Pound Foolish (Windy City Neighbors Book 4)

by Dave Jackson

  “All right!” Greg managed, then slammed down the phone. He couldn’t talk to the woman any more. He felt as if his life was snowballing. He could’ve dealt with any problem by itself, but it was one thing on top of another, each compounding the other.

  What was he going to do? He didn’t have that kind of money. And he didn’t know anyone he could borrow it from either—not his parents, certainly not Nicole’s mother. And the only asset they had was the Cherokee—they’d be lucky to get that much for it. Besides, they had to have a car. And of course the house, but you can’t sell a house overnight—

  He stopped midthought. Wait just a minute. They had a preapproved home equity line of credit. In fact, it had come with a checkbook.

  That was it! That’s all he needed to do!

  Chapter 38

  Nicole woke up in her childhood bed. Her mom hadn’t preserved the room like some shrine, but it still had her old single bed, bookcase, desk, and posters of Sting and Michael Jackson. She was amazed her mother left them up. She’d never approved of either singer and probably wasn’t even aware of Michael’s death. She’d been right: They hadn’t made very good role models. Nicole took them down before Becky and Nate started asking who they were.

  Sticking her toes into her slippers, she slipped down to the basement where the kids were “camping out” with sleeping bags on air mattresses in the old family room—at least that’s what they used to call it when Nicole was growing up. Now it was mostly used for storage, except the old orange shag carpet still covered the floor and the familiar olive green rocker gathered dust in the corner. The kids had left the purple lava lamp on all night, giving the place a 1970s feel—even before Nicole’s time. But the kids always liked to play down there when they came over to Grandma’s house.

  Nicole smiled at the lumps inside the sleeping bags and decided not to wake them.

  “There’s fresh coffee in the pot,” her mother said when Nicole came back upstairs. Frida Lillquist broke an egg into the blueberry muffin batter she was mixing. “Whatever gave you the idea of having a sleepover? I think it’s delightful. You know, as much as I love us living so close, that’s one thing I miss. Whenever we get together it’s usually for such short periods of time. I’m tempted to keep you here for a week! There are so many things we could do with the kids.”

  “Well, you might get the chance.” Nicole shrugged, as though her coming or staying was nothing more than a whim.

  “Remember when we drove to Boston to see my folks when you were nine or ten? That was such a great vacation. We stayed two weeks.”

  “Yeah, that was fun.” Nicole stirred cream and sugar into her coffee, then leaned against the counter where her mother was working. “Say, Mom, is that old computer Greg set up for you still working?”

  “Ha, I have no idea. Oh my, I think the last time I used it was last year before Christmas. Never could stand that awful squeal every time I tried to connect it to the telephone—that modem thingy. And it didn’t make any sense to me. If I want to talk to someone, I can always call them. If I want to write someone, my mailman still comes around every day except Sunday. I couldn’t see the use of the thing. Though I know the younger generation loves them.”

  “Mmm, right. Well, you wouldn’t mind if I tried using it, would you?”

  “Of course not. It’s still in that back storage closet, right where Greg set it up. But you’ll have to move the coats. I hung them back up in there.”

  Nicole sighed with relief. The large storage closet, converted to an office cubicle, had nothing but a small table as a computer desk and a straight-backed chair. A bare bulb hung down from above, and she’d have to leave the door open in order to pull the chair out and sit in it. But it would work. Nicole had brought the thumb drive with the project on it she’d been doing for Lincoln. She was almost finished. And as soon as she could turn it in, she could get paid. It was obvious she couldn’t depend on Greg for cash at this point.

  “There,” her mother said, sliding the muffin tin into the oven. “Should be ready in about thirty minutes. Are the kids awake yet?”

