Читать книгу Winning Amelia - Ingrid Weaver - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“I CAN’T BELIEVE you lied to him,” Jenny said. “How can you expect him to do his job?”

Amelia finished paring a carrot and handed it to her sister-in-law. Timmy was down for his afternoon nap, so the house was unusually peaceful. Sporadic hammering came from the backyard, where Owen and Eric were attempting to construct a fort with the scrap lumber and drywall from Will’s basement renovation project. Rather than relaxing, Jenny was taking advantage of the lull to get a head start on dinner...and to speak her mind. “I didn’t actually lie,” Amelia said. “I just omitted certain facts.”

“Same thing.”

“He doesn’t need to know about the lottery ticket in order to find the painting.”

“I’m surprised Hank agreed to work for you at all.” Jenny placed the carrot on the cutting board and began chopping. “If I recall, you two didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“That was more than a decade ago. He’s a professional. This is business.”

“Didn’t he think it was a little odd for you to make such a fuss over a worthless old painting?”

“I said it was important to me.”

“You must have been very convincing.”

“Well, it is important.”

“At least you told him the truth about that much.”

“I actually told him more truth than I’d meant to.”

“How so?”

“He seemed as if he was about to refuse me, and I was feeling desperate. I got into how much I’ve lost lately.”

“Ah.”

“I didn’t set out to play on his sympathy, but he probably feels sorry for me anyway.”

“I’m not so sure. Is it possible he still cares about you? That would explain why he took your case.”

“No, Jenny. What we had was only puppy love. It died a long time ago.”

“Hmph.”

Jenny’s skepticism made her flinch. Hank had agreed the past was over and done. Their new relationship was purely business. Well, business between old friends.

But how businesslike was it to work for free? And what about that moment this morning in his office when their hands had touched?

The years had been more than good to Hank Jones. He’d reached his full height of six foot three by tenth grade, but he’d been lanky, to put it kindly. Now his frame had fleshed out into the classic, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, male silhouette of underwear models and Hollywood hunks. He’d grown into his face, too. The angled jaw and sharp features that had seemed harsh on a boy looked good on a man. Okay, more than good—spectacular, particularly when he smiled. He likely did that a lot, since laugh lines crinkled the corners of his light brown eyes. His sand-colored hair was streaked blond by the sun and was as thick and straight as ever. It was too neatly trimmed to fall over his collar anymore, but he hadn’t been able to tame it completely. The same stubborn, endearing lock that used to fall over his forehead still did.

But Hank’s appearance was irrelevant. Amelia had other priorities here, namely fifty-two million and change worth of them. She wasn’t interested in any man, and especially not one who had so thoroughly broken her heart. The bump in her pulse from their parting handshake was because she’d been in an emotional state over losing the ticket. That’s why she’d opened up to him about her feelings, too. It couldn’t have anything to do with her old crush on him. That would not only be absurd, it would be self-destructive and stupid. She rinsed off another carrot and applied her energy to the parer.

“Did I hear right?” Will asked as he moved into the kitchen doorway. Lancaster Cabinets was on summer hours, so it wasn’t unusual for him to get home in the middle of the afternoon. “You really went to Hank Jones for help?”

Amelia nodded at her brother. “I went first thing this morning.”

“That’s too bad. I think you should have gone to someone else.” He slipped his arm past Jenny to set his lunch pail on the counter and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He patted her stomach. “How’s our little football player? Is he still kicking field goals?”

“She decided to take up tap dancing,” Jenny said.

Both Will and Jenny had resisted learning the sex of the baby she carried. They claimed it didn’t matter and would prefer to be surprised. For Jenny’s sake, Amelia hoped it would be a girl. “Why do you think I shouldn’t have gone to Hank, Will?”

Her brother crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “Jones likes to play private eye. That business of his is a farce.”

“What do you know about his business?” Amelia asked.

“Most of his work comes from his father, when he isn’t out fishing. He checks out customers who want to buy a car from the old man’s lot on credit. In my opinion, it was his daddy’s way of putting him on the payroll, since he couldn’t make it as a car salesman. It’s not much different from getting an allowance.”

