The Lottery Winner (3 page)

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.”

CHAPTER TWO

J
ESSIE
REFILLED
THE
last saltshaker and wiped down the table, then straightened and stretched the kinks from her spine. Her body ached from the unaccustomed exercise—but in a good way. She blinked her tired, gritty eyes. It was time to go home and remove these irritating contacts.

She stopped beside the final open window and let the peace of the empty dining room settle over her. Water lapped outside the building, and a gentle breeze drifted in. She loved the concept of a restaurant constructed on a pier so low to the water that the fish swam close enough for the customers to drop food to them and watch them gobble it up.

The music went silent, and the lights illuminating the water went dark, jarring Jessie into action. She closed and latched the window. If her brother found out she was outside the compound after dark, he'd never stop lecturing. But she should be safe. No one except her family knew she was in Key West, and it was only a half mile's walk to where she'd parked her rental car at the opposite end of the well-lit boardwalk. She'd thought it better to keep the vehicle as far away from the restaurant as possible just in case Brandon's paranoia wasn't all in his head.

Miri came out of the kitchen, followed by the good-looking guy who'd been seated at the oyster bar most of the evening. Something about the way he'd scrutinized Jessie's every move tonight had made her nervous. That uneasiness intensified now with him only two yards away. He wasn't part of the kitchen staff, so who was he?

“You did a great job tonight, Jessie.”

“Thanks, Miri.”

Miri indicated her companion with a flip of her fingers. “Jessie, my nephew, Logan Nash.”

The one who drove the restaurateur nuts with his interference? He looked only a few years older than Jessie. His hair was as black as the cormorant's wings and his eyes, as blue as the noon sky, stared at her with suspicion.

Jessie wrung the wet rag in her hands and nodded but said nothing and didn't offer her hand. He nodded in return.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Miri asked.

A wad of bills weighted Jessie's pocket. Tonight's tips would be enough to get by for a while. But for how long? Not six more weeks, for sure.

“I ask because someone is coming in for an interview in the morning,” Miri added when Jessie hesitated. “If she works out, I'll have her shadow you tomorrow night.”

Jessie dug her nails deeper into the cotton. She'd promised to train her replacements. And Miri needed a buffer between her and the human cormorant. Should she risk it? Going back to solitary confinement after an evening of interacting with people sounded like torture. But no one should recognize her here. Not with her disguise.

She took a deep breath and answered, “I'll be here,” before she could change her mind.

“Great, hon. You don't know how much I appreciate it.”

Logan tugged the bank bag from Miri's hands. “I'll give Jessie a ride home on my way to drop off tonight's deposit.”

Objections blossomed in Jessie's head. Miri's startled expression, which quickly transformed to one of worry, confirmed Jessie's reservations. “Thanks, but I, um...have my car.”

“Miri's is the only one in the lot.”

“I parked nearby.”

“I'll walk you to it.”

His forceful tone made her hackles rise. It was one thing for her father or brother to boss her around—or, as they said, “strongly encourage”—but she wasn't taking orders from a stranger. “I appreciate your offer, but I'll be fine.”

“It's almost midnight.”

“I have pepper spray.”

His nostrils flared in obvious irritation and his mouth opened, but Miri laid a hand on his arm. “Leave her be, Logan. After her busy night, Jessie probably needs to clear her head. I always do. Thanks for taking the deposit. I'll see you tomorrow.” She crossed to the front door and held it open in a blatant invitation for Logan to leave.

Blue eyes drilled Jessie's again. “You need to hit the clinic for a drug test before you come in tomorrow. All of our employees are tested.”

Jessie glanced at Miri, who shook her head. “I'll manage
my
employees, Logan. Now go.”

His lips thinned. He looked ready to argue, but then said, “Good night.”

He left and the wind leaked from Jessie's lungs. Only then did she notice her racing heart and damp palms. “So that's him.”

