LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER FOUR

      JESSIE 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.

      * * *

      JESSIE 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

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