That didn’t sound like the Hank she’d known, but people could change. Had she made another mistake? “I hope that’s not the case,” Amelia said. “I went to Hank because I thought he would be a good detective.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason you went to him?” Jenny asked. “Maybe you still have some of the old feelings left, too.”

“Absolutely not. I told you, that’s completely over,” she said firmly. She returned her attention to Will. “Are you sure about Hank’s business? From what I remember of his character, being a private investigator would suit him. He’s observant, and he thinks everything through. He’s thorough and methodical.”

“You mean slow,” Will said.

“He’s tenacious,” Amelia said.

“He’s a stubborn idiot.”

Jenny pointed her knife at Will. “That’s too harsh. It wasn’t Hank’s fault that your truck loan fell through last year. It was because Mr. Lancaster had laid everyone off.”

“Temporarily. We were hired back when he got more orders. I told Hank we would be.”

“You’re not being fair, Wilbur, and you know it.”

Will muttered something under his breath. He hated being called Wilbur.

“If anyone was an idiot,” Amelia said, “I was for losing that ticket. If I hadn’t tried to be smart by sticking it in that frame, I could have bought you five new trucks by now.”

There was an awkward silence. Will was the first to break it. “I’ve been wondering about that,” he said. “Why did you store the ticket in the painting? I’m not criticizing you or anything, but it’s not where most people would put a lottery ticket.”

“I thought it was a safe place.”

“Remember how Timmy emptied her purse?” Jenny asked. “And Mae had to replace her paycheck?”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that, sis.”

“There was more to it than that, Will,” Amelia said. “The main reason I thought of using the painting is because it reminded me of the wall safe Spencer had installed in our condo. It was behind the Kandinsky.”

“The what?”

“The painting in our dining room.”

“You mean the blue and yellow one with the weird zigzags?”

Amelia nodded. That was one way to describe Wassily Kandinsky’s Expressionist style. Spencer had bought the artwork primarily as an investment. It had turned out to be the most valuable piece in their collection and worth almost as much as the condo. It had nothing in common with the amateurish landscape that had hung in Will and Jenny’s back room, except for its function. “I used Jenny’s painting because I regarded it as the poor woman’s version of Spencer’s wall safe.”

Will snorted a laugh. “I get it now. That sounds like something you would do.”

“I thought I was being clever,” Amelia said. “It was a stupid idea.”

“Water under the bridge. What’s done is done.”

She knew they were disappointed. Who wouldn’t be, after the way she’d gotten everyone’s hopes up? Because of her, the whole family had been on an emotional roller coaster. It had been a brief ride, one sudden climb followed by an equally sudden drop, yet Jenny and Will were taking the reversal of fortune in stride. Hiring someone to search for the ticket had been Amelia’s idea, not theirs. They felt it was a lost cause. They preferred to accept what they couldn’t control and get on with their lives.

They’d been the same way when she’d arrived on their doorstep six months ago, divorced, flat broke and unemployed. There had been no words of recrimination. They’d helped her carry the few possessions she’d saved inside, and then Jenny had fixed her a cup of herbal tea while Hank had dug out extra bedding for the futon.

Jenny patted her hand. “I think that carrot’s done, too.”

A quick glance showed her the carrot was turning into a matchstick. She passed it to her sister-in-law. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. There’s less to chop.”

She had to admire Jenny’s glass-half-full attitude. Life probably would be simpler if she could master it herself. “Going back to the subject of paintings, I believe it’s safest not to tell Hank about the ticket, so I’d appreciate it if neither of you mentioned it to him.”

“Why?” Jenny asked. “You can’t be thinking he’d steal it?”

“People have been tempted by far less.”

“But you signed the back of the ticket, didn’t you?”

She grimaced.

“Amelia?”

“There was a long lineup at the Min-A-Mart when I bought the ticket on Thursday. By the time I got here I was in a rush to put away the groceries I’d picked up on the way home, so I just tucked the ticket straight into the painting. Once it was out of sight, I forgot about signing it.”

Will whistled. “That means anyone could cash it.”

“I know. Stupid move number two.”

“But Hank would be working for you,” Jenny persisted. “It would be against the law if he tried to keep that ticket for himself, whether he could cash it or not. You could take him to court...” She stopped. “Oh.”

