The Lottery Winner. Emilie Rose
glanced at the PI, confirming her suspicions that these two were in cahoots, then Logan met her gaze. “At her house.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. Jessie had been very careful about not disclosing her address, and she and Logan didn’t get along. Jessie wouldn’t have shared that information with him.
“How do you know where she lives?” she pressed, suspecting she already knew the answer.
He paused. “I followed her home last night.”
“Logan Na—”
He flung up a hand. “She’s staying in a very expensive gated waterfront rental home. A place a waitress can’t afford on tips alone. If she’s into something illegal, I don’t want you caught in the web. Today I checked out her house from the water side and saw her painting on the dock.”
Shocked to hear her suspicions confirmed, she snapped, “Logan Chancellor Nash, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Then she remembered the bartender. Luckily, he’d gone to the back for stock.
“I’m protecting you.”
“By stalking my waitress?” she whispered then glared at Ignatius. “You used to be a cop. Tell him that’s illegal.”
“You peek in her windows?” Ignatius asked.
“Of course not.”
“You planning to harm her?”
“No.”
“She know you followed her?”
“No.”
Ignatius shrugged. “Not a problem then, as long as it doesn’t become a habit.”
Miri wanted to kick the infuriating idiot in the shin for encouraging her nephew. “It’s a problem for me!”
Logan ignored her outburst and turned to his friend. “I didn’t see anything suspicious. There were no signs of drug paraphernalia in her house, and no sign of other cars in the driveway. But how’s she paying for the place? Rich husband? Boyfriend? Lover? Selling drugs?”
“Valid questions,” Ignatius replied.
Miri poked a finger at Logan’s chest. “That’s none of your business. I’ve told you before, leave Jessie alone.”
Heaven help the poor girl if she discovered Logan’s actions. She was already spooked about someone or something.
“She didn’t know what I was really looking for when I asked to see more of her work. She invited me inside. I checked out most of the house,” he added for Ignatius.
“Being sneaky and devious doesn’t make it right, Logan.”
“I told her to bring one of her paintings here today to display and sell.”
Yet another sign of his presumption. “This is my restaurant. Don’t you think you should have consulted me first?” Not that she wouldn’t have helped Jessie if she’d known.
“When you see her work, you’ll want to replace every picture in this place.”
No, she wouldn’t. There were memories attached to each one. But she couldn’t say that, because it would only make Ignatius think he was right and that she hadn’t moved beyond her grief over losing Jack. “What hangs in my restaurant is still my decision.”
“Right. I told her you wouldn’t want a commission, but if her painting sells, then you could invite other local artists to display here and take a percentage of the sales price.”
No doubt her pigheaded nephew meant well. He was probably trying to replace her nest egg. He’d never accept that she didn’t blame him for his exes’ dirty work. But as long as she had enough money to keep a roof over her head and Sue in a job until they were both ready to retire, then she had enough.
“I swear, Logan, sometimes your heart’s in the right place, but your methodology is all wrong. Don’t help me anymore. Do you understand?”
“I hear you.”
But she knew he’d ignore her as he’d always done. He was one stubborn son of a gun. She only hoped he didn’t run Jessie off before she could help the girl—whatever her problems.
* * *
JESSIE TURNED THE corner onto Margaret Street, spotted Logan outside the Fisherman’s Widow and missed a step. She couldn’t get inside the restaurant without going past him.
Wind ruffled his dark hair and his white, rolled-sleeve button-down shirt accentuated his tan. He resembled one of the rich guys who frequented the yachts parked along the wharf. But she now knew what he looked like in nothing but swim trunks, and that was...a distraction that made her sketching hand twitchy.
She saw the exact second he spotted her, because his posture changed. Looking as alert as a hunter with its next meal in the crosshairs, he watched her cross the street. She covered the automatic urge to tug at the short hem of her uniform skort by blotting her damp palms on her hips. The encounter ahead wouldn’t be fun.
“Where’s the painting?” he demanded.
“I didn’t bring it.” The fire of excitement had fizzled soon after he roared off in his boat. Doubts about putting herself out there had dogged her as she showered and dressed for work. Then she’d realized his demand that she bring the painting wasn’t even about her.
His eyebrows lowered. “Why?”
“While your offer is generous and flattering, it’s Miri’s restaurant. I want to check with her first.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did she call you?”
“No. Why?”
“Never mind. She has to accept that the stuff on the walls needs replacing.”
“That’s your opinion. She might disagree.”
He strode to the door and yanked it open, motioning for Jessie to go first. He loomed behind her like a hovering hawk as she went to the kitchen in search of Miri. On the way, she checked out the current wall art—something she’d only done superficially before because she’d been too busy watching the patrons. Each piece was of good quality. But all needed some TLC.
Miri glanced up from the pie crust in front of her when they entered. Her rolling pin stilled.
“Tell her to bring her painting,” Logan demanded, and Miri’s expression turned uneasy.
Jessie gave Miri a sympathetic smile. “I thought Logan should ask why you’ve never replaced the ones you have.”
A tiny smile curved Miri’s lips. “Jack gave them to me. Each one commemorates a moment of our lives together.”
Jessie shot Logan an I-told-you-so look. “Her art has sentimental value. You can’t just discard it.”
Logan rocked his jaw back and forth. “I’m trying to update this place and make both of you some money.”
“I don’t want it at Miri’s expense.”
Miri laid a hand on Jessie’s forearm and gave her a squeeze. “You’re a dear and I love you for thinking of me, Jessie. But I want to help you. Truly, I do. And if you’re as good an artist as Logan says, this exposure could be good for you—even if I have to buy easels to display them. Please, bring your paintings.”
Miri’s encouragement fanned the ember Logan had lit. How could she make this a win-win situation? “I have an idea. Follow me.”
Jessie grabbed a clean rag, dampened a corner of it, then led them to the oil of one of Key West’s historic Victorian homes that hung behind the cash register. “Tell me about this one.”
Miri’s face softened. “That’s the bed-and-breakfast where Jack and I honeymooned. It’s the first piece of real art he bought me.”