All Fired Up (14 page)

Chapter Nine

Trembling, Calleigh slammed the office door behind her. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. This wasn’t what she wanted.

She hurried down to the lobby, rushed out of the building and hailed a taxi. By the time she’d gotten back to the apartment, the rush of adrenaline had worn off. This wasn’t even close to what she wanted.

She grabbed the talisman and shook it. “Come back. I don’t want this. I’ve changed my mind.”

Nothing. She shook it again. “Please.” She clicked her heels together and wished for home.

The apartment remained empty. Her heart sank. She’d have to live out the three days.

Tears blurred her vision as she put Snickers in his carrier. Stuffing the talisman into her purse, she looked around for anything else. There was so little here that mattered.

Her cell phone rang. Brad’s number flashed on the display. She powered the phone off.

In no mood to bother with the subways, she had the doorman call her another car and driver. It was going on Brad’s bill anyway.

Forty-five minutes later, she was standing in her Brooklyn home. Robotically, she dug through boxes to find a lamp, got Snickers situated, and then collapsed onto the sheet covered couch.

The chill in the house registered after her toes went numb. She nudged the heat up, then saw the key for the fireplace still on the mantle, overlooked in the packing.

By firelight, the towers of boxes cast long, lonely shadows. Exhausted but running on nerves, she rummaged through boxes. She discovered a garbage bag full of her clothes in one of the Goodwill piles.

Jeans, sweatshirts, old sweaters, simple bras, cotton panties, everything Brad found unacceptable. She shed her black dress and matching lingerie for a pair of flannel lounge pants and an old sweatshirt. She dug further and found some socks. Both her toes and the brownstone started to warm up.

She uncovered the couch and made a bed for herself with a throw pillow and an afghan. Snickers curled up beside her, purring.

“You love mama, don’t you?” She scratched under his chin. “Not like that cheating idiot.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m the idiot. I knew what Brad was about and I ignored it. A man just isn’t worth all that. If he doesn’t love me for me, I don’t want him.” She was talking to herself now, staring into the fire.

“I will never again compromise my life for love.” She yawned and Snickers rolled over, paws in the air. Kissing his little pink nose, she drifted, her lids heavy.

“Never again…”

Bright sun washed the room with a golden glow, waking Calleigh from a fitful night’s sleep. Her neck was stiff from her position on the couch, her body sore from her time in the gym the day before. She stretched slowly, yawning and wishing she knew where the aspirin was.

So much to do. Where to start? What to do first?

She needed advice, and there was only one person she could think of who would give it to her without making her feel worse than she already did.

Powering up her cell phone, she saw three voicemails, all from Brad. They could wait. She hit the number for her uncle’s speed dial.

“Hmmhullo?”

She’d definitely woken him up. “Uncle Seamus? It’s Calleigh. I need some help.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She bit her lip, desperate not to cry, not to seem like a helpless child, even though she felt like one.

“Calleigh, love, what’s wrong? Are you weepin’?”

Deep inhale. “Brad cheated on me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh pet, I’m so sorry. Are you sure?”

“Positive. I walked in on him. With Jeana.
Jeana
! I need a lawyer, I think. Uncle Seamus, I’m such a fool.” Fresh tears wet her face.

“Jeana? Merciful Joseph, is there anyone left in this city that girl hasn’t tupped? What a lousy thing to do to family.

“Calm down, love, we’ll get through this. First, get to the bank and close the joint accounts. Take whatever money’s there and start a new account in your own name. I’ll call my attorney friend and get him to recommend a good divorce lawyer. Then I’ll come to you…where are you?”

“I’m at home.”

“Okay, I’ve got a key. I’ll let myself in if you’re not back from the bank yet when I get there.”

“Could you do one more thing for me?” Calleigh asked.

“Just name it.”

“Bring some aspirin?”

“You got it, lovey.”

“Thank you, Uncle Seamus.

“Lovey, I’d wring the wanker’s neck with me own hands if I thought it would help.”

She got to Citibank just as they opened. The teller slid the safety window back.

“May I help you?”

Calleigh pushed a piece of paper with the account numbers written on it under the slot. “I’d like to close these accounts, then open a new one in my name alone.”

“Yes ma’am. I can close the accounts for you, but you’ll have to see an account manager to open a new one.”

The teller punched the numbers into her computer. “Would you like this in large or small bills?”

“Large, I guess. It’s just going right back in.”

The woman counted out two crisp one hundred dollar bills, a five and three singles, then added two quarters and a penny.

Calleigh stared at the money. Her temples started to throb. Hard. “What is that?”

“That’s the total of your accounts, ma’am.”

Grabbing the counter for balance, Calleigh shook her head. “There was over $50,000 in those accounts.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s all that was in there. Would you like to see an account manager now?”

“No. That has to be a mistake. Can you check again?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Volk, but all the withdrawals were made by a signer on this account. There is no mistake.”

Brad was the only other signer on the account. She took a deep shuddering breath. “Can you at least tell me where the money went? There has to be some record.”

The woman gave her a sympathetic look. “Let me get a manager.”

