year had been a different guy, but that year it’d been Eddie Black.
Something had seemed off to Mel and Dimi from the start, though it hadn’t been until later that they’d figured the Aussie for what he was—a con man. And they included in that his laid-back, sweet-talking, sexy-as-hell teenage son, Bo.
Eddie and Bo had parked it at North Beach all that long, hot, lazy summer, and by September’s end, Sally had been stupid-in-love, with Eddie calling the shots.
Then something had happened, and Eddie and Bo had gone back to Australia. And Sally had vanished.
She’d called the next week to let Mel and Dimi know she was on a road trip looking for Eddie because—the girls had been right—he’d conned her.
What they didn’t know until later was that all Sally’s accounts had been emptied, leaving North Beach in a world of hurt. Mel and Dimi had stayed on, running the show for Sally, trying to keep things afloat for when she came back.
Only she hadn’t come back. Eddie had driven his van off a bridge and died. Whether devastated or just furious, Sally had stayed gone, letting the girls send her money as they could, mere kids trying so hard to be grown-up.
Sally’s calls slowed, coming less and less frequently, then hardly at all. In fact, the past two times they’d sent her money, she’d not even responded, though they pretended otherwise.
In retrospect, with the 20/20 hindsight of dubious maturity, Mel and Dimi probably shouldn’t have ever pretended to be in constant contact with Sally, but it had kept the calm then, and the status quo. Besides, dwelling wasn’t Mel’s style. Nor were regrets. She’d lived with the decisions they’d made back then.
Now Bo would have to do the same. “If that deed’s legit,” Mel said, “as Eddie’s only child, Bo is his heir.”
“God. I need more tea.” Dimi started going through her basket of tea bags, bracelets jangling. “Something calming.”
It’d take a planeload of good meds for Mel to feel calm. “It’s going to be okay, Dimi.”
Dimi shot her a wry glance. “Really? How?” She shook her head. “No, don’t answer. There is no answer for that. But it’d sure help if he was ugly, you know?”
Yeah. Mel knew.
“Seriously. Before I realized who he was, I could have just gobbled him right up.”
“You gobble up all men.”
“Hey.” Dimi caught a glimpse of her perfect self in the reflection of the mirror, and laughed. “Look, I realize you’re programmed differently than me, and that you actually think before you act, but try and tell me your every hormone didn’t stand up and do a tap dance at the sight of him, gorgeous as sin. And that sexy accent—”
“The accent is no big deal.”
“You really suck at lying, you know that?” Dimi studied her with a knowing smirk. “Your eyes go all squinty…”
“Fine,” Mel said, trying to relax her eye muscles. “He looks…fine. Okay?”
“Honey, fine would be a nice glass of Chardonnay. Fine is a pretty blue sky. That man is so far off the charts from fine you can’t even see fine.”
Mel tossed up her hands. “And we’re having this conversation why?”
“Right.” Dimi sat back down, waved her away, crystals tinkling together. “Listen, go kick his Aussie ass out of here, this place is ours.”
Mel found a way to smile. “I thought you dreamed of walking away from this place.”
“I’ll walk away because I want to, not because some bastard takes over.”
That was Dimi. Stubborn to a beautiful fault.
“Unfortunately, he’s not going anywhere. At least not until he talks to Sally.”
“But that’s not going to happen. We can’t—”
“We have to.”
They stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable beat.
“You really think you can con a con?” Dimi finally whispered.
“We have to,” Mel repeated.
Dimi leaned close. “You and I both know, he’s the son of the very best, he’s—”
“Yeah.” Mel hopped off the desk and tossed back her shoulders and the stray strands of hair from her face. “I know what he is. Now let’s find out what he isn’t.”
“Mel.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Luck. You’re going to need it.” Dimi jumped up and hugged her hard, then pulled back, hands on Mel’s face. “We’re bad. We’re tough. We own our world.”
Mel found a smile. It was their old motto, from when they’d been young, scared, and on their own. They were still on their own, but not so young.
And maybe only a little scared.
“Do whatever you have to,” Dimi said quietly. “Just get him out of here.”
Yeah.
Whatever she had to…
At the thought of what that might entail, goose bumps rose on Mel’s skin, and not necessarily the bad kind.
Chapter 3
Mel headed across the lobby, mind occupied by her singular mission: Get rid of Bo Black.
She passed by the café. Charlene stood behind the counter, scrubbing down the scarred tile, singing along to Metallica. “Mel!” she cried, gesturing her close, looking around them before whispering conspiratorially, “So?”
“So…what?”
“Who’s the cutie? A business meeting? New client? Old friend?” She drawled out this last word in her Southern voice, making the word ten syllables.
“Uh…yeah. Sort of.”
“Sort of which?”
“Oh, hey…” Desperate subject change. “Did Ernest get the oven going yet?”
“No, not yet.” Char bit her lip and looked at the oven, effectively sidetracked. The café was hers and Al’s livelihood, at least until he sold more paintings, and since their kids had left last year, the café was also her baby. Char would have rather put her energy into another real-live baby, but Al had talked her out of that insanity. “Ernest just left to go get a part. So, about the guy—”
“Yeah, I’ve got a call—” She began to walk. Fast.
“I need my gossip fix!” Char called after her. “You know I do!”
Mel
