Chapter Six --

 

As long as Bosco thought he was responsible for my financial downfall, he would pursue it relentlessly. But what if the real culprit had a different motive and target? What if someone was out to get me?

Why didn’t George steal from Bosco, if the idea was to punish him for his work unraveling the embezzlement? After all, I was divorced now, living a life separate from Bosco. Why come after me?

This nagged at me as the day wore on. Maybe it was the reality that I was now completely dependent on my ex-husband, save for the money I had trickling in from Dynamic Productions. George had stolen the bulk of my money, along with the money from the second mortgage, obtained by fraud. It was my house that blew up. It was my life that imploded. Did that mean someone wanted me dead? Did someone hate me that much?

In my mind, I went over the early days of knowing George. What had happened after that trip to the Pleasant Bay resort? I had returned home to find several emails from him. He was back in New York, media marketing specialist for Farley Hinson Day, the advertising agency. We began calling each other to talk for hours, in between messages and emails. Four months later, he had quit his job and moved into my house, starting his own business as a media marketing expert in Caulkins Corner. Once embedded in my house, he wanted his first clients to be Dynamic Productions, but I refused to mix romance with business. Despite his best efforts to charm me, I had simply told him that wouldn’t work. You can’t be married to a guy like Bosco for two decades without learning a thing or two about business. But how did George get into my house? Why did he get there?

I went back to the day George asked me to move to New York, to be with him. We had been meeting for three months at the half-way point between New York City and Caulkins Corner. He would take the train to New Haven every Friday and I would drive down to pick him up. We would go off for the weekend, finding little inns here and there. Sometimes we’d head for the mountains and spend the hours hiking. Sometimes we’d head for the ocean and walk on the beach, even in the chill of spring, or explore the tourist attractions and shops. At first, we would get separate rooms, but after the first month, George said it was a waste of money, because he was ready to commit to me. On the weekend he announced I should consider living with him, he wanted me to visit his apartment in Manhattan. I told him I was never a city girl. I had lived in Philadelphia while I was a student at Pantheon College. Even though I had enjoyed my school days, I wasn’t a fan of the hustle and bustle of high rises and cramped buildings, crowded subway trains, or constant street traffic. I had no intention of giving up my job at Dynamic Productions. What I hadn’t told George was that I had invested a lot of my time and money in the company over the years, and I wanted to be around to see it pay off for me. It had been my lifeline after Kevin died, and it looked like it would be again after the divorce.

“We should live together,” he announced over dinner at Le Rochet du Nuit.

“It’s rather soon,” I had replied.

“When it’s right, you know it. We make beautiful music together.”

“I hardly know you,” I pointed out to him over a plum galette for two.

“How else will we ever find out everything there is to know about each other unless we’re always together?”

George had showered me with attention, constantly wanting to know the details of my life -- where I was born, what my parents were like, the family history, the genealogy, even things like when Bosco and I bought the house and how much we had paid. Looking back, I could see the reality. He was trolling for the information that would unlock the gates of my castle. I had been flattered by his intense interest in me, mistaking it for love. How disappointing to learn the gazes we exchanged were driven by his greed, his desire to steal what mattered most to me. I felt even more the fool. Was I so hungry for love and attention that I threw all caution to the wind? At least I had the good sense to remember all the business lessons learned at Bosco’s side. “Never mix business with pleasure,” had been a constant phrase in his repertoire. “Business is business. It’s about money.” At the time, I had viewed that as a cynical, cold-hearted perspective on life, but it may yet turn out to be my saving grace. At least I still had my investment in Dynamic Productions.

In all the time I had spent with George, I had never been in his home or his car. When he moved in with me, he announced that he had rented his Manhattan apartment fully furnished, in order to avoid having to store his belongings. He came with three suitcases of clothing, a laptop, and his cell phone. As if he were only planning to stay a short while. As if he were on a business trip.

With my purchases in hand, I now strolled back to work, preoccupied with the remembrance of that auspicious start of my budding romance with George. I was missing something, some clue that I should have caught, some little piece of information that could now explain how I had lost my life to a heel like George, but I just couldn’t seem to grab it when it came close to the surface.

The minute I was through the front door, Gloria greeted me with phone messages that needed immediate attention. I kept busy handling day-to-day tasks. By one thirty, I was ready for some lunch. We sent out for food, so we could have a group meeting, to discuss several upcoming projects.

Ralph was out most of the afternoon on a video shot for a well-known medical center with Dom and a couple of college interns working for us for the summer. The three students were getting credit for learning the ins and outs of video production. At quarter to five, I took the daily notes and put them on Ralph’s desk. His normally tidy desk was loaded with paperwork. Afraid that the material would get mixed up with his mail, the monthly billing reports and the storyboards for a few planned commercials, I stacked my pile on the chair in front of his desk, and as I did, my eye caught sight of something that startled me. It was the envelope sitting on top of the day’s mail in his “in” box, addressed to Ralph in a familiar hand. Why was George sending Ralph mail?

