The Lottery Winner (6 page)

“Why can't we clean them?”

“Because restoration takes skill, patience and the right chemicals. Doing it wrong will irrevocably damage the work. The process varies with the condition of each piece and type of paint.”

When his eyes narrowed, she wanted to slap a hand over her mouth for revealing too much, but teaching was as natural to her as breathing. She made her escape before he could ask more and hoped Logan didn't pick up her slip.

CHAPTER FOUR

J
ESSIE
GRABBED
THE
tray of salads, turned and almost slammed into Sue. The older waitress blocked her path. “You do know who your birthday party guy is, right?”

“A friend of Logan's?” She'd seen the man at the oyster bar with Miri's nephew that first night. Miri clearly didn't like him, so Jessie had kept her distance and she didn't ask questions.

“He's a private investigator who sometimes works for Logan.”

Invisible spiders climbed Jessie's spine. Had Logan hired a PI to check up on her? “Why does Logan need a PI? I thought Miri said he was an accountant.”

“He is now, but he used to be a big-time financial adviser before his ex-wife and his ex–business partner ran off together. He was devastated by the betrayals of the two people he trusted most. Came here to lick his wounds, I suspect.”

No wonder Logan was so distrustful. “Thanks for the heads-up, Sue.”

“Just watching your back, sweetie. Us gals need to stick together.”

“Hush puppies,” called the cook, and Sue hustled off to get the sweet cornmeal appetizers while they were still hot.

As Jessie made her way across the dining room, she realized Miri and Sue must have discussed her. Approaching the table warily, Jessie noticed the unhappy faces. Logan's PI nervously pleated his napkin. His daughter appeared resigned to a miserable meal, and the girls looked bored out of their minds. In her experience, bored kids created trouble. If Jessie didn't intervene, they wouldn't be here long enough to cut the beautiful cake Miri's friend had delivered. She detoured by the hostess stand and grabbed a few items.

At their table she served the adults their salads, then set crayons and extra place mats beside each girl. She received identical you've-got-to-be-kidding-me looks. “I know you're too old to color a kids' menu, but some of the fish swimming by the windows are too cool not to sketch.”

“I can't draw,” the older girl grumbled mulishly.

“Sure you can.” Ignoring the folded arms and pouty bottom lip, Jessie tucked the empty tray under her arm and flipped a place mat to show its blank back.

“First, pick your fish. Then get his basic overall shape in your head. See if you can guess which one I'm drawing.” She used her order pen to draw an elliptical shape. “Then just add to it.” She filled in fins, eyes and a mouth. It was a fast, rough sketch, but good enough to identify which type of fish she'd chosen.

“That one!” the younger girl cried out, pointing.

“Right. You'll be surprised how easy drawing something is once you break it down into its separate parts.”

“You're pretty good,” the older girl said, showing interest.

“I've had a few years of practice. And you know the secret?” Jessie leaned down but whispered loud enough that both girls could hear. “Nobody starts out good.”

The younger girl grabbed a crayon and pointed it at a barracuda. “I'm drawing the long one. I like his teeth.”

“I'll bring over more place mats if you run out.” Filled with satisfaction for the first time since her exile, Jessie looked up and caught the woman's grateful smile, then the PI's speculative gaze.

Nerves twisted her stomach. That was twice today that she'd unintentionally revealed something that could blow her cover, but her love of art—specifically, sharing it with children—was hard to suppress. She had to be more careful.

* * *

J
ESSIE
GLANCED
IN
the rearview mirror and caught sight of the picture of the Key deer in the backseat of her rental car Friday morning. Another wave of guilt swamped her.

She'd started her morning with lying to her brother, and there was no way she could feel good about that. When he'd asked her plans for the day, she'd evaded the truth by telling him she was looking forward to painting No Name Key rather than confessing her excitement over displaying her first picture in public. It wasn't a complete lie. She was eager to paint the island across the waterway and maybe even visit it to explore. But not today. Or tomorrow. Or even Sunday.

