Page 88 of Blame it on the Bet
“I’m looking for Hennessy. Can I please come in? It’s freezing out here.”
For a second I’m sure she’s going to slam the door in my face. Instead, she slowly opens it, and I step into the entryway.
“Walker? Who’s here at this—” Jameson stops short when she comes around the corner to find me standing there. “Bryan,” she breathes softly, her green eyes growing large with surprise.
“I’m looking for Hennessy. Is she here?” I repeat before I lose my courage and turn my butt around.
“No,” Jameson says, shaking her head.
“I went to the apartment,” I explain, “and she didn’t answer. Is she there?”
“No.”
I sigh with exasperation.
“Jameson, I really need to speak with her. Can you please just tell me where she is? It’s important.”
“I can’t, ” she begins softly. “I mean…she’s not here. She went back to the Twin Cities a few weeks ago.”
“Wait, wait, wait…I’m confused. I thought she was going to quit.”
“Well, you might as well come the rest of the way inside,” Walker grumbles, moving to shut the front door behind me. I follow the sisters through the living room, where the red- headed menace, Jackson, is sound asleep in a playpen, and into the kitchen, where the blond-headed menace, Bailey, is stirring a pot of hot chocolate on the stove.
“Bryan!” she squeals, dropping the wooden spoon onto the stove with a dull thunk and throwing herself at me for a hug. “I knew it! I knew you’d come back!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Walker interjects. “Let’s not get so chummy just yet. What do you want?”
I extricate myself from the youngest of the Whiskey Sisters and sit down at the kitchen table, not even bothering to take my coat off. I want to hit the ground running as soon as I find out what’s going on here.
“Okay, so…what happened? She told me she wanted to quit her job and stay here in Mayhem. Why’d she go back to St. Paul?”
Jameson and Walker exchange glances. “What?” I demand. “What is it?”
“The pub. That’s what happened,” Walker spits at me. “Dude! What’d you think? She was going to just hang around and watch you level the place?”
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone? “What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything to the pub. I don’t own it.”
They exchange glances again, but this time their faces are etched with confusion. Yeah, welcome to the club, ladies. Jameson is the first one to respond.
“But the purchase was anonymous…and the buyer gave us permission to keep doing business until all the paperwork cleared. I mean, we just assumed it was you.”
“You mean it wasn’t you?” Bailey asks, looking crestfallen.
“Bailey, I tried. I wanted to buy it and give it back to you. But the trustee wouldn’t accept my offer, no matter how high I bid. So, no, it wasn’t me. I’m sorry about that.”
And I am. More than I can say.
“And what about that fraud thing? Was that really just your father?” Walker asks suspiciously. Obviously someone, at some point, told the O’Hallorans what really went down in my past.
“Yes, it really was just my father. He— You know, this is really hard to say, and that’s why I don’t. Say it, I mean. I don’t volunteer this information. Not just because I’m afraid people will suspect me of being complicit in the whole thing, but also because I’m embarrassed and ashamed. But you deserve to know the truth. My father hurt a lot of people, and then he tried to raise reasonable doubt in court by implicating me. We have the same name. Or, rather, we had the same name. I changed it the second I was exonerated, and then I got as far away from him as I could.”
While the three women seem to consider this, I hear a cry from the living room.
“Uh, Win’s out of town—again,” Jameson says, “and I decided to stay over here tonight. Poor Jackson’s not used to so much commotion this late at night.”
She starts to get to her feet, but I wave her away, jumping out of my chair.
“Where’s my buddy?” I call out as I lope over to his playpen, suddenly eager to see the little terror.
