Free Bad Heiress Day by Allie Pleiter

solid silver. Someone once told her the mark of a true Southern lady was that her silver set included ice tea spoons. Darcy wondered when her mind had begun cataloguing such obscure details about people. “It’s odd to have so much time now.” She continued, “I feel like I can’t remember what to do with it.”
    Glynnis pushed a plate of crackers toward her. Darcy dunked one into a bowl—chicken patterned—with dip in it. “It’ll come back,” the older woman offered in warm tones. “It’ll all come back. But I imagine a few things are changed forever in your life now. You’re not the same person you were before Paul died. You’ve got new responsibilities and challenges ahead of you now.” Glynnis took a cracker and absolutely loaded it with dip before popping it into her mouth. “Listen, hon, lots of money is fun, but it has its own problems—and not everyone understands that. Things can get kind of messy before you find your balance.
    “Bid and I, well, we got used to it bit by bit. Not that we didn’t make a colossal mess of things in places along the way, but we had a chance to learn as we went. You, you and Jack have a whole different ball of wax. Everything all at once is no picnic. You need lots of good counsel if you’re going to see it through.” She drowned another cracker in dip. “It’s a funny little niche Bid and I have carved for ourselves, helping people deal with big finances, but we like it. It’s no accident Doug hooked us up, you know. God’s been sending us people for years now, letting us help them over the—how does Bid say it?—‘the big bumps that come with the big bucks.’” She chuckled as she selected another cracker for saturation. “That’s my Bid. Always has a way with a phrase. Now, Darcy, tell me more about your dad….”
     
    “Play golf, Jack?’ Ed Bidwell snapped the tab on his Cherry Coke with a satisfied grin.
    “No, never could quite find the time.” Jack pulled the tab on his own can.
    “Good.” Bidwell hoisted the can in a salute. “Hate the game, myself. All those men chasing that silly little ball around a hunk of nice landscaping. Ah, give me a horsepower over a good tee time any day.” The man looked lovingly at his sports car.
    Jack had to admit, it was one lovable car. A beauty, and brand spanking new from the looks of it. Hadn’t he seen one of those on the cover of Car and Driver? “What is it?”
    Ed walked out into the driveway with the swagger of a man who felt king of all he surveyed. “That, my young friend, is a Ford Thunderbird. Hot off the line. Packed to the gills and gleaming in the sunshine.” He continued to spout off a collection of technical specifications that made Jack’s head swim. Jack could just picture the car zipping through the windy streets of Mount Adams, Cincinnati’s upscale, steep-hilled section…
    …and skidding all over the place. This was a car that belonged on the autobahn, not slipping down the hills in a Cincinnati winter. Totally impractical.
    But one fabulous little car anyway.
    “’Course,” Ed continued, as if reading Jack’s thoughts, “she’ll be about as useless as a woman in high heels when the weather turns cold. But that first day of spring, when the weather gets warm enough to pull her out again and put the top down, well, that’s a day I’m looking forward to with a huge hunk of pleasure.”
    Jack had to nod.
    “I’ll get another month out of her at least, but I don’t think she’ll hit the streets after October. Too much salt on these hills. Wouldn’t want to rust these lovely curves now, would we?”
    “No, sir.” Jack thought about the blotches of rust gracing the “curves” of his car. It would practically be its own salt lick by February. The transmission was getting ready to give out soon, too. Not to mention the sad shape of the tires on Darcy’s van—they might not last the winter, either.
    Ed plucked a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed at a nearly