Page 54 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

“It’s a shame his descendants didn’t keep up with this place. I’ll change that.”

“But you’re not a Tickle.”

“Does that matter?”

Her shoulder lifts like the residents of this town had been waiting for someone with that last name to swoop in and save it. “I suppose not.”

“Do you play cards?” I shuffle them between my hands.

She scoffs like I just asked if she lives and breathes. “Yeah, of course.”

“I had to teach Leyton—who later became Captain at my fire station—how to play War. So not everyone comes equipped with card playing skills.”

“We call that oneBataille.” She pronounces itbah tie, which suddenly makes me hungry for Pad Thai.

“I’ll be right back.”

I go to the kitchen and return with a bowl of peanuts and two bottles of root beer from the Penny Gamble. I’m not trying to trick Honey into telling me anything or wager her Porsche in a game. No, I just want to spend time with her.

I shuffle the cards properly and then deal them before giving her half the peanuts.

She chuckles. “Are we betting with these?”

“I’m short on change.” But glad I didn’t have that quarter on my first day here.

We play three card poker and then she teaches mebourrèwhich is similar to spades. Eventually, we graduate to baccarat. As the peanut piles grow and diminish, each of us winning and losing at different points, I learn that Hogan Tickle had a daughter who had a son who then had a son. I’m about to up the ante and go still, my handful of peanuts hovering.

“Are you sure about that genealogy?”

She gives one sharp nod. “Didn’t you see the family tree on the gathering room wall?”

I shake my head.

Honey wears a wicked grin. “After I win, I’ll show you.”

“Oh, you’re not winning,” I counter, putting on my game face.

But she smokes me.

After a suitable amount of gloating, Honey says, “Do you still want to see the family tree? Could be something you want to preserve during the restoration.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t notice it.”

Honey leads me to what she calls the gathering hall.

She tugs aside the tapestry on the wall. Underneath, the plaster is chipped, but the edge of a painting featuring foliage comes into view. I go into the hall, grab a stool, and pull the tapestry down.

Honey gasps. “Thatcanaille.” This one she pronouncescah nie.

“Cat night?”

“No, that sneak. She—” Lips tight, Honey points.

I lower from the stool and see someone spray-painted a bunch of red blobs that kind of look like bloated, broken, and drippy heart shapes on the wall.

I scratch my head, recalling the deputy’s comment the first time we were here. “Do you meanhe? Did Jesse do that?”

“No, it was my cousin. She fancied herself the Queen of Hearts. My mother always reminded her that she was merely a princess. Mama wore the crown in our crime family.”

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