Free Bitter Sweet by Connie Shelton Page A

taken in by him and was
embarrassed to admit it. Maybe he was after her money all along.”
    “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Sam
swigged the last of her wine. “Look, I better get back to Beau’s. We only have
one day off this week and we haven’t actually spent much of it together. If you
get any juicy info from the other friends, let me know. If we could find some
evidence of fraud, I’m sure Beau would help build the case.”
    Zoë stepped around from behind
the breakfast bar and gave Sam a hug. “I’ll do it. And thanks for coming over.
You’ve been a big help.”
    Sam squeezed Zoë’s hand and
walked out to her van.
    Back at the ranch, Beau stood on
the porch, brushing straw off his jeans.
    “You don’t want to come close to
me,” he said. “I just finished mucking out the stalls.”
    She took a step back.
    “But if you want to make us a
sandwich or something while I take a shower, and then maybe snuggle up beside
me to watch some NASCAR . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows in that way of his, the
way which told her there might be some afternoon delight in the picture.
    “I would love that. At some
point, though, can I run something by you?”
    He suppressed the sigh that meant
he would either have to give up the car race or the sex and he didn’t want to
miss either. “Talk while I’m cleaning up? And then I’ll help you with the
sandwiches?”
    While he showered she recounted
the morning’s events and conversations, admitting to the part where she’d
fudged—well, lied—about him contacting the judge.
    “It’s just that Lila’s house was
literally being dismantled right in front of us,” she said, watching as he
suggestively pulled the towel back and forth across his back.
    “Um-hm.”
    When she didn’t stop talking long
enough to take advantage of his state of undress, he began pulling on clean
clothes.
    “What was the lawyer’s name
again?” he asked.
    “Joe Smith.”
    “Never heard of him,” he said.
“He’s supposed to be local?”
    “I assumed so, but he didn’t
really say.”
    “I’ll do some checking on it,
first thing tomorrow. Meanwhile, lunch?”
    The rest of the afternoon went as
planned, and by eight o’clock that evening Sam decided she really ought to go
home for the night. She hadn’t talked to Kelly all weekend, and could only
assume things were all right with her sometimes scatter-brained daughter. And
who knew what types of bakery messages might be awaiting on her home
phone—people who knew she used to work from home often called there when they
couldn’t reach anyone at the store.
    “See you for lunch tomorrow?”
Beau asked after he’d kissed her goodnight.
    “Don’t forget to check on those
names I gave you.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and
kissed her again.
     
    *
     
    Sam was smoothing frosting over a
pan of brownies the next morning when her cell phone rang, inside her pocket.
She licked her fingers and fished it out.
    “A little bit of quick news,”
Beau said. “I thought you might not want to wait until lunch time for this. I
discovered that all of Lila Coffey’s bank accounts were closed the day after
she died.”
    “How did you—?”
    “Don’t ask. Ted O’Malley
apparently had enough of the proper documentation that the bank let him do it.
He took about two thousand from her checking account and more than a hundred
thou from savings—all in cash.”
    “And I saw thousands in furniture
and art being sold at the house yesterday. Holy cow.”
    “Yeah. The guy sure acted faster
than the typical grieving widower.”
    “Huh. And that lawyer told me he
was devastated. Ted had her cremated and said he was going to keep the urn on
his dresser for the rest of his life. Now I’m wondering if that didn’t also get
sold with the pots and pans.” Sam caught herself tapping her foot. “Can you
haul him in, Beau? Question him about all this?”
    “If there truly was a legal will,
he’s probably within his rights. Bad manners aren’t