Page 1 of Fool Me

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Sadie and her two older sisters headed straight to Rick’s Diner to discuss the bombshell that just exploded their lives.

Seated to her right, Monique looked deceptively relaxed. Sadie knew better. The equivalent of a military planning session churned in her eldest sister’s head, because the equivalent of a military planning session always churned in Monique’s head. To Sadie’s left, Ginny hummed the theme to Jaws while constructing a surprisingly adorable miniature winter scene on the booth top using just toothpicks and salt. This, too, reflected with the random thought generator that pattered idly away in Ginny’s head.

Sadie said nothing until she couldn’t any longer, which wasn’t very long. “So…are we rich now?”

Monique startled at the question but retained sufficient composure to spice her reply with accusation. “That’s up to you two.” She looked pointedly first at Sadie and then at Ginny, her brunette ponytail swinging in counter motion. “I’llbe rich, I can tell you that.”

Ginny momentarily paused construction of her salty Whoville to make jazz hands. “We’re rich with possibilities!”

“But how—” Sadie began, before being interrupted.

“Whoa! Is it Sunday already?” said Rick, the diner’s owner, halting in his tracks as he bustled past their booth. A salt and pepper beard framed his extra plump Santa Claus cheeks, an effect heightened further by gold-rimmed glasses that continuously migrated to the bridge of his nose. “Sunday is my usual Heppner sister day.”

Their godfather’s confusion made sense. The trio spent every Sunday brunch at the classic Hollywood eatery. Sadie had always loved its retro look, with its tall glass windows and red and chrome accents. But today was Tuesday.

Monique gave him a tight, but sincere, smile. “We can explain, but first, we could sure use some coffee if you’ve got it?”

His primary chin melded into a few of his extra ones as he withdrew his head in feigned offense. “If I’ve got it?My diner hasn’t been without coffee in sixty-eight years!” He pointed a finger toward each of them in turn, oldest to youngest, as he rattled off their usuals. “One black, one extra sweet and creamy, and one black half-full with a side of ice. Be right back.”

“I was about to ask,” Sadie said as she watched Rick push through the double swinging doors to the kitchen, “how did Great Aunt Lydia get so much money? Wasn’t she a secretary or something?”

Monique rubbed her forehead with two fingers as if thinking was causing her pain. “She was an accountant. Impressive for her day, but not an especially big money-maker. But she never had children, and she lived in the same house her whole life. I’m guessing she made good investments during the Depression and compound interest did the rest, but...” She looked up. “…the marriage thingisunusual.”

“That’s the only part that doesn’t surprise me,” Ginny said. “Whenever Mom and Dad made us spend time with her, she lectured us about how men are a plague on the face of the earth and marrying one of those ‘devils’ would be our ruin.”

Sadie remembered the tirades only too well. The actress of the family, she launched into a perfect imitation—complete with hooked, wagging forefinger—of the crotchety old Aunt with a voice like a jackhammer. “I told Beatrice before she married that walking meatloaf to get a dog instead. They drool less, and if you end up with a crap one, no one asks questions when they die.”

A wave of giggles broke over Ginny and Sadie. Even the thin-pressed, perfect line of Monique’s lips quirked up at the corners.

Rick reappeared with their coffees. “This is better,” he said as he gave Monique her mug. “From the looks on your faces, I was worried someone else had died.”

He set Sadie’s down next. She filled her lungs with the creamy coffee steam. Nothing righted the world like the scent of Rick’s coffee.

He attempted to give Ginny her half-filled mug and cup of ice, but a miniature bucolic snow village stood in the way. The guilty “oops” expression Ginny offered up caused the generous freckles on her face to gather in the middle. Shaking his head, Rick held his tray out toward her. “Someone elsediddie,” she said as she unceremoniously bulldozed her creation onto it. “Our Great Aunt Lydia, on Mom’s side? I don't think you ever met her.”

His eyes softened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Monique raised a palm as she shook her head. “Don’t bother with condolences. She was distant and, when we did see her, judgmental and controlling. Even from the grave, she’s keeping control.”

“What do you mean?” Rick said.

Sadie waggled her eyebrows excitedly. “Turns out she had a secret stash. We’ve just come from her executor’s office.”

“Secret stash? Does this mean my goddaughters are the prettiestandrichest sisters in all of LA?”

“Hardly the richest, but it’s a good amount,” Monique said.

Ginny squeezed one eye half shut as she brought the pads of her thumb and forefinger together till they nearly touched. “But there’s a teeny, tiny, crumb of a catch.”

No doubt knowing he wasn’t likely to get a straight explanation from Ginny, Rick’s gaze switched back to Monique, who obliged. “We only get our shares if we stay single till we’re thirty,” she said flatly. “I have to wait two years, Ginny has to wait four, and Sadie here…” She cast an especially doubtful eye in her direction. “…has to wait six.”

Once the full import of this sunk in, Rick let out a trumpet blast of a laugh. To his regulars, Rick’s oversized personality was part of the establishment’s charm. Fully focused on their plates of pancakes and hash browns, no one even glanced over at Rick and his goddaughters. “Old biddy didn’t care much for my persuasion, eh? Well, I can see her point, but it’s a crime against humanity to take you three out of circulation.” He stared down the bridge of his bespectacled nose at them. “If you can even do it.”

“No problem. In fact, I don’t have to wait any years,” Ginny said as she began tipping ice cubes into her mug. “With or without Great Aunt Lydia’s will, I’m not getting married—ever.”

“She’d be thrilled to hear that,” Rick said.

“I suppose,” Ginny said, “only it’s not because I hate men. It’s because I get bored too easily.” She used both hands to flip back her shoulder-length, dishwater blonde hair. The movement reminded Sadie of the jaunty way Ginny worked her feather duster over the glass end tables and elegant chandeliers of the mansions she cleaned for a living.

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