Читать книгу The Lottery Winner - Emilie Rose - Страница 10
ОглавлениеJESSAMINE MARTIN TRIED to appreciate the fingers of peach and salmon creeping over the rooftops as she walked along the Key West boardwalk, but she was too busy waiting for the new pay-as-you-go phone in her pocket to vibrate to concentrate on which tints she could blend to attain those specific hues.
She missed her family and work. As noisy and chaotic as teaching art to elementary school kids might be, the routine was normal, comforting. This unrelenting solitude wasn’t. She couldn’t even keep track of what day it was unless she checked her watch. Monday. She used to love Mondays. They represented the beginning of a week doing what she loved. That had changed the day the school board demanded she leave.
She wanted her old life back.
Gulls squawked and waddled away as she passed, and fish churned the waters of Key West Bight, waiting for the tourists who weren’t up yet to buy food pellets from the gumball machines and toss them into the water. After six weeks of walking this stretch, she could identify some of her nonhuman companions as regulars by their size, colors and scars. So sick of her own company and lack of purpose, she was almost desperate enough to talk to them.
The waterfront was quiet at the cusp of dawn. Only fishermen moved about, preparing their charter boats for a day of excitement and adventure, traveling out to the Gulf for fishing or to the Tortugas for diving. Her day would be filled with more of the same monotonous schedule she’d adopted since arriving. She’d read another of the paperbacks she’d picked up at the Key West library or do a little painting or sketching if she could rouse the muse. But even her muse yearned for the stark lines of South Carolina’s rolling hills, bare deciduous trees and thick pines.
The phone buzzed against her hip. She snatched it up so quickly she nearly dropped it as she fumbled to find the right button to answer the unfamiliar device.
“Is everyone okay?” she blurted.
“All good here. How are you, Li’l Bit? Enjoying your vacation?”
She bit her tongue on the automatic impulse to tell her brother for the zillionth time not to call her Li’l Bit and that this was in no way a vacation. But at this point, she didn’t care what Brandon said as long as he called. “Have there been any more...incidents?”
“The extra workers Dad hired and the Cherokee County deputies are keeping an eye on the orchard. And the Gaffney police have units watching your house and Leah’s and the kids’ day care.”
She’d been horrified when her brother told her even her sister’s family was in danger. Jessamine couldn’t live with herself if something happened to her precious niece and nephew.
“Can I come home?”
Silence filled her ear, and she pictured his grimace. Could she blame him? Same question. Different day. “Not yet,” he responded finally. “That dumb redhead with the local news showed up at Mom and Dad’s last night with a camera crew. She noticed that your car’s been in the same spot in the driveway for weeks and suggested the disappearance of the state’s largest lottery winner is due to foul play. She wants permission to search the orchard. She expects to find your body buried under the peach trees.”
Not the answer Jessamine had wanted. “I wish I’d never bought that stupid ticket. I only wanted change for a five.”
“Don’t be a drama queen. Millions of people would kill to be in your shoes. Literally, Jessamine. Remember that. Watch your back. And remember, you wouldn’t be in this predicament if you’d learn to say no instead of giving that mooch money every time she asks.”
Mortification burned her face. Guilty as charged. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I hope so, because being a people pleaser will take you down. Seventy percent of lottery winners end up bankrupt or dead within a few years.”
She groaned inwardly. He’d clicked into special agent mode, reciting the overprotective, stern lecture she now knew by heart.
“Brandon, please stop telling me that every time we talk,” she interjected when he paused for breath. “I heard you the first fifty-something times. You’re only contradicting yourself when you tell me to relax and have fun then try to make me scared of my own shadow.”
“I don’t want you to become a statistic.”
“I won’t.”
Okay, so maybe she hadn’t initially believed his warnings that lottery winners and their family members were exponentially more likely to be victims of violent crimes, kidnappings, blackmailing and lawsuits. At first she’d gone about her life as if nothing had changed, blaming his excessive paranoia on his job as a computer crimes investigator with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division.
