A Soft Place to Fall (33 page)

Sam Butler told her to stop payment on the
check first thing in the morning. As if she needed him to suggest
the obvious. Would she be so upset if she could do that? Adam
Winters had wanted certified checks only, bank checks that
guaranteed payment. "Then call my friends," he said, wasting no
time on recriminations. He would let them know they'd be hearing
from her. She didn't have to worry about cold-calling.

"Why should I call one of your friends?" she
had asked.

"Because they're the best in the business,"
he said. One of the men was a Wall Street lawyer. The other was a
consumer affairs specialist.

"And how would you happen to know them?"
After all, he wasn't the kind of man who went to work in a suit and
tie the way her John and Kevin had. He was working class. All he
had to do was open his mouth and you knew that for a fact.

She would never forget the look in his eyes
when he said, "Because they used to work for me."

She had laughed out loud. She couldn't help
it. The thought of that scruffy man telling a lawyer or analyst
what to do was absurd. But Sam Butler didn't laugh with her. He
launched into a rapid-fire barrage of growth funds, low risk/high
yield ventures, the pros and cons of banking your monies or
investing them, why you should never hand over the financial reins
to anyone any time for any reason short of physical and mental
incompetence. He told her she had every right to her money and that
she should make that clear to everyone from Adam Winters on
down.

If he had started spouting Shakespearean
sonnets, she couldn't have been more surprised and it didn't take
long for her to realize there was much more to Sam Butler than met
the eye. How he must be laughing now at the foolish old woman who
had been swayed by a nice young man's smile.

She would rather be on that ice floe.

Chapter Seventeen

Sam
wasn't at all convinced he'd managed to get through to Claudia
Galloway. She'd folded the piece of paper with Arnold Gillingham's
and William Fenestra's phone numbers on it and slipped it into the
pocket of her jacket. He doubted if she would use it. She was too
deep into despair and self-pity right now to recognize a life line
when she saw it and he didn't dare spell it out any more plainly.
He had already said more than he should have but there was no way
he could stand there and watch the woman lose everything to a shark
like Winters.

Too bad the guy was already halfway to his
next gig in Arizona or Sam would have been tempted to show up at
the hotel and demand Claudia's money back.

It had all hit too close to home this time.
How many of his former clients were in Claudia's position now,
scared shitless and wondering how to salvage a once-bright
retirement. He wondered how many cursed him each night before they
went to sleep. That was why he'd pulled off the road halfway
between Claudia's house and his borrowed cottage and phoned Arnold
Gillingham. It was a small potatoes deal, the kind Arnold had left
behind when he went national, but Sam called in a longstanding
marker and Arnold was honorbound to act on it. Besides, the reason
Arnold had gone into consumer affairs was because he genuinely
hated seeing people taken advantage of by scam artists and con
men.

He'd been living in a dream world these last
few weeks with Annie. He'd allowed himself to forget the shadows
that loomed large on the horizon, shadows that could change his
life forever. The sight of the formidable Claudia huddled in
despair at Warren's kitchen table had affected him deeply. In some
ways he was no better than that scum Adam Winters who preyed on
fears of loneliness and old age. The only difference was that he
had had the full weight of Mason, Marx, and Daniels behind him,
lending him the high gloss of credibility.

He wanted to go home and tell Annie
everything, spill his guts to her and let hers be the only judgment
that mattered but he couldn't. Telling Annie would be tantamount to
dragging her into the middle of the mess. If she didn't know, they
couldn't touch her. The moment he let her into the truth of his
life, she would be open to public and judicial scrutiny of the
harshest kind. What he felt for her was too deep, too important to
sacrifice on the altar of his own loneliness. If he did nothing
else right in his life, he would keep her safe from harm.

