Free The Artful Goddaughter by Melodie Campbell Page B

these days. It’s the wedding.”
    I turned around and stomped back inside.
    â€œThe family is not paying for my wedding in counterfeit money!”
    Sammy twisted around in the wooden chair. “Of course not, doll. Your godfather is classier than that. Nobody pays for weddings with five-dollar bills.”
    That made a lot of sense. But his voice was too smooth. I left there feeling vaguely unsettled, and vowed to keep an eye on things.
    * * *
    When I got home, I threw the packet of bills on the counter. Why had I even taken them? Force of habit, I guessed. A habit I was determined to kick.
    I shrugged out of my all-purpose red leather jacket.
    The phone was ringing. I picked it up.
    â€œHey, beautiful. What’s happening?” It was Pete, my fiancé. He’s a sports reporter for our local paper, the Steeltown Star . He’s also six foot two and built like a football star. Which he was, until recently.
    I felt warm all over. “Same ol’, same ol’,” I said. This was the truth, if you didn’t count the tiny matter of counterfeit bills from China. Pete didn’t need to know about that. He wasn’t part of the family yet. Wouldn’t be until we were married. In fact, he thought I had gone completely straight.
    Which was sort of true. I wanted to. I was trying to.
    It was harder than you’d think. I decided to ignore the packet of counterfeit fives on the counter.
    â€œWant me to come over for dinner?”
    I grinned. “Are you putting yourself on the menu?”
    He laughed. God, I loved how he laughed.
    â€œI was thinking the other way around. Shall I bring Chinese takeout?”
    I gulped. What was it about that country today?
    â€œSure,” I said. “And don’t forget the fortune cookies.” I needed to hear some good news.

TWO
    I may have mentioned this before, but someday I am going to write a book. It will be called Burglary for Dummies and will have all sorts of helpful hints in it, like “Don’t risk your butt for a fake.”
    My family is very into fakes. Me, not so much anymore. That would be because my ratface cousin Carmine tried to pull one over on me a while back. It’s not nice to switch real gems with fakes in your cousin’s store. All sorts of people get upset, especially certain family members. They may even try to arrange for you to get shot while cleaning your rifle…but I digress.
    Okay, here’s the family position regarding fakes. Does anybody really get hurt? So your Picasso is not by Picasso. It’s still just as pretty, right? So why the big deal?
    I don’t necessarily agree with this, by the way. I’m merely relaying the family opinion.
    Sammy called at ten the next morning. “Got bad news, sweetheart. Your great-uncle Seb had a massive heart attack last night. He’s alive, but it doesn’t look good.”
    â€œAw, gee. That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” I was too. Great-Uncle Seb was a loner. He had a reputation for pulling really bad practical jokes. So not everyone liked him.
    But I was fond of him. He was an artist. A really good artist. So good he could do Picasso better than Picasso, if you get my drift. “How did it happen?”
    â€œHe got this new model at the studio. I think that had something to do with it.”
    â€œHow? She gave him a hard time?” That didn’t sound likely. Seb was a weird little guy but totally harmless.
    â€œNah. I think it was more she dropped her robe, and he dropped from too much appreciation.”
    A coitus coronary? That sucked. “Poor guy,” I murmured.
    â€œI told him not to do nudes anymore. Not safe for a schmuck over seventy.”
    Bugger. Of all the rotten luck.
    â€œSo is he at St. Mary’s?” I would go right over there, of course.
    â€œYeah, but there’s something else.”
    I groaned. There was always something else. “Spill it,” I said.
    â€œI think you