shook her head. “Since when do you leave work in the middle of the day to socialize? Especially with your sister?”
He pushed the salt and pepper aside and contemplated his hands, palms down in front of him on the table. They were plain, unremarkable hands, no rings, nails clean and neatly filed. No scars or calluses. Hands with no character at all.
“Earth to Mitch.” Meg snapped her fingers under his nose. “C’mon, what’s up? You look like you lost your best friend.”
He sighed and looked up at her. Strands of her dark curly hair fluttered in the breeze from the ceiling fan overhead. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she looked about sixteen. He couldn’t imagine her ever delivering a baby or performing surgery on anyone.
She looked like their mother—a small, helpless woman. Except Meg wasn’t helpless. She pointed a tortilla chip at him. “You might as well tell me, ’cause you know I’m going to worm it out of you, or else I’ll nose around behind your back until I find out everything. You can’t keep secrets from me, big brother.”
“Did you know Uncle Grif funded a foundation to educate the public about mental illness? And he named it after Mother.”
“I think I remember hearing something like that. Why?”
He sat back, shoulders slumped. “I just found out. I never knew that about him. Why would he do something like that?”
“I think he had a soft spot for Mama. And I know she was fond of him. She always looked forward to his visits when she was in the hospital.”
“I always thought he was just a loudmouthed playboy who spent all his money on gin, girls and golf.”
She tilted her head to one side, her expression sympathetic. “And now you’re beating yourself up because you were wrong.” She reached out and touched his arm. “Hey it’s okay. Even you are allowed to screw up sometimes. It proves you’re human, like the rest of us.”
“Great bedside manner, Doc. I feel all better now.”
“You’ll get over it. Grif must not have held it against you, since he left you his business.”
A business Mitch hadn’t even known existed until the will had been read. Maybe this was Grif’s way of having the last word.
Their lunch arrived and conversation stalled as they focused on their burritos. Mitch had found that even big problems looked smaller when considered in the aftermath of any meal that included plenty of hot sauce and melted cheese.
“So how did you find out about the mental health foundation?” Meg asked just as he’d taken a bite of burrito.
He swallowed and reached for his tea. “I was going through his files at…at the business he left me.”
“Oh, yes. The mysterious business.” She speared a forkful of beans. “Just what is this business, anyway?”
“Nothing important.” He ignored the scowl she sent his way and poured hot sauce onto his plate. “I’m going to close it and open a restaurant on the site.”
Meg shrugged. “Sounds like a lot of work to me, but you’re the big businessman.”
He looked away, pretending great interest in his meal. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake with this restaurant. He’d had the idea for over a year now, ever since he first met Chef Ping. When he found out Uncle Grif had left him a prime piece of downtown real estate, it had seemed like a sign he should go ahead with the project. Now he wondered…
“How’s Lana?”
“Lana?” He looked up, startled. “Uh…she’s okay. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I just haven’t heard you say much about her lately. I wondered if you were still seeing each other.”
“We’re still seeing each other.” More or less.
“I’ve heard more enthusiasm for the daily special at the student union. Has some of the bloom worn off the romance?”
“Why would you say that?” He stabbed at a piece of tortilla. “Just because I’m not raving about her every minute doesn’t mean I don’t want to continue dating her. A relationship doesn’t have to have fireworks all the time.” He scowled at her. “There’s more to life than sex, you know.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down there.” She put up her hands. “Who said anything about sex?”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head. “No, if you and Lana are having problems in the bedroom, I don’t want to know.” She dunked a chip in hot sauce. “But you might want to think about seeing other people for a while. I mean, I’ll admit I’m prejudiced, but I think you’ve got a lot to offer a woman, and I’m not sure Lana really appreciates you.”
He was trying to come up with a suitable retort when his phone rang. Still frowning at his sister, he jerked the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello?”
“Hi, uh, Mitch? This is Sid.” The manager’s voice sounded strained. “Uh, sorry to bother you, but you need to get back to the store, right away.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Mitch’s stomach clenched. Had they been robbed? Was some fundamentalist group staging a protest?
“I’m not sure. Uh…there’s this woman here. And uh…she keeps asking for you.” He lowered his voice. “She’s kind of upset.”
“Oh, hell.”
“What is it?” Meg leaned toward him, her eyes questioning. “Is everything all right?”
He covered the phone with his hand. “It’s the manager at Uncle Grif’s store. There’s a woman there demanding to see me.” He put the phone to his ear again. “What does she want?”
“I don’t know. Uh…she says her name is Lana. Lana Montgomery.”
MEG HAD HEARD OF PEOPLE turning green, but she’d never actually seen it before—until now. Actually, Mitch’s face went through an alarming array of colors, from ashy-white to fiery-red, before settling on this green-tinted phase. He snapped the phone shut and shoved up from the table so hard his chair almost fell over behind him. He grabbed the chair, saving it from crashing to the floor and signaled the waiter for their check. “I have to go,” he croaked.
Meg tossed aside her napkin and stood also. “I’ll go with you.”
He shook his head. “No. You stay here and finish eating.” He tossed a twenty on the table and headed toward the door.
She followed. He stopped at the exit and glared at her. “Meg, you can’t come with me.”
She ignored him and headed for his car. He hurried after her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The minute he unlocked the car, she opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “Something’s going on and I intend to find out what it is,” she said.
He fit the key into the ignition and scowled at her.