Miri nodded. “I commend you on not getting into a car with a strange man, especially one who's being a bossy britches, but you can trust Logan. He's a good one. Just a little overprotective.”

“About that drug test...I'm trying to avoid a paper trail right now.”

“I suspected as much. Forget it. After the way you hustled tonight, I know you're not using anything.”

“If you have any doubts about me working here—”

“I don't.”

“Thanks.”

“Want me to give you a ride to your car?”

Jessie shook her head. “It's okay. I'm just down the boardwalk.”

“I'd feel better if I watched you till you're out of sight.” After locking the front door she led Jessie out the rear to the patio. She pulled out her phone and punched buttons. Seconds later Jessie's phone vibrated against her hip. “Now you have my number. Save it and call if you need me. For anything, hon, and at any time. Day or night. Be careful. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Then Miri sank into a chair. She reminded Jessie so much of her mother sitting on the patio and watching as Jessie walked to the end of their long driveway to wait for the school bus that it made her eyes sting.

“Good night, Miri. And thanks for...understanding.”

“There's nothing wrong with needing a second chance.”

Jessie didn't correct her. She backed away and waved then turned and strode off before she gave in to the overwhelming urge to hug the restaurant owner, confess all and ask her advice. But it was better if Miri didn't know. Knowing could add her to the list of people adversely affected by being connected to Jessamine.

For the first time since being forced from her job, she felt a sense of purpose. She couldn't protect her mother from the chaos at home, but she could protect Miri from her mess here and from her overbearing nephew.

It wasn't until Jessie slowed to turn off Highway 1 that she realized she'd said no to Logan Nash. Funny how easy it had been to say the word to him. But he'd definitely gotten on her bad side, and like a student who seemed destined to cause trouble, he needed watching.

* * *

F
OR
THE
FIRST
time since arriving in Florida, Jessie awoke refreshed and eager to start her day. Attributing her good night's sleep to the hustle at work, she started a pot of the exotic coffee provided with her rental, showered and dressed while it brewed, then grabbed her mug, her caddy of art supplies and her easel and headed out onto the deck.

Her brother had called twice while she was in the shower, and she debated calling him back. But for once she didn't want to talk to him. Calling meant she might have to lie about where she'd been last night or what she'd done. Instead, she texted him to let him know she was okay and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

A flash of movement caught her eye. A trio of Key deer, none any bigger than her at-home neighbor's rescued greyhounds, strolled through the backyard a dozen feet below. The four-legged family had become part of her morning routine.

Except for the waterfront space, the rental property was completely fenced in, but the deer somehow found their way in and back out again on a regular basis. Back home in South Carolina, the deer invading her daddy's orchard were considered a nuisance and were dealt with accordingly, but here Key deer were a protected species. And they were welcome company. She would miss them once she returned home.

On her first day on the island she'd learned that the animals liked people food when she'd left her lunch on the table beneath the palms and gone inside for two minutes. She'd returned to find them eating her sandwich. Captivated, she'd fed them her apple, then later when she'd slipped into the library to research them, she'd discovered she'd broken the law. Feeding the deer was illegal, for their own safety. She hadn't fed them since, but they always showed up looking hopeful. It made her wish she'd replaced her camera. It, along with her laptop, had been stolen in the first break-in, and searching for new electronics hadn't seemed important with everything else going on. But she'd sketched her visitors multiple times.

“Sorry, guys. No food again today.”

Their big brown begging eyes filled her with a load of guilt that she tried to ignore, then the buck led his little group off into the dense green foliage bordering the fence. Juggling her load, Jessie carefully descended the stairs and dug her toes into the still cool crushed shells, then glanced toward the private pier and stopped in her tracks. The cormorants were back doing their creepy statue imitations. She couldn't bring herself to join them. Instead she set up her chair and easel in the shade beneath the coconut tree and picked up her binoculars.

One of the birds turned his head and stared at her very much like Miri's nephew had last night. A shiver skittered down her spine. “I'm naming you Nash,” she told the vile creature.

