Page 56 of Meet Jon, the Billionaire

I felt better already, now that we were doing something about the problem. I stared at the newspaper and grimaced.

“How in the heck did this even come out now, of all times? Seems awfully suspicious.”

“Well…”

Aunt Petunia grew tight-lipped. I gave her a look. “What? What is it you don’t want to say out loud?”

“It’s just that… rich people have a way of ferreting out just about any secret.”

The news hit me like a shovel in the face. I felt that moment of shock and disbelief, followed by brewing anger.

Had Jonathon really hamstrung our chances of getting the corner lot?

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Amelia

The question of whether or not Jonathon had been the one to betray me weighed heavily on my mind for the entirety of the day. I smiled at customers, and even traded jibes with Sascha and Pedro, but on the inside, I was dealing with misery and turmoil.

I didn’t want to believe that Jonathon had ferreted out the secret of my Aunt Petunia’s past misdeed. Yet, I couldn’t come up with any other decent culprits. Most of the businesses competing for the corner lot weren’t even restaurants. There were exactly two bakeries competing, and it stood to reason that if I had one rival, it was Acme Bread.

At the end of the day, as I counted up the money and deposited it in the floor safe, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to let it go. I was going to have to figure out who had lifted the rock to display our creepy crawlies, or I’d never get a moment’s peace.

I toyed with the idea of contacting Jonathon and just flat out asking him directly. That idea didn’t appeal to me, however. What if he just lied to me, again? As he’d lied by omission for our first three dates? I wanted to trust Jonathon, but the wedge driven between us by the fact that he hadn’t come clean from the get-go just kept getting bigger.

I suppose I could have confronted him on it. In a way, wasn’t I doing the same thing I was seeking to accuse him of? Using our relationship to try and dig up something I could use to win the corner lot?

Yet, I hadn’t actually done any of that. I supposed the intention made me guilty enough.

I decided that accusing Jonathon openly couldn’t possibly go well. Either I’d come across as a paranoid shrew, or he’d come clean and our relationship would be in greater jeopardy, or he’d lie and I’d go on thinking everything was fine.

No, if I wanted to get to the truth of the matter, I had to go directly from the main vine. That would be the person who leaked the story to the press.

I figured a good place to start would be the same health inspector who’d taken the bribe more than thirty years ago. After we closed up the bakery, I sought him out with the internet. It bothered me, quite frankly, that it only took about five minutes to find his street address. There were several Dick McGuires listed, but only one was the right age to be my guy.

I tried to keep myself calm as I drove out to Staten Island, where his apartment was located. I soon found myself standing outside of an aging but well-maintained brick building, the front door standing open to let out the day’s surprising warmth.

I strolled inside and took a gander. The apartments were arranged with one on each side of the hallway, in a squarish configuration. I walked around three sides of the square until I reached Dick’s apartment.

I rapped on the door and waited. After several moments there was no answer. Annoyed, I dug my phone out of my purse and tried calling his contact phone number. I didn’t hear a ring from inside the apartment, and it went straight to voicemail. Most likely, he was awake and had denied the call manually.

Was his phone in silent mode, or was he just not home? I decided it was probably the latter. I didn’t hear any music, television shows, or anything else from his apartment as I did the others.

I walked around to the back of the building, hoping to find someone I could ask about McGuire. Instead, I found him playing cards in the tiny strip of grass between buildings that the apartment complex no doubt advertised as a ‘yard.’

McGuire was bent with age, his eyes clear and sharp as he bitched and griped about old age with his fellow players.

I approached them, and the conversation stopped. One of the men turned to another.

“Joe, your niece is here to pick you up for your doctor’s appointment.”

“Actually, I’m not Joe’s niece.” I turned to the apparent Joe. “Sorry, Joe.”

“Then who are you, missy?” McGuire’s face furrowed. “You’d better not be here to try and sell a subscription to Watchtower.”

“Actually, I’m here to explain how taking a bribe to stay quiet works.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re actually supposed to stay quiet.”

McGuire paled, and he stood up. “Deal me out, boys. I’ll be back in a hand or two.”

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