With a furtive glance out the door of the office, I could see Gloria busy talking on the phone. Kendall was in the production booth across the way. I could see her editing her piece through the interior window. Everyone else seemed to have left the building. Moving quickly, I took out my camera phone and snapped a couple of pictures of the envelope, including the return address. It was just an ordinary # 10 business envelope, with a logo in the upper left-hand corner. The graphic was of an open eye and a closed eye. The name of the company was Wink-Wink Productions, with a Manhattan address. It was postmarked from New York two days ago.

“Everything okay?” Gloria stepped in with another pile of papers for Ralph, wearing a smile.

“I was just leaving this stack for Ralph, and I wanted to put them somewhere they wouldn’t get swallowed up by the crowd.”

“Well, the chair looks like a fine place. I’ll make sure he gets them first thing in the morning. He said he’d be back tonight, after the shoot, if anything is critical.”

“No,” I replied, heading out of Ralph’s office, his assistant on my heels. “Tomorrow’s fine.”

“Where are you staying, Dori? Can I give you a ride?” Gloria picked up her hobo bag from her desk and pulled out her car keys.

“Thanks, no. Bosco promised to pick me up. I’m staying with him.”

“Well, see you tomorrow.”

“You, too.” Gloria stepped outside and crossed the parking lot to her Subaru wagon. I watched her through the window as I waited for Bosco. Alone in the office, I thought about what I discovered. George had sent Ralph something in the mail after he had ripped me off. Would Ralph tell me about it in the morning?

I caught sight of a movement out of the corner of my eye and realized Bosco had parked his Ford Taurus in the spot Gloria had vacated. Closing the door of Dynamic Productions behind me, I double-checked the knob to make sure it was locked before crossing the parking lot and sliding into the passenger seat next to Bosco.

“Where to?” he wanted to know.

“I need some clothes,” I told him. “How about Kohl’s? They’re probably having a sale.”

“Do I get to help pick out your new wardrobe or am I delegated to purse-holding?”

“Depends,” I grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

An hour later, I had rummaged through the Ralph Lauren sales rack, selecting a few summer jersey dresses, slacks, and blouses, personally approved by Bosco. We moved on to the lingerie department, where I found some panties and bras, a cotton nightie, and a night shirt.

“You should get some shorts and tee shirts,” Bosco said. “Can’t beat the price. And sneakers.”

“It seems so strange to have lost all my clothes,” I sighed. “I’m going to miss my shoe collection. It took me a long time to build it up.”

“Let’s hope the insurance company comes through, and you’ll have a chance to replace things.”

“That would be nice,” I answered, “but I’m not holding my breath.”

Bosco paid for everything. He took out his wallet, picked a card, and slid it through the scanner. I felt an odd sensation as he signed for my clothes. How long it had been since we were a real couple, and how far apart we had grown before we finally divorced. The last time he had paid for something, it had been a new tire when mine had gone flat with a puncture. Bosco had driven me to the garage to pick up my car. Kevin was still alive, in the back seat, wanting to know if we could stop for ice cream on the way to his game. After Kevin died, it was like we were two people living different lives in the same house. That was so long ago. Bosco looked at me now and I saw the familiar face, but there was a question in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what he was asking from me. In some ways, Bosco seemed very different than the man I had been married to for nearly two decades. He smiled as he put his wallet away.

“Ready?” I nodded. We picked up all the bags and left the store.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, after all the new purchases were ensconced in the trunk. “We can stop on the way home.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” I thought for a moment. “Does that grill of yours work?”

“It sure does,” he grinned. “Steak, baked potato, and salad?”

“Just like the old days,” I sighed. “Remember when we spent our summers under the evening sky when we were first married?”

“It was heaven,” Bosco admitted. “How about something for dessert?”

We went through the Caulkin Corners Stop and Shop with a wagon. Our first destination was the produce department for russet potatoes, baby field greens, an English cucumber, and grape tomatoes. It was funny to see Bosco selecting groceries to put into the cart. He read all the labels. This was the man who rarely had any interest in what I bought during our marriage, other than to know what I paid for the food.

“Anything else?” He was picking out peaches. “What about juice? Tea?”

We wandered the aisles, picking up bread, A-1 steak sauce, strawberries, a small Sara Lee pound cake, and a quart of vanilla ice cream, before we used the self-serve checkout counter. I bagged while Bosco scanned. As we walked to the car, my cell phone rang. It was Ralph.

“Hey, Dori,” he said, somewhat breathlessly, “do you have a minute? I was wondering if there is a way to help you out of your situation. How about I buy out your shares of Dynamic Productions? I’ll buy Bosco’s, too. That will give you guys some cash to tide you over while the mess with the house gets sorted out. What do you say? Are you interested? ”

“I don’t know, Ralph. I’ll have to sit down with Bosco and talk about it.”

“Sure, kid. No rush. I just want to help you two out of the mess you’re in.”

