Fatal Debt

by Dorothy Howell

  I guess it all boiled down to Katie Jo and Nick in high school. I’d crushed on Nick big-time back then. Katie Jo had been my best friend at a time when having a best friend meant everything.

  They’d both let me down. On some level I was still mad at them both.

  And really, mad at myself too.

  When I got to the office, Manny and Inez were there. I didn’t know why Inez came in on Saturdays. We didn’t need her and we certainly didn’t want her.

  “How’re you holding up?” Manny asked, when I sat down at my desk.

  “I’m good,” I told him, though I didn’t feel that way.

  I guess Manny saw through my comment because he said, “You don’t have to be here today, if it’s too much for you.”

  I gave him a little smile—the first one I’d felt in a while—and shook my head.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” I said.

  He nodded toward the front of the room. “Carmen’s not coming in today. Her husband called, said she was too upset.”

  I might have stayed home too if I’d had a husband to call in for me, to cluck over me, to hold my hand and support me. But all I had was an empty apartment, or my folks’ place, and neither was as fulfilling as a husband. I found myself a little envious of Carmen.

  “I’d rather stay busy,” I said. “I’ve got to make some calls and I’ve still got to catch up with Janet Teague to look at her house.”

  Manny nodded and turned back to his work.

  I went through my phone route making routine calls. Even though I had to put forth effort to keep my job, my heart wasn’t in it.

  At noon I told Manny I was going out to try and find Janet Teague, and see what was up with her mortgage payments.

  I hit Burger King. There was a newspaper rack in the drive-thru line so I bought a copy and looked through it while I waited for my order.

  I steered with my knee and ate as I drove to Leonard’s cousin’s house in Atwater. I didn’t see the Lexus that Leonard was rumored to drive parked at the house or in the neighborhood, so I figured he wasn’t there. I drove over to Devon, past the Sullivan house, past Leona’s place. No sign of Leonard.

  Unless Leonard fell out of the sky on top of me and my little Honda, I didn’t expect to see him today—or ever.

  All I could think was that I’d failed again.

  Chapter 21

  I’d told Manny I would pay a call on Janet Teague to let her know Mid-America was considering foreclosing on her home. I swung into a strip mall and parked, then flipped through the file I’d brought with me.

  Manny worked the mortgage accounts, but I knew Janet Teague well. She was the hot dog lady.

  Sometimes when things get busy in the office, I help out taking credit applications from perspective customers. That’s how I’d come to meet Janet Teague. In the office that day several months ago, she’d asked for an additional six grand to pay off some bills and to fulfill her life’s dream. She wanted to buy a hot dog cart.

  Hot dog cart ownership wasn’t my idea of a dream come true, but who was I to judge?

  The cart she wanted was the kind that could be towed behind a car to swap meets and grand openings. It had an umbrella, steam trays, condiment compartments, an ice bin for cold drinks—all the bells and whistles.

  With that cart, Janet declared she would at long last have financial independence. She worked at a warehouse at slightly more than minimum wage, and would probably never do any better.

  Janet begged for that loan. She wanted that hot dog cart like I’d never seen anybody want anything. Mid-America had approved the loan, adding the six thousand dollars onto her existing second mortgage account, and after a few months Janet stopped paying. So much for dreams, I guess.

  Manny had made numerous attempts to contact Janet, to find out what was going on, see if we could work out some sort of payment arrangement with her. Nothing. Janet hadn’t returned one single call.

  I was annoyed with her. Begging for the loan, then ignoring the payments. It didn’t sit well with me. Lots of people were struggling with financial problems, but they didn’t bury their head in the sand and refuse to acknowledge the situation.

  Ninth Street wasn’t far away so I drove to her house hoping I’d catch her at home. The neighborhood of stucco houses was quiet. I knocked on her door. No answer. I circled to the detached garage at the rear of the lot and peered through the dusty glass windows in the rollup doors. Nothing inside but boxes of Christmas decorations and general junk.

