Tymber Dalton - It's a Sweet Life

By eight in the morning, the entire Johnson brood, including their significant others, had arrived and started the moving process. With Galileo loudly protesting the upheaval from his travel carrier, Libbie helped out as much as she could while Grover and Ruth watched the shop and finished the daily orders.

When he called Libbie downstairs at nine thirty, a grinning It’s a Sweet Life 31

Mandaline was waiting at the counter.

“Well? Grover told me you’re feeling better.”

Libbie gave her a hug. “It’s too soon to tell yet, but I’m definitely going to keep using them.”

Mandaline practically squealed with delight. “So what’s the big excitement going on?”

Libbie looked back at the hallway, where sounds of activity echoed down the stairs. “I’m playing musical apartments. I’m going to rent out the larger one in front that I’ve been living in. Furnished. If you hear of anybody nice, feel free to send them my way.”

“How much? I’ll put up a card on my bulletin board for you.”

“Seven hundred a month. Including utilities. Two bedrooms, one bath. Between you and me, I’ll be willing to negotiate the rent if they want to help out in the bakery.”

Mandaline tapped the info into her iPhone. “Sounds like a deal to me.” She flashed Libbie a smile. “I’ll light a candle for luck and prosperity for you.”

“Thanks.”

Her smile turned into a grin. “Want me to throw in one for love as well?”

Libbie let out a laugh. “What the hell, why not? Can’t hurt, right?”

“Right.” She waggled her fingers at Libbie and left. Libbie watched Mandaline cross the square, carrying her boxes.

“She’s a sweet gal,” Grover said from behind her. “Even if she is plumb crazy.”

Libbie looked up at him. “Grover,” she scolded. “That’s not nice.”

Ruth shook her head, clucking at Grover. “I think she’s sweet.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say she was bad crazy. She’s sweet enough. But all that mystical hoo-hoo nonsense isn’t my thing.

Louanne, now she likes crystals and stuff. Spends plenty of time over there.” He glanced back at the stairs as he realized his youngest daughter was up there helping out with the move. He lowered his voice. “At least that’s the worst crazy stuff she ever did. I’ll take that 32 Tymber Dalton

over drugs or drinking any day. She’s a good girl.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet for Mandaline to do it, even if it’s not my thing.” Libbie shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe a little luck is what I need now.” She flexed her hands, which while achy, still felt great compared to the pain she’d been in the day before. “I certainly won’t refuse any good luck I can get, regardless of where it comes from.”

Saturday morning, Allan and Ben sat in the far corner of the hotel’s restaurant and studied the newspaper as they ate breakfast a little after eight o’clock.

“We can’t spend six months here,” Allan said. “In a hotel, I mean.”

Allan loved his brother, but the two of them made Felix and Oscar look like Ozzie and Harriet by comparison in regards to how they got along in close quarters. They could barely share an apartment in college, much less one room. Ben was a homebody, while Allan had enjoyed making use of what free time he had to go out and party with friends to make up for the years of strict studying and hard work he’d suffered through in college. But for the sake of safety, they’d agreed they needed to stick together, and Allan had bowed to his brother’s law enforcement experience to keep them safe.

Ben nodded. “I know.” His eyes never rose from the classified ads he studied. “We need to rent a place. Preferably from an individual.

These fake identities we have won’t hold up to detailed scrutiny from someone running background and credit checks. Jim did the best he could for us under such short notice.” They had okay-looking driver’s licenses from Nebraska, which was the best Ben’s friend in the DEA could do for them with less than twenty