Page 3 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

She came to stand across the foyer from Jo. “Traitor.”

“We have bills to pay.” Lots of them.

Their father passed away six months before, and a month ago they found he’d taken out a second mortgage on their house. He’d used that money to invest in two companies, one theSticky and Sweet Honey Companyowned by Jo and Allie, and two, a company owned and bankrupted by a family “friend” who ran away to Morocco where he was living it up if his social media was anything to go by.

Jo tried not to think too much about the fact that he’d chosen a country with no extradition orders, but the words “illegal” and “felon” popped through the barrier she placed in her mind more than occasionally.

And they weren’t the only people in town who’d lost money, they were just the ones who’d lost the most—by a lot.

Apparently, their dad hadn’t made a full payment on the loan in two years, and because he’d never told their mom or them, they hadn’t made a payment since his death. They had to sell their house and pretty much everything they owned, but with the interest that had accumulated, they still owed about three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Two new movers passed them, the wood floors creaking under foot as they headed for the door carrying what looked like a large table. They had wrapped it in the thick blue protective blankets, but one leg stuck out the bottom.

Jo’s stomach lurched, her hand lifting and pointing at the desk that had sat in her father’s study since she and Allie were five. Allie’s gaze followed Jo’s pointed finger, her eyes widening.

Both girls ran for the desk, throwing themselves on it from opposite sides.

The desk barely wobbled under the twin’s weight. The twins were comparatively tall at five feet seven inches, but they were slight. Still, they should’ve made some impact upon . . . impact.

“My word,” Allie said with an almost begrudging flare. “These guys are strong.”

The movers lowered the table and one spoke. “What are you doing?”

The sisters held their ground across the piece. “This desk isn’t part of the deal.” Jo knew, because she’d negotiated most of the furniture as a whole and a few pieces individually. The auction house wouldn’t pay what the desk was worth, and Jo wouldn’t budge on the price. Not on this one. So they were keeping it. At least until she could find someone who would pay its worth.

“The deal was for everything in the house.” A strong and arrogant female voice came from the door.

The twins jumped off the desk and faced her. It was Millie Douglas. Town gossip and head auctioneer at the Bateman and Stalls Auction house, where they’d sold all their furniture. The woman gave the former mayor’s wife, Mrs. Lindgren, a run for her money in nastiness, only she was more underhanded and sly than the open-crazy that Mrs. Lindgren was.

Millie wore a red pencil skirt that swished around her knees as she stepped inside, her pert nose stuck up like her personality. Her perfume wafted around them like a plume of smoke that tickled Jo’s nose with its overly sweet smell.

Jo placed her hands on her hips. “You wouldn’t pay the three-thousand the desk is worth, so we chose not to sell.”

Allie went around the movers and to Jo’s side.

Millie pulled a wad of a file from the large bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. “This contract says we own everything in the house.”

“And I have an itemized list of the individual pieces you purchased and the ones you skipped on that you signed. You skipped the desk.”

Millie huffed. “I’d like to see that.”

“Maybe if you were more organized and took your job seriously, you’d have made a copy for your records and would know our father’s desk wasn’t for sale,” Allie said.

Jo kicked Allie’s shin.

“Ow!” Allie rubbed at her leg. “Stop hurting me.”

Millie narrowed her eyes at Allie, then turned to Jo. “This is your father’s desk?” For a split second, Jo thought she saw a hint of excitement behind the question, but it was gone too quickly to be sure.

“Now it’s mine,” Jo said.

Millie brushed a lock of her bleached blond hair behind her ear and sniffed. “I’ll pay the three-thousand.” She shoved the file back in her purse.

Warning alarms blared in Jo’s mind.

“It’s not for sale, Millie,” Allie said.

Jo touched Allie’s arm. “Why do you want it now?”

---