Then, after the public announcement of her win, the media storm had hit and her life had exploded. Her back door had been kicked in while she was at work and her house ransacked. Many of her belongings had been stolen. And then her car window had been shattered—twice. One of those times had been the day after she’d gotten it back from the repair shop. Next there was a burglary at her school, specifically of her classroom, which had prompted the school board to demand she take a leave of absence until her presence no longer posed a danger to the students. But the final straw had been when her parents’ house had been broken into while her mother was home alone. At that point her brother and father had “strongly encouraged” Jessamine to take a long vacation for everyone’s safety.
So here she was. Stuck in paradise. And miserable.
“You still lying low?” he asked.
“Even you wouldn’t recognize me.”
“Good. Alternating your routine?”
She winced and studied the hungry seagull easing closer. As much as she liked to experiment artistically, she was a creature of habit. Routines were soothing and comforting, and comfortable was something she hadn’t been since arriving here. So...she might have wavered on that edict a little—which Mr. Rules and Regulations wouldn’t appreciate.
“I’m being very cautious. So, what else is new?” she asked in an effort to divert him.
“Mom enrolled in the concealed-carry class yesterday.”
Yet another piece of normal chipped away. Jessamine sank onto a dew-dampened bench with her back to the hungry fish. Her mother detested guns. And now she was going to carry one. Because of Jessamine. “The burglar really shook her up.”
“Getting out of the shower and finding a strange man going through your bedroom drawers tends to have that effect on people. You, Mom and Leah need to be careful. You and Leah should take the CC class, too.”
That would mean having a gun in her house. She had no problem with firearms. She’d grown up around them. Her father and brother were avid hunters. They’d taught her to shoot a weapon competently and hit a target. But she didn’t need to own a gun. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Leah has agreed to take it with you.”
She rocked her head side to side to ease the tension knotting her neck muscles. “How can me winning the lottery ruin so many lives?”
“Nobody’s life is ruined, kiddo. Your notoriety is a temporary inconvenience. Once it blows over, you’ll be fine. We all will be, with some minor adjustments and a few extra precautions.”
She shooed the inquisitive bird. “How can you be sure?”
“Because Big Brother will be watching. Not just the guys in uniform doing drive-bys, but also with the security systems we’ve installed at the folks’ and your place.”
“Afraid to step outside is no way to live.”
“I hear ya.” He paused. “Jessamine, Dad and I have come to a decision.”
His ultraserious tone and the use of her given name rather than the hated nickname trapped the breath in her lungs. “One I’m not going to like, I gather.”
“Depends on how you look at it. Remember we used a chunk of your first check to rent that house for you for three months? Well, we want you to stay there for the duration. It doesn’t make sense to throw that money away when we’re still working the kinks out of security here.”
Her spine snapped straight. “But you said the only reason to pay for three months was because it was cheaper in the long run than renting week to week.”
“And it was—is. It’s also the only way to guarantee you’d be in the same secure place while you’re away.”
“You said a month. Six weeks at the most. It’s been that. I’ve already missed Thanksgiving.”
“Turkey is turkey. It tastes the same every year. Look, we can’t make you stay, but everyone in the family will sleep easier if you do.”
“But what about Christmas? And Mom’s birthday?”
“Dad’s taking her away somewhere secret for her birthday. He won’t even tell me where. She won’t be home. We’ll have Christmas when you get back, and then we’ll really have something to celebrate.” His radio squawked in the background. “I gotta go. Love you. I’ll check in again tomorrow before my shift.”
And then the phone—her only connection with home—went dead. She lowered her hand and stared at the silent device. Loneliness welled within her.
Christmas was only twenty days away. And her mother’s birthday was three days afterward. She’d never spent either day away from her family. Pressure built in her chest, rising up to clog her throat. She wanted to scream but settled for stomping her feet. The gull got spooked and flew away. She glanced around to make sure no one had witnessed her tantrum.
Everyone dreamed of winning the lottery. It was supposed to be a good thing. For her, it had been a curse. If she could’ve afforded to give away the money, she would have. But she couldn’t. Her parents’ health insurance premiums had risen so drastically in the past year that they’d had to drop coverage, something they couldn’t afford with her dad’s Parkinson’s disease. He needed to stay on his medicines to slow the disease’s progression. Jessamine’s unexpected windfall had allowed her to reinstate their policy and get her father back on his prescriptions. Her new income had also paid for the security systems each house had suddenly required because of her blasted win.