  It took half an hour to get Becky and Nate up, dressed, and to the table, but after breakfast, her mother got the kids to help clean up the kitchen—why were they so much more cooperative at Grandma’s house than at home?—while Nicole turned on the old computer. It booted up as expected, and there was one USB port in the back for her thumb drive. But she couldn’t get the computer to open the files on it. She spent an hour fiddling with it and finally gave up. By then her mother and the kids were playing a board game, so she used her mom’s phone to call the law office.

  When she finally got through to Lincoln Paddock, she apologized for bothering him. “But I was wondering if I could come into the office this afternoon. I’m almost finished with the project you gave me. I think I could finish it up in a few hours, but I’m not able to use my computer right now.”

  “No problem. Do you need me to send a ride for you?”

  “No, no. I’m actually at my mother’s house right now, and it’s easy to catch the ‘L’ from here.”

  “Sure. See you when you get here then.”

  Nicole arrived at the offices of Watkins, Ellis, and Katz about eleven thirty, and after checking in with Lincoln, she got to work at the desk Delores Krenshaw assigned her to. Shortly after noon, she heard a knock on the edge of her cubicle and turned to see Lincoln leaning casually against the opening, arms folded, a broad grin on his face.

  “Hey, neighbor, time for lunch. Let’s go down to Sopraffina’s. It’s on me.”

  She tried to keep her voice nonchalant. “What’s Sopraffina?”

  “Just a little Italian café on street level of this building. We might still beat the rush.”

  She felt herself blush as she shook her head, aware of her blonde hair swinging. “I don’t know. Just got here. Better get some work done first.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Besides there’s something I need to talk to you about, and I have meetings all afternoon. Come on.”

  Nicole grabbed her purse and followed him.

  Five minutes later they were seated at a table for two in a back corner. After they’d ordered the minestrone soup and two of their gourmet sandwiches, he smiled at her. “I hope it’s worked out for you doing this legal work, but—okay, I’m a little embarrassed to ask you, but I really need some help at my limo company. Is there any chance you could come in for the next few days? It’s mostly just clerical and accounting stuff, but my usual staff person is on sick leave, and it would be such a big help.”

  Nicole didn’t even blink before saying yes. She went home that afternoon with a check from the law firm that would pay for necessities for the next few days plus a card from Lincoln’s limo service with the number she was to call for a ride the next day. Lincoln had insisted. “There’s no good place to park around there, and you’d have to take the ‘L’ and two busses. I’ll just send a car. Call when you’re ready in the morning, and someone will pick you up in thirty minutes.”

  How considerate! What would it be like working at his limo offices? Would he be there during the day? As rough as things had become with Greg, it was more than a comfort to know she had other options . . . in fact, tantalizing that someone else, someone as attractive as Lincoln Paddock, valued her.

  * * * *

  Greg got up early Thursday, showered, shaved, and ate a light breakfast, ready for the day. He wasn’t going to let Nicole’s absence get him down. Even though she hadn’t phoned yesterday like she’d promised. Wait . . . she said she’d call, but she hadn’t actually said when. Maybe he should call her.

  No! That would just be a distraction. He had to focus. If he wanted to win back his wife, the key was to get his business on solid footing and straighten out their money. That’s what he should concentrate on today and nothing else. In fact, it might be good to not go chasing after her. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t care, but she had some responsibility in this whole thing, and
a little time to cool her heels might help her see it—as long as Lincoln Paddock wasn’t part of the picture.

  Greg went out on the porch again and looked up the street. The man had a big garage, but it seemed like he always parked one of those Lincoln Town Cars out front. No Town Car this morning though.

  Coming back inside, he sat down at his desk and started digging through the file box that had all their mortgage papers in it. He pulled out the folder labeled Home Equity Loan and began reading—the fine print this time.

  Two cups of coffee and an hour and a half later, he leaned back in his chair. As far as he could tell, the money was there for his taking, and the interest rates were really great. In 2007, when banks were still encouraging everyone to borrow more money, they’d offered Greg and Nicole this home equity loan. The bank covered the appraisal, and at the time, based on their equity, issued a revolving loan of $28,000 at 4.25 percent interest, one point above prime.

