Free Dirty Tricks: A Kate Lawrence Mystery by Judith Ivie Page A

wouldn’t you be?”
    He kept silent for a moment,
weighing his words. Here it comes, I thought. “Because I have
no wish to move to Florida, which is where OmniFutures is located. It would make sense for all of the administrative functions
to be in one place, and the logical place would be there.” He met my eyes
squarely for the first time. “I know you would not wish to move there either.”
    I swallowed audibly while
struggling to keep my expression unalarmed, which was the opposite of what I
was feeling. Alarm didn’t quite cover it, as a matter of fact. I was shocked.
One of our greatest shared affections was for Connecticut. It had never
occurred to us to live anywhere else. Whenever we traveled, we breathed a sigh
of relief upon returning home to our green, glorious, cozy, eclectic,
enlightened state.   This could not be
happening.
    “Do you really think that’s a
possibility, or are you just trying to ruin my evening?” I joked, stalling for
time, but he didn’t return my smile.
    “I believe it is more of a
probability than a possibility, assuming I am offered a position of any kind.”
    I gulped again. “That’s a lot of
assumptions for this stage in the proceedings, don’t you think? You’re assuming
the acquisition will be approved by the board and the stockholders and whatever
government agencies have to get involved in this proposed transaction. You’re
assuming positions will be consolidated, and you’re assuming that if you make
the cut, you’ll have to relocate to Florida. I know you always try to plan for
the worst, but maybe you need to just step back and take a breath. I know I
need to do that.”
    I scooted closer to him in the
recliner and snuggled under his right arm, careful not to jostle Gracie. We
were quiet for a time.
    “You could always look for another
job,” I suggested, but my heart wasn’t really in it.
    “I may have to.”
    “No, I mean now, before any of
what’s going to happen actually happens. That way, it’s your choice, not
theirs.”
    He smiled at my fighting words. “I
am fifty years of age, Cara . The job
market for men of my years is not promising.”
    “It’s better to look for a job
when you already have a job,” I persisted. “At least, that’s what they say.”
    “I don’t want another job. I like
the one I have.” His expression grew mulish, and I felt him digging in his
heels. He would do nothing, I knew, until he had no choice in the matter. His
Latino stubborn streak would keep him hanging on against all odds until the
last pink slip was issued, hoping against hope to be spared a choice of evils:
abandon his job or leave Connecticut. I shifted gears.
    “What’s the timetable, do you
know?”
    “That is perhaps what is most
frustrating about this situation. The timetable, as you call it, keeps moving,
and delays happen at every step. At the moment George is spending his days
lobbying the other directors to convince them of the tremendous opportunity
this is for the company. Once they are on his team, they will begin working on
the stockholders, and so on and so on until a vote is taken and the offer is
accepted or rejected.” He laughed hollowly. “When I hear him bending the ear of
a director on the telephone, I wonder if George knows that as soon as the
acquisition is complete, he will be in the worst jeopardy of all of us. The
first position they will cut will be his, and he is the only person who does
not seem to know that.”
    “Have you tried to explain that to
him?”
    “Oh, yes, many, many times, but he
does not wish to hear me. He prefers to believe the sales pitch that is being
given to him over expensive lunches and fancy dinners and cocktail parties and
games of golf at exclusive country clubs all over the eastern coast. He returns
from these excursions tanned and filled with the fairy tales these people have
put into his head, and we have to sit and listen to him speak of the glorious
days to come as if we do not think he is