LITMIR.BIZ

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of his work comes from his father, when he isn’t out fishing. He checks out customers who want to buy a car from the old man’s lot on credit. In my opinion, it was his daddy’s way of putting him on the payroll, since he couldn’t make it as a car salesman. It’s not much different from getting an allowance.”

      That didn’t sound like the Hank she’d known, but people could change. Had she made another mistake? “I hope that’s not the case,” Amelia said. “I went to Hank because I thought he would be a good detective.”

      “Are you sure that’s the only reason you went to him?” Jenny asked. “Maybe you still have some of the old feelings left, too.”

      “Absolutely not. I told you, that’s completely over,” she said firmly. She returned her attention to Will. “Are you sure about Hank’s business? From what I remember of his character, being a private investigator would suit him. He’s observant, and he thinks everything through. He’s thorough and methodical.”

      “You mean slow,” Will said.

      “He’s tenacious,” Amelia said.

      “He’s a stubborn idiot.”

      Jenny pointed her knife at Will. “That’s too harsh. It wasn’t Hank’s fault that your truck loan fell through last year. It was because Mr. Lancaster had laid everyone off.”

      “Temporarily. We were hired back when he got more orders. I told Hank we would be.”

      “You’re not being fair, Wilbur, and you know it.”

      Will muttered something under his breath. He hated being called Wilbur.

      “If anyone was an idiot,” Amelia said, “I was for losing that ticket. If I hadn’t tried to be smart by sticking it in that frame, I could have bought you five new trucks by now.”

      There was an awkward silence. Will was the first to break it. “I’ve been wondering about that,” he said. “Why did you store the ticket in the painting? I’m not criticizing you or anything, but it’s not where most people would put a lottery ticket.”

      “I thought it was a safe place.”

      “Remember how Timmy emptied her purse?” Jenny asked. “And Mae had to replace her paycheck?”

      “Oh, right. Sorry about that, sis.”

      “There was more to it than that, Will,” Amelia said. “The main reason I thought of using the painting is because it reminded me of the wall safe Spencer had installed in our condo. It was behind the Kandinsky.”

      “The what?”

      “The painting in our dining room.”

      “You mean the blue and yellow one with the weird zigzags?”

      Amelia nodded. That was one way to describe Wassily Kandinsky’s Expressionist style. Spencer had bought the artwork primarily as an investment. It had turned out to be the most valuable piece in their collection and worth almost as much as the condo. It had nothing in common with the amateurish landscape that had hung in Will and Jenny’s back room, except for its function. “I used Jenny’s painting because I regarded it as the poor woman’s version of Spencer’s wall safe.”

      Will snorted a laugh. “I get it now. That sounds like something you would do.”

      “I thought I was being clever,” Amelia said. “It was a stupid idea.”

      “Water under the bridge. What’s done is done.”

      She knew they were disappointed. Who wouldn’t be, after the way she’d gotten everyone’s hopes up? Because of her, the whole family had been on an emotional roller coaster. It had been a brief ride, one sudden climb followed by an equally sudden drop, yet Jenny and Will were taking the reversal of fortune in stride. Hiring someone to search for the ticket had been Amelia’s idea, not theirs. They felt it was a lost cause. They preferred to accept what they couldn’t control and get on with their lives.

      They’d been the same way when she’d arrived on their doorstep six months ago, divorced, flat broke and unemployed. There had been no words of recrimination. They’d helped her carry the few possessions she’d saved inside, and then Jenny had fixed her a cup of herbal tea while Hank had dug out extra bedding for the futon.

      Jenny patted her hand. “I think that carrot’s done, too.”

      A quick glance showed her the carrot was turning into a matchstick. She passed it to her sister-in-law. “Sorry.”

      “That’s okay. There’s less to chop.”

      She had to admire Jenny’s glass-half-full attitude. Life probably would be simpler if she could master it herself. “Going back to the subject of paintings, I believe it’s safest not to tell Hank about the ticket, so I’d appreciate it if neither of you mentioned it to him.”

      “Why?” Jenny asked. “You can’t be thinking he’d steal it?”

      “People have been tempted by far less.”

      “But you signed the back of the ticket, didn’t you?”

      She grimaced.

      “Amelia?”

      “There was a long lineup at the Min-A-Mart when I bought the ticket on Thursday. By the time I got here I was in a rush to put away the groceries I’d picked up on the way home, so I just tucked the ticket straight into the painting. Once it was out of sight, I forgot about signing it.”

      Will whistled. “That means anyone could cash it.”

      “I know. Stupid move number two.”

      “But Hank would be working for you,” Jenny persisted. “It would be against the law if he tried to keep that ticket for himself, whether he could cash it or not. You could take him to court...” She stopped. “Oh.”

      “Right. Been there, done that, and couldn’t afford to buy the T-shirt. The law doesn’t stop anyone from taking what they want if they think they can get away with it. And the only people guaranteed to make a profit in court are the lawyers. I know mine certainly got rich off me.”

      “She’s got a point,” Will put in. “It might be best to keep Hank in the dark.”

      Jenny carried the cutting board to the stove and scraped the mound of diced carrots into the stew pot, then handed Amelia an onion. “You’re not being fair, either. You’re suspicious of Hank because of Spencer.”

      Well, duh, Amelia thought. She picked up a small knife and jabbed the tip into the base of the onion. “You know what they say about once burned.”

      “They’re two entirely different people.”

      “So? They’re both male.”

      “Hey,” Will said. “What am I?”

      “You’re my brother, so you’re an exception.”

      “Spencer Pryce was a lying crook,” Jenny declared. “He took advantage of your innocence.”

      “You mean my gullibility.”

      “You’ve known Hank since you were kids,” Jenny continued. “I think you should trust him.”

      “I can’t. I used to think Spencer was a nice guy, too. We all did.”

      “But—”

      “Being fooled once was bad enough.” She pulled off a layer of onion peel. “I don’t intend to trust a man around my money again. Ever. Except for Will, of course,” she added.

      Jenny pursed her lips. “Hmph.”

      Amelia flinched again. This time it was from guilt. She realized it might be unfair to tar Hank with the same brush as Spencer, yet she had little choice. It wasn’t only men she couldn’t trust, it was her own judgment. “Our mother used to

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