a-soft-place-to-fall, Rakhibul hasan [novels to read in english .txt] 📗

and she pulled away.

"I'm not senile yet," she snapped. "I can stand on my own two feet."

"Sorry." He backed away, palms held outward. "Why don't you come in and sit down." Lady, you're acting like it's a Prozac moment.

He pushed open the door and ushered her into the front hall. He gestured toward the living room. "Sit down," he said, risking another outburst. "I'll get you some water."

She ignored him and headed toward the back of the house. "I know this place like the back of my hand," she said over her shoulder. "I'll get my own water."

"Whatever," he muttered, as he and Max followed close behind. It was clear she didn't like him and at the moment the feeling was mutual.

She fumbled in the cabinet over the stove, looking for a water glass. "Wineglasses on the bottom shelf. What is Nancy thinking of?" Her hands shook as she reached for a chunky little glass on the second shelf.

Sam reached over her head and took down the glass. "Here," he said. "This is what you were looking for, right?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Who knew polite could sound so angry.

She filled the glass from the tap then took two noisy gulps. She sounded like Max at his bowl. He had the feeling it was the first time in her life that Claudia Galloway fell short of perfection.

"I'm great with cars," he said. "If you need a tire changed or anything –" "My son-in-law is a master mechanic," she said through a fresh fall of tears. "You left your lights on," he said. "I turned them off for you."

"That wasn't necessary."

"It will be when you try to start your engine." She waved a hand in the air. "I don't care."

He thought about the mess on the front seat of her car. The spilled contents of her purse. The checkbook. The papers that looked a hell of a lot like signed contracts. Adam Winters's glossy four-color face staring up at him from the front of a brochure. Her desperate need to see Warren. I'll give it one more shot, Mrs. G, then I'm outta here.

She was seated at the kitchen table, her slim body curled over the stubby glass of water. She looked the way his mother used to look when they were going to be late again with the rent. She looked the way his clients must have looked when they realized they were bleeding money.

"You signed a contract with Adam Winters, didn't you?"

She looked up at him, her face a study in despair. "How did you know?" "Lucky guess," he said. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," she said, burying her face in her hands. "Terribly bad."

He asked for a number and the one she told him rocked him back on his heels. One year ago the amount wouldn't have made him blink.

"You're right," he said. "That's pretty damn bad."

"You tell anyone and I'll have your head," she said angrily. "I don't know why on earth I told you."

"You didn't," he pointed out. "I guessed."

"Well, now you can just forget all about it," she ordered him. "This is none of your business."

Let it drop, Butler. You don't need this. Lie low just a little while longer.

"You're right," he said, "it isn't any of my business but what would you say if I told you I might be able to help."

"You?" She looked like she'd be surprised to find out he could count without using his fingers and toes.

He repeated the dollar figure she'd quoted and waited a moment for its magnitude to sink in. "You're already in about as deep as it gets. Will it hurt to listen to what I have to say?"

#

Sam Butler insisted on driving behind Claudia all the way home. She pulled into her driveway and gave him her best Queen Elizabeth wave then let herself into the house. He didn't leave until she switched on her lights and even then he waited a minute or two just to be sure. If one of her sons had shown such good manners she would have been insufferably proud but this was the man who was trying to take Kevin's place and she was not about to grant him any quarter.

He didn't have to help you, Claudia. He could have left you to figure your own way out of this mess.

"What nonsense," she muttered as she hung up her jacket in the hall closet then slipped out of her shoes. So what if he wrote down some names and phone numbers for her. That was hardly putting himself out, was it?

You're turning into a bitter old woman. He isn't the one who signed away your life savings.

No, she did that herself. Even now, with the evidence spread across the kitchen table, she couldn't quite believe she had done such a thing. Roberta was usually the one who leaped before she looked. Claudia couldn't count the number of crazy schemes her friend had been involved in but this time Roberta had folded up her certified check and slipped it back into her purse before Adam had finished his presentation.

But not Claudia. Roberta's prudence had seemed more like cowardice to her at the time. Adam Winters's speech had been rousing and prophetic. He had promised them freedom from HMOs and greedy children. Who wouldn't want to be independently wealthy, able to call their own shots without worrying about co-payments or becoming a burden later in life. Adam understood their needs without being told. It was hard to believe he was only thirty years old; he was as mature as a man twice his age. He had seemed so interested in her. He had answered her questions, almost anticipating them – or so it had seemed. He had opened her eyes to the precarious nature of her financial existence. Best of all, he had provided answers, a sensible way to invest her money and double it within the first two years.

"Of course, the larger the investment, the more spectacular the payoff," he had said. "Why put a limit on your dreams?"

Claudia couldn't answer that. The thought of being dependent upon her children for the basic necessities of life terrified her. She couldn't imagine relying on Susan for groceries or Eileen to pay the property taxes. And what if she lost the car and was reduced to asking Annie for a lift to the flower shop every day. She had read once about old people in Greenland or some other cold and lonely place. When a man or woman was too old to be of value any longer, the old person would crawl onto an ice floe and just drift away. The first time she'd heard that story she had been horrified, grateful to be living in the modern world with its enlightened views on growing older. But with every year that passed, and there had been many of them, she found herself understanding the ice floe mentality just a little bit better.

Adam Winters had a chart for everything. He diagrammed the Dow and NASDAQ over the last five years. He pinpointed the growth areas of communications and pharmaceuticals. He projected earnings off a sum of money close to what Claudia had ultimately signed over and the totals were awe-inspiring. How could she resist?

You fool, she thought bitterly. You know that's what this is all about. He paid attention to you. He remembered your name. He touched you on the shoulder each time he walked by. He looked at you, really looked at you, when he talked.

Now she was getting down to the real story. She was a fool. A lonely old woman whose head had been turned by a man who was almost young enough to be her grandson. It was pathetic, that's what it was. Downright pathetic. Even Roberta, who made a hobby of having her head turned, had been smart enough to put her checkbook away when it was time to sign on the dotted line.

But not Claudia. The old demons had reared their ugly heads, whispering for her to go ahead and take a chance. Spin the wheel. Throw the dice. This wasn't really gambling, was it? Not when such a nice and educated young man told her it was the right thing to do. After all, what did she have to lose but everything she owned?

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