Bad Heiress Day. Allie Pleiter

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      “You’ve been spending your nights with another man.” It was a tasteless joke, but somehow Darcy was glad for the irreverence. Everything had been so very serious for so very long.

      She swatted him softly with her free hand. He caught it in his and held it. “No, seriously. There was something in Dad’s safety deposit box. About the money.”

      That got his attention. “More stuff we didn’t know?”

      “Well, not exactly. It was a letter. From Dad to me. For me to open after he died.”

      “The guy had a flair for drama.”

      Darcy couldn’t suppress a small smile. “This does sound like a bad novel, doesn’t it?” She paused, formulating the right words in her head. She hadn’t even wrapped her own mind around her father’s request, much less figure out how to explain it to Jack. “I’m not sure I even get it myself.”

      Jack cocked an eyebrow, encouraging her to go on.

      “Well, for starters, he told me where the money came from. It was from a settlement on Mom’s accident. She sued the old man who hit her—or at least started to—before she died.” Darcy’s throat tightened a bit at the thought of her mother, so bitter, angry and hopeless.

      “I had a feeling that’s where it came from. Your dad was tight with a buck, but all that couldn’t have come from just clipping coupons. I figured it was from insurance settlements, though, not from lawsuits. Paul doesn’t seem the suing type.”

      “There was a time when he was. Or Mom convinced him to be. He says—said—he tried to stop her.” Darcy still couldn’t get used to talking about her father in the past tense.

      “And…” Jack was trying to help her, but somehow that only seemed to make it harder.

      “They cleaned out the guy who hit her—he had no insurance. Once they got the money, though, Mom was already too far gone. Dad stopped wanting it, I guess. Hated what the lawsuit did to him, how it only ruined another life. Oh, I still don’t really get it. But he ended up promising her he’d never give it away.”

      “So, what? He just hid it?”

      “That’s a good way to put it, I suppose. He hid it. All these years. Never touched it.”

      “Well, at least he had the good sense to find an interest-bearing hiding place.”

      “I suppose. It seems sad, in a way.”

      “It’s amazing when you think of it. All that money, just waiting, sitting. If I ever wanted to teach Mike about the magic of compound interest, I’ve got the ultimate real-life example. I’ve been thinking a lot about this Dar, and we’re going to have to do some serious research on how to manage it. The stock market is already taking a nosedive from the attack, and if we go to war, who knows what will happen? There’s a guy at work who’s really into all that stuff—”

      “Jack,” Darcy stopped him. “There’s more.”

      “Okay.”

      “He asked me to give it away.”

      Jack’s eyes flew wide open. “He what?”

      “The letter asks me not to keep the money, but to give it away. He couldn’t—he’d promised Mom—but I can. At least that’s how he put it.”

      Darcy could feel Jack’s chest tighten under her. Hadn’t she had the same reaction when she read the letter? “Well, that takes a lot of nerve. After all you’ve been through, after keeping it from you—from us—in the first place.”

      “I know, I’m sick to death of bombshells going off around here.”

      “Let me get this straight.” Jack’s hand left hers to rub across his eyes. “Your dad leaves you a small fortune, but you have to give it away? First you play nurse, now you have to play Santa Claus? I tell you, Dar…”

      “I think he had good intentions.”

      “I’ve got a thing or two to say about his methods.”

      “I’m still not sure just why….”

      “I just don’t get it. Was he not in the room when we were talking about struggling to find college money for the kids? It hasn’t exactly been easy street around here since you quit your part-time job at the library so you could spend more time with him. You practically shut down your life—our life—to take care of him. And he pays us back with a stunt like this? Who does this to their own daughter?”

      Darcy slid off Jack and sat up, her own anger growing. It wasn’t fair. This was a lousy thing to do, no matter how many dollar signs or good intentions were involved. “I don’t know, Jack. I don’t get it. I’ve read the letter a dozen times and I still don’t get it. Why on earth did he need to pile this on top of everything else I’ve had to handle?”

      Jack pulled himself up to a sitting position, his elbow jabbed onto one bent knee. “I’ve put up with a lot from your dad over the years, Dar. I’ve put up with his weird mission trips and Bible speeches and all the cancer stuff and who knows what else, but this takes the cake.” He stared right at Darcy. “Since when is it okay to be religious and deceptive at the same time?”

      Darcy could only repeat the phrase that had been echoing in her head all day, “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

      “Darcy, it’s Aunt Jenny.”

      Oh, no. Not Aunt Jenny. This woman had single-handedly started dozens of family arguments.

      “Good morning, Aunt Jenny,” was all Darcy could manage, still holding a box of Pop-Tarts in her other hand. She could already hear the usual hurt edge in the woman’s voice.

      “I just had to call and ask, what were you thinking, child? How could you be so hurtful to the rest of your family? You know we couldn’t get there for the memorial service. They’ve only just now opened up the airports again. Honestly.”

      “Look, Aunt Jenny, I know…” Darcy picked up a Handi Wipes and began mopping up crumbs in an effort to keep from jumping down Aunt Jenny’s throat.

      “You know I would have wanted to be there. We’re all that Paul had left. Would it have killed you to put off the service until the family could come pay their respects?”

      All that Paul had left, huh? “Aunt Jenny…” For a second, she considered that hanging up might be the wisest course of action—she was sure to say something she’d regret if Aunt Jenny kept it up.

      “I just wanted to ask how you could be so inconsiderate. Why, Charles is just livid.” Darcy could imagine just how livid Uncle Chuck could be. The man rarely got off his La-Z-Boy for anything. One of Aunt Jenny’s favorite tactics was to project her self-righteous anger onto Chuck—whom everyone knew to be permanently disinterested—as if he were some sort of emotional ventriloquist’s dummy. Darcy doubted that Chuck had done much more than hoist a beer in her dad’s honor and tell Jenny to go buy a nice card and send flowers.

      And she hadn’t even done that much.

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