And then there was her job—or lack of one. Would the school board let her return to work when this media thundercloud blew away? She loved teaching and missed her students. But this last round of budget cuts had been hard on the noncore classes, and she’d felt vulnerable even before her temporary dismissal.
She bounded to her feet then, and with leaden steps resumed her route toward Trumbo Road. If she didn’t get moving, she’d start bawling. She’d been exiled from her home and job, cut off from her friends—although she wasn’t sure who the real ones were anymore—and even her church family. She’d attempted to find a church to attend down here, but folks in this surprisingly tight-knit community were too inquisitive of newcomers. After visiting three she’d quit looking and settled into her own Sunday morning routine of sorts. The weeks ahead loomed like an eternity. But she’d get through them. Somehow.
Maybe when she got back to the house she’d paint the Key deer. Again. Or the hibiscus. Again. The coconut palms? A dark swoop crossed her peripheral vision, then a bird splashed down. No. Her miserable mood would be better illustrated by painting the cormorants. A quartet of the prehistoric-looking black birds frequently parked on the end of her dock and spread their drying wings like gargoyles waiting to swoop in and carry her off. And their screeching calls to each other... She shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her skin. The avian squatters creeped her out. She avoided the dock whenever they were present.
She reached the tall white fence marking the end of her route. The restaurant on the other side was quiet now. When she made her rounds again at dusk, the Fisherman’s Widow’s inside and outside tables would be packed. People would be laughing, silverware clinking, and the kitchen would be emitting heavenly scents. She hadn’t risked eating in a restaurant thus far, but she was tired of her own cooking. Maybe she’d order takeout tonight.
And then she connected the dots between her brother’s words and her financial status. She was supposed to be operating on a cash-only basis. Adding another six weeks to her stay put her in a dicey situation. She hadn’t budgeted for three months. She’d replenished her art supplies a couple of times, and in the Keys they had cost double what they did at home. That meant she’d have to be very, very frugal if she wanted to have enough money to cover the rest of her stay. Even then, she’d probably run short. And without access to her accounts, she definitely wouldn’t have money to buy Christmas and birthday gifts.
The irony of being a lottery winner and having her future secured with quarterly checks for practically the rest of her life but being short on actual cash right now didn’t escape her. Her brother had cautioned her not to use a cash machine or credit cards or she might alert someone to her location. She could ask him to send more prepaid debit cards, but he couldn’t access her accounts, either. In his rush to get her out of town, he’d failed to arrange that. He or her parents would have to use their own money to buy the prepaid debit cards until she could pay them back. Not an option she’d take until she was desperate.
So...she admitted with a sigh, no takeout. No matter how tempting. And no more art supplies.
She turned to head back for her car. A muffled cry stopped her. Was it a hurt animal? She listened until she heard it again. The whimper sounded human. She immediately recalled stories of babies discarded in Dumpsters—the restaurant’s was on the other side of that fence. But it hadn’t sounded like a baby. Had it? Undecided, she rocked from her heels to her toes.
She’d worry all day if she didn’t check.
Tamping down her brother’s dire warnings of kidnapping schemes, she clutched the can of pepper spray in her pocket, rounded the wall and approached the garbage container, then cautiously leaned forward to peer inside the open doors. She saw nothing but the dirty metal bottom. Relieved, she exhaled then recalled the trash trucks had been pulling out of the street when she’d arrived. She heard the noise again. It hadn’t come from the smelly green box beside the building after all but from behind the restaurant. Had one of the delivery people fallen? She bit her lip.
Should she check it out or mind her own business? She knew what Brandon would say. Not your problem. Go home. But she couldn’t walk away from someone in need.
As quietly as she could, she inched down the sidewalk past the closed kitchen door to the rear of the building. A woman sat at one of the patio tables with her hands to her face and her chin to her chest. Her short curly hair was a pale shade between blond and silver. Another sob escaped followed by hiccuped breaths.
Compassion compelled Jessamine forward even though caution urged her to retreat. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
The woman gasped and startled, twisting to face Jessamine. She swiped her eyes, revealing a face with enough wrinkles to make it interesting. She was petite and looked to be in her fifties or sixties. “I’m alive. So I guess I’m still in the game. Who are you?”
