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“I always miss my baby girl.”
Denise’s voice sent an invisible army of ants over her skin. “What do you want?” She glanced around, half expecting to see her mother standing across the street, watching her. The empty sidewalk did nothing to alleviate her dread.
“I want to talk to you, sweetheart. I heard about your poor little bakery. I want to help.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need your help.” She turned on her heel and walked fast toward her car.
“Oh, I think you do.”
The snide note stopped Laurie in her tracks. “Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.”
“I know I got a message from an insurance investigator, who has some questions for me. I’m wondering if he’s aware you were in the bakery the morning of the fire, or that you emptied the safe
.”
The ants swarmed up her neck, leaving the rest of her icy cold. “It’s irrelevant.” She spoke slowly, calmly. “I didn’t set the fire.”
“Of course you didn’t. But those pieces of information…they complicate things, don’t they? I bet your insurance company would find those facts very problematic.”
A coppery taste in her mouth made her realize she’d bitten her cuticle. She made herself stop and take a deep breath. “I have absolutely no motive for torching my business. Anyone investigating me will see that. I wasn’t losing money and I didn’t have a need for fast cash—”
“Your dear mother’s got a great deal of need. Medical expenses, and whatnot. My situation’s desperate and a devoted daughter might do something drastic to help.”
“I’m not a devoted daughter, and anyone who knows me will testify to that.”
“Testify? Sweet, naive Lauralie, they don’t need to accuse you of arson. A friend of mine told me there’s a tiny little clause in most insurance contracts that says you’ll give them complete cooperation when they investigate your claim. If you don’t, they can deny it. Now, I’m no lawyer, but lying doesn’t sound very cooperative to me. How will it sound to them, do you think?”
Not good. “I didn’t lie.” She hurried to her car, got in, and slammed the door. “I answered all their questions.”
“You left something out.”
Her conscience said the same thing. A lie by omission still amounted to a lie. But she refused to admit as much to Denise. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.” A fist squeezed her middle, causing waves of nausea.
“Half.”
The fist closed tighter, making it hard to breathe. “Half of what?”
“Half the money, baby girl. You pay me my half and I’ll keep those little details to myself. Otherwise, I have to pick up the phone and tell that nice man from the insurance company the whole truth.”
“Truth…” The single word practically strangled her. Truth? She never should have given in to her mother’s threats in the first place. Another truth? If she caved again now she’d always be hostage to Denise’s demands. She’d pay, and pay, and pay, both in the form of money and self-respect.
More truth? She had been in the bakery that morning, she had emptied the safe, and those messy facts didn’t change the essential truth—she didn’t have a freaking clue how the fire started. It was exactly the kind of random disaster for which she carried insurance. But in a moment of weakness, she’d screwed herself, and if she ever wanted to face her reflection again without flinching, she had to draw the line. Yes, she risked having her claim denied, and the domino effect looked a lot like defaulting on her loan, declaring bankruptcy, and spending years wage-slaving her ass off to get her head above water again.
Demoralizing as those realizations were, they didn’t account for the sour panic rising in the back of her throat. No matter what move she made at this point, she risked losing Booker’s trust. She’d kept secrets from him, and if he found out, he might never forgive her. He’d sworn he wouldn’t let her fuck them up, but she’d fucked them up before they’d gotten started…
“Do we have a deal?” The impatience in Denise’s voice sounded like fingernails tapping a table.
Jesus, she was going to be sick. “No.”
“Don’t tell me no. You think I won’t—”
She disconnected the call, and then fumbled to block the number. Once she accomplished that, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Rapid, unsteady breaths filled the car. Hers. When they leveled off a little, she lifted her head, and tapped her phone to bring up her call log. The insurance adjuster’s number sat near the top of the list. She hit it, and waited as the line rang.
Things had officially turned to shit.
Chapter Fifteen
Laurie finished blow-drying her hair into loose waves, and stared at her reflection. Two days of hearing nothing from the insurance adjuster after sending him her updated statement had left shadows under her eyes, but makeup masked the worst of it. Resolving to come clean to Booker might have helped, too, although her stomach twisted just thinking about the conversation. She expected him any minute, and promised herself she’d tell him as soon as he walked in the door.
