Page 62 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“I was my mother’s protégé. I spent the first half of my childhood on gambling riverboats. Mama was part of the entertainment but didn’t get paid much. Though, by the time we made landing, she’d have enough for that month’s living expenses.” The expression Honey gives suggests she was robbing the gullible people on the cruise.

It’s then that I realize that my wrist is bare. Honey dangles my grandfather’s military field watch from her forefinger.

Eyes bulging, I reach for it. “It’s not worth much.”

“But it holds sentimental value. Something’s worth isn’t always measured in money.” Honey’s smile slips toward sadness and makes me wonder if her mother using her in this parlor played into her sense of self-worth.

I pat my pockets. “I’ll take my wallet too. Nice sleight of hand. Deal again.”

She returns my watch and deals the cards.

Determined to win, I absently ask, “So how does the Porsche tie into this? Was it your final, big score?”

“Don’t make it sound as if I enjoyed any of it. I despised what we did. Myself too.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

She nods. “The car—” She opens and closes her mouth like she debates whether to say more. “Before we started the gig here at the chateau, we ran in New Orleans. As soon as I was tall enough to reach a car’s pedals, I became the getaway driver.”

My jaw lowers.

“I was good at driving. A natural, people said. Then one day I drove right into Cory Peterson.”

“You ran someone over?”

“No. Technically, he drove into me. Crashed.” She demonstrates with her hands as she arrays her cards. Final hand. Winning hand.

Funny that’s how we met, though thankfully without any auto damage, then I make the connection to Cory’s shop in town.

I fold, dropping my cards on the table. “You’re good.”

“Too good. At least that’s what Mama said. She named me Honey because I was the only sweet thing in her life. I didn’t want mine to turn out like hers. Cory was my oasis. He liked to drive too. We’d race. Me to escape the fact that I’d likely turn out to be a felon. He because of the adrenaline.” Once more, she goes quiet as if that’s the end of the story.

“Were you, him, and Jesse the newThree Amigos?”

“Not even close. Jesse grew up more like me. Cory was one of the good ones.” Her chin quivers. She gets to her feet and says, “I should check on Leonie.”

I follow her to the living room with the baby monitor. Had she made a peep, we would’ve heard it from the parlor, but I think Honey needs a moment.

“Cory and I were close,” she says softly.

I get the sense they were sweethearts though she might not phrase it that way.

“He joined the military. Died—unrelated. That’s JQ’s story to tell. Losing him was the first thing that woke me up.”

“Was there a second?”

“And a third. The second was Mama going to prison for a long, long time. I thought it would set straight my cousin too, but no such luck.”

“And the third?”

“There I was minding my own business when an infant turned up on my doorstep. Okay, I wasn’t minding my business exactly. Living in this small southern town my whole life, it’s hard not to catch a whiff of gossip—or be the focus of it.”

“Do you know who’s baby she is?”

“My cousin. She never made an honest wager.”

“It was good of you to take care of Leonie.”

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