“Jess—” Had her story reached the Florida Keys? Would she be recognized and hounded here? “Jessie,” she amended, giving the nickname her college roommate had used.
“Hello, Jess—Jessie. I’m Miri. Short for Miriam. You’re new around here, aren’t you?”
Keep it simple. Then leave. “Yes. I heard you crying and wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you hurt?”
“Not physically. But I’ve seen better days. Would you like to join me or are you in a hurry to get to work?”
She should lie and leave. But the thought of going back to the empty house, as nice as it might be, didn’t appeal. “Um...not really.”
“Then pull up a chair. I’ll get you some coffee. My private stash. Good stuff. I don’t share it with just anyone.”
Jessamine searched for the words to politely refuse.
“Please, Jessie. Today’s the anniversary of my husband’s death. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I need better company than my own right now.”
That made two of them sick of their own company. Empathy twined through Jessamine like the flowering vine she’d been named after. She studied Miri’s blotchy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. How could she say no to a grieving widow? A couple of minutes wouldn’t hurt, would it? “Maybe a quick cup.”
Miri sprang to her feet and rushed into the building, leaving Jessamine open to an ambush of second thoughts. Brandon would needle her for being a people pleaser again.
The woman quickly returned, shouldering her way through the door carrying a coffeepot and an extra mug. “Sit. Please.”
Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, Jessamine perched on the edge of the chair.
Miri took her seat then poured the dark brew. “I’m sorry you caught me with my pants down, so to speak. You’d think I’d be used to waking up alone by now.”
Jessamine clutched the mug rather than offer the hug she suspected the woman needed. The rich aroma teased her senses. She took a sip and let the dark brew roll down her throat. She hadn’t bothered making coffee since coming to Florida. It seemed a waste to make a whole pot for one cup. But she immediately decided that would change—starting tomorrow.
“I’m sorry, Miri. How long has he been gone?”
“Three years. I miss that old fart.”
The acidic comment startled a smile from Jessamine.
“You ever been in love, Jess—Jessie?”
Jessamine’s smile fell. She averted her gaze. Her thumb found her bare ring finger. Yet another thing the lottery win had cost her. She would never know if a man loved her or her annuity. “I thought I was once.”
“Then maybe you know how it is. You love ’em. You curse ’em. But Jack was mine. And now he’s not. We fought. And we loved. But we fit. Know what I mean?”
She and Aaron had never disagreed on anything until he’d asked her to choose between him and her family. Not something she wanted to contemplate right now. She gulped coffee and scalded her tongue. “How long were you together?”
“Thirty-five years. Sounds like forever, and yet it passed in the blink of an eye. We met when I came down for spring break during college. The weather was horrible, and the boats were stuck in port. He bought me a drink and asked me to dance. Lord, that man could not dance, but he’d been watching me and knew I loved to. So he tried. It wasn’t pretty,” she added with a sad smile. “By the end of that week I was in love. I didn’t want to go back to finish my senior year, but he insisted. Said if I didn’t come to my senses and still wanted to marry a fisherman after I graduated, he’d be waiting. I came back and he was.”
Why couldn’t she find a love like that? One who put her best interests first? Dark hair blew across her face. Her heart leaped and her breath caught. She spun around to see who’d sneaked up on her, but no one was there. Then she remembered the dye job. Cursing her brother’s horror stories, she exhaled, tucked the strand behind her ear and caught Miri watching her. Jessamine wanted to squirm but reached for her coffee instead.
“The weather brought Jack to me. And it took him away. He was struck by lightning during a freak sudden storm over the Gulf Stream. He fished, captained a charter boat service. I cooked his catch to help pay the bills when business was slow. That’s how I ended up with this place. I started with a food cart on the wharf, then moved up to this board-and-brick location twenty years ago.”
Miri’s resourcefulness reminded Jessamine of her mother, who baked and sold pies and canned peaches and preserves to supplement the orchard’s income. “Do you have children?”
“We were never blessed with our own, but when my sister passed I took over raising her boy. Logan grew up and moved away. But now he’s back.”
