Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [14]
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she thought about the little two-bedroom Cape Cod house Grandpa Rush had built right on the beach during the last years of her grandmother’s life. She remembered hearing her parents talk about how everyone laughed at the little house with the front porch. Some called it an eyesore, with all the fancy condominiums being built, but her grandfather didn’t care. All he wanted was to make his wife happy during her last ailing years because she missed the home she’d lived in up North all her life until they retired to Miami. Kate clearly remembered her mother remarking that it had only cost thirty thousand dollars to build with him doing half the work. The land that little Cape Cod sat on was now worth more than a million dollars. She’d had offers over the years to sell it so it could be demolished so that some steel and glass edifice could be built. Like she would ever sell that little house. It didn’t even bear thinking about it. She loved the little house, with the window boxes and the diamond-shaped panes of glass. She had many memories from childhood in that house.
At least once a year, sometimes twice, she’d try to make it to Miami to check on it and just laze about and walk the beach. Sometimes, when a storm blew in, the water would come almost to the front porch. No, that house was her sanctuary, and she would never give it up. She thanked God now for her own wisdom in never selling it. She could go home and try to return to a normal life. It made more sense to sell the condo. She nodded to herself that she thought it was a good idea.
Satisfied that she was in good financial shape, Kate finished her wine and wished she’d brought the bottle outside. Then again, it wasn’t wise to drink on an empty stomach. She fought the sleep that was threatening to overcome her, knowing full well that if she fell asleep, she would be up all night long.
The phone inside rang again. She ignored it as she wondered how long it would take someone to come knocking on her door. She couldn’t help but wonder what Lawrence Tyler had told the Arizona office. She could almost hear it. “Rush got spooked because she was alone in a hurricane. She flipped out, took me on, and stormed out.” She knew, just knew, he wasn’t going to mention her resignation letter. He’d say she attacked him while still a DEA agent. It wouldn’t matter that her resignation letter was dated. Or, would it? Would he be stupid enough to press charges? Of course he would because he was beyond stupid.
“Shit!”
Kate jumped to her feet and ran into the apartment, where she fired up her computer. She waited for it to boot up, then sent her resignation letter to her boss, Arnold Jellard, the agent in charge of the Phoenix office. She typed in a brief message that said she’d tendered her resignation to Lawrence Tyler in Miami at 7:18 that morning. She added another line that said a hard copy would be delivered in person tomorrow. She read through the e-mail one more time and hit the SEND key. The relief she felt left her drained.
The wine bottle beckoned her. She grabbed it and headed back to her little balcony. The phone rang, then her cell phone chirped at the same time just as she slammed the slider shut. She was grinning from ear to ear when she settled herself and poured generously for the second time.
A long while later, when the wine bottle stood empty like a forlorn soldier, Kate tottered into the condo and went to bed. The clock on her nightstand read 5:45. She woke up twelve hours later to the sound of the ringing phone. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and laughed like a lunatic. She just knew her voice mail box was full, and her cell phone had probably exploded from all the calls coming in.
Like she cared.
Two hours