling information from her clients and she wondered what the nosy woman might have said.
“I have made an appointment with our company physician for your full physical,” Tarnes said. “I hope three o’clock on Wednesday is good for you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t afford to miss work, Mr. Tarnes,” she said. “It’ll have to be next Friday when I have a half a day coming.”
Tarnes frowned. “I’m afraid that would not be acceptable. We are on a rather tight schedule.”
“Oh,” she said, trying to smile. “I understand.” She got to her feet.
He started to speak but his phone rang. He glanced down and the frown deepened as he picked up the receiver. “Yes sir?”
Lina watched him listening and when his eyes flicked to her, she knew whoever was on the other end was giving him instructions regarding her.
“Of course, sir,” Tarnes said and hung up the receiver. He smiled. “Next Friday is good.”
Lina breathed a sigh of relief until Tarnes asked about the psychological testing, which apparently would take an entire day. Her shoulders slumped and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She was loath to tell the man she was wasting his time.
30DaystoSyn Page 2