#

Annie heard Sam's truck crunch its way toward
home around seven o'clock. Although they spent every night in each
other's arms, they had no set expectations of each other when it
came to things like taking meals together. She cooked sometimes and
so did he and every now and then they splurged and drove over to
Cappy's for lobster rolls or the Friday fish fry. The last time
they were there an overbearing Yankee matron had unwittingly
entertained the other patrons with a series of cell phone
conversations, each of which ended with a Down East "ciao" that
almost put Sam and Annie under the table with laughter.

Tonight she had been inspired by the cool
early autumn weather and had whipped up a pot of homemade
minestrone to go with the crispy loaf of French bread she'd picked
up earlier at Yankee Shopper. More and more they were falling into
an easy domesticity that seemed to have
future
written all
over it.

Not that they talked about the future. Or the
past, for that matter. They were anchored firmly in the here and
now, draining every ounce of joy from the moment because they both
knew how quickly it could disappear.

But the future was out there waiting, and
Annie knew it wouldn't be long before they talked about sharing it
together. Everything was so easy with Sam, so right. Because they
shared a similar background, they understood each other's soul in a
way few others ever could. She didn't have to tell him how much she
valued family. He didn't have to tell her that he would put his
life on the line to protect those he loved. To find Sam now that
she had finally reassembled the wreckage of her life with Kevin was
like discovering the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

A late bloomer, that's what she was. One of
those women who didn't come into their own until they were in their
thirties or forties and then watch out. Even her body seemed
different to her lately, more womanly and responsive. Her breasts
were fuller, no doubt about it, definitely more sensitive to every
whisper of attention. She no longer came alive at only Sam's touch.
No, it seemed like somebody had flipped a switch, sending an erotic
current flowing through her body morning, noon, and night and that
current sent shock waves through every part of her life.

The flower shop was flourishing. Her work on
the pieces for the museum engaged her heart and soul. And being
with Sam, whether it was making love or making breakfast, felt like
coming home. Each part of her existence fed the whole in a deep and
meaningful way and she felt blessed to be given this gift at a time
when she least expected it.

Next week she was giving a seminar called
"Expanding Your Horizons" at the annual meeting of the Maine Floral
Professionals down in York Harbor. Sam was going with her and they
planned to spend the night at the Inn overlooking the harbor
itself. She couldn't wait to see the surprised looks on the faces
of her colleagues when she showed up with Sam by her side.

If there was a dark cloud on her sunny
horizon it was the annoying fatigue she'd been experiencing the
last few weeks. She knew she was burning the candle at both ends
and in the middle, too, but there was no way around it. She was
alive with ideas and excitement and joy; sleeping seemed like a
waste of glorious time. Sweeney had suggested she try taking a
catnap in the middle of the workday but Annie had just laughed. The
thought of trying to explain a siesta to Claudia would be tougher
than explaining Sam.

She glanced at the clock. Any minute she'd
hear Sam's footsteps on the path.

She smoothed her hair, checked her reflection
in the side of the toaster. Five minutes went by, ten minutes,
fifteen. She peered out the kitchen window and saw the answering
glow of lamplight in his living room window. Usually Max would be
waiting impatiently on her front porch by now, eager to see what
special something she had for him today.

After twenty minutes she decided something
must be wrong. She turned the flame off under the soup then headed
up the road to his house. Max gave one of his who's-out-there barks
when she knocked on the front door.

"It's Annie," she called out and was greatly
relieved when Sam, cell phone pressed to his ear, swung open the
door and motioned her inside.

Max stood up on his hind legs and placed his
big paws against her chest as he yipped a greeting. Max's owner,
however, looked distracted and more than a little worried.

"Annie from across the road," he said into
the receiver. "None of your business . . . just call the locksmith,
Marie . . . yeah, I'll be here . . . tell Geo the Jets are going to
trash the Raiders on Sunday. . . you too . . . talk to you later."
He tossed the phone on the sofa then turned to Annie. "I missed you
today."

"I missed you too." She moved into his
embrace. "Is something wrong?"