  With the recession, Greg had suspected that their little bungalow might have declined below their original purchase price of $350,000. Everyone was saying real estate values had taken a dive. But the bank hadn’t retracted the home equity amount. It had sat there unused for three years, and all he had to do was use it.

  But he wanted to do his homework. He spent the next hour reviewing all their liabilities. He’d told Nicole that he’d paid all their credit card bills on time—true—but he was behind on three car loan payments, and there was a mortgage payment due, plus two department store credit cards, and some utility bills. All together, to clear the credit card and pay off all their bills, he needed about eight thousand to cover everything. It’d be good to put a couple thousand in the checking account, too, so Nicole would feel secure. Keeping it at round numbers, he figured ten thousand would put them in the clear for everything.

  But he wouldn’t have any working capital for TopOps unless he started dipping into the credit card again. It sure would be nice to tell Nicole he wasn’t doing that any more.

  Greg stared out the front window. What if he withdrew all $28,000 and used eighteen of it to launch his business the right way? After all, he’d told Nicole it wasn’t uncommon for a business to require half a million to get started. That might be true, though he didn’t actually know anyone who’d received that kind of money. And business loans required close scrutiny by the lending agency before they were approved. However, the home equity loan was his money to use as he pleased. If he believed it was a good deal, he was the decision maker.

  It felt kind of heady to be stepping into this opportunity in such a serious way. But he was a serious guy. And this move could put everything on solid footing.

  Pastor Hanson would be proud of him taking this bold step, thinking positive, thinking big. But maybe he should pray about it too. Greg scrunched his eyes. “Jesus, I’m going to step out in faith, knowing that you desire to prosper me just like you promised to do. I believe it! I claim the blessing, and I’m . . .”

  His mind drifted to how he was going to get the money from his bank to TopOps. The online introduction to TopOps website had said you could use a credit card or a wire transfer.

  A wire transfer . . . that’s what he would do.

  On the TopOps website, he found the wire transfer instructions again and jotted down the routing numbers he needed before heading out the back door. Rats! Nicole had the Cherokee. Okay . . . Plan B. The bank was less than a mile away. The day was a little muggy and hot, but the cloud cover would help. He could walk and still be there in twenty minutes.

  Chapter 39

  The African American driver of the sleek Town Car looked slightly familiar to Nicole as she slipped into the leather backseat. She glanced up and caught him staring at her in his rearview mirror. He looked away, checking the traffic to the side and then back at her. “I thought you lived up on Beecham Street.”

  “I do,” Nicole said nervously. “I’m just staying down here with my mom for a few days.”

  “Hmm,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb. “My dad lives on Beecham in that graystone. Harry Bentley. You know him?”

  “Really?” That was a coincidence. “A little. He and his wife, Estelle, have been real friendly since they moved into the neighborhood. Estelle especially.”

  The driver chuckled. “You can say that again. She’s my stepmom. I stayed with them for a couple of months in the spring until I got a place of my own.”

  “I thought I recognized you.” She smiled at him, but his eyes were on his driving. “Guess it’s a small world, huh?”

  “Got that right. You’d be surprised at the people I meet in this job. Of course, my boss lives at the north end of Beecham. That’s how I got this job. You been working for him long?”

  Nicole didn’t really want to talk about Lincoln. “What was your name again?”

  “Didn’t say, but I’m Rodney, Rodney Bentley.” He made a left turn and accelerated down a narrow street.

  “Good to meet you, Rodney. I’m Nicole Singer.” Then feeling she needed to provide some explanation for being driven to a rendezvous with Rodney’s boss, she added, “I’ve been doing some legal work for Mr. Paddock at his law firm, but it seems he needs some help with his limo business.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hazel’s been out for a week. Surgery, I think, but the office is a mess.”

