Hit and Run by Sandra Balzo

‘old
beaus
?’
    Speaking of the devil, himself, Hart was approaching the head of the table, seeming pleased to find Lacey Capri seated to his right. Mistake, perhaps, because the contrast with the coltish girl made the self-styled lothario look both aged and rickety as he settled into his chair.
    â€˜â€¦ and so we just started emailing and texting,’ Sugar was saying, ‘and Dickens told me about this get-together. I couldn’t resist seeing the place again. And him, too, of course.’
    â€˜You’ve been here before, then?’ AnnaLise asked, regretting it immediately. Joy was diagonally across the table – a mere distance of five or six feet, easily breached if she wanted to get her hands around Sugar’s throat.
    â€˜Oh, yes. When we were dating, I spent a lot of time here. Now, though, I couldn’t pass up the invitation, especially since Lacey and I were in the area.’
    Considering that the ‘dating’ had taken place when Hart was still married to Joy and the ‘time spent’ included sneaking into the marital bed, AnnaLise felt more at ease responding to Sugar’s last comment.
    â€˜You live nearby?’ she asked lightly. ‘Since you arrived in the limousine from the airport with the others, I assumed you must have just flown in.’
    â€˜Oh, we left the car at Charlotte Douglas. So much easier than finding our way here on the mountain roads. Besides, Lacey had never ridden in a limo before.’ Sugar giggled.
    As mature as Sugar might have appeared at fifteen, she sure didn’t seem to have progressed much since, right down to her choice of clothing and makeup. In fact, the few words her daughter had advanced seemed more articulate to AnnaLise’s ear than Sugar’s contributions.
    Mama pulled at AnnaLise’s sleeve to get her attention. ‘What are you going to do?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Do?’
    â€˜That girl is in your seat.’ Phyllis was chin-gesturing toward Lacey Capri, talking to Hart. ‘We’re all wearing tags saying who we are. Why not cards telling folks where their rightful place is?’
    â€˜I think Dickens wants us to mingle,’ AnnaLise replied. ‘Besides, you’re the one who wanted me
here
.’
    â€˜But you’re the legitimate heir,’ Mama maintained stubbornly. ‘You belong at his right hand.’
    â€˜I’m
il
legitimate, remember? Besides, there are other people here who may have as much claim as I do.’
    â€˜No, no,’ Phyllis was saying. ‘I looked into this and you can ask Patrick Hoag if you want. Dickens Hart recognized you as his heir and put you in his will. He definitely hasn’t done that for nobody else.’
    Phyllis had put some thought – and research – into this, and while AnnaLise did appreciate all that effort on her own behalf, the ‘golden child’s’ mantra hadn’t changed. ‘I told you, Mama. I don’t care—’
    â€˜You’d better care!’ Phyllis thundered as a waitress stopped to fill her wine glass, decanter hovering in one hand, white wine bottle in the other.
    Everyone at the table looked at them and then, embarrassed, away.
    â€˜Umm, red or white?’
    â€˜Nicole?’
    The waitress was Nicole Goldstein, college student and granddaughter of Sal Goldstein, who owned Sal’s Tap on the lake’s beach across from Mama’s.
    â€˜Hi, AnnaLise,’ Nicole said. ‘Wine, Mama? I have a full-bodied cabernet,’ she held up a decanter, ‘or a crisp Sauvignon blanc.’
    â€˜Go red,’ AnnaLise advised.
    â€˜I’ll take the sovey-young,’ Phyllis said obstinately. ‘Only the heavens know what this “chef” of Dickens will be putting in front of us.’
    AnnaLise looked skyward and Nicole, trying to stay in role, carefully poured Phyllis her wine. ‘Will you also be having red or would you like me to take the