  Just as I figured, Janet wasn’t at home this lovely Saturday morning. But I had a pretty good idea where to find her.

  I went back to my Honda, finished off my soda as I looked through the newspaper again, and headed out Clayton Boulevard to the anniversary celebration at the White Cottage Furniture store I’d seen splashed over the last page of the Living section. According to their advertisement, there would be door prizes, balloons for the kids, food, drinks, and rock bottom prices. I could always use a rock-bottom price on something, but I wasn’t in the market for furniture today. I was looking for hot dogs.

  As I pulled into the parking lot I saw that the furniture showroom windows were splashed with prices. A row of recliners was sitting on the sidewalk and balloons waved in the breeze. Their food, however, consisted of a popcorn machine. Not what I was looking for.

  I continued down Clayton Boulevard to The Work Out Place, a new fitness center that was opening, according to their ad in the newspaper. Several hot looking guys in tight workout clothes offered visitors one day passes, along with trail mix and bottled water. No hot dogs for this crowd.

  I caught the freeway and drove to Home Depot, the store I’d been in with Slade last Sunday. They were having their grand re-opening today.

  A big banner stretched across the front of the store. The entrance was cluttered with cement blocks, stacks of lumber, and trays of mum plants. A clown was doing face painting for kids, a clerk in a bright red apron handed out balloons, and—sure enough—Janet Teague was manning her hot dog cart.

  I thumped my fist against the steering wheel. I might not have found Leonard Sullivan, but Janet was mine.

  The parking lot was jammed. I finally found a spot in front of Ryan’s Electronics Warehouse that shared the lot with Home Depot, grabbed my handbag and joined the flow of customers headed for homeowner heaven.

  I stopped behind a storage shed on display at the front of the building and took a look at Janet. She was working hard. A long line had formed at her cart and she was dishing out dogs, chips, and drinks at record speed.

  According to the newspaper advertisement, the grand re-opening celebration was scheduled to last until 4:00 today. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was a little after two o’clock.

  No sense in disturbing Janet or discouraging her customers, I decided. She wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

  I went into Home Depot, wandered around, got bored and left again. Unless you had a home, none of this stuff was even mildly interesting.

  I checked on Janet, made sure she was still selling dogs, then ambled next door to Ryan’s Electronics Warehouse. Now here was a place to while away the hours.

  Windows stretched across the front of the store, so every few minutes I peeked out. Janet hadn’t moved. The line of hungry people kept coming.

  I looked around, bought two CDs—both 70s mixes my dad would like for Christmas—and took them to my car, then walked to Home Depot again. A set of bleachers outside their entrance had filled up with about a dozen men as the scheduled demonstration was about to begin. I sat down and watched a guy in a Home Depot apron explain the intricacies of grouting a bathtub.

  From my seat I could see Janet. Customers still bought food and drinks, but business was waning. Janet looked tired. I was hungry, but I wasn’t about to leave, and I certainly wasn’t going to buy a hot dog from Janet.

  When the tub grouting group broke up, another guy came out and set up for the next demonstration. Gradually, a half dozen or
so men joined me on the bleachers, and we turned our attention to learning the craft of tile setting.

  I must have gotten pretty caught up in it because I didn’t notice Nick until he was standing beside the bleachers at my elbow. He had on jeans and a blue Henley shirt. He looked good. I was surprised to see him.

  I guess Nick was more surprised.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking of taking on a part-time job,” I said, and nodded toward the tile guy. “You?”

  “Leaky faucet,” he said.

  I remembered then that I’d read on Nick’s credit application that he owned a home. He really was here for some home improvements. I remembered, too, that I’d decided to end my relationship with him.

  This would be the perfect time to tell him, of course, but somehow I couldn’t get the words to form. My mind didn’t want to create them. My mouth didn’t want to speak them. My heart didn’t want any part of the whole deal, either.

