Ramsey Rules Read online

  “Don’t. Not for me. No appetite.”

  “Sounds serious,” he said. His attempt at levity fell flat. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t apologize. This is new for me too. I never…um, that is…I’ve been so careful not to…” She blew out a breath. “Fuck it. I don’t know what I want to say let alone how to say it. We’ll talk later. All right?”

  “All right,” he said before he realized he’d said it to dead air.

  Ramsey took a circuitous route to Sullivan’s house, watching her rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. She hadn’t seen Jay’s silver Audi Quattro in the parking lot, but then she hadn’t gone up and down the aisles to locate it. She wasn’t even entirely sure that he knew where she worked, but since he knew other things, it stood to reason he knew that. She doubted her reference to Burger King had thrown him. And his motivation to find and follow her would be in proportion to how much money he owed. More than ten thousand? she wondered. More than twenty? She was probably low balling it, but then she had never been a gambler.

  Well, only the once.

  Ramsey circled the block around Sullivan’s house before she decided to park on a side street and walk through three back yards to his place. If he lived in an older neighborhood as she did, he’d have an alley, and she wouldn’t have to skulk and worry about someone calling the cops.

  She leaned against the rail of Sullivan’s back deck while she waited for him to open the door. He turned on the light and looked out. He was on the phone. She gave him a little wave.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Tereshko,” he was saying into the phone as he ushered her in. “I see her now. Yes, it’s a she, not a he. And no prowler. Yes, ma’am. Got it under control. Yes, I’ll make sure she knows you don’t appreciate her traipsing through your yard. You have a shot gun?” He lightly slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sure, I’ll tell her that too. G’night, Mrs. Tereshko. That’s right. Call any time.” He set the phone on the table and looked Ramsey over.

  “Why don’t you have an alley?” she asked without preamble. “There should be alleys. That’s where trash collection is supposed to happen. Not on the street. Garbage trucks lumbering down the street are not a good look.”

  “Huh. Not what I was expecting, but okay.” Sullivan accepted the coat she gave him and went to the hall closet to hang it up. “You want to sit in the kitchen?” he called to her when she didn’t follow. “The living room?”

  Ramsey thought about the fireplace in the living room and was drawn to the idea of calm and cozy. She didn’t want to ruin that ambience with her problems. “Kitchen is fine.” In addition to the counter and stools, there was a table inserted into a bow window nook with a semi-circle of padded bench seating.

  Sullivan found Ramsey sitting at one opening of the nook with her hands folded on the table. He was put in mind of a pupil waiting for a dressing down from her teacher. “You want something to drink?”

  “Do you have something strong?” she asked. “Really strong?”

  “How about a Rusty Nail?”

  “Sounds like it would do the trick.”

  “Then you’ve never had one? Maybe you should try—” He stopped because she was a giving him the gimlet eye. “All right. Rusty Nail it is.” He went to the pantry and got out the Scotch whisky and Drambuie and set them on the counter. He removed an old-fashioned glass from a cupboard, filled it with ice, and poured three-quarters of an ounce of Drambuie and an ounce and one half of

  Scotch over the ice. “No lemon for a twist, I’m afraid.” He gave the glass a little swirl on the countertop to stir it and took it over to her. “This is a sipping drink.”

  “Got it.” She took a mouthful, swallowed, and blinked rapidly when her eyes watered.

  “Or you can throw it back like that.” He took his place opposite her.

  “You’re not having one?” she croaked. That voice was definitely not her own. She smiled wanly.

  “Thought I should have a clear head.”

  She nodded. “Probably one of us should.” She set her glass down and swiped at her eyes. “My belly’s on fire.”

  So was his but not for the same reason. He wanted to tell her to jump in with whatever she had to say, but pressing her did not strike him as a good option.

  Ramsey rolled the old-fashioned glass in her palms. She inhaled and released that breath slowly. “That was my ex that Buddy saw me with this morning.”

  Sullivan nodded, disappointed but not surprised. When the thought crossed his mind earlier, he’d hoped he was wrong.

