In Death's Shadow by In Death's Shadow (epub)

Author:In Death's Shadow (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

First thing the following morning, I telephoned Jablonsky's office.

"Mutually Beneficial Financial Services Group, Gail Parrish speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"Congratulations!" I said. "That was flawless."

Gail giggled into her end of the phone. "Who is this?"

"This is Hannah Ives. Remember me? I was there last week."

"Oh, hi, Hannah. Sure, I remember. Gil thought you might be calling back."

I'll bet, I thought. Cheeky S.O.B.

What I said was: "Well, I don't know why he'd be expecting me to call back because I've been going so wishy-washy on him. If it were just up to me, you know, I'd sign up in a second, but my husband is dead set against it. Gil said I wouldn't exactly have to tell him. But Paul and me? Our marriage has always been based on trust and I don't feel comfortable hiding stuff from him. You know what I mean?"

"Uh-huh."

"But here's the thing," I dithered on. "I've been talking to my dad about this viatical opportunity and I think he might be interested. Mom's been gone for a couple of years and Dad's been paying premiums on this policy he really doesn't need anymore.

"As it stands now, of course, I'll get something when he dies, but I don't want to be selfish. You know? He's eighty-seven," I told her, adding a couple of decades to my father's actual age. "He could go somewhere! Take a cruise!" I paused to take a breath. "Would Mr. Jablonsky be interested, do you think?"

"Gil would be interested if your parakeet wanted to sell its life insurance policy," Gail deadpanned.

"You are a hoot!" I screamed.

"Don't quote me," Gail said.

“Trust me, I won't. Parakeets!" I giggled. "Well, anyway," I forged on, like a telemarketer on commission. "My dad lives out at Ginger Cove, that retirement community off Riva Road? So, I was wondering. Are there any Ginger Cove residents Dad can talk to for references?"

Apparently Gail had never heard of HIPAA because she agreed to help me right away. "They're not organized like that in our database," she told me. "I'll have to check the contact files in Gil's office. It'll take a few minutes. Can I call you back?"

"Sure," I said, and gave her my number.

When I hung up, I felt guilty. Gail was a nice young woman. I hated lying to her. When all this was over, maybe I would be able to do something for her. Take her out for lunch or something. Try to explain.

The next thirty minutes crawled by. I loaded the dishwasher, watered my houseplants, and watched ten minutes of the Today show.

The phone sat silent.

I paced for a while, then went off in search of my knitting bag, which contained a partially completed cable-knit sweater I'd been working on since the last Winter Olympics. I plopped down on the living room sofa next to the portable phone and lengthened the back of the sweater by two rows—knit, purl, cheaper than Prozac, purl, knit—and was working in a cable when the phone finally rang. I could tell by the Caller ID it was Gail.

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