She worried during the entire drive south about displaying her work in such a public setting. It would be the first momentous occasion of her life that her family hadn't been a part of, and if it blew up in her face, she'd have no one but herself to blame.

Her anxiety crested when the restaurant came into view. With any luck Logan would be at an office somewhere and not lurking at the Widow. The man had to work sometime, didn't he? Heart in her throat, she turned into the small parking lot and parked beside Miri's truck. After scanning the area, she extricated the canvas and headed for the building. So far, so good. No Logan.

As promised, Miri had left the side door unlocked for her. The dining room was empty, but Jessie heard the hum of conversation and the clank of pots in the kitchen. The wall behind the register was empty save a brass hanger protruding from the whitewashed bead board. She hefted the frame and positioned it over the hook. Then she stepped back to study the largest painting she'd done to date. The splash of colors looked good. Pride and excitement bubbled inside her. She ached to snap a picture, send it to her family and share the moment.

The canvas tilted slightly to the left. She reached to adjust it. A long arm stretched past her, and a big hand covered hers. Her heart lurched with panic. She ducked away and spun around, slamming her left elbow against the hostess stand. Pain shot to her fingertips. But it was only Logan, not some nameless assailant sneaking up on her. Darn her brother and his daily dire tales.

“You nearly scared me to death. Don't you have a job you should be at?” How had he gotten so close without her hearing him? She cursed the sudden dryness of her mouth and wiggled her tingling digits. Hitting your funny bone was not at all funny.

One dark eyebrow dipped. “I set my own hours. Why are you so jumpy, Jessie?”

“I don't like people sneaking up on me.” He was too close. The space behind the stand wasn't built for two—one of whom was a broad-shouldered man whose subtle citrus and spice cologne filled her nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. She needed to escape, but he blocked her path.

“I didn't sneak. I walked from over there.” He pointed to a two-top tucked in a shadowy corner by the bar—not his usual spot at the bar. An open folder, an empty plate and a glass confirmed his statement. “Are you always this nervous?”

Only since winning that stupid lottery. “I'm anxious about displaying my work.” She stifled a wince at yet another half truth. “If you'll excuse me, I need to move my car from the parking lot.”

She wanted to leave before she had to tell more lies.

“It's fine beside Miri's.”

A tremor slithered through her. She was supposed to be aware of her surroundings. Had he watched her arrive and she hadn't even noticed?

He extracted a pen and a small manila card from his shirt pocket. “What did you name this one?”

She hadn't. “How about
Morning Visitors
?”

He wrote on the card, then asked, “Jessie what?”

“Just Jessie.” She'd signed the paintings with her Key West moniker. No last name. No initials. Not that she believed anyone would recognize her style or trace her through it, since she hadn't exhibited anything since her senior year of college. But she couldn't take that chance.

He wrote something else then stepped toward the painting, startling her into jumping back. He taped the card to the wall, and when she saw the figure he'd written below her name, her mouth fell open. “Y-you can't ask that much for an unknown's work.”

“You'll get this easily. You could get more if the buyers could get a picture with you in front of it.”

“No! I, um... I don't paint for the money.”

“That's a naive outlook. Or that of a woman with other means of support. Do you have a deep-pocketed sugar daddy?”

“That's rude of you to suggest, and it's really none of your business.”

“It is if you're doing something illegal to support yourself that could jeopardize my aunt.”

She stiffened at the implication, but she couldn't explain. “I wouldn't do that.”

“You expect me to take your word for it when you won't provide even basic employee information? I'm not as gullible as Miri. You're hiding something. Do you have a record?”

“I've told you I don't. Why can't you believe I just want to be left alone to paint?”

“Because that's bullshi—”

The kitchen door whooshed open. Miri joined them, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, Jessie. That's wonderful.”

Jessie's face warmed despite the cold chill in her core caused by Logan's distrust. “Thank you.”

“I can't wait to brag to everyone about what a talented artist you are.”

Alarm rocketed through her. “No! You can't.” Jessie caught Logan's narrowed gaze on her and fumbled to recover. “I'd...um...die of embarrassment. My art is...personal. Please don't say anything.”