Something ominous in the last phrase piqued Jessamine’s curiosity, but she let it go. It was none of her business. As much as she wanted to linger, she could hear her brother scolding, Making friends isn’t a good idea. She set down the mug and rose. “Thank you for the coffee, Miri. I’m sorry for your loss. It sounds like you had a great marriage.”
“Oh, we did. But it’s not just missin’ Jack that has me upset. It’s the torrent of other pressures... Oh, never mind. I’ve enjoyed your company, Jessie. I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to an old lady’s problems.”
She didn’t. Glancing at the sun and acknowledging she wouldn’t be back in her compound before it fully rose, she sank back onto the chair. “You’re not old. You’re what my mama calls ‘experienced.’ So what else is wrong?”
“Truthfully, my nephew is driving me nuts. Logan moved back here after Jack died, and Lord, that boy hovers. He watches every move I make and tries to tell me how to run my business. I didn’t mind at first because...well, he needed to feel useful, but now...” She put a hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. “I’ve had enough. Then yesterday, my best waitress called in to tell me her obstetrician has put her on complete bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. I was already one server short with our busy season just around the corner. If Logan gets wind that Carla’s gone—he never liked her because she’s...well...different—I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Don’t say anything. But Jessamine’s mouth opened anyway. “I waited tables all through college. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that difficult to train someone. You could probably have two new servers in no time.”
Miri’s hazel eyes sharpened. “Carla did all the training. Has for years. Do you have a job, Jessie?”
Jessamine’s toes curled in her sneakers. “Um...not at the moment.”
“Want one?”
Say no. “I won’t be here much longer.”
“Are you on vacation?”
“I’m kind of on a...sabbatical.” The word her father had used popped out.
“You could help me train the new hires.”
No. No. No. “Miri, I appreciate the offer, but you don’t even know me. I could be a criminal.”
“Are you?”
“No.” Jessamine sighed. Why couldn’t she lie?
“Then I know what I need to. You’re kind, compassionate and an experienced waitress. Please, Jessie. I’m desperate.”
She shouldn’t risk the exposure. “I really don’t need a job.”
“Just a week. Two at the most. Keep my customers happy and my nephew off my back while you train your replacements.”
Jessamine searched for an excuse and came up empty. You don’t owe this near stranger an explanation. Just. Say. No.
“We serve lunch and dinner Friday through Sunday but only dinner the rest of the week. I pay well. C’mon, Jessie. I need you. It would be a load off my mind if I didn’t have to close my doors because I don’t have enough staff to open tonight.”
Jessamine could practically hear the vacuum sound as she got sucked in. Filling out forms with her name and address wouldn’t be smart.
“Please?” Hazel eyes pleaded. “You’d be working with two other waitresses. One’s very experienced. The other’s not bad.”
Jessie was sick of her own company. Her vacation felt like solitary confinement. And tips were often cash. If she helped Miri, she could solve her own problem this time instead of relying on her family to send her money—money they couldn’t spare. She caved like soggy papier-mâché.
“I can help. But only if you’ll let me work for tips alone. No paycheck. No paper trail.”
Miri’s pale eyebrows shot up. Her gaze turned speculative. “Okay. You’re hired. I’ll get you a copy of Carla’s schedule. Be right back.”
Miri disappeared into the building. Again, Jessamine heard Brandon’s voice. Not smart, Li’l Bit. You should have said no. Run while you can.
But her body hadn’t obeyed the order by the time Miri returned and slid a paper and pen across the table. “I’ll need your phone number and clothing sizes.”
“I, um...”
Her cellular and home phone numbers had been hacked within hours of the lottery win announcement, and the begging calls had come around the clock from strangers, “friends” and relatives so distant no one could remember them. Their sob stories of children with cancer or single moms living in cars had been so convincing and heart wrenching that Jessamine had wanted to help them all. Her father’s intervention was the only thing that had stopped her from blowing that first check on strangers. He’d warned her she’d soon be broke if she didn’t toughen up.
Then her brother had confiscated her old phone and disconnected her house phone. He’d taken her to buy a box of disposable units from different stores, then he’d given her strict instructions to use a phone for two weeks then discard it and open a new one. She no longer kept a phone long enough to learn the number.
Miri waited. “I, um...don’t know my number.”