  The headquarters for Lincoln Limo proved to be a small warehouse that served as the garage for half a dozen cars, two of them fancy stretch jobs. Rodney pulled in, got out quickly, and politely opened the door for Nicole. He guided her toward the back of the building, zigzagging around other parked cars and three men Nicole took to be drivers who were cleaning and servicing them. The whole place smelled of car polish, oil, tires, and gasoline. Nicole was inclined to hold her breath.

  “That’s the restroom.” Rodney pointed to a door under a set of stairs up to a mezzanine level. “We oughta have a sign on the door, but nobody uses it ’cept the folks who work here. Just lock it when you go in.”

  Nicole imagined porta-potty quality and smells and determined to avoid it as much as possible.

  He pointed to a couple other closed doors. “Those are storerooms for parts and stuff, and that’s Joe, our dispatcher.”

  The open dispatch office under the mezzanine was separated from the rest of the garage by a counter, covered with notebooks and in/out boxes. Inside, under a greenish florescent light, a fat, balding man sat at a desk with three phones and a pedestal microphone. He glanced momentarily away from his small-screen TV at Nicole without registering that he saw her.

  “Up here’s the business offices,” Rodney said as he led her up the steps. “With Hazel gone, I don’t think anybody’s up here since I didn’t see Mr. Paddock’s car.” He opened a door and flipped the lights.

  Though tucked up under the rafters of the warehouse, the suite of offices looked orderly and pleasant, and Nicole noticed they either smelled better or she was becoming used to “garage” odor.

  “This is Hazel’s office. I’m sure you can use her desk. Through that door”—ajar, but still dark—“is Mr. Paddock’s office. He said for you to give him a call when you got here, and he’d tell you what to do. So . . . think you’ll be okay?”

  Nicole looked at Rodney wide-eyed. How could she know whether she’d be okay?

  Apparently Rodney took her look as a yes, because he backed out of the door. “If you need anything, just call. I don’t have another fare till three this afternoon, and after that any of the other guys can help you.” Turning, he headed down the steps.

  Nicole stood in the middle of the office, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Stepping over to a window along one wall of Hazel’s office that looked out over the garage, she watched Rodney walk to his car, speaking casually to some of the other men in the garage.

  Since the door between Hazel’s office and Lincoln’s was partially open, she walked over and tentatively looked inside, flipping on the light. The office was spacious with a large oak desk,
a leather executive chair, a couple other nice chairs in front of his desk, and a matching leather sofa along one wall. There was what looked like a functioning gas fireplace, and the two large art prints on the paneled walls were not originals but numbered, nonetheless. Vertical blinds over his window looking out into the garage were turned closed.

  “Nice,” Nicole mused as she backed out and shut off the light.

  But she was here to work. Picking up the phone on Hazel’s desk, she dialed Lincoln’s number.

  “Ah, you’re there. Did everything go okay, picking you up and all?”

  “No problem. Thanks for the ride.” She paused a moment. “So what is it you’d like me to do?”

  “Oh, yes. On my desk are two piles of papers . . .” She listened as he outlined what he wanted her to do, grabbing a notepad as he gave her the password to his personal computer. He promised he’d be there within the hour to answer any questions she might have and set her up with the other work that needed doing.

  After they hung up, Nicole frowned. Did he mean for her to work in his office? Why not at Hazel’s desk? She tried the password on Hazel’s computer, but nothing happened. Oka-ay. But she felt awkward working in Lincoln’s office and on his computer. She was careful not to open programs or files that did not specifically relate to the assignment he’d given her, but she could’ve gotten into them. He’d given her access to the very heart of his business. If there was anything private or confidential, it was open to her.

  Did he trust her that much? What did that say about their relationship?

  It was a relief when she heard Lincoln coming up the steps, shouting some encouraging instructions to some of the men down on the floor. Nicole instinctively got up from Lincoln’s desk chair and stood awkwardly beside it.