Hidden Riches Read Online Free PDF Page A

money. The lottery money.”
    The sisters stared at each other.
    Though one was fashionably thin and the other plump and pouty, with eyes wide, the familial resemblance between them was now unmistakable.
    JoJo practically jumped in her seat. Delcine laid a hand over her sister’s in a calming gesture.
    â€œRosalee, let me cut you another nice big piece of cake and you can tell us all about this lottery money of Ana Mae’s.”

3
    The Speculation
    T hat night, in the hotel room in Ahoskie that they couldn’t afford but required to keep up the appearances of affluence, Marguerite and Winslow Foster had a fight. It started when Marguerite got back from Ana Mae’s to discover her husband propped up in bed with a room service tray at his side.
    â€œHave you lost your mind? There’s a ton of food over at the house. I could have brought you a plate.”
    Winslow grunted. “Could have,” he said. “But I see you didn’t. So what’s the difference?”
    â€œYou are working my last nerve, Win.”
    â€œSo? What else is new?”
    â€œYou don’t even care, do you? We, your children and I, are about to be thrown out into the streets and you couldn’t give a flying rat’s ass.”
    â€œNow there’s an image,” Win said from the bed.
    The look she gave him would have emasculated another man. Winslow, as usual, just ignored her.
    She stripped off her blouse and skirt, carefully hanging the pieces in the closet. After swapping a pair of slippers for the black sling-backs she’d been wearing all day, she headed to the bathroom.
    â€œLatrice called looking for you,” Winslow told Marguerite.
    â€œWhat’d she want?” Marguerite said, her voice carrying.
    â€œWhat do you think she wanted?”
    Marguerite came out of the bathroom, a pink moisturizing cream slathered across her face and neck.
    Winslow was propped up on the bed, his hands down his shorts and a pay-per-view porno film on the television.
    â€œThat is really disgusting,” she said.
    He grunted.
    â€œTurn it off,” she told him. “There’s something you need to know about Ana Mae’s will.”

    Clayton and Archer had a suite in a lovely and four-star-rated bed-and-breakfast inn that Archer had located via the Internet from San Francisco following Clayton’s declaration that he would not spend a single millisecond in the Dew Drop Inn of Drapersville.
    Archer lounged on a chaise in the sitting room, his leather attaché case and laptop with the law firm work he claimed he needed to do abandoned on the desk. He turned the pages of a hardback book fairly rapidly as he read.
    When Clayton got off the phone with JoJo, he went in search of Archer.
    â€œYou are not going to believe this.”
    Archer glanced up from the legal thriller he was reading. “What?”
    â€œAna Mae had money.”
    Turning a page, Archer put his attention back on the book. “Everybody leaves a little something.”
    Irritated at being shut out—again—Clayton went to the sofa and snatched the book from Archer’s hand. He flung it across the room.
    To his credit, Archer didn’t snap, but he did sigh. He looked up at Clayton.
    â€œSo, it’s going to be one of those nights.”
    â€œWhy don’t you respect me?”
    Giving Clayton wide berth, Archer got up and retrieved his book, smoothing the pages that had been bent.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Clayton said.
    â€œYeah, whatever. I’m going to bed.”
    â€œIn the bedroom?” Clayton asked, his voice low, uncertain of what the answer might be, particularly given his recent display of temper.
    â€œYou can have it if you want it,” Archer said. “I’ll sleep out here.”
    Clayton closed his eyes. “Since this is our last . . . I mean, why don’t you take the bed? I’ll stay on the sofa.”
    Archer met his gaze. “Is that what you