“Right. Been there, done that, and couldn’t afford to buy the T-shirt. The law doesn’t stop anyone from taking what they want if they think they can get away with it. And the only people guaranteed to make a profit in court are the lawyers. I know mine certainly got rich off me.”

“She’s got a point,” Will put in. “It might be best to keep Hank in the dark.”

Jenny carried the cutting board to the stove and scraped the mound of diced carrots into the stew pot, then handed Amelia an onion. “You’re not being fair, either. You’re suspicious of Hank because of Spencer.”

Well, duh, Amelia thought. She picked up a small knife and jabbed the tip into the base of the onion. “You know what they say about once burned.”

“They’re two entirely different people.”

“So? They’re both male.”

“Hey,” Will said. “What am I?”

“You’re my brother, so you’re an exception.”

“Spencer Pryce was a lying crook,” Jenny declared. “He took advantage of your innocence.”

“You mean my gullibility.”

“You’ve known Hank since you were kids,” Jenny continued. “I think you should trust him.”

“I can’t. I used to think Spencer was a nice guy, too. We all did.”

“But—”

“Being fooled once was bad enough.” She pulled off a layer of onion peel. “I don’t intend to trust a man around my money again. Ever. Except for Will, of course,” she added.

Jenny pursed her lips. “Hmph.”

Amelia flinched again. This time it was from guilt. She realized it might be unfair to tar Hank with the same brush as Spencer, yet she had little choice. It wasn’t only men she couldn’t trust, it was her own judgment. “Our mother used to make that sound a lot, too. Do you learn it during childbirth, or what?”

Will snorted another laugh.

“Well, I think you’re making a mistake,” Jenny said. “There’s no excuse for lying.”

“Depends on the circumstances,” Will said. “Sometimes it’s the best way to handle a situation.”

“Don’t listen to your brother,” Jenny said. “He’s a bad influence. You owe Hank the truth.”

“She doesn’t owe him anything,” Will said. “Not after the way he treated her.”

Amelia sighed. So this was what lay at the core of her brother’s attitude toward Hank and his business. She should have expected it. Will could be as protective of his sister as he was of his wife. “That’s ancient history,” she said. “We were kids.”

“He hurt you.”

“Ancient history,” she repeated.

“Maybe, but I haven’t forgotten.”

“Try, okay? The past is irrelevant. My only concern is the painting, and Hank’s probably going to want to interview both of you.”

Will opened his mouth to respond when he paused and tipped his head toward the hall. Timmy’s voice drifted down the stairwell. It sounded as if he was rattling the sides of his crib. “Nap time’s over,” Will said. “I’ll get him.”

Jenny waited until they could hear Will’s footsteps pound up the stairs. She put her head close to Amelia’s and spoke quickly. “We made more than five hundred dollars from the yard sale.”

“That’s great.”

“You can use it.”

“What? Jenny, I can’t take your money. You need it.”

“It’s to pay Hank. I meant to give it to you this morning but you left before I could.”

Her eyes stung. She put down the onion. “You’re incredible. How can you be so generous?”

“I feel responsible because I sold that painting.”

“Please, don’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have noticed the ticket!”

“No one would unless they knew where to look. It was folded up and tucked pretty deep inside the edge of the frame. And thank you for the wonderful offer, but I’ve got some money put aside in my first-and-last fund,” she said. She was referring to the money she’d been accumulating in order to pay the deposit on an apartment rental when she moved out. It was only a little over three hundred and fifty dollars, which wasn’t much—it would scarcely cover an hour of her former lawyer’s time. “And I still have my job. Besides, I’ll have plenty to give Hank as a reward once he finds the painting.”

“Didn’t he want a retainer?”

“No.”

“What if he doesn’t find it? How will you pay him then?”

“He, uh, said he doesn’t want any money.”

Jenny stepped back to study her. “He’s working for free?”

She nodded.

“Then I was right! He’s still got a thing for you.”

“It’s your pregnancy hormones talking, Jenny.”

“Hmph.”

Amelia covered her flinch by checking her wrist, then glanced at the clock on the stove. “And speaking of money, I’d better get going or I’ll be late for my shift.”