The bank manager supplied Calleigh with copies of every statement and put them in a manila envelope. She accepted them, mumbled a thank you and left.

She walked home numb. $50,000 of her inheritance, gone. What had Brad done with the money? For a brief moment, she was glad her parents weren’t alive to see what a mess her life had become.

Numbness thawed to hurt, hurt boiled into anger. What did Brad need all that money for? He made a great salary. Had he used her money to buy those designer clothes? A down payment on that uptown loft? And where was the money from the sale of her mother’s car?

She stopped walking and stood staring at the cracked sidewalk. He’d been planning on selling the brownstone. The thought of him getting his hands on that money sent a cold chill down her spine. What was he up to? Maybe the answer was in the bank statements.

Seamus hadn’t arrived when she got home, so she sat on the couch and started going through the bank papers. She glanced through the sheets of canceled checks. Most of them were made out to cash but the copy of the check card was a different story. It read like a credit card statement.

The first name that caught her attention was Tiffany’s. She looked at the amount then looked at her ring. No way it had cost that little. Not that thirty-five hundred was a small amount. She wondered if Brad had given her something else, something she wouldn’t have known about because of the change. But wouldn’t she be wearing the gift? How could a girl resist showing off something new and sparkly?

Of course.
She closed her eyes and slumped back on the couch. Jeana’s bracelet. Gold-digging home wrecker.

After a moment, she shuffled through the papers again. She understood finances about as well as she understood men. Corrigan was the trustee of her parent’s estate until she turned thirty when the whole thing came to her in its entirety.

Three more years and Brad would’ve gotten his hands on the whole lot. Nearly three million dollars in stocks and annuities, plus the brownstone, which was worth nearly a million. Another shot of ice ran through her veins.

A knock at the door made her jump. The blurred image of her uncle smiled through the beveled glass.

“Hi.” She sniffed as she opened the door.

He handed her a bottle of aspirin. The simple kindness caused tears to spill.

“There, there ye poor wee lass.” His brogue thick with emotion, he kissed her forehead and drew her into his arms.

She sobbed into his chest inhaling his familiar cologne. The comfort of his warm, loving arms soothed her.

“Cry it out, lass. That’s it now. Let it all out.”

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she took a deep shuddering breath. “Come sit down. We need to talk.”

“Did you get t’the bank?”

She sniffed and rattled the bottle of pills. “As soon as I take a few of these, I’ll tell you all about it.”

After two aspirin and a brief explanation, Calleigh turned over the bank statements. Seamus read, an occasional “hmph” his only response.

Finally, he looked up and shook his head. An uneasy frown weighed his mouth. “Not being able to keep his pecker in his pants is the least of Brad’s problems. Most of these check card statements are payments to bookmakers and OTB. I have a feeling that’s where a lot of the big cash withdrawals went too.”

“How do you know that’s what they are?”

He patted her knee. “Let’s say there are parts of my past I’d rather not discuss.”

“Bookmakers? OTB? That’s for betting, right?”

“Yes. OTB is Off Track Betting. You’ve seen those places in the city. A bookmaker is a guy who takes money for bets. Bad man to owe money to.”

She disagreed with a shake of her head. “Brad wasn’t a gambler.”

He held the papers up. “These say otherwise.”

Dropping her face into her hands, Calleigh sighed. How had she not known about this? Everything she knew about Brad was false.

“So, he married me for my money? Or Mom and Dad’s money, I should say. I’m such an idiot.”

Seamus hugged her against him. He smelled good, some expensive cologne, no doubt. “Yer not an idiot. Yer a poor sweet lass who fell for the wrong guy. We’ll get you a bulldog of a lawyer and Brad will get his due.”

She nodded silently.

“Maybe I should have Corri come and fetch you. You could spend the night with them,” he said.

She pulled away. “No, I want to be here. In my home.”

“Then maybe Aunt Moreen should come spend the night with you.”

Smiling weakly at her uncle’s concern, she worried a bare spot on the couch. “I really just want to be alone. I have a lot of thinking to do and plenty of unpacking to keep me busy. Besides, I don’t want to explain everything to anyone else right now.”

He kissed her forehead. “Understood. You call me if you need anything, promise?”

“Promise. Thank you. I love you.” She hugged him.

“I love you, too, pet.” He embraced her back, before standing and making his way to the door.

“Lock this door behind me, and keep it locked when you’re here. And call me first thing in the morning when you get up.”

“I will, I will. Thanks again, Uncle Seamus.”

“Bye, lovey.”

She locked the door as promised, watching him leave through one of the leaded glass diamonds. Her stomach rumbled but she had no appetite. The only thing she wanted was her life back in order.

Unpacking the house was a daunting task, but gave her something beside the thoughts in her head to focus on. Her heart ached even more than her overworked, abused muscles.

She got her bed frame put together and wrestled the box spring and mattress into place. Another night on the couch and she’d be in a neck brace.

The only sheets she could find needed washing and she had yet to come across any detergent. Reluctantly, she changed into a pair of jeans and old sneakers for a trip to the corner store. Leaving the house didn’t really appeal, but the fresh air couldn’t hurt and the aspirin had taken the edge off the throbbing in her legs.