Miri nodded with understanding in her eyes, hitting Jessie with another twinge of guilt. The hole she was digging with her dishonesty kept getting deeper. What would the people at church say about her behavior? But she wasn't hurting anybody. Right?

“It'll be our secret, hon.”

“You should go to her house and see the rest of her work,” Logan insisted. “If cleaning your old ones is going to take a while, you'll want to send them in multiples. That'll allow Jessie to display more pieces.”

Another frisson of anxiety swept Jessie. Logan obviously didn't like her. Why was he trying to help her? Or was he only trying to get back into her house to find something incriminating?

“I don't go to anyone's house without an invitation,” Miri snapped.

Jessie liked Miri and trusted her as much as she could trust anyone she'd met only four days ago, but inviting people into her hideaway wouldn't be a good idea. Plus, Logan, Miri's overprotective guardian, would probably accompany her.

“There's no need for you to trek out to my place. I'll bring in as many paintings as you want to see. And I brought the name of a restoration specialist,” she added, trying to change the subject.

She'd had to look up the company online at the library and go by their credentials and reviews from past patrons, because she didn't dare speak to anyone in the art community here. She handed Miri a paper containing the name and address without looking at Logan, even though she could feel his stare.

Miri tucked it in her pocket then hooked her arm through Logan's and pulled him toward his table. “Get your stuff and go to work, Logan, so we can do the same here. Jessie and I will discuss what we'll hang and what we'll remove after I consult with her specialist.”

Jessie exhaled, willing her nervous tension to float away on her breath the way she'd done in her student teaching days. No luck. She never should have let Logan into her house.

Miri came back after seeing out her nephew. “Jessie, no matter how high-handed Logan gets, promise me you'll remember he's a good boy. He means well.”

Why did that sound like a warning?

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
the dinner rush ended Saturday evening, Jessie was a nervous wreck. She wanted to retreat to her walled compound and not emerge for a week. She was so exhausted her old solitude was starting to appeal.

Not only had they been run-off-their-feet busy yesterday and today, but every time a customer had paused in front of her Key deer painting, adrenaline had surged into her veins, making her heart beat double time. The piece hadn't sold. She hadn't expected it to. Not really. Especially at the ridiculous price Logan had slapped on it. And yet a lingering disappointment and sense of rejection weighted her.

A ding from the bartender's bell signaled that Jessie's drink order for table twelve was ready. She hustled over to pick it up and spotted Logan at a back corner table. He hadn't been there earlier. She knew, because she'd been watching for him. His unrelenting scrutiny made her nervous. He caught her eye before she could escape and signaled her over.

Seriously? Could he not see she was too busy to wait on him?

“Where's the new girl?” he asked when she stopped by his table.

“She dropped a tray during the lunch rush and ran out. She hasn't returned.”

His lips turned down. “I hope Miri had the good sense to fire her. I haven't seen Pam, either.”

Pam was a quiet, stay-to-herself woman who raced away the minute she clocked out. Jessie'd had little interaction with her. Today she'd learned why. A single mother, Pam tried to spend as little time away from her three kids as possible. Otherwise, her husband would claim her unfit and sue for full custody. She was what Logan had referred to as one of Miri's projects.

“Pam's at home with a sick kid.”

“Are you handling this crowd alone?”

“Sue's working.”

“You're delivering a lot of her orders.”

He'd been watching her. Goose bumps lifted her skin. “It's easy for me to bring them when I'm on my way into the dining room anyway.”

The long hours were getting to the older woman. Jessie had caught her leaning heavily against the kitchen wall while waiting for orders a few times.

The front door opened, and a party of ten entered. She needed to get back to work. “Did you want something? I'm really busy.”

Logan gathered his belongings and rose. “An order book.”

She blinked in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Get me an order pad. I'll help. Sue doesn't need to push so hard.”

She agreed wholeheartedly, but... “Do you know how to wait tables or operate the computer system?”