“None of us do anymore. It’s a push-button world these days. I’ll need it if I need to call you to change your schedule. No one will have it except me. I’ll wait while you look it up.”
Suspecting she might be making a mistake she’d live to regret, Jessamine reluctantly pulled out her phone, turned it on and wrote down the number that appeared on the screen. She added her clothing sizes and handed the paper back to Miri. The woman folded it and tucked it into her bra.
“I’ll keep it right here. No one will get it.” Miri reached across the table and covered Jessamine’s hand. “Do you need a safe place to stay, Jessie?”
The question threw her. “I have one. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? Because I have a guest room over my garage. You can stay as long as you want. And Jack left me a .30-30. Kicks like hell but gets the job done.”
Miri was offering protection and even willing to use a rifle to provide it. She must think Jessamine was running from someone—an abusive ex or something. The thoughtfulness of a stranger made her eyes sting. She squeezed Miri’s hand. “I’m good. But thank you.”
“Then I’ll see you today at three. I’ll have a uniform for you and we’ll go over my system. Jessie, I can’t thank you enough for helping me through this rough patch.”
Jessamine rose and beat a hasty retreat, kicking herself the whole way back to her vehicle. She debated not returning tonight. Miri only had her phone number. No last name. No address. Jessamine would simply have to toss this phone to avoid any calls.
But she’d promised. Miri needed her help training waitresses and running interference with the bossy nephew. Jessam—Jessie could do that. And then she’d go home with a clear conscience.
But she had to learn to say no. Starting now.
* * *
THE PRETTY BRUNETTE caught Logan’s eye even before he took his customary seat at the oyster bar. She was lean but in shape, and she had great legs. Sleek muscles flexed beneath the smooth, tanned skin revealed by the Fisherman’s Widow’s uniform of a tank top and denim skort. A thick, loose braid hung to the middle of her back with escaped strands of hair draping her cheeks.
She’d waited tables before, though not here. It showed in the easy way she carried five loaded plates on one arm, refilled glasses with a flick of her wrist and kept the hush puppy baskets full. She had an engaging smile for the customers, but tension lingered behind it.
That stiffness, combined with the way her hypervigilant gaze snapped toward the entrance each time the front door of his aunt’s restaurant opened, kept him ensnared. It was as if she feared who might walk in. He’d entered through the kitchen, so she’d missed his arrival.
His aunt came through the swinging doors and set a plate on the bar in front of him. “See what you think of this. I’m experimenting with the mahi.”
He eyed the dish. He’d spent a large part of his life being her number-one guinea pig. Most times, that was a good thing. “What is it?”
“Coconut-crusted mahi sliders with pineapple chutney.”
Sounded edible. He took a bite. The tender, flaky meat practically melted in his mouth, and the seasonings were the perfect balance between sweet and hot. He chewed, then swallowed. “This recipe’s a keeper. Who’s the new waitress?”
Miri’s gaze swung across the crowded dining room, stopping where his hovered. “Jessie. She’s a sweet girl. Experienced, too.”
“Where’s Carla? Late again?”
Miri hesitated, and he braced himself for the excuse du jour. “Carla’s doctor ordered her to stay off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy.”
“She’s barely pregnant.”
“She’s six months along, and her blood pressure spiked.”
He should have known the woman would find the one excuse for which she legally couldn’t be fired. He didn’t like her or her overly tattooed and pierced stoner boyfriend. They had a habit of borrowing money from Miri and never paying it back. Advances on her salary, his ass. The amounts were never deducted from the next check. His aunt was a pushover and a sucker for a sob story.
But on the positive side, Carla would be out for months. If he was lucky, she’d stay at home with her kid and never return.
“What do you know about the new girl?” With only one road on or off the islands, you tended to recognize residents quickly. “She’s not from here.”
“She’s honest and a good waitress.”
“How do you know if she’s honest? Did you do a criminal background check using the link I gave you?”
That earned him a scowl. “She says she isn’t a criminal, and I believe her.”
He didn’t like where this was going. “Did she pass the drug test?”
“I just hired her this morning, Logan. We haven’t had time for that yet.”
“You’re supposed to screen them before they start. Did you at least check her references?”
Miri grabbed a towel and wiped the bar, avoiding his gaze. “No time for that yet, either.”
