When she’s done, she blots her mouth daintily with a napkin. Sophie copies her so closely I want to snort and roll my eyes.
The food’s surprisingly tasty for a place that looks like it’s been cooking with the same bacon grease for fifty years. Even Dan wolfs down his pancakes without any complaints.
Being a bottomless pit doesn’t stop him from getting picky sometimes.
I ignore the way he’s drenched them in so much syrup they’re practically see-through.
Across from me, Margot tells Sophie about her best friend.
“…we’ve been besties since we were about your age,” she says. “Hattie was always my partner in crime. Once, we put frogs in all of Ethan’s shoes and he squished one. I don’t think he forgave me formonths.”
Sophie groans and pretends to retch.
“Sucks for the frogs,” Dan says.
“It did, yeah. We were no angels,” Margot assures him, and the corners of her eyes crease as she grins. “But I wasn’t thinking about the frogs. I was just thinking about how I could pull my brother’s tail and rage-bait him into getting grounded. My granddad had this bodyguard around, Holden, and he was a total bulldog if we stepped out of line.”
Bodyguard, huh?
“Why’s that? Did old Leo upset that many people?” I ask carefully.
“No, not really. I mean, not that I was ever aware of.” Margot’s smile turns sad. “Just typical safety stuff, I think. It’s pretty common when you have his money. Honestly, a lot ofpeople wanted PopPop to have a whole detail of armed guards the older he got, at least for the trips to New York, but he wouldn’t have it.”
“So, nothing worth guarding at the house?”
Her eyes flash as she realizes what I’m really asking.
She shakes her head.
“Nope. I doubt it. Holden was like a second shadow. He followed PopPop everywhere.”
Damn.
Probably no help in the hidden treasury department, then.
“You should hit him up, if you haven’t yet,” I say. “Couldn’t hurt to ask about the house, just for old times’ sake.”
“I suppose,” she whispers.
With a pleasant weight in my gut, I wave the waitress over for the bill, and she gives me an indulgent smile.
The woman must be in her fifties, wearing the apron like she never takes it off. There’s a warm, motherly glow to her face.
“How was it, honey? Everything good?”
“Never fails, Bekah. Thanks so much,” Margot says. Her voice slips, almost back to a comfortable drawl, like she’s lived here for decades, born and bred in this backwater town.
“You’re welcome, darlin’.” She looks across at Sophie and Dan, and her smile widens. “And I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you have a lovely family now. The big man must’ve been so proud before he passed.”
Oh, shit.
Margot blinks, batting her eyes as raw shock rushes over her face.
“Uh, it’s not like that,” I rumble, hating the edge in my voice.
It’s an innocent mistake. No need to chew the poor woman’s head off when she must deal with finicky customers every day.
Still, I sure as hell don’t need people thinking I’mwithMargot Blackthorn.
