Winning Amelia

“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.”