  Nick didn’t say anything for a while. He leaned his elbow on the bleachers, almost—but not quite—touching my thigh. We watched the tile setting demonstration for a few minutes.

  “I checked on your friend Jarrod Parker,” Nick said.

  After all that had happened, I’d forgotten I’d mentioned Jarrod to Nick as a possible suspect.

  “He’s got no record. No ties to anything criminal,” Nick said. “I talked to him. He’s got an alibi for the Sullivan murder. Nothing connects him to Griffin’s death.”

  I glanced at Janet Teague and her hot dog cart. She hadn’t had a customer in a while. I check my watch and saw that it was almost four.

  “Look, Nick, I’ve got something to take care of,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I climbed down from the bleachers and walked up to Janet’s cart. She was in her early forties, with brown hair pulled back in a scarf and makeup she’d put on badly.

  “What’ll you have?” she asked, reaching for a bun.

  “Hi, Janet.”

  She looked at me. I saw recognition flash in her eyes.

  “Oh ….”

  “What’s going on, Janet?” I asked. “Why haven’t you returned any of Manny’s phone calls?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to tell him.”

  I leaned in. “You’re way behind on your mortgage, Janet. You’re about to lose your house. What’s going on?”

  “I fell and sprained my ankle,” Janet said. “I lost my job because I couldn’t work, and I had medical bills. Then my car quit running. It’s been one awful thing after another for weeks now.”

  I’d heard similar stories from other customers, good people who got caught in a downward spiral. My heart went out to Janet.

  “Your ankle must be better,” I said, “if you’re working here.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure it is,” she told me, then stuck out here foot and gave it a little shake. “I’ve got a new job lined up that I’m starting in a week, and I’m getting caught up on things best I can.”

  “Have you got the money to bring your account up to date?” I asked, really hoping that she’d say she did.

  “Half of it,” Janet said. “So if you could just give me a little more time, I could get it all. I don’t want to lose my house.”

  I wasn’t supposed to make promises to a customer. My only mission here was to learn the situation and report back to Manny. He’d be the one to decide what happened with Janet’s account.

  But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  “You’ve got half the money to bring your account current?” I asked.

  Janet nodded quickly.

  “Bring it to the office first thing on Monday,” I said. “I’ll make sure Mid-American works with you on getting caught up. I know there’s something we can do to help you.”

  “Oh, that would be great,” Janet said, and heaved a big sigh. “Want a hot dog? It’s on the house.”

  I smiled. “No, thanks, Janet.”

  “I’ll see you on Monday morning,” she promised.

  I turned away and ran smack into Nick. I hadn’t realized he’d been standing behind me. I went around him back to the bleachers, empty now that the tile setting demonstration had ended, and sat down.

  He came up beside me. “Does Mid-America really have a way to help her with her mortgage payments?”

  “They will when I get finished talking to my boss on Monday morning,” I told him.

  “Damn ….”

  I saw that killer half-grin on his face. “What?” I asked.

  “Did you ever think of becoming a cop?” he asked.

  “You wouldn’t like me with a gun in my hand,” I told him.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly. “I might.”

  Hearing Nick’s mellow voice and seeing his killer-grin after dealing with yet another good person who’d gotten caught up in bad circumstances was too much. My anger spiked—and I’d been itching for this confrontation for a long time.

  “Look, Nick,” I said. “I want to know the truth. Did you get Katie Jo pregnant, or not?”

  He just looked at me, surprised by this sudden turn in our conversation, no doubt. I couldn’t blame him, but I wasn’t going to back off.

  “Well?” I demanded.

  “Why do you want to know?” he asked.

  He was avoiding the question. He’d been avoiding it for days now. The way I saw it, a lot was at stake here. Nick didn’t seem to get it.

  It hit me then that I should take a chance and tell him how I felt. Maybe if I took the first step, he’d follow. Maybe this whole issue would be behind us once and for all, and we’d ride off into the sunset together.

