The Maverick - By Jan Hudson Page 0,21
We have to talk to our suppliers and put an ad in the paper and…”
“I got it. Call me if there’s anything I can do. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
“Tomorrow might be better.”
He nodded and left.
GRIFF GRIPPED THE WHEEL of his rental car a little too tightly as he drove back to his hotel. Ever since he learned about the damage to Chili Witches, he’d had a niggling feeling about it. This smelled of Walt, one of Griff’s partners. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a coincidence, but he wouldn’t put it past the guy. Walt was a brilliant businessman, but he was impatient and impulsive. And a master of dirty tricks. His partners wanted that property yesterday. Griff had asked them repeatedly to be patient and let him handle things his way.
As soon as he got to his hotel, he whipped out his phone and punched the speed dial. Walt answered immediately.
“Walt, did you have anything to do with Chili Witches flooding?”
He chuckled. “Me? Now would I do something so appalling?”
“Hell, yes. In a heartbeat. Back off, Walt.”
Chapter Nine
Cass was bone tired when she drove to Sunny’s house that evening; she literally ached and her head felt as if dirt daubers were building nests inside. She pulled into the driveway behind her sister, who trudged toward the door as if she could barely put one foot in front of the other. With the stress and the mess and the mountain of things to do, it had been a killer of a day. Cass hauled her bag from the trunk and trudged inside in the same manner.
They both headed straight for the couch, plopped down and rested heir heads against the cushioned back. Leo, Sunny’s German shepherd, joined them, nuzzling against Sunny’s leg.
“I may die,” Cass said.
“Please don’t,” Sunny said, absently stroking Leo’s head. “I’m too tired to plan your funeral.”
Cass laughed, then they both got the giggles. The giggles turned into tears. They held each other and wept from exhaustion and despair.
After they had a good cry, Sunny wiped her nose and said, “Do you ever wonder exactly why we do this?”
“What? Cry? I think it’s supposed to release some sort of chemicals to make you feel better.” Cass fished a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.
“No, I mean why are we working so hard to keep Chili Witches going? Sometimes I feel the café has become the center of my life. How did Mom and Aunt Min do it for all those years?”
“Beats me. I suppose because they loved the place. I never figured I’d end up running it, but let me tell you, it’s better than being a lawyer in New York. Do you hate managing the café?”
“No, I don’t hate it. In fact, most of the time I enjoy it, but the hours are hard—and will be harder after Ben and I get married. There’s Jay to think of, and I’d like to have children someday. I don’t want to raise them in a playpen in the office or put them in day care and only see them half the week.”
“We were lucky to have Aunt Min and Mom when we were growing up. It was like having two mothers,” Cass said, “but don’t count on me to babysit. Aunt Min I ain’t.”
“You don’t want children?” Sunny asked.
“Do you see me as the domestic type?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. We’re a lot alike, and I can feel the ticking biological clock everybody’s always talking about.”
Cass rolled her eyes. “The only clock I feel ticking is the one signaling dinnertime, but I’m too tired to eat, much less cook.”
“I hear that.”
The doorbell rang.
“I wonder who that could be?” Sunny glanced over her shoulder. “Want to get the door?”
“Moi? Surely you jest. Nobody knows I’m here, and I wouldn’t get up and go to the door for the Publisher’s Clearing House prize van.”
Sunny groaned and heaved herself from the couch. “Whoever it is better not be selling magazines.”
It was Ben McKee with food his sister had sent over. “I’m not staying,” Cass heard him say. “I know you must be tired, and Jay’s waiting in the car. I’ll call later. Or better, you call me when it’s convenient.”
Sunny came back with a big bag, which she deposited on the coffee table. “I’ll get plates and forks while I’m up. Check out the contents.”
Cass was just opening the sack when the doorbell rang again.
“Your turn,” Sunny called from the kitchen.
Cass muttered a few choice words and plodded