“Give me her application. I’ll do it now. She can stop by the lab in the morning.” He rose and dug in his pocket for his cell phone.
“Sit down and put that thing away. Finish your dinner, Logan. I’ll get to the paperwork when I get to it. I needed Jessie tonight. You can see we’re still a couple of servers short. Everyone’s having to work seven days a week. Jessie’s covering double the tables she should be, and she’s doing it well. She even knew the computer system.”
“She’s another one of your strays, isn’t she?”
“Why must you always think the worst of everyone I hire?”
“Because you usually hire everyone else’s rejects. Is she staying in the apartment?” He’d spent time there too before he’d finished renovating his cottage.
“No, smarty-pants. Jessie has her own place. Stop trying to do my job. I’ve been running this business without your guidance for decades. I know how to hire employees. And quit being so suspicious of everyone. You’ll make yourself miserable if you don’t.”
“I’m looking out for your best interest. Do you see how she’s watching the door?”
“Let it go, Logan.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine. The Fisherman’s Widow is fine. We don’t need a watchdog.” Miri sighed. “You act like I have no sense at all.”
“You don’t when it comes to people. You’re too softhearted. You surround yourself with leeches and losers. You let them take advantage of your generosity.”
Red flagged Miri’s cheeks. “You have no room to accuse me of choosing my associates unwisely.”
He winced. Miri didn’t have a mean bone in her body. That was as close to a low blow as she’d get. Because it was true—he hadn’t always been wise. His failure to see the situation right in front of him was the reason she had no cash reserves or retirement funds.
“Speaking of leeches and losers...that one’s a prime example,” Miri added in a waspy tone. He twisted to follow her scowling gaze and spotted the private detective he employed crossing the dining room. She shot I a scathing look when he took a seat. “I wish you’d hold your business fleecings elsewhere.”
The PI ignored Miri’s insult and smiled. “Well, if it ain’t my little ray of Florida sunshine. Always a pleasure to see you, too, Miri.” He delivered the words in an exaggerated version of his New Jersey accent, which seemed to irritate Logan’s aunt even more.
“What kind of name is I, anyway?” she snapped.
“Nobody can spell Ignatius. I save ’em the trouble by keeping it short and sweet. Kind of like you do, Miriam Louise.”
Logan’s aunt stiffened at the use of her given name, then stomped back into the kitchen. Logan shook his head. “Why do you needle her?”
“She started it. She treats me like a dog shit on her shoe. That whole lip-curling thing bugs the crap out of me. And what in the hell is wrong with using my initial?”
Miri got along with everyone. Why not I? The two had been at each other’s throats since their first meeting over a year ago.
“Anything?” Logan asked the PI.
“Nope. Trail went cold in Porto Alegre, Brazil.”
“Two people can’t just vanish.” Frustration killed Logan’s appetite. He pushed the unfinished meal aside.
“Your wife and business partner have. For now. They’ll turn up eventually. Finding them depends on how much money you want to spend. Me, I’d say good riddance and cut my losses.”
“Ex-wife and ex–business partner,” he corrected. “I can’t let this go. They destroyed my reputation when they embezzled our clients’ funds. No reputable firm will hire me.”
“What’s wrong with the setup you got here? You get a free meal every night. You got a decent place to stay. You set your own hours and make enough to get by doing people’s taxes. What else do you need?”
“I want them to admit what they did and clear my name.”
“Hate to tell ya, Nash, but even if we find ’em and they’re extradited to the States and they sing like canaries, it won’t get the stench off ya. Stuff like that tends to stick.”
Logan refused to accept that. He’d done nothing criminal, and he had to prove it. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
I shrugged. “Your dime. But don’t say I didn’t warn ya. You gonna finish that?”
“No.”
I snagged the dish, pulled it closer and shoved an untouched slider into his mouth. “Damn, that woman can cook,” he said.
“What do you make of her?” Logan nodded toward the brunette waitress.
“Hot. Yours?”
“Nah. Miri’s new hire. See the way she watches the door?”
I nodded. “She got outstanding warrants? Or an abusive ex?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d find out. Something’s got her jumpy.”
“I will. Don’t doubt it. I’ll be damned if someone else steals from Miri on my watch.”
