Free The Artful Goddaughter by Melodie Campbell Page A

“Someday, you are going to die cleaning your rifle, Mario!”
    This was a well-known family expression meaning something entirely different. But the result was the same.
    Sammy folded his arms across his scrawny chest and tch-tched.
    â€œMario, you careless nincompoop. You gotta check those numbers against names in the family before you reissue a phony card.”
    â€œSorry, Uncle Sammy.”
    â€œDon’t cut corners. This whole business depends on doing it right the first time.” He waggled a finger. “Take it up a level. How would we ever get ahead if we just kept stealing from family members?”
    â€œWon’t do it again, Gina,” Mario promised. He sounded morose.
    I was still miffed. WHY did I have to be born to this family in this burg? Why couldn’t I be from a little farm town in the American Midwest or something, where people actually did raise chickens?
    Credit-card theft was so lowbrow.
    â€œWhy are we still doing this anyway? Isn’t this rinky-dink?”
    Sammy shrugged. “Hard times, Gina. Gotta train the youngsters on the little shit before we move them on to—”
    â€œStop right there!” I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Just forget I said that. I don’t want to know.”
    Sammy smiled. It was a little creepy. He stuck a hand in his pocket.
    â€œSorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart. Here’s some recompense for all your trouble. Go buy yourself something nice.”
    He handed me a bunch of fives. A whole bunch. Probably a hundred. They came with a nice paper band wrapped around them.
    I was immediately suspicious.
    â€œSomething tells me these weren’t printed by our government.”
    He shrugged.
    â€œFives? We’re doing fives now?” I blurted.
    â€œWe’re not doing anything, doll.” Sammy smiled. “We’re merely in the import business.”
    I was confused. What were we importing? I looked down at the bundle in my hand.
    â€œHoly shit. These are made in CHINA?”
    â€œWatch the language! Miriam don’t like it when you talk like that.”
    I paced the floor, flinging my arms.
    â€œWe’re importing counterfeit Canadian bills from China now? Do we have to give away ALL our manufacturing in this country?”
    Sammy looked apologetic. “Blame the politicians, sweetheart.”
    â€œThis country is freaking nuts.” I was peeved. I mean, really. We couldn’t even produce our own fake currency now? Did all the paper mills burn down or something?
    It was a disgrace.
    â€œThey do it a lot cheaper, doll. And they got the technology. Those new plastic twenties are harder to fake. We don’t have the time or the know-how to keep up. So I got this connection in Canton—”
    â€œKill it. I don’t want to know.”
    â€œâ€”they make them over there and we launder them over here—”
    â€œOf course you do. It’s called laundering money .” Jeesh. Like I wouldn’t know that.
    â€œNo, I mean we really launder them. Through the washing machine. It makes them look not so new.”
    I stared at Sammy. Now I had a vision of Aunt Miriam standing over the Maytag, stuffing five-dollar bills into jean pockets.
    â€œOf course, you have to be careful not to launder them too much, ’cause the ink they use over there isn’t as good as the stuff we get here.”
    Mario nodded. “Runs more.”
    â€œThis family is freaking nuts,” I muttered. Not to mention unpatriotic. Giving away our counterfeiting business to foreigners. What else will they think of outsourcing?
    â€œIt’s really rather clever. You should see what we import them in.”
    I slapped both hands over my ears. “LEAVING NOW. Can’t hear you.”
    I stomped out of the place. Then I stopped to look at the sparkling lake to calm down.
    Sammy’s voice carried from the chicken coop. “Don’t mind her, Mario. She gets emotional