“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re over the limit on this card, also.”
“Huh?” What the heck? “That’s not possible. I don’t use the Discover card at all!”
“What’s going on, Mom?” Curious, Nat leaned over to see.
“Nothing you need to worry about, honey.” I found my MasterCard and handed it over. Same routine, same result. Amazed, angry and suspicious, I checked my watch and, aware of the murmurs and mutters in the restless queue behind me, said, “Let’s use cash. It’ll clean me out, but we need to get this train. It’s the only one for hours.”
As Natalie trotted behind me to the platform, my mind seethed. As soon as we sat down, I took out my cellie and punched in the investigator’s phone number. I left Shila a voice mail message, marking it urgent, with my cellphone number and my parents’ home phone as well. But I didn’t want to wait until Monday to contact the card companies, so I entered the 800 number on the back of one of the credit cards.
After waiting several minutes, I realized that the direct line to customer service might not be open on a weekend. I punched in the number to report a lost or stolen card. Maybe someone there would help me. I hoped I wouldn’t become stuck in the maze of a voice mail system.
Only a few minutes passed before a pleasant-voiced fellow came on the line. “Your card number, please?”
I wondered how the majority of callers would respond to the question. Wasn’t this the number for lost cards? I told him my name and card number, then explained the situation.
“This is quite common, Ms. Fletcher,” he said. “We urge all our customers to avoid inadvertent dissemination of their card number.”
I could hear soft clicks, as though he tapped on a computer keyboard.
“Is there any way someone could have gotten hold of your number in the past few days? All these purchases were made by phone since Wednesday.”
“No. Yes.” The knowledge of how this latest disaster had been orchestrated burst on me like a stinkbomb exploding. “My workplace was vandalized Monday night. When I came in on Tuesday, every piece of equipment and paper had been torn apart, including the stuff in all the desks. The vandal must have found my credit card information.” My back molars ground. This criminal had made my life a living hell, and I’d get him.
“You’d better cancel all your cards,” the man said. “We’ll excuse the debt if you send us a copy of the police report.”
“No problem. Believe me, my investigator will be calling you to get all the information you have on these charges. We need to get to the bottom of this. But how could they have run up these huge bills in such a short time? They maxed out at least three cards with five figure credit limits!”
“Let’s take a look at these charges. Airline tickets, stuff from Neiman-Marcus and even Harrod’s… There’s some expensive items here.”
“Are the phone numbers available?”
“Yes, and the addresses, too. Hmmm. They’re all different.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not. The thieves get the card numbers and sell them. Credit card theft is a huge industry.”
~*~
My mom picked up Natalie and me in Syracuse, and after a brief visit with my dad, I headed out for a walk to relax. My parents lived near the shore of Owasco Lake, and visits always calmed me down. Maybe it’s the negative ions around water, but there’s something about the Finger Lakes area that just makes me a happier gal. I’d had a great childhood roaming the woods near my house. I bet it’s one of the reasons I’m creative, you know? I had a lot of free time to play, fantasize and dream.
Later, Mom and I drove to Ithaca to a farmer’s market to buy strawberries for the special brunch we planned for Dad on Father’s Day. I love farmer’s markets, and this day was particularly beautiful. The weather had turned sunny and mild, with the warmth drawing out the scents of the berries and other fruits. The mid-seventies temperature brought a lot of people outdoors, so we were part of a happy crowd in search of flowers, fruit, or just a snack.
I reached a display of honeydew melons and stopped. The delicious aroma of ripe fruit invaded my nostrils, a sweet flood. Where on earth had the vendor found them? They certainly weren’t in season yet in upstate New York.
I hefted one of them in each palm, trying to decide between the two melons, and sniffed the stem end of each. Both smelled succulent and tasty. Though of a like size, the one in my left hand was heavier, meaning that it would probably be juicier. Smiling, I got in line and waited for my turn to pay.
