Six of Hearts(13)

He stares at me for a long time, so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then he asks randomly, “Do you know that I was raised by my uncle for a couple of years after my parents died?”

“What does this have to do with…?”

“He was a behavioural science professor,” Jay interrupts before I have the chance to finish. “Brought me to live with him over in the States when I was twelve. Up until then I’d actually lived here in Ireland, if you can believe it. Long story short, he was a fucking nut and would make me study college-level textbooks day in and day out. If I didn’t or couldn’t understand something, he’d punish me in various ways until I did — not letting me eat, not letting me go to the bathroom. It’s one of the main reasons why I ran away and became a street kid. But despite all the abuse, the endless studying taught me techniques on how to read people. When I look at your old man, I see the guy who’s gonna help me win this case. I don’t care about the hot shots. I want your dad, and I’ll stop at nothing until I convince him.”

“Oh,” I say, hushed. “I’m sorry about your parents…and your crazy uncle.”

Jay waves away my apologies. “It’s all in the past, Watson. So, you gonna help me win the old guy over?”

I eat the final bite of my lasagne before answering, “I don’t think you need any help from me. But I won’t get in your way, either. Promise. Still, you’ll probably have to move out if he does agree. Living with your solicitor could be seen as a conflict of interest.”

Jay gives me a thoughtful look. Getting up from the table, I go to make a start on the dishes. When I look back to where Jay was sitting, he’s gone.

Once I’ve gotten everything loaded in the dishwasher, I go to sit down by my sewing machine to make a start on the evening gown. I turn the machine on and wince at the unhealthy sound it makes. I’ve been saving up for a new one, but it’s going to be a while before I have enough money.

The dress I’m making at the moment is an order from one of my regular online customers. I sit down and get right to work on it, hoping the machine at least holds out until I’m finished. I’ve been going at it for almost an hour when Jay re-enters the room, taking a big bite out of an apple.

“Yo, Watson, your old jalopy doesn’t sound too healthy,” he comments, leaning against the doorframe.

I frown as I run the last of the hem through. “I know. I’m hoping it’ll last until I can afford a new one.”

“You saving up?”

Sitting back to take a break, I nod. “Yeah.”

“How much you got?”

“Not much. About a hundred and fifty, but I need eight hundred for the machine I want to buy.”

Jay chews on his bite of apple and mulls over what I’ve said. “What if I told you I could turn your one-fifty into eight hundred in a night?”

“I’d say you were having me on,” I answer warily.

“Well, I’m not. You come out with me tomorrow, and we’ll have your eight hundred by the early hours of Wednesday morning.”

“Okay. But how?”

A wicked gleam comes into his eyes. “Blackjack, Watson. Blackjack.”

I give him a hesitant look. “Like in a casino?”

“Yeah. Where else?”

“I’ve never been to a casino before.”

“I’ll admit Dublin’s got nothing on Vegas, but there are a few good places here. I’ll show you the ropes.”

Looking back at my nearly broken sewing machine, I let out a sigh. I know I need a new one badly. Otherwise, I’ll have to stop taking orders for however many weeks it takes me to save. Jay’s proposal is certainly an attractive one.

“And I’ll be placing the bets? I have no clue about playing blackjack, Jay.”

“Can you count to twenty-one?”

I shoot him a cynical look. “Of course.”

“Then we’re off to a good start.” He walks over to throw the core of his apple in the bin. “We’ll leave here at eight. And wear something nice.”

With that, he exits the room again.





Four




As luck would have it, my machine sputters its last breath just as I’ve finished the dress. I put everything away and then head upstairs to bed, hopeful that come Thursday evening I’ll have a brand-new machine sitting on my table.

Settling myself under the covers, I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check my messages. There’s just one from Michelle.

Michelle: How was your day? Xxx.

She always puts kisses at the end of a message, no matter what, and ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t necessary.