“They wanted you, or us, to be in a few episodes. You know, go out on some gator calls, basically be the rival trappers to Gene’s operation. They thought it was sexy for two young women to be involved in gator hunting. Especially since we also own the bookstore.”
“Oh. No, no, no. No way. Gene’s right about one thing: they want us as eye candy. Next thing you know, they’ll ask us to hunt gators in bikinis.”
She leaned in, a familiar pleading look on her face. “But it would be such great promo for the bookstore. And we’d get paid for it.”
“I don’t care. I’m not participating in a reality TV circus freak show. It’s going to be classist and show off the worst Florida Man and southern stereotypes imaginable, especially if Gene’s involved. We don’t want to contribute to that narrative. No way, Vera.”
Her nostrils flared. “I knew you’d say something like that.”
“Because you know I’m right.”
“You might be.” A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “They did mention us doing promo pics in the swamp in Lara Croft–like camo gear.”
“Gross. They want to use sex to sell the show, because Gene’s ugly face sure won’t. That will almost certainly cause the ratings to tank.” I tore a piece of crust off my toasted cheese, chewed, and swallowed. “But he doesn’t need to know we’re not doing the show. Let him squirm a little. Screw him.”
I dipped my spoon into the soup and stirred. A quick taste revealed a delicious, tangy tomato explosion in my mouth, and I scooped up a larger spoonful. There was no way Gene should ruin such a tasty lunch. I ate in silence while Vera picked at her napkin.
“Anyway, forget about Gene,” I said. “He’s not worth it.”
“He’s literally the worst. In the last couple of years he’s been swaggering around town like he owns it. He’s gotten in with some of the local officials, and I’ve heard that he wants to use that TV show to run for political office. Can you imagine?”
“You lie down with dogs and you’re going to get fleas.” That was another one of Dad’s sayings, and Vera grinned.
“In speaking of Dad...”—she twisted her paper napkin into an accordion shape—“could you check on the probate paperwork again today? I’m hoping the case will be closed soon. It will make me feel better to have that money officially in our bank account.”
I nodded. Even though Dad had a will, his entire estate had gone to probate court for reasons I still couldn’t grasp. It was all I could do to understand the basics of the situation, and I was thankful for our attorney, who had been a friend of Dad’s. Vera and I were the only beneficiaries, but we needed to do things properly. Dad had left us a decent-sized nest egg, but we couldn’t touch it just yet. The long process had been incredibly confusing and frustrating.
We thought we had properly filed all the paperwork six weeks ago, but then Dad’s ex-girlfriend filed a claim against the estate. As it turned out, she’d wanted five old record albums of Dad’s, which we gave to her. But her claim had seemingly sent the estate paperwork into some realm of court purgatory, and we were struggling to get it out. With the help of our lawyer, of course, who was also busy defending a myriad of insurance fraud perpetrators.
“You sure everything’s OK?” I asked softly.
“Totally fine.” Vera glanced at her watch. “Oh, crud, I’ve got a call today with a book distributor, and I need to get to the post office. Plus some other stuff. You headed home?”
She obviously didn’t want to linger. “Yeah, I have a bunch to do. And it’s hotter than Satan’s house cat out there.”
“Your blood sure has gotten thick. You used to be able to stay outside all day in the Florida sun. And it’s only January.”
“I don’t remember it being this hot this early in the year.”
She looked at me for a beat. “It’s always this temperature in January. It’s you that’s changed.”
Maybe I had. The thought left me slightly depressed, for some reason. “I’ll see you back home.”
My sister dropped the napkin on her half-eaten plate of food. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a new tenant coming to one of the guest cabins today.”
Dad and Vera had bought the large property where she—and now I—lived. There were three cabins on the property, and we’d decided to rent them to tourists for extra cash. It was the third prong in our fledgling and shaky business empire.
I gaped at my sister. “Here for the weekend? Is the cabin ready?”
She leaned in, her eyes glittering. “No. He rented it for six entire months. And yes, it is.”
“Six months?” Maybe we should have discussed long-term rentals. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. It would be like having a roommate almost. What if he was a perv?
“Get this. He’s a professor from Miami, on sabbatical. He’s writing a book. I think you two will get along.”
“Why, because he’s an old book nerd and weird?”
“No, because he’s young and interesting. And hot. OK, maybe not exactly our age, but notthatmuch older. I had a long conversation with him over a Zoom call when he booked the place. Did I mention that he’s cute?”
