“You disabled my credit and debit cards.”
“I would never do such a thing. But since you’ve got a problem, let me refer you to Member Services.”
He reaches for his desk phone, but I slap his hand away. “I don’t want Member Services. I want my money!”
He drops his voice. “If you continue to yell at me, I’ll have to call the sheriff.”
I. Hate. Him. So. Much.
After forcing a smile that’s tighter than a virgin’s butthole, I grind out, “Why aren’t my cards working?”
“Well, Rowe, let’s take a look.”
He pulls his chair back up to his desk and punches some keys on his computer. He frowns and shakes his head before swinging the computer screen around for me to see.
“Looks like there’s been suspicious activity on your accounts—both your credit card and your personal checking.”
“Suspicious activity?” Shock rocks through me. “What?”
He nods. “For your own security, your accounts have been frozen until an investigation is completed.”
“For my own ...?Bullshit.That’s bullshit, Luke.” My heart becomes as hard as stone. “What suspicious activity?”
“It doesn’t say.” His voice is tinged with fake sympathy. “All it says is that they’ve had to deactivate your cards as well as freeze the money while the investigation is being completed. Everything should be cleared up in a week or two.”
“A week or two! What am I supposed to do about feed?” I shove my finger under his nose. “And don’t think I don’t know that you had Sally Ray cut off my line of credit at the store.”
He pushes my hand away. “All I know about is the bank. I don’t regulate what Sally does over there.”
“Horse manure.”
“You have a lot of fecal references today.”
I’llshow himfecal references. In fact, I’ll shove them right up his rear end. “What am I supposed to do about money in the meantime?”
He sits back and taps the tips of his fingers together like a greedy oil baron about to con a small-time farmer out of the petroleum pools under his land. “I’m sure there are more things to sell in yourhome—antiques you’ve got hidden upstairs. As memory serves, I gave your mom a wad of cash this morning.”
I lean in until we’re nose to nose. “Let me make this crystal clear for you, Luke, since you and Sally Ray don’t seem to understand: There is no way in hell that y’all will get one more piece of my property.”
“Sixty days,” he sneers. “You’ve got sixty days until you and that shitty little piggycorn farm of yours are out on your ass, and that property will belong to me—I mean, the bank.”
We stare at each other for a couple of beats before he breaks the contest first. And yes, it was a contest, and yes, I won.
He riffles through papers on his desk. “If there’s nothing else that I can do for you, I need to get back to work.”
“Sure. Get back to work.”
My world is melting faster than a snow cone on a summer’s day, and he needs to get back to work.
Without a word, I turn on my heel and storm out of the bank. I head over to my truck—an early-’80s Ford F-150 with a diesel engine. The thing is so well made that it’ll probably outlive me.
I slump against the door and drop my head to the window. What am I going to do? All my money’s tied up in that bank.
Maybe there’s some in the house that I’m forgetting about. There’s probably enough for a few groceries, but not enough for the piggycorns’ feed.
Their sparkleberry food is expensive, and it’s the main staple of their diet. But maybe the ones that I’m trying to—
“Rowe!”