I finally started to relax. It only took getting out of town for a few hours. Maybe Mom and Dad are right, I mused. I oughtta take a vacation, just hang around the lake for a week or so... I stopped, the honeydew still held poised in one upraised hand as the short hairs at my nape prickled. The haunting sensation was, to say the least, unwelcome.
Nah. I dismissed the feeling. Not here. Not now. Impossible.
Mom nudged me. “Hunk alert!”
I stared. “‘Hunk alert?’ Where did you learn that phrase, Mom?”
“Never mind. Just look at that man. He’s ogling you as if you’re the last woman on earth.”
I lifted my gaze to meet a pair of familiar, yet disconcerting amber eyes. Fletcher Wolf regarded me from across the fruit stand with a small smile twitching the edges of his mouth. I looked away from that disturbing sight, then back. I couldn’t help noticing that his faded jeans outlined an impressive bulge right where it ought to be. I yanked my attention back northward to the T-shirt which outlined every sculpted muscle, while I involuntarily relived our kiss just a few days before. I’d felt his lips right through my body as if he were making love to me.
Damn him, his stare was downright proprietary. He stripped me with his smile, making an electric tingle run through each of my nerves from top to toe, something which only he could do. My nipples leaped to attention although the day was unseasonably warm, rasping pleasantly against my T-shirt. His scrutiny dropped to my chest as I replayed one of my favorite fantasies starring Fletcher Wolf. In it, he started with my breasts, nipping at the hardened tips before moving to my belly. Then he kissed all the way down, lingering between my thighs for a long, long time.
I started to sweat as though I were coming, and truth to tell, I was close. I lost my hold on the melon’s smooth skin. It dropped to my feet and cracked open with a wet, ripe splat! The blank space inside my skull turned blue as I mentally muttered every four-letter word known to humankind.
Mom grabbed my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Wrenching my gaze away from Fletcher’s, I found a couple of dollars in my pocket to give to the fruit seller.
I looked back at Fletch, whose smile broadened. He’s enjoying this, the rat.
He escorted an older woman around the crowded stand toward us. She was dressed in a tailored mauve shirtwaist and a charming, old-fashioned straw hat with a matching ribbon. They were trailed by Damon and another young man I didn’t know. He had a pleasant, open face and wide brown eyes.
“Cara, I’d like you to meet my mother, Veronica Fletcher Wolf.” Fletcher’s voice flowed smooth as molasses flavored by the delicious Virginia accent I loved. “You’ve met Damon, and this is my youngest brother, Griffin. Mom, Griff, this is Cara Fletcher.”
“Pleased to meetcha.” Griffin, who offered a gentle handshake, had a younger, less confident man’s shy sweetness. I smiled at him, wanting to put him at ease for no reason I could identify. He just seemed nice.
I had a far different effect on Veronica Wolf. “Cara Fletcher? The clothing designer? I’m more than happy to meet you. Your suits are marvelous.” Her gaze traveled from the purple streaks in my hair to my purple eyes and on down to my gauzy lavender tunic.
I smiled. “Thank you. Umm. This is my mother, Jenna Fletcher. Mom, please meet Fletcher, Damon and Griffin Wolf, and their mother, Veronica Wolf.”
“You didn’t mention your friendship with Cara Fletcher,” Veronica said
to her eldest son, plunging full tilt into the conversational gap. I liked her accusatory tone, and really liked watching him squirm. “How did you meet?” Veronica asked me.
I looked the woman right in her hazel eyes. Yes, the day had taken an unanticipated but delightful turn. “Your son is suing me for fifteen million dollars. Ma’am,” I added politely.
Veronica glared at Fletch.
“Anything to make the acquaintance of this pretty lady,” he drawled.
That was really too much. “A simple ‘hello’ would have been adequate, Mr. Wolf. And what brings you to Ithaca, ma’am?” I asked, attempting to shut out Fletch by turning toward his mother.
She puffed up with pride. “We’re here for the commencement exercises. Griffin received his doctorate of veterinary medicine from Cornell yesterday.”
“Congratulations, Griffin. That’s a great accomplishment.” No lie. Cornell was one of the toughest universities in the country. A D.V.M. from Cornell was special.