  “You knew?”

  “It occurred to me.”

  “Hmm. I wasn’t expecting him, Sullivan. That’s true on the one hand. On the other, there’s part of me that’s always been expecting him. It finally happened last night. He was on my porch waiting for me when I got home.”

  Sullivan searched her features for some indication as to how she received the visit. Her face was as expressive as a blank screen. “I can’t make you out, Ramsey. How was that for you?”

  “I took my Walther out of my glove box and put it in my pocket.”

  “Oh. So not welcome.”

  The even line of Ramsey’s mouth changed to a wry twist. “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t try to shoot him, did you?”

  “No. Considered and discarded. He provoked me but not sufficiently to take aim.”

  “Well, thank God for that.”

  “Maybe. Listen, Sullivan, it’s like this, you were right about some things that I couldn’t own yet, and you deserve the truth now. I was close to telling you anyway, so don’t get it in your head that the only reason you’re hearing this is because Jay forced my hand. He hasn’t. I thought a lot about what I would do last night before I knew what he wanted, and then after breakfast, I thought about it more while I was pretending to work. I could still keep this mess to myself, not share it with you, with anyone, but the thing is, I do trust you.”

  He regarded her solemnly. “And…”

  “And you were on the right track when you asked me if I was I running. I wasn’t. I’d stopped. Actually, I only ever ran once, and that was a couple of months after the divorce. Jay was stalking me, or at least it felt that way. Phone calls. Texts. Showing up at my apartment. I took out a protective order that slowed him down but didn’t solve the problem. Something happened around that time and I saw an opportunity to get away and start over. I did some research, some planning, and I spoke to an attorney and got financial advice, and had help with the legal steps to change my name. I went into the courthouse as Elizabeth Carpenter and stepped out as Ramsey Masters. Ramsey was my maiden name. Masters was an impulse. Jay still calls me Liz. I’m Lizzie to my family. Lizzie Carpenter. They think I kept my married name.”

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  Lizzie Carpenter. Sullivan rolled the name over in his mind but didn’t say it aloud. “I take it you left after the name change was final.”

  “Not quite. It was a sealed arrangement. My attorney insisted on that and the judge agreed because of my situation and the protective order, but there were details I needed to work out. A new driver’s license, for one. Setting things right with Social Security and the IRS. Again, the attorney was helpful. I moved to a new place in the city while I was waiting and held my breath that Jay wouldn’t find me before I was able to leave the state.

  “In the meantime, I started house hunting. Took virtual tours of lots of homes in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and West Virginia before I chose here and the home I have now. I had the paperwork all taken care of before I got here. When my license came in and my attorney said I was all clear with the government, I rented a U-Haul truck with my new name, loaded the few things I owned, and drove here.”

  “Where was there?” asked Sullivan. When she looked at him blankly, he explained more clearly. “You drove here, but where did you start? Where was there?”

  “Oh, of course. I guess I didn’t say. Baltimore. Home with Jay was Baltimore. My parents and my broth
er live outside the city limits in Columbia. Jay’s mother lives in another burb, but he liked the city. So did I back then, at least at the beginning of our marriage. I attended MICA. That’s Maryland Institute College of Art. I have a degree in design.”

  “And you’re working at the Ridge.”

  “I didn’t have much experience in my field when I left Baltimore. I told you, Jay didn’t want me to work. I met him when I was student. Bar hookup. He helped me finish school, but I know now he didn’t do it out of kindness. It was one of the subtler ways I let him control me.” Ramsey lifted her glass and took a careful sip this time. The sweet heat felt good all the way to the empty pit of her stomach. “It didn’t feel as if I was giving up all that much when I took the job at the Ridge. Besides, I figured it was safer for me do something unrelated to my career choice.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “I thought so. Didn’t work, though. He still found me.”

  “About that…did he tell you how?”

  Ramsey nodded and repeated Jay’s explanation. “He’s a smart guy. I never meant to underestimate him. He’s a VP now. Oversight for software and tech development at Willow Garden Health. They insure millions.”