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Amelia pulled open the back door of Mae B’s. A haze of kitchen smells rolled out to greet her. It was a potent mix: onions from the soup of the day, which was always onion on Mondays, fat from the deep fryer, fresh rolls, stale coffee, plus a trace of mustiness that seeped from the brick walls of the old building in humid weather. Her empty stomach rolled. She braced one hand on the doorframe and turned her face to the breeze. She could have grabbed a sandwich before she’d left her brother’s place, but one of the few perks of working for Mae was a free meal.

A petite woman jogged toward her along the alley from the parking lot. Shaggy, purple-streaked brown hair bounced against her neck and a small pink knapsack swung from her arm. She couldn’t have been much past her teens. “Are you on your way in or out?” she asked breathlessly.

“In,” Amelia said. “Can I help you?”

“Please, tell me it’s not four-thirty yet.”

Amelia shook her head. “My guess is it’s not past four.”

“Thank heavens,” she said. She dug into her knapsack and pulled out a frilly, pea-green apron. She nodded toward the doorway Amelia was blocking. “Excuse me, I need to get past.”

Evidently, Mae had hired a new waitress. Amelia’s stomach did another lurch, but this time it had nothing to do with the kitchen smells. She stepped aside, then followed the woman along the back hallway. “My name’s Amelia. I work here, too.” At least, she hoped she did.

“I’m Brittany.” She switched her pack from hand to hand as she shrugged into the apron, then fumbled to tie the apron strings behind her back.

“Hold still, I’ll get that,” Amelia said.

Brittany stopped so quickly her hair fell over her eyes. She flicked it back with a jerk of her head. A row of metal studs adorned the rim of her ear. “Thanks!”

“You can put your pack in the storeroom.” Amelia secured the apron with a neat bow. “It’s the door on the right.”

“Could you do it for me?” she asked, pushing the pack into Amelia’s hands. “I can’t be late on my first day.” She laughed nervously and headed for the dining room. “I seriously need this job,” she said over her shoulder.

Amelia ducked into the storeroom. The hook where her own apron usually hung was bare. She didn’t need a detective to tell her the apron had been given to Brittany. She dropped the pink pack on the shelf beside the ketchup cans and went in search of her boss.

Ronnie was jabbing toothpicks into a BLT when she reached the kitchen. He greeted her without meeting her eyes. At her question, he nodded his head toward the corner beside the freezer where they had set up their computer. Mae was peering at the screen while she held a cell phone to her ear. From the sound of things, she was blasting someone about a late delivery.

Amelia waited until she had finished her call before she spoke. “Hello, Mae.”

Mae swiveled on her chair to face her. She wouldn’t meet her gaze, either. “I meant to call you earlier, Amelia, but things have been busy.”

“Do I still have a job here?” she asked bluntly.

“That’s what I wanted to call you about.”

“I was wrong about winning the lottery. I told you that as soon as I found out.” In fact, she had been too dazed to think of phoning Mae until Sunday evening. It was only after she’d had no luck going door-to-door questioning her neighbors that she’d remembered her dramatic exit from the restaurant and had attempted to do damage control. “You said it was okay.”

“I reconsidered.”

“You said you understood yesterday. You told me I could come back.”

Mae gave her a tight smile. “I’m sorry, Amelia. We’ve already found someone else.”

“How? It’s only been a day. You wouldn’t have had time to advertise.”

“Ronnie called her. She’s his niece, and he knew she needed the job. She’s putting herself through college.”

“I need the job, too.”

Mae’s expression hardened. She rose from her chair. “You don’t need it as much as Brittany does. She’s trying to better herself. You’ve already got a degree. You had your shot at a career.”

“Sure, but—”

“You know as well as I do that you’re overqualified for this job. You weren’t happy being a waitress, Amelia. While I don’t have any complaints about your work here, I realized it wouldn’t last.”

“Quitting was a mistake.”

Mae shook her head. “The reason you quit might have been a mistake, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. We knew it was only a matter of time before you moved on to something better. I have to do what’s right for my business, and I need waitresses I can count on.”

Amelia took a deep breath, prepared to argue further, when she realized she had nothing to add.

Mae was right. This would have happened eventually, winning lottery ticket or not.

Unfortunately, her final financial safety net, flimsy though it might have been, was now gone. Worse, she was pinning her hopes for the future on a man she wasn’t sure she should trust.

For someone who had vowed she wouldn’t let history repeat itself, this was beginning to seem far too familiar.