  I’d like to ride off into the sunset with Nick.

  “That whole thing with you and Katie Jo, I can’t get past it,” I said. “It’s a huge wedge between us. I have to know the truth.”

  Nick gazed off into the parking lot as if he were thinking about it, then turned to me again.

  “What happened between Katie Jo and me,” he said, “is none of your business.”

  “It’s—what?”

  “It’s not your concern,” Nick said.

  “Not my concern?” I mumbled.

  So much for sunsets.

  “Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Nick Travis,” I told him. “I stick my feelings out there and you smack them down.”

  “What happened with Katie Jo has nothing to do with you and me,” Nick said. “You’re going to have to get over it.”

  “Get over it? That’s your answer? Get over it?” I jumped off the bleachers in front of him. “I’m glad I threw your payments in the trash!”

  “You—you did what?”

  “I threw out your payments! Four out of the last five months!”

  “I knew you threw them away,” Nick told me.

  “Damn right I did,” I said. “I wish I’d been in the office so I could have thrown out every single one of them!”

  “Do you know how much money you’ve cost me?” Nick demanded. “In late fees? In bank fees?”

  “Yeah, I knew exactly how much I cost you,” I said. “And all I can say is too bad it wasn’t more!”

  Nick glared at me, fury drawing his brows together.

  I put my fist on my hip. “Don’t stand there and act like this is all my fault.”

  Now he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind completely.

  “So whose fault is it?” he wanted to know.

  “Your fault.”

  His eyes widened. “My fault?”

  “Yes,” I told him. “If you’d told me the truth about Katie Jo, none of this would have happened.”

  “You’re not making any sense at all right now,” Nick said.

  That was probably true.

  50 Cent rapping out a song on a big set of speakers intruded on my thoughts. Over Nick’s shoulder I saw a silver Lexus whip into a parking spot in front of Ryan’s Electronics Warehouse.

  Leonard Sullivan got out.

  Chapter 22<
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  “I’ve got to go,” I said.

  Nick looked at me as if I’d lost my mind yet another time this afternoon, and said, “You have to leave?”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the electronics warehouse, then at Nick again. “Unless you’re going to change your mind and tell me what happened with Katie Jo. Are you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Are you going to let it go?”

  “No.”

  Nick didn’t say anything more and neither did I. So, that was that.

  I headed down the sidewalk, Leonard Sullivan in my sights, and threaded my way through the crowd and inside the store.

  As I approached, I saw that Leonard had upgraded his image since the last time I’d seen him. He didn’t look like the guy from Devon I’d always known. He wore nice trousers and a sport coat.

  I guess this new job of his paid well.

  “Hi, Leonard,” I said and stopped behind him.

  He turned, did a double-take and pulled off his sunglasses. I got the same look I usually got from Mid-America customers, which surprised me since Leonard didn’t have an account with us.

  He threw a nervous glance over the aisles, then eased closer turning his body so his back was toward the front of the store.

  He shook out his shoulders trying to look cool, I guess, and forced a smile.

  “Dana, what’s up, girl?” he asked.

  “I want to ask you the same,” I said.

  He gestured to the racks of CDs. “Just looking for some tunes to take partying tonight. Felderman throws an epic party, but he don’t know nothing about music.”

  “You’re going to Felderman’s party?” I guess Leonard really did hang with a new crowd now. “Me, too.”

  He shrugged. “Everybody goes to Felderman’s.”

  “I’ve been looking for you, Leonard,” I said. “Your grandmother is worried about you, and so are your aunt and the rest of your family.”

  “Damn, girl, you just don’t get it, do you?” Leonard glanced over his shoulder, then at me again, angry now.

  I was angry, too.

  “Leonard, I know you’ve had problems with your grandfather, but that’s all over now. Your grandmother needs you,” I said. “I’m going to have to repossess her television, and who knows if she’ll be able to pay the rest of her bills.”