Black Cat and the Accidental Angel (Black Cat Mysteries Book 3) by Elaine Faber
Authors: Elaine Faber
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something to drink?”
“No, but thank you.” Mr. Adams pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and laid them on the coffee table, retrieved a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and fit the wire frames over his ears. He cleared his throat again and smoothed out the papers. He looked down at Black Cat, pulled his jacket closer to his body and shifted his rump over a few inches.
Black Cat rolled to the left and leaned against Mr. Adams’s hip again. His whiskers twitched ever so slightly as he gazed with feigned adoration into the banker’s face.
Mr. Adams rolled his eyes and shifted on the sofa again. “Mr. Goldstein. It gives me no pleasure bringing you these papers. We’ve tried to contact you by letter and left messages on your phone—”
“I…I’ve had some business reverses and I’ve not been able—”
“We do understand, Mr. Goldstein, and I empathize. Things are tough on lots of folks these days, but the bank has a responsibility to our investors. Two years ago, you came to us and took out a loan to replant your vineyard after a fire. Naturally, we wanted to help you, being sympathetic to the needs of the community and all. But, you’re three months behind on your loan payment. We can’t allow this to continue.”
“You must understand—”
Mr. Adams put up his hand. A constrained note came into his voice. “I must add, as the lien holder, we’ve also received a notice that you failed to pay the second installment of your county property taxes. The bank has no choice but to begin foreclosure.” The air whooshed from his mouth as though he’d delivered his message without taking a breath.
John lurched to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. “You can’t do that. I spoke to the bank manager about an extension. He said everything would be okay. He said he’d take it to the board and recommend an exten—”
“I’m sorry. The board denied your request, and—”
“No. You need to understand. My family has owned this property for forty years. I was born here. Sure, I’m behind on things. The fire… But, you can’t march in here just like this and tell me you’re foreclosing.” John ran his hand across the top of his head.
Black Cat jumped to the floor. He exchanged glances with Angel, still hunkered beneath the table. Wouldn’t you know it? They’d landed in a hornet’s nest.
John paced the short distance between the couch and the kitchen. “All I need is a little more time, Mr. Adams. Next year, I’ll be able to harvest my grapes. I invested in the Emus to tide me over until then. I’ve got twenty-seven eggs due to hatch in several weeks. I have buyers lined up across three states. When I sell the chicks, I can pay the back taxes and the bank. See how close I am? Can’t you work with me? Just a few more weeks—”
“My good man, if it was up to me…but, sadly, it’s not. Don’t you see? It’s not personal. It’s business. We can’t wait another year for your first harvest. And, I hate to use such a tired cliché, but you really can’t count your chickens before they hatch !” A smarmy grin crinkled Mr. Adams’s face, as though he was tickled at his timely pun.
Black Cat looped around the room at a dead run. He skidded to a stop beneath the table beside Angel. How could Mr. Adams make a joke at a time like this? He came to throw a man off his property and makes a stupid chicken joke? What’s funny about ripping a man’s life to shreds? He was a skunk in a pin-striped suit if there ever was one.
“Anything could happen between the egg and the chicken , heh, heh .” Mr. Adams stuffed the papers back into his briefcase and stood.
John jerked his head, his pupils like pinpoints, his eyebrows drawn together. His clenched fists spoke volumes of his intentions. No wonder Angel ran under the table.
“Not personal?” The veins in John’s forehead throbbed. “Just exactly what would make it personal? It’s my home. I’ve done everything I can think of
“No, but thank you.” Mr. Adams pulled a stack of papers from his briefcase and laid them on the coffee table, retrieved a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and fit the wire frames over his ears. He cleared his throat again and smoothed out the papers. He looked down at Black Cat, pulled his jacket closer to his body and shifted his rump over a few inches.
Black Cat rolled to the left and leaned against Mr. Adams’s hip again. His whiskers twitched ever so slightly as he gazed with feigned adoration into the banker’s face.
Mr. Adams rolled his eyes and shifted on the sofa again. “Mr. Goldstein. It gives me no pleasure bringing you these papers. We’ve tried to contact you by letter and left messages on your phone—”
“I…I’ve had some business reverses and I’ve not been able—”
“We do understand, Mr. Goldstein, and I empathize. Things are tough on lots of folks these days, but the bank has a responsibility to our investors. Two years ago, you came to us and took out a loan to replant your vineyard after a fire. Naturally, we wanted to help you, being sympathetic to the needs of the community and all. But, you’re three months behind on your loan payment. We can’t allow this to continue.”
“You must understand—”
Mr. Adams put up his hand. A constrained note came into his voice. “I must add, as the lien holder, we’ve also received a notice that you failed to pay the second installment of your county property taxes. The bank has no choice but to begin foreclosure.” The air whooshed from his mouth as though he’d delivered his message without taking a breath.
John lurched to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. “You can’t do that. I spoke to the bank manager about an extension. He said everything would be okay. He said he’d take it to the board and recommend an exten—”
“I’m sorry. The board denied your request, and—”
“No. You need to understand. My family has owned this property for forty years. I was born here. Sure, I’m behind on things. The fire… But, you can’t march in here just like this and tell me you’re foreclosing.” John ran his hand across the top of his head.
Black Cat jumped to the floor. He exchanged glances with Angel, still hunkered beneath the table. Wouldn’t you know it? They’d landed in a hornet’s nest.
John paced the short distance between the couch and the kitchen. “All I need is a little more time, Mr. Adams. Next year, I’ll be able to harvest my grapes. I invested in the Emus to tide me over until then. I’ve got twenty-seven eggs due to hatch in several weeks. I have buyers lined up across three states. When I sell the chicks, I can pay the back taxes and the bank. See how close I am? Can’t you work with me? Just a few more weeks—”
“My good man, if it was up to me…but, sadly, it’s not. Don’t you see? It’s not personal. It’s business. We can’t wait another year for your first harvest. And, I hate to use such a tired cliché, but you really can’t count your chickens before they hatch !” A smarmy grin crinkled Mr. Adams’s face, as though he was tickled at his timely pun.
Black Cat looped around the room at a dead run. He skidded to a stop beneath the table beside Angel. How could Mr. Adams make a joke at a time like this? He came to throw a man off his property and makes a stupid chicken joke? What’s funny about ripping a man’s life to shreds? He was a skunk in a pin-striped suit if there ever was one.
“Anything could happen between the egg and the chicken , heh, heh .” Mr. Adams stuffed the papers back into his briefcase and stood.
John jerked his head, his pupils like pinpoints, his eyebrows drawn together. His clenched fists spoke volumes of his intentions. No wonder Angel ran under the table.
“Not personal?” The veins in John’s forehead throbbed. “Just exactly what would make it personal? It’s my home. I’ve done everything I can think of
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