Abby pleaded.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll come along with you. I wanted to talk to you, Kate,” Bell said.
The suggestion sounded as palatable as cyanide,
but Kate conceded at Abby’s support of the request.
The three walked in unison into the store. It was sickening for Kate to be this close to the woman, but she had to keep up appearances for the world and her daughter.
“Hi, Mickey,” Abby said and waved at the oversized mouse with its human occupant inside.
The mouse waved back and stared longingly at the
Asian woman’s figure when she passed by.
Dropping the bags to the floor, Abby ran over to the stuffed toy section.
Bell took advantage of the moment alone with her
ex-lover’s wife. “Kate, I thought we’d chat about things—life, you know.”
“Belinda, we—”
Bell interrupted with a raised hand. “Bell, please.
We’re all friends here, Kate.”
“Bell, we’ve got nothing to talk about.”
“Oh, I disagree, Kate. We have a lot in common.”
“Nothing you’ve got to say will be of interest to me,” Kate said.
“But I think it will.”
“I don’t care what you think. Josh has told me all about you and your blackmailing scheme for the bribe.
know it all. I suppose it’s you who’s been feeding Channel Three all the dirt.”
Bell raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You are well informed.”
“We
have no secrets,” Kate said.
“I’m not so sure I would be that forgiving if I were you. You must be a very understanding woman. Far too good for a man like Josh.”
Containing her frustrations no longer, Kate stormed away toward her daughter. “Come on, Abby, it’s time to go,” she snapped.
“Oh, Mom,” Abby whined.
“No, Abby. I said we’re going. So let’s go,” Kate snapped.
Abby relented with low-pitched mumbles. She picked up her bags and stormily strode out of the shop with her mother.
“Stay away from us, Bell. We don’t need you around,”
Kate said, passing Bell on the way out. Kate sneered contemptuously at the Asian woman. Bell’s pretense that they were friends and had something in common disgusted her.
“You’re a good woman, Kate. I don’t know many
women who would forgive their husband’s infidelity,”
Bell called loudly to Kate’s back.
Kate stopped and spun around in the entrance of the store, jerking Abby around with her, while the seven-foot cartoon mouse looked on behind them. Bewildered, Kate didn’t know what Bell was talking about, but she was beginning to understand. Bell recognized the look of bewilderment on Kate’s face and squeaked a laugh, clamping
her hands over her mouth and bending forward in
amusement. After a moment, she straightened and let her hands drop, the laughter knocked aside by spiteful rage.
“So, you don’t know I was fucking him for over a
year?” she spat loudly and triumphantly.
slack-jawed, Kate dropped the half-drunk latte.
coffee exploded on impact and sent the hot li
splashing over Kate’s bare legs and feet, but she was too numb to feel it.
“Oh, shit,” Mickey Mouse said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Family Stop Insurance Services was closed on Saturdays, but Bob Deuce opened up his office, not for business, but for his friend. Buying back Josh’s viatical
settlement from Pinnacle Investments was worth a try.
Bob had little else to suggest.
He sat at his desk and removed the papers from the envelope he’d taken to the diner. Leafing through the pages, he pulled out a printout from Pinnacle Investments’s Web site. The page detailed the names of the
important people for each of the company’s divisions.
He tapped his finger on the vice president in charge of the Viatical Settlement Division, Dexter Tyrell.
“I’ll start with you.”
Pinnacle Investments was open for business six days a week, so someone would be there. Bob hoped to
speak to Dexter Tyrell, but he doubted he would be there on a Saturday. Mentally, he crossed his fingers for luck, picked up the phone and dialed the number listed.
“Pinnacle Investments Viatical Settlements Division, your life is in our hands. My name is Julie,” the receptionist said. “How can I assist you?”
“Hi, I’d like to speak to Dexter Tyrell, please.”
“Can I tell him who is calling?”
“It’s Bob Deuce, from Family Stop Insurance Services.
I’m an agent for Pinnacle Investments.”
“I’ll just see if he’s available.”
Bob was put on hold and something from Easy Listening’s Greatest Hits, Volume Umpteen, dripped down
the phone line. The music ended.
“Hello, Mr. Deuce. I’ll just connect you,” Julie said.
Bob was in luck; Tyrell worked Saturdays.
“Dexter Tyrell,” the executive said, in a time-is money tone.
“I’m Bob Deuce from Family Stop Insurance Services.
I’ve acted as an agent for Pinnacle Investments in the past.”
“It’s nice to speak to someone who creates business for us,” Tyrell said condescendingly.
“Well, Mr. Tyrell, I have a request from one of our clients.”
“Okay, Bob, fire away.”
Bob raised an eyebrow at Tyrell’s use of his first name. Bob supposed Tyrell thought of him as one of the boys, being in the insurance game and all. The informality amused him. Tyrell seemed insincere, so Bob
thought he’d be playful.
“You see, it’s like this, Dexter.” Bob placed a lot of topspin on Tyrell’s name. He smirked and paused.
“Yes,” Tyrell said, stretching the word out.
“I have a client who made a viatical settlement eighteen months or so ago. And I’m inquiring whether it
would be possible for him to reverse the settlement.”
Tyrell didn’t answer. The question hung in the air, turning stale.
I’m not sure that’s possible, Bob.” Tyrell seemed embarrassed by his unfortunate answer.
“Any reason?”
“Obviously, you understand the process of a viatical settlement.”
“Obviously.”
“Then, you understand the costs incurred by Pinnacle Investments with the cash settlement and the existing monthly dues, et cetera.”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t in our interests to reverse the settlement.”
“My client would be prepared to return the cash remuneration and any other costs involved,” Bob offered.
“Why is our client doing this?”
Bob shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His mind
raced for an answer. “His financial circumstances have changed and he’s interested in getting his life insurance policy back because of its sizeable face value.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.” A nervous tone
crept into Bob’s voice. The source of his anxiety was clear. He had the distinct feeling he was conversing with a spider while he was the fly that trembled on the web.
“Who is our client?”
“His name is Joshua Michaels.”
A pregnant pause intervened, a pause in dire need of inducing.
Does he know? Is he the one? In the silence of the telephone line Bob wondered if Tyrell was the man sanctioning the murder of his clients. Contact with this man frightened him. It made sense for the order to come from up high. It was unlikely a minion of Pinnacle Investments would have the corporate clout to order people’s deaths. Also, it would be possible for a top executive to hide the excessive expenses needed to hire a
professional killer. Chipped ice ran down Bob’s collar; Tyrell knew his name.
“I don’t remember his file,”—Tyrell paused again—