Desperate Measures(3)
She felt something on her leg and reached down automatically to pet the cat that wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for months. She was pretty sure he’d died of a broken heart after Jack had left and refused to take him along. Tiffany was allergic to cats, plus there had been the future baby to think of. Chauncey was never Aimee’s cat – Jack had bought him one day fifteen years ago on a whim – but she missed his company anyway. She wished she could get a new pet, but was worried about how she would feed it. The houseplant was going to have to fit the bill for companionship for now.
She focused on the last email that had come through – this one different in tone than the others – from someone named ‘Elizabeth @ Channing Burkes’.
I HAVE A CLIENT WHO WOULD BE INTERESTED. WOULD YOU TAKE TEN THOUSAND FOR THE SET?
“Whoa!” Aimee shouted out into the empty kitchen. She knew the clubs were worth nearly three times that, especially since they were hardly used and a few were custom made, but she had never expected to get anything near this amount. She narrowed her eyes. “You’d better not be scamming me, you turd.”
She started typing: YES. BUT NO CHECKS AND NO WIRING OF FUNDS FROM NIGERIA. AND IF YOU’RE A LAWYER, YOU CAN FORGET IT.
The houseplant sat there, almost as if staring at her ... admonishing her. “What?” she said, looking at it and trying again not to feel guilty. “He’s the one who left and took all our money, not leaving me anything to support myself with. What else am I supposed to do? I already sold my wedding ring and engagement ring – which was a quarter the size of Tiffany’s by the way – and all the silver and china.”
The houseplant just sat there. Being a plant.
Aimee rolled her eyes. “He’ll have me committed if he ever catches me talking to you, you know.” She refused, for that reason, to further defend her decision to sell the clubs and not to any lawyers. Lawyers were bad guys in her book. In her experience, all they did was take and take and take ... and then walked all over anyone who was stupid enough to have given them anything. Just like Jack.
The email inbox beeped at her, telling her a new message was there from Elizabeth.
NO, I’M NOT A LAWYER. I’M AN ACCOUNTANT. I’M HAPPY TO BRING YOU CASH. I’VE ALREADY SPOKEN WITH MY CLIENT AND RECEIVED HIS APPROVAL. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO MEET?
Aimee hemmed and hawed. Where? Where? Where? She looked at the plant again. “Where should I meet her? I don’t think letting anyone come here is a good idea.” She was a single woman, alone, and desperate. That would be obvious to anyone seeing how sparsely the place was furnished now and how crappy Aimee herself looked. Jack was almost fond of saying how much she’d let herself go. He, on the other hand, looked as if he’d just stepped off the cover of a men’s fitness magazine. All the weight he’d gained during their marriage had melted off once he’d started staying at the office late. Funny, how that worked.
Before she could come up with a suitable answer, another email from Elizabeth came through.
I’M GOING TO A BOOK CLUB MEETING TONIGHT. YOU COULD MEET ME IN THE BOOKSTORE PARKING LOT IF YOU’D LIKE.
“Hmmm, bookstore. That sounds safe and anonymous.”
Aimee quickly responded: THAT SOUNDS GOOD. SEND ME THE ADDRESS AND TIME AND I’LL MEET YOU THERE. REMEMBER, CASH ONLY. NO HUNDREDS.
She felt a little like a thief, the way she was talking, but she worried that someone was going to pass her a bunch of counterfeit money and leave her minus the only thing she had left of value in her house, other than her car - which she couldn’t afford to sell and be without transportation.
Another message popped up.
I DON’T MEAN TO BE RUDE, BUT I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT I CANNOT PURCHASE STOLEN MERCHANDISE. DO YOU HAVE PROOFS OF PURCHASE?
Aimee’s face colored, but she quickly pushed aside any misgivings about the ownership of the clubs – since technically Jack was still her husband, and he’d already taken more than that in value of her stuff – and typed: THEY ARE NOT STOLEN. THEY ARE MY HUSBAND’S. I WILL BRING THE RECEIPTS. I JUST DON’T WANT ANY COUNTERFEIT MONEY. SORRY IF THAT WAS WEIRD.
Aimee had kept the receipts as directed by Jack, who was really anal about financial records. He insisted that she tape all of their receipts onto pieces of paper and then file the papers in binders, while also simultaneously entering the amounts into the accounting software they kept for personal expenses. So when their accountant came each year, he could be left alone in a room with all the binders and the computer to do his work uninterrupted. Jack didn’t want to pay a single red cent more to the accountant than he needed to, so he used her free labor to do most of the job all year long, allowing the tax preparation to be done in record time, especially taking into account their considerable household expenses. Golf club community living didn’t come cheaply, nor did Jack’s expensive habits.