Mom echoed my good wishes to Griffin. “So you’re spending the rest of the weekend packing?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “We’ll be headin’ out tomorrow. We thought we’d take a break this afternoon, since we’ve been at it since six o’clock.”
“Where will you practice?” Mom wanted to know.
“At our family horse farm, Darkrider Farm, Virginia. That’s what I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Really?” Miffed, I realized that here was another factoid about the Wolf pack that AnnMarie’s dossier and Shila Chong’s investigations hadn’t revealed.
“I’ve never visited Virginia. It must be lovely,” Mom said to Veronica and Griffin as Fletcher slipped between me and the rest of the group.
His eyes flirted. “An unexpected pleasure to see you. Do you and your mother often visit Ithaca?”
“Not together, though I imagine Mom gets here more often than I do. My parents live near Owasco.”
“I’m glad to hear it’s your family and not some other interest that took you away from Manhattan.”
“What?” I stared at him, then started to laugh a little ruefully. If he only knew. All I needed was a wimple to complete a nun’s outfit, even though my randy thoughts wouldn’t fit a chaste woman of the church.
“Why not? Do all the men in New York need glasses?”
“Oh, please. Quit flirting. You’re suing me. You’re not my buddy, my pal, or my friend. You just confuse everything when you pretend to be interested.”
He laughed. His eyes twinkled like sunlight glittering on water. “I’m not faking anything. Just you wait, everything’s gonna turn out all right. You’ll see.”
“Hmm.” I’d trust a predator to chase prey, but not to catch a meal by licking it to death. Despite the sexual tension that crackled between us, this leopard wasn’t gonna change its spots. Fletcher wanted to tear out my throat, but I had no intention of being his entree du jour.
“One day I’ll find out what you truly look like.” His glance was hungry, and I was reminded of the scene in Morton’s, when he’d made that tacky remark about my pubes, the jerk.
I huffed. “As if.”
Veronica touched my arm. “It was very nice meeting you, dear, but we must be going. And don’t worry about that nasty lawsuit. I’m sure it’s all a mistake.” Her voice grated as she glowered at Fletcher.
I gathered that Fletcher had learned his daunting behavior at his mother’s knee. She was about to nail his ass, and I didn’t bother suppressing my smile. I happily anticipated that the lawsuit and Fletcher Wolf would recede into my past, and fade to a vaguely unpleasant memory.
~*~
Ten days later
At the gym after a long day of work, my mood matched Godzilla on a rampage. I’d received a Notice of Deposition that very morning, along with a demand for full financial information. AnnMarie Slye had told me that the demand could be limited to just the Fletcher’s Gear division, but even so, the Wolf at the door would have far more information about the financial instability of the company than I wanted him to know.
The familiar aerobic exercises in my kickboxing class didn’t take much attention to follow as I stepped, hopped, kicked and twirled. My mind ran like a mouse in a maze as I sweated my way through the routine.
What was his angle now? When he’d looked at me at the farmer’s market, he couldn’t have been more blatant if he’d hired a skywriter. He wanted me in a way I’d never been desired, wanted all of me. I didn’t want to be controlled by Fletcher Wolf or anyone else. Or did I need him in the same mad way?
Then he’d had the gall to tell me “everything’s gonna turn out all right.” Oh, really? For whom?
After the class ended, I went to the locker room and stripped off my sweaty T-shirt and shorts. I shivered in the cool air as Natalie, finished with her gymnastics class and shower, headed out. “Got money for the juice bar?” I asked her.
She fished in a pocket of her backpack. “Yep, I gotta five. I’ll see ya out there.” She left for the waiting room where I guessed she’d follow her post-workout routine of a bagel at the juice bar while I swam and showered.
The litigation was turning me inside-out, but Nat seemed unaffected, at least for right now. Her summer computer camp was full of other pre-adolescent byteheads, and she seemed to revel in the environment. She was making new friends, some of whom were—eek—boys she met at the coed camp. Though I was edgy about my daughter entering a world potentially full of spin the bottle and rainbow parties, I knew the step had to be taken. Computer camp had turned out to be perfect.
