Page 4 of Whiskey Wednesdays

Connor and some of his business colleagues started the team not long after he’d retired. From what I’d read in the news the cost had been staggering, and I knew Dad wasn’t exaggerating about how much money Connor made over the years if he could afford an ownership percentage.

The next morning, I sat out on Dad’s back patio enjoying my morning coffee. A few minutes later, he walked around the corner in his big sun hat with his electric trimmers.

I gestured to my coffee cup. “I made coffee, and breakfast is in the oven if you’re hungry.”

“Sounds good. Let me wash up.” He set his trimmer down and pulled off his gloves and hat.

We ate out on the back patio. It was a great little spot, and he’d added comfortable patio furniture and colorful planters out here. It felt like a tiny oasis. I propped my bare feet on his coffee table, and sniffed the pungent rosemary and basil in the orange pot next to me.

Dad grinned. “It’s so nice having you here, even if you’re eating me out of house and home. I’ll be done in an hour or so, then we can go.”

We planned to go to the Moorten Botanical Garden in Palm Springs, and then maybe the zoo. My dad and I shared a love of plants and animals.

I ate the last bite of my English muffin. “I’ll help. It’ll go faster.”

“Just like old times, huh?”

“Yeah, and you won’t be breaking any child labor laws this time.”

He shook his head. “It was good for you. It built character.”

I laughed. “You go ahead and believe whatever makes it so you can sleep at night.”

I scrounged around and found a pair of old sneakers, a hat, and work gloves. Then we trimmed up the hedges around the north end of the property.

Dad had worked as a landscaper for years until Paul Curtis, one of his wealthy clients in Seattle, had persuaded him to move onto Paul’s large estate and take care of the home and sprawling grounds full-time.

It had changed our lives in many ways. Paul made it possible for my dad to be home for us after Mom died. And they had become good friends.

I thought we’d made Paul’s life a little better too. Not long after we moved in, Paul became a regular at our dinner table and taught my dad how to play golf. He also loved our game nights. When Paul got sick and died of colon cancer a few years ago, we’d all been grief-stricken.

When we finished trimming the hedges, we stood in the driveway. I glanced around the estate and looked over at the enormous main house. It was a beautiful modern design, and the house wrapped around a giant courtyard area with a luxurious pool and spa.

But my favorite part of the property was the desert landscaping and the overflowing flowerpots.

“Dad, there’s still some sandwich meat and sourdough bread. We can eat here before we go, so we don’t have to buy lunch.”

He shook his head. “There are a few fun lunch spots close to the cactus garden in Palm Springs. It’ll be my treat.”

“You sure? The best way to double your money is to keep it in your wallet.”

“Yes, I’m sure, Ms. Tightwad Penny Pincher.”

Because of my mom’s lengthy illness and medical bills, money had always been tight in our family. She’d died of pulmonary fibrosis, and the fatal disease had eaten away her energy, her strength, and eventually her ability to breathe.

Being frugal and helping my parents stretch what little money we had was one of the few ways I could help. But Dad was in a better financial place now, and he liked to take us out at least one time when we came to visit him, so I grabbed my purse and a hoodie and didn’t argue.

“Sounds great, thank you. Where’s your favorite place to eat around here?”

We were discussing lunch spots as we walked to Dad’s car. I looked up and noticed a man who looked a lot like Connor, only shorter and less handsome, walking toward us.

He didn’t say hello or smile, but pointed a finger at my dad. “I need you to wash and vacuum my car this afternoon.”

Dad stopped next to me and put his hand on my arm. “Hello, Noah. I’m spending time with my daughter today.”

Noah’s mouth tightened. “Javier, I need the car cleaned.”

My hackles rose at the man’s tone. I stepped forward and stuck out my hand. “Hello. My name is Isabella. And you are?”

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