Free Upon a Mystic Tide by Vicki Hinze Page B

can’t do any worse.”
    “I wouldn’t bet on that”
    “What do you mean?” What else could she do to Bess? Nothing came to mind.
    “You’re forgetting the woman is a powerful influence in New Orleans. Nearly as strong as Elise Dupree. She can close a lot of doors that until now have been open to you.”
    Elise Dupree. The older woman who had hired John to investigate the kidnaping/elopement of her only daughter, Dixie. The case that had obsessed John. The other woman—the one who had come first with him. “Not much I can do about it.”
    “You can let me buy the station.”
    “No.” That, Bess couldn’t do. She’d look like a laughingstock. Worse, she’d feel like one—and she’d feel bought and paid for by Miguel Santos.
    Miss Hattie touched Bess’s arm. “Just a minute, Miguel.”
    “I’m sorry to interrupt, dear, but I have to get to Millie’s Antique Shoppe. She’s gotten in a curio she’s anxious for me to see.”
    Bess smiled. “Thanks for joining me for lunch. I enjoyed your company.”
    “Me, too.” Miss Hattie squeezed Bess’s forearm, then snapped closed her rain slicker. “I’ll see you at home later on.”
    Bess nodded and Miss Hattie moved on down the bar to speak briefly with Vic and Horace Johnson, who immediately removed his cap as a show of respect to Miss Hattie. A light rain still tapped at the cafe windows, speckling the glass and running down the pane in rivulets. Soon, it would stop. “I’m back,” Bess said to Miguel.
    “As your friend, I’m asking you to reconsider. I’ve spoken with Sal and he would stay on. It’s not a solely altruistic thing I’d be doing. I’d make a great deal of money.”
    “No. Please, no.” Even she would view Miguel buying the station as him having to buy it to keep her employed. Everyone in town already thought they were lovers.
    A buzz sounded in the background. “I’ve got another call,” he said. “Maybe my redhead apologizing, eh? Hug that rag of a dog and think kindly of me.”
    “Silk is hardly a rag, Miguel, and she takes serious exception to being called one. As does her owner.”
    “Ah, I’ve gone too far, haven’t I?”
    “Indeed.” He hadn’t. “We’ll expect a box of treats delivered by two P.M. tomorrow.”
    He laughed. “Very well. A box of biscuits—”
    “We call them cookies.”
    “Cookies, then, for your Silk, and a surprise for you.”
    “Only the cookies, if you please. I’m not ready to be bribed.”
    “Okay, Angel.”
    Bess hung up the phone. Back at her table, she again started shaking. Three days at Seascape Inn, and she’d been calm and content. But one phone call from New Orleans and here she sat again rattling worse than the old Chevy she had driven—and John had sworn was held together with spit, rubber bands, and baling wire—on their first date.
    Understandable, but pitiful. She and Miguel were just friends. What difference did it make if he thought she couldn’t carry herself without him buying the station and taking care of her? A friend should show more support and faith in a friend’s abilities, true, but that notion likely hadn’t occurred to Miguel. Anyway, she’d refused his bailout offer. And Millicent learning of the divorce had been inevitable—and a worry hanging over Bess’s head. At least now it was done and Bess knew to expect the you’re-fired call anytime.
    She sipped from her glass of lemon-tart tea. There was a silver lining here, though she had to stretch to find it. Positively, absolutely nothing else in her world could go wrong.
    “Hello, Bess.” A man’s voice sounded from right behind her.
    Recognizing it as John Mystic’s proved her mistaken.
    Rain dripping off his tan trench coat, John watched Bess’s slim shoulders go starch stiff. She didn’t turn to look back at him. She’d recognized his voice, all right, and she was not happy.
    People in the crowded cafe hovered at the bar, whispering dollar amounts and dates to a man wearing a gold nugget