To Catch A Thief. Nan Dixon

       CHAPTER THREE

      “MAMÁ, MRS. HALVORSEN is bringing over sweet tea and cookies.” Their neighbor promised to visit with her mother while Carolina drove to Savannah.

      “Is this the interview with the witch?” her mother asked.

      Carolina inhaled. Her mother was losing her filters. “It’s with Abby Fitzgerald.”

      “She’s probably as uppity as her mother.” Mamá’s lips pursed as tight as if she’d eaten a lemon.

      “Then why did you hound me to apply for the job?” Frustration filled Carolina’s voice.

      “Because I want you to find out what those Fitzgeralds are up to.” Her mother’s blue eyes narrowed. “I want you to see where we should have been living if your father hadn’t died so young.”

      “I didn’t have to apply for a job to do that.”

      Her mother wrapped an arm around Carolina’s waist. “But if you get into the house, you could...pick up something for me.”

      “What?”

      “A...souvenir.” Her mother’s voice rose. “Something small.”

      “I can’t.” A shiver ran down Carolina’s spine. Her mother’s cancer was making her irrational.

      “For your mother?” Tears dripped from Mamá’s eyes.

      “I’m not a thief.” Had her mother stopped distinguishing right from wrong? “Why would you ask me to do this?”

      “Beau promised we’d live there.” Mamá paced to the window and back. “How could it be stealing if we should have lived in the house?”

      “Because we don’t.” Carolina’s voice was small.

      “Something little. Something they won’t miss.” Mamá’s words spit out so fast, they ran together. “That’s all I’m asking.”

      “I... I...this is an interview.”

      Mamá’s eyes were bright with tears. “I’m dying.”

      Pain swept through Carolina’s body like a crashing wave. A knock on the door kept her from agreeing. How could Mamá ask this of her?

      On the drive into Savannah she rehearsed how she would tell her mother she’d never had a chance to do what she’d asked. I was never alone. I was in the restaurant not the house.

      Maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe her mother would forget their conversation.

      But for the last three days, all Mamá had talked about was Fitzgerald House. Carolina had finally applied for the job to stop her haranguing.

      She drove by the four-story mansion. Fitzgerald House. Resentment that her half sisters lived in such grandeur and wealth had her gritting her teeth. Why hadn’t her father taken care of her and her mother? Why hadn’t he acknowledged Carolina as his child?

      After parking in the back, she exhaled. She didn’t want this job. And she didn’t want to meet her half sisters.

      But bartending was the best-paying job she’d found and they needed the money. It would allow her to work the fewest hours and spend more time with Mamá.

      Hopefully, she wouldn’t get the job. Great attitude for an interview.

      Carolina found a path that lead around the house and headed up wide, wooden steps. The double door was bright blue. She stepped into a soaring foyer and her heels clicked on the green-and-gold marble. In the middle of the space on an ornate round table sat a huge vase filled with flowers. Could that be Waterford? If she sold the vase, it might make her car payment for two months.

      “Can I help you?” A woman with strawberry blond hair stood next to a small desk. “Are you checking in?”

      “Oh, no.” Carolina chewed her lip. “I have an interview for the Southern Comforts’ bartending position. I was told to come here.”

      “Carolina Castillo?”

      She nodded.

      The woman held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Abby Fitzgerald.”

      Carolina stared. Her half sister. With Abby’s pale skin and her reddish-blond hair, they didn’t look alike. Were there any similarities between them?

      She was a few seconds too slow shaking Abby’s hand. “Hi.”

      “Let me find someone to cover the desk.” Abby moved down a hallway.

      Carolina took in a breath. This was a mistake. But she needed a job that paid more than minimum wage. Her mother’s credit card companies were demanding payment.

      “All handled.” Abby carried a tray with a sweating pitcher and glasses filled with ice. She led the way to a small parlor. “I brought some sweet tea.”

      Carolina sat. Abby poured a glass and Carolina took a polite sip. “O-oh. This is good.”

      “It’s my version of sweet tea with tweaks.” Abby winked. “And I don’t give away secrets.”

      Carolina froze. Did Abby know her secret?

      No way. If Abby knew they were related, Carolina wouldn’t be sitting there. “I understand the position is for a newly opened restaurant.”

      “We thought we could get away with only one bartender each night, but we need two.”

      “Congratulations,” Carolina said. Would Abby catch the sarcasm in her voice? Of course, Abby’s restaurant would be a success. Everything the Fitzgeralds touched turned to gold.

      “Why did you leave Nashville?” Abby asked.

      Carolina kept it simple. “My mother is sick. I needed to come home.”

      “I’m sorry.” Abby touched Carolina’s hand. “I understand. My family means everything to me.”

      “Thank you.” Family? Abby had no clue.

      How could her half sister understand? She had everything. Sisters. Mother. She’d had their father.

      Carolina had gotten stolen moments with Daddy. Now her mother was dying and she would end up alone.

      “Tell me about your work history?” Abby asked.

      “In Nashville, I worked at the Silo and Garett’s Bar and Grill.”

      “So why haven’t you done any bartending for a year?” Abby asked.

      “I was able to get a full-time singing job, so I quit bartending.”

      “Oh.” Abby asked questions about her experiences and Carolina relaxed and answered.

      A bell rang.

      “I called your references,” Abby said. “They were very complimentary about your work ethic.”

      “I think it’s important to do what you say you will do.” Unlike the father they shared.

      “I like—” The bell rang again. Abby frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

      She slipped through