She filled her palette then quickly painted in the background. From this distance, the island was a blur of greens and the water blues and grays. Then she picked up a finer brush to begin the focal point. Her fingers flew across the canvas, adding detail to the birds and the long and narrow dock. As the sun climbed overhead and forced her to squint, she wished she'd brought her sunglasses outside, but she rarely bothered early in the morning. The lenses muted too many of the colors.

The rumble of a boat motor penetrated her concentration. She watched it until she was able to identify it as a regular fishing boat rather than one of long, low speedboats or diving boats that often cruised by. There was nothing remarkable enough about it to make her interrupt her work. She'd love to hire someone to teach her to dive, but her brother's warnings and her cash situation kept her from putting thought into action.

The craft passed less than fifty yards from the end of the dock, startling the cormorants into flying away. The driver and passengers waved—most boaters did, she'd discovered—and she waved back. Eager to claim her turf before the birds returned, she grabbed her gear and hustled down the sun-bleached planks to the wider rectangle at the end.

Waves from the boat's wake gently rocked the floating platform. She set her gear on the fish-cleaning table. The water lapping at the pylons was clear. She could see the bottom and the crab trap someone had left behind. One lone crab beat against the metal cage. Grabbing the rope, she hauled it up, opened the door and tipped over the trap. The crustacean scuttled over the edge of the boards to freedom. She pitched the wire cube back into the water with a splash. No way was she boiling a live crab and listening to it beat against the pot until it died. She shuddered.

Two cormorants swooped overhead. She waved her arms, and thankfully they landed on the dock next door—a safe two hundred yards away. She settled her canvas against the easel. The picture was coming together so quickly that it reminded her of the old weekly public television show she used to watch as a child. The instructor had whipped out a painting in an hour. She wasn't that fast, but there was definitely something freeing about painting here with no interruptions and no audience.

The sun's glare was intense, and once again she wished for her sunglasses. Tomorrow she'd remember to bring them, but she didn't dare leave today or the birds might return. She checked her watch. Another hour before she had to shower and report for work.

If she was lucky, Logan Nash wouldn't show up tonight.

* * *

S
UE
SLID
A
disposable takeout container onto the bar in front of Logan. “Miri said to tell you to take your dessert and go home. What did you do to tick her off?”

He shifted on his bar stool and drummed his fingers on the envelope containing the rejected forms. “I tried to get the new waitress to fill out her employment forms.”

He'd left his office early, bringing with him the necessary paperwork, and he'd waited out front, planning to corner Jessie before the restaurant opened and insist she complete the sheets. But Miri had spotted him and run interference, insisting that if he couldn't stop hounding Jessie then he needed to go home.

He couldn't figure out why his aunt was so determined to protect the waitress. So here he was again—stuck on a bar stool for an entire night watching the brunette's suspicious behavior and learning nothing.

“What do you think of your new coworker?” he asked the sixty-something waitress who'd been with Miri since the day she'd opened Fisherman's Widow.

“Jessie? What's not to like? She hustles. I don't have to cover her tables. She runs my stuff when I get behind before I even have a chance to ask. And she has the patience of a saint training the gal, who is not the brightest bulb in the box, if you catch my drift.”

He'd come to the same conclusion about the new trainee. But he wasn't interested in her. “Where did Jessie say she's from?”

Eyes narrowed beneath Sue's penciled brows. “She didn't say. In case you missed it, that flood of cruise ship passengers ran us off our feet tonight. No time for chitchat. I'd tell you to ask Jessie yourself, but you need to respect Miri's wishes and quit trying to chat up the new employee, Logan.”

“I'm not interested in her that way.” He debated telling Sue that Jessie hadn't gone for the required drug test or filled out the employee paperwork. The newest hire had done both. But dissing one employee to another was undoubtedly a violation of some kind. “Just keep an eye on her.”