  “I’m familiar. My mother had their insurance. Except for a couple of glitches, the company treated her right. Saw to her palliative care at the end.”

  “Jay has nothing to do with that side. He was a programmer and trouble shooter for years. I think he was good at what he did, though I mostly have his word for that.”

  “I don’t think he would have been promoted to a veep position if he was a screwup.”

  “No, you’re right. Did I sound bitter? I don’t mean to sound bitter.”

  “You’re fine.” Sullivan slid sideways and got to his feet. “I’m going pour myself a drink now. You change your mind about wanting something to eat?”

  “No, but you go ahead if you like.”

  “I had a sandwich earlier. I’m good.” He got out another old-fashioned glass and added a couple of fingers of Scotch. He took his time returning to the table, figuring Ramsey needed a few moments to breathe. When he sat down again, she had just finished another sip of her drink and there was finally some natural color in her cheeks. He gauged that she had a few sips left. The Rusty Nail was mostly water. “You want another?”

  She shook her head. “Maybe in a little while. I need to be careful. I have to drive.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re not me driving home.”

  “I wasn’t offering. You’re staying here.”

  “I am?”

  “You are.” He acknowledged that it was probably the drink that made her amenable, but he wasn’t looking down the proverbial gift horse’s throat. “So,” he said, tapping the rim of his glass with a forefinger. “Why is Jay here? Except for the obvious that this is where you are, is there something in particular that he wants?”

  “He said he’s known where I am for about a year.”

  “Then he definitely has a reason for showing up now.”

  She nodded. “Money.”

  Sullivan frowned. “I don’t understand. He must be making good money at Willow Garden.”

  “I’m sure, and I gave him everything in the divorce just to get free and clear.”

  “Then why…”

  “A year ago he’d didn’t know what he knows now.”

  “And that is?”

  “Sorry. I’m going about this badly. Remember what I said about something happening that I recognized as an opportunity?”

  “Uh-huh. You said that’s when you decided to get away and start over.”

  “Right. What happened is that I bought a lottery ticket. Not then, but weeks earlier, right after my divorce. Five chances on Powerball. I was feeling, I don’t know, lucky, I suppose. Looking at the rest of my life as a second chance. I spent twenty bucks, stuffed the ticket in my purse, and forgot about it. I should mention that Jay is the gambler. Lotto numbers. Atlantic City. Football pools. Twice a year jaunts to Vegas, most everything comped. I never gambled. Never had the urge, except for that once. I did it on a whim, and I’ve never done it since.”

  “This story seems to be heading for a win. You hit some of the numbers?”

  Ramsey mouth curved in a slim smile. “I did, actually. I found the ticket all those weeks later when I was cleaning out that purse. I almost pitched it, but something stayed my hand. I think it might have been the Force.” Sullivan’s grin warmed her as much as the drink had, and it was a lot easier on her stomach. “I went to the website, looked up the numbers for the day of the purchase, and then spent the next twenty minutes trying to decide where to hide the ticket so it would be safe.”

  “You hit? Three? Four numbers?”

  She held up one hand and splayed all her fingers.

  “Five?” he asked, dark eyebrows climbing. “You hit five numbers?” While he was considering what her payday might have been, she lifted her other hand and held up the index finger.

  “Six? You hit five numbers and the Powerball?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Jeez. And Jay only learned this recently?”

  “That’s what he said. Maryland allows lottery winners to retain their privacy. My windfall is not part of the public record. I learned that when I took my ticket to a financial advisor before I had my lawyer turn it in to the lottery commission. The kind of money I won certainly presented an opportunity, but being able to remain anonymous was the cherry on the sundae. That’s when my plan began to take shape.”

  “It’s not important now, except that I’m curious. How did Jay learn about the money?”

