Gavin's Greed (Sinful 3)

For the better part of a week, Gavin rang her phone at least three times a day and for three times a day, Linda ignored his calls. Early into the second week, while Linda was at work, the woman from the North Carolina diner came into Joan’s restaurant and asked for Linda by name. Linda had been working in the back of the kitchen and away from public view ever since leaving Gavin—she didn’t want to risk him barging in and making some sort of scene.

Joan announced that a woman wanted to speak with Linda. Deciding that she really didn’t want to talk to any woman, Linda peeked through the square of glass at the top of the door that separated the front line from the back of the kitchen; Joan had stood the woman in easy view.

Gasping, Linda said, “No, Joan. That’s her! That’s the Tara from the diner. She’s the one Gavin was having an affair with—he told her that she belonged to him.” Rage ran through her blood and she began shaking. She seriously wanted to strangle that trollop. “Get rid of her and tell her never to come back here or you’ll call the police on her for trying to incite public violence.”

Joan gaped at Linda a moment. Her wide eyes registering the shock and surprise she must be feeling at the revelation. “She said she had some information you needed very badly before Gavin got out of jail, honey; so apparently he’s still in lockup.”

Shaking her head, Linda paced furiously. “I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.” Then, as it registered what she’d been told, she stopped and blinked at the door. “Gavin’s still in lockup? Then why on earth would she come here?”

Joan said, “I told you. She wants you to know something before he’s released.”

Nibbling on her bottom lip, Linda considered this. “Could you please just tell her to come back at three? I’ll meet her and only her—nobody with her—at the private booth in back and we’ll talk then. I can’t right now and I’m sorry to put this on you, but I don’t want to go to jail because I lose my temper; I need some time to calm down. Please.”

Nodding, Joan wrung her hands and stared at Linda. “Are you going to be all right? Your face is purple-red and you’re shaking. Maybe you should just sit for a while.” She pointed to a chair near the office.

Linda walked toward it and Joan carried the message to Tara.

Coming back to Linda, Joan said, “She agreed. Said she’d be here at three—alone. She seemed genuinely worried, Linda.”

“Well, that’s troubling. I wonder what she knows?” Nausea swept through Linda and she bent, putting her head on her hands between her knees.

At five ‘til three, Linda took off her apron, washed her hands, and headed for the private booth to meet with Tara. Her anger had slacked and the nausea had disappeared, replaced by a tight, painful knot in her stomach.

At three Tara slid into the seat across from Linda and handed her a sheet of neatly folded notebook paper. “I know you must hate me, but I think you should know about this. For the record, I didn’t know you and Gavin lived together. He tells every woman a different story about where he lives—he told me that he lived with his aging parents and that’s why we never went to his place. I’m sorry—I know that doesn’t help much, but I truly am sorry.” She removed her perfectly painted, perfectly manicured fingernails from the folded paper and slid out of the seat, disappearing out the front door before Linda could manage a word.

Tucking the paper into her purse without reading it, Linda left; it would be wisest to read it at Joan’s house in case the information it contained was so upsetting it might be unsafe to drive afterward.

Chapter 8

(Gavin)

Being held in county lockup for two whole weeks had, at the beginning, angered Gavin. That Linda took off and abandoned him there infuriated him. That Tara had caused all of this made him murderously angry.

The lawyer friend he always called when he was in serious trouble wasn’t answering or returning calls and the last time he’d called, the receptionist—a gnarly, grouchy older woman, had told him that Mr. Finley wasn’t interested and to stop calling.

If he called another lawyer, they would find out about his money and his business—surely he would also have to pay fees that would eat into his savings a great deal and he didn’t want that.

Then the tenth day in jail rolled around and Gavin awoke in his tiny cell and for the first time in many years, he felt his life slipping out of his control. He couldn’t reach any of his women; Linda wouldn’t answer the phone, either. What was going on out there? For the first time in his life, Gavin was completely alone; all those he had greedily held in his clutches had disappeared, it seemed.

Did no one care what had happened to him?

Did none of his list of women love him?

Never in his life had he been completely alone. He could always get hold of someone to bail him out of trouble—usually Linda—on a moment’s notice. She rarely questioned beyond the point when he would start acting upset about it. Very non-confrontational. Maybe that’s why he chose her to live with; make a home with.

That would all disappear now that she had walked in and heard the argument at the diner—he was still unsure exactly how much she’d heard and seen, but apparently it was enough that she walked away—literally—leaving him and his car behind.

Now, day 14 of his jail time, and his release date, Gavin was humbled—something else that had never happened. He had set it out; waited on one of his friends or family to come searching for him and the only person who came to bail him out was his underling from the construction company—a snot-nosed supervisor who couldn’t handle a business for a few days even when the business practically ran itself.

Timmy stood glaring at Gavin when he exited the building—another first—Timmy didn’t have the wherewithal to glare at a bug usually, but there he was, angry and red-faced.

“Gavin, I took the bail money out of the safe at the office. You know what’s going on with the company, right? I mean, how could you not know?” He got into his truck and waited on Gavin.

“What do you mean, Timmy? Nothing should be going on with the company.” Confused and worried, Gavin slid in and closed the door.

Pealing out onto the main road, Timmy kept his eyes forward. “It’s being shut down because of improperly reported earnings on your part.” He hammered the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “That’s 121 employees left without a damn job, Gavin! How the hell could you do that to us?” Timmy yelled—Timmy had never yelled as far as Gavin could remember.