With Natalie settled for the moment, I decided to take my time. I pawed through my gym bag and put on a red maillot I found crammed at the bottom. I didn’t often have time to swim, but always found the heated water calming. After I swam, I relaxed some more in the steam room and the Jacuzzi until I hauled my prune-y, wrinkled body to the showers.
The women’s locker room, which contained the steam room, showers and Jacuzzi, was quiet; I’d outlasted everyone else. It was late, long after all the evening classes had finished and even the die-hard workout freaks had gone to dinner or to congregate at the juice bar to flirt and gossip. I bet I was alone in the facility except for the staff at the faraway front desk.
That was the way I wanted it. Since Natalie’s arrival, I’d rarely been alone. Although I’d die for my daughter, I still missed quiet times.
But after I shut off the shower, I heard footsteps. Damn. Couldn’t I have a moment of peace, entirely alone?
Apparently not. I tried to stuff my resentment, telling myself that others were allowed to use the gym. But then I heard laughter. Husky, deep male laughter, along with clattering and banging, as though an intruding man tested the metal locker doors.
My flesh chilled despite the steam left in the stall from the shower. I grabbed towels off of a nearby hook. Wrapping one around my wet brown hair and the other around my torso, I mentally reviewed my options. Men didn’t belong in the women’s locker room. Should I see who it was and what he was doing? “A-hole,” I muttered.
But dressed in only two small towels, I didn’t have the Amazon attitude needed for a confrontation. On the other hand, could I hide in the shower stall forever?
Heart pounding, I slipped out of the shower as stealthily as I could. If I could get to my locker quickly, I could use my scissors to hold off anyone stupid enough to mess with me. Or I could call for help. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a phone in the locker room connected to the gym’s front desk, for emergencies? In my opinion, a man in the women’s room constituted an emergency. At least it was something I could legitimately complain about without seeming like a kook or a ’fraidy-cat.
I took a deep breath, but still quivered with fear. Creeping out of the tiled area toward the carpeted hall, lined with lockers, I was careful not to let my wet feet slip. I wanted to meet any stalker present in the locker room while upright and vertical. Sprawled on the floor was not an adequate defensive position.
<
br /> Nerves shuddering with dread, I rounded the corner and caught sight of the lockers. One of them had been pried open. Clothes, a large handbag, and other items were strewn around the carpeted floor. “Dammit to hell!”
Though I’d told myself to be sneaky and quiet, I couldn’t stop swearing loudly and at length. Of course it was my locker. Of course it was my satchel that had been searched and its contents scattered.
I grabbed the scissors, every muscle poised and tense. Again I heard that irritating, mocking jeer. The sound seemed to recede. A door slammed. Had the laughing thief left?
I tried to relax, but my fingers shook from the adrenalin rush as I gathered my stuff. My mood flamed to anger when I realized that my wallet was missing.
Damn, damn, damn. As I searched for his card, I wondered if Detective Briggs would think I was a professional victim, a crank, or just plain jinxed.
Chapter 9
The stalker was driving me clinically bananas. While no credit cards had been in my wallet—what for? They’d all been canceled, and no replacements had arrived yet from the credit card companies. Still, I’d kept all kinds of important stuff there. ATM and library cards, New York state driver’s license, photos of my family. Assorted business cards, including those of Detective Briggs, AnnMarie Slye, Fletcher Wolf, and Shila Chong. The loss of a wallet-sized copy of my parents’ wedding picture hurt a lot, along with the few, precious school photos of Natalie I’d begged from Kenney over the years. On top of that, my purple eelskin wallet had been a high school graduation gift from my mom and dad.
The next morning, after spending several annoying hours at the department of motor vehicles, I sat at my desk and tried to gather the missing pieces of my life while Maggie compiled the financial information Wolf and Muckenmyer had demanded.
“The problem here is that I’m not sure where Fletcher’s Gear ends and the rest of Cara Fletcher Couture begins.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 159