“That’s nice of you,” I told him.

“I’ll pay you $100 a share. That gives you $75,000. I can give you a bank check. I just need a day to get it processed.” An alarm went off in my head. Something wasn’t right. Ralph had just invested heavily in Dynamic Productions’ new facility. Bosco and I had put up some of the money, accepting shares in return. How could he suddenly be so able to pay us back? If he was so flush with capital, why did he need us to invest? Why not just get a secured loan from the bank?

“Well, I’ll let Bosco know.”

“It’s a really good deal, Dori. I hope you guys take me up on it.”

“We’ll think about it, Ralph. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” I could hear him talking even as I disconnected. Bosco glanced over at me.

“What was that all about?”

“Ralph wants to buy us out of Dynamic Productions. He’s offered us $100 a share.”

“That’s stupid,” Bosco decided. “He owes us more than that, especially with the money we just put in.”

“He seems to think we’re in need of money,” I pointed out.

“So?” Bosco turned right on Waltham Drive. “What’s the problem with that?”

“How does he know what our financial situation is?”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I did not.” I sat there, thinking. Maybe it wasn’t my imagination about that letter from Wink-Wink Productions. But how could George and Ralph be involved in any way? I never told my colleagues about him. After all, it had only been two months since he moved in, and we were still getting to know each other. Bosco only met him because we had to file some financial paperwork for the court on the third Sunday we spent together. “I saw something disturbing today, but it didn’t make a lot of sense until just now.”

By the time I got done sharing the photos of the Wink-Wink letter, Bosco had already turned the car around and we were headed back to Caulkings Corner.

“We can’t just open that letter,” I insisted. “It’s a federal offense.”

“Listen to me,” Bosco growled. “You just got robbed of how much money? You’re worried about Ralph? The guy just offered to buy your shares of stock for a hell of a lot less than they’re worth. We need to know if he’s a part of this conspiracy while there’s still a chance to nail the bastards!”

“We still shouldn’t open his mail! For all we know, George is trying to rip him off, too. Maybe George thinks he can fleece Ralph the way he fleeced me. Come on, Bosco. Can you really be sure?”

“I just want to have a closer look at that envelope. Maybe we can read it if we hold it up to the light. You should have told me about it when I picked you up.” He glared at me as he pulled up to the stoplight. “You’re always giving people the benefit of the doubt when you should be worried that they’re out to screw with you.”

“Is it wrong to want to live in a nice world?” I shot back. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s not necessary to be so damned cynical?”

“Did it ever occur to you that you invite trouble by being so naive? What kind of woman has her boyfriend move in that soon after meeting him? You spent how much actual time together before he arrived with his suitcases?”

“That’s mean!”

“It may be mean, but it’s true!” Bosco insisted. “We went together for how long before we had sex? And you jumped into bed with this guy after how many dates?”

“That’s none of your damned business!”

“And yet, I’m the guy who’s supposed to have your back! Now your buddy Ralph wants to buy us out, and we’ll lose money on the deal, so it’s affecting my life, too!”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll take the money and move on, and you won’t have to worry about me messing up your life any more!”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dori. I’m saying people aren’t necessarily as nice as you think they are. If Ralph is offering to buy us out, he’s not doing it because he’s a nice guy. He’s doing it because it benefits him and screws us!”

Those words stung. I was too angry and hurt to respond. We drove the last two miles in tense silence. I knew that Bosco was going to be Bosco, whether I liked it or not. He was looking to assign blame, because that’s his nature, because he’s used to hunting down bad guys. And as much as I hated to admit it, there was some truth to the fact that I leaped into my relationship with George without looking. There was also a part of me that suddenly distrusted Ralph, even before Bosco said a word. But as I sat there, going over things in my mind, I realized something that was stunning.

“You’re mad because your theory fell through. You thought this was about you, about Feed the World. Instead, I got ripped off because I screwed up,” I told him, knowing full well he was going to explode. I waited for the missile to leave the silo, but Bosco remained silent. He pulled into the parking lot, steering the car into a spot well away from the Dynamic Productions entry. His hands gripped the wheel long after he turned off the engine. I started to get nervous. This was not the reaction I was expecting. When he did speak, they were not the words I expected to hear.

“No, that’s not why I’m mad.”

I waited for him to go on. It took him a minute to continue.

“I’m mad because I let you get away the first time,” he told me. “I promised myself that if I ever got another chance, I wasn’t going to blow it. I wanted it to be because of me, not because I’m a self-important jerk, but because I would have a legitimate reason for helping you.”

“What are you saying? You can’t help me unless it’s your fault?”

“No, I’m saying I would have a built-in excuse for hanging around if my investigation of Feed the World caused you to lose your savings, and I’d have a chance to redeem myself by fixing the mess.” Bosco’s brown eyes were on me, and there was no doubt of how deeply his pain went. “All I’ve wanted for the last three years has been the opportunity to convince you that I’m still worthy of your love.”