“I see.” Or at least I was starting to.
“In our line of work, cash flow is of paramount importance.” He stopped, waiting for my reply.
“Paramount. Yes, of course.” I hoped that would satisfy him, and apparently it did.
It took forever for him to get to the point. “To keep our coffers full so that we can continue to provide our services to our highly appreciated clientele, we occasionally sell off some of our longer-term loans to, I assure you, only the most discerning investors, one of whom, I am happy to report, was Willis Nickens. Our records do indicate such a transaction occurred on the date you provided.”
I pried a little further. “So the individuals listed on page two owed money to Available Options, and now they owe it to Willis Nickens.”
“That’s it exactly.”
“Mr. Carbonetti, I have one final question. Are there loan books of some sort? I mean, how do the people who received the loans know whom to pay?”
He cleared his throat and then said, “Our process is described in the pages that are, unfortunately, missing from Mrs. Nickens’s copy of the loan agreement. Here is the short version. Each loan is due in a lump sum plus interest on a date certain. An investor such as Mr. Nickens buys the loan from us at the value of the original loan plus a small premium. When the loan comes due, the loan recipient pays Available Options and we pass the payment to our private investor. All completely legal and aboveboard.”
“So as these loans come due, Mrs. Nickens will receive payment?”
“Certainly. Well, at least once the estate is settled. Will there be anything else?”
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Carbonetti. I will be sure to tell Mrs. Nickens.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher. Remember to look for the messenger tomorrow.”
I dropped the phone in my lap, astonished by what I had learned. The conversation left so many questions. Did Candy know about the loan? Did Tom even know that Willis now held the loan? And I was wildly curious about what valuable asset Tom had used to secure it.
Chapter Twenty-four
Rain splattered against my windows in large, heavy drops. No jogging for me today. Well, I thought as I did my stretches, it will be a busy enough day, filled with lawyers and legal stress. I wondered if Dolores had any yoga or aerobics DVDs. It would probably do us both good to exercise once we got home this afternoon, although, as she had since our college days, Dolores would resist my efforts to get her moving.
I checked my phone but there were no middle-of-the-night texts from Harry. I was counting on him to come up with something—and soon.
My tan travel suit seemed a perfect choice for a long day. I could go jacket on, jacket off—depending on weather changes. A short-sleeved dark blue cotton sweater was a nice complement to the suit and would be comfortable should the weather turn to eighty and sunny later in the day.
I went downstairs and headed directly for the kitchen.
Lucinda gave me a broad wink. “Blueberry scones this morning.”
“Why, that’s enough good news to chase the rain away,” I said. “Is Marla Mae around?”
“Right behind you, Miss Jessica.” Marla Mae came into the kitchen. “I just finished setting out breakfast in the dining room.” She walked over to the stove and picked up a plate covered with a cloth. “Lucinda put these scones on the stove top to keep them warm. Said I was only to bring them out special when you come down.”
“You two are a dream team. I am becoming so spoiled that I will be hard-pressed to poach my own eggs when I get back to Cabot Cove.”
The ladies flushed at the well-deserved compliment.
Then I segued to the reason I wanted to talk to them. “A package of documents is being messengered to Dolores today. They are extremely important and extremely private. I would appreciate your handling it with discretion.”
I watched as they exchanged a look and came to a decision.
Lucinda said, “On the bottom shelf of the pantry, behind the canned goods on the right-hand side, there is a carved-out square in the wall. Used to be where the milkman put the bottles. I imagine that was when he still came around in a horse-drawn wagon. Anyway, the outside is well boarded up, can’t even tell it was ever there, but on the inside it makes a nice hidey-hole.”
“Ah, the secrets of old houses. I’m sure that will do quite nicely.”
A few minutes later I was alone in the dining room, nibbling on a scone slathered with a generous amount of butter. I heard the clicking of Dolores’s high-heeled shoes, and she spun into the room like a Miss America contestant whose turn it was to show off her gown in front of the audience.
She stopped in midtwirl and held her hands up as if surrendering to the long arm of the law. “What do you think, Jess? Is this what the well-dressed convicts will be wearing on the prison runway this year?”
Dolores had on a black fitted blazer over a light gray blouse and a black and gray plaid skirt. She had limited her gold bracelets to one on each arm, and her gold button earrings matched a pendant hanging from a chain around her neck.
“You look flawless. Are you nervous about today?” I asked.
“Not as much as I thought I would be. I have been through so much since you told me . . . about Willis that I am practically numb. I mean, recognizing that I am tied to Norman for my entire financial future, finding out that Clancy drinks to excess and then drives when he does it, not to mention whatever is in all those file cabinets in the storage unit. Honestly, Jess, there is no
