Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

but I wanted to tell you, that nice lady from the flower place called this morning. She said that the cheque you gave her bounced." She sounded confused. I would have been too, had I not spent the morning stressing about a certain con job. They had already stolen my money.
    But then a terrifying thought flashed through me—what if it was real, and it was one of two scenarios? One, being my husband, who had not only had affairs on me, but also must have betrayed someone high up, who was bent on getting revenge. Or two—he actually sold secrets. Either way, I was screwed.
    My eyes flickered on our daughter on my bed. I couldn’t lose it yet. I had to remain calm. I sighed like I was inconvenienced and muttered, "Can you stop by and give her some cash? I'll pay you back."
    I heard traffic in the background of her cell phone, "Sure, sweetie. Are you okay?"
    "Yeah, I must have used old cheques or something. I don’t know where anything is. You know James did everything like that." I was kicking myself as I spoke; how could I have let him have all the power? How could I have trusted that man with everything? How could he leave me with all this to contend with?
    "Sure thing. You have some catching up to do then I guess, huh?" Her tone was the mom-tone that still had not accepted the fact I was an adult. Not that my life looked that way. It looked like children were running it. I had more faith in Jules and Mitch, than their father.
    I covered my eyes and held my face tightly, as I clicked the phone off and slumped.
    "Who was it?" Jules asked in her squeaky voice. I lifted my face and smiled, "Grandma."
    She climbed off the bed and ran out of the room. I heard her playing with Monster High dolls, as I fell back to sleep. Denial still felt better than coping.
    I woke to a strange sensation. The room was dark, which meant the day was gone. I wasn’t certain what my kids had been doing for most of it—okay all of it. I blinked up at the ceiling. Something vibrated under me. I fished the moving thing out from under my butt, when it vibrated again. I turned it in my hands only to see the same face staring at me. I must have pressed accept to the FaceTime call as I grabbed it.
    His voice was pleasant, "You look lovely, Mrs. Evans, those pajamas are becoming on you. You must meet Mr. Cooper in an hour at the Ritz, in the Boston Harbor hotel district. I'll meet you in the lobby." The handsome young face was gone instantly.
    My fingers shook as cold sweat covered me. I picked my cell phone up from the bedside table and dialed my mom's cell. Instead of ringing, an automated message spoke, "Nine-ten-three-two—we are sorry but your phone is not activated. Please call to speak to a representative."
    I pressed the phone off and looked at it. My phone wasn’t active. Chills ran up my spine. Chills caused by memories of taking away people's rights. I had done all of this before to other people. I grabbed the house phone from my bed and pressed it on. A busy signal rang through it.
    I scrambled from the bed, throwing on a pair of yoga pants and a sweater. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and ran from the room pulling on my socks.
    "Mitch?" I called. "Mitch, Jules?"
    My stomach dropped.
    I ran down the stairs screaming, "MITCH!" Oh my God, my kids were gone.
    "Mom?" he called from the kitchen. I stumbled in seeing him with a spaghetti noodle across his lips like a mustache and Jules trying to make one with the noodle in her hand. She sat on the counter next to my mom who was stirring a pot.
    I took a breath, clutching my chest.
    All three wore the same confused face.
    I stammered, "Uhm…I-I gave the wrong cheques to everyone. I have to run out and give cash to people."
    My mom gave me a look. I shook my head. She sighed and turned back to the pasta. She knew the look on my face. She knew the tone of a well-laid lie.
    "Sorry!" I yelled and ran for the garage. I shoved my feet in sneakers, jumped in James' car, and hit the garage door opener. I clutched the phone in my hand and backed out like a madwoman.
    "Mr. Cooper?" I muttered while drumming on the steering wheel. The name meant nothing to me, "Who is Mr. Cooper?" I got out onto the 90 and was just passing Auburndale, when I realized how similar it all felt. I had done a job just like this one. I knew there was still a distinct possibility I was being conned, but I was doubting it more with every mile I drove.
    I decided to try something and looked at the phone. I picked it