  “I didn’t ask him. I was too angry by then. Venturing a guess, I’d say he stumbled on it when he was hacking information about me. There’s a record of the win, just not a public one. I have the same social security number so Jay could have found out a lot by using it online. I considered trying to change it, but I was tired by then with all the red tape, and I wanted to avoid the hassle and get out. From the FAQs on the administration’s website, it’s rarely approved anyway.”

  “Makes sense. What are you going to do about Jay? How much is he asking for?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

  “You mentioned that he’s a gambler. Does his request have something to do with that?”

  “I imagine so. He said he was in deep. That suggests serious gaming to me. Maybe Vegas money. He’s never run afoul of the casinos, but he’s played in private games that involve big buy-ins and bigger payouts.”

  “If you win.”

  Ramsey nodded. “If you win,” she repeated quietly.

  “Did you know about the gambling when you married him?”

  “Not the extent of it, no. I told you we met in a bar hookup. He was playing Keno. I was watching him, mostly because I didn’t understand the game. He explained it, let me pick some numbers, and we got to talking. He played the daily numbers and participated in the office football pool with his geek colleagues. He didn’t gamble online, which would have been a red flag for me. I thought what he was doing was essentially harmless. He made good money in IT and if he was ever in over his head before we were married, he didn’t mention it.”

  “What about during your marriage? You said he didn’t allow you access to the accounts.”

  “Right. There was that.” Heaving a sigh, she picked up her glass and finished it off.

  “Another?”

  “Apparently I’m staying here, so yes.”

  Sullivan got up and made the second Rusty Nail with marginally more Drambuie to give it a slightly sweeter edge and smooth the Scotch. He placed the glass in front of her and then sat. “When did you recognize that he had a problem?”

  “When he failed to give me my allowance three weeks in a row. It had never happened before and when I asked him about it, he claimed a higher than usual heating bill the first time. He didn’t realize that I knew we were on the budget plan. Our bill didn’t fluctuate.
The next week it was another excuse, something about data charges on our phone plan. My fault, he said. I don’t remember what he offered up as a reason that third week, but by then, I was doing some investigating on my own. He kept meticulous records, all of it on an Excel spreadsheet he designed for just that purpose. We each had a laptop. He had my password; I didn’t have his. I figured it out, though. It wasn’t hard because he never suspected I would dare open his laptop, let alone get into it.

  “I saw everything. Everything. His portfolio. The retirement account. Bills. Bank statements. Expenses. Income. What caught my attention were the tabs dedicated to profit and loss. That was how he tracked his winnings. He accounted for every lottery ticket he purchased to offset the winners with the losers. I used to complain that he worked too hard, bringing his work home the way he often did. When I saw the spreadsheet, I finally realized what he had been doing when he was bent over the MacBook.”

  “You confronted him?” asked Sullivan.

  “Not immediately. Eventually, yes. I kept investigating, saw the money come and go, saw the extent of the debt and then the windfall. He was living on the edge. We were living on the edge. I didn’t understand how he could tolerate the uncertainty. I surely couldn’t once I knew what was going on. I did some reading about gambling addiction and realized that Jay didn’t think about losing the way I did. Every bet, win or lose, was its own kind of adrenaline rush. He was incapable of real despair because he genuinely believed he was a wager away from winning it all back, and he won often enough to be reinforced for that view.”

  “How did it go when you spoke to him? Not well, I’m guessing.”

  “No, not well. He turned it all around, made me the villain, accused me of violating his privacy and wanting to micromanage his affairs. To describe him as furious is inadequate. I’d never seen him like he was then. I’d never seen anyone like that. He was frightening. It occurred to me that he might stroke out, and if he didn’t, I would.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. It was fearsome. One good thing came of it, though. He struck me. More than once. First it was a slap that knocked me sideways into the china cupboard. When I straightened up and faced him, he delivered a real haymaker. That punch put me on the floor. I didn’t even try to get up so I’m not sure why he decided to kick me. I curled up on my side, tried to protect my ribs, but he made contact a couple of times that I remember. I don’t know when it all went black.” Ramsey shrugged. “It just did.”