"That was my sister Marie. She said my place
in Manhattan was broken into."

Annie shuddered. "Thank God you weren't
there. Did they take much?"

"There wasn't much to take. Marie said they
trashed what was there then left."

That had happened once to her and Kevin early
in their marriage. They had come home from work one day to find
their place turned inside out. Bookcases overturned. Mattresses
tossed. Dishes smashed on the floor. A subtle warning from a man
who was tired of waiting for his money. Only thing was, Annie
didn't know anyone was waiting for money, especially not for their
money. She had wanted to call the police but Kevin had been dead
set against it. She couldn't understand why he refused to report a
break in and entry and she had argued her point loudly. She'd never
forget the look in Kevin's eyes when he said, "There's something I
have to tell you, Annie Rose." Words she hoped she'd never hear
again.

She tried to shake off the feeling of unease.
Manhattan apartments were broken into every day of the week. It was
as common as a head cold down there. Not like Shelter Rock Cove
where the police department had nothing to do but keep the two
squad cars well-polished and gassed up.

She rested her head against his chest and
closed her eyes. "Do you have to go back down there to file a
report?"

"My sister took care of everything," he said.
"Nothing to worry about."

He still sounded worried. That made them even
because she still felt uneasy.

"I made soup," she said. "You and Max are
invited."

"Great." He kissed her and the world began to
right itself one more time. "I'll be there in five with a bottle of
wine."

#

The phone rang again less than a minute after
Annie and Max left.

"She'll get her money back," Arnie Gillingham
said by way of hello. "No problem."

Arnie was consumer affairs reporter for a
national cable station and he knew where the bodies were buried.
Adam Winters was just this side of being legal and he wanted to
stay that way. In order to do that, he needed happy investors and
Mrs. Claudia Galloway of Shelter Rock Cove, Maine didn't qualify.
Her monies, including the two thousand dollar seminar fee, would be
returned to her by courier within twenty-four hours.

"I owe you one," Sam said as the image of a
distraught Claudia – so like his mother years ago – began to lose
some of its power.

"So you're up in Maine," Arnie said. "I
would've figured Aruba or maybe the Costa del Sol."

Shit. What the hell had he done? "Can't tell
much from a cell phone number," he said with what he hoped was a
who-gives-a-damn tone of voice.

"Don't sweat it," Arnie said. "I'd lie low
these days too what with all that shit coming down at Mason Marx."
Arnie laughed. "You always did have the best timing in town. Leave
it to Butler to grab his golden parachute and get out while the
getting was still good."

Sam closed the connection a few minutes later
with the sense that jackbooted thugs were goosestepping inside his
gut. What the hell had he been thinking when he called Arnie from
the car. What difference would another day or week, for that
matter, make in the scheme of things? One way or another he had
been determined to see that Claudia got her money back. But the
sight of her despair had somehow become linked with his mother at
the kitchen table back in Queens, wondering how they were going to
pay the bills, and with Mrs. Ruggiero's steadfast belief that
Mary's son Sam would never steer her wrong. That vision had morphed
into himself at nineteen and at twenty-three, faced with an even
higher mountain of bills, sitting at the same kitchen table and
wishing he had the guts to run away. It had taken him years to
understand that sometimes it took more guts to stick around.

He had this fantasy about grabbing Annie by
the hand and driving off with her. In his dreams they'd load Max
and the two cats into the back of the Trooper and just go but he
somehow he couldn't push past from fantasy to reality when he was
awake. Some people ran when the going got tough. Some people dug in
their heels and stayed. He knew which type they were.

Leave it to Butler to grab his golden
parachute and get out while the getting was still good.

He had let Arnie's statement slide by without
remark but there was no denying the fact that things were in motion
down in New York. He didn't say as much to Marie but he would bet
his Trooper that the break-in at his New York apartment wasn't
random. They were looking for something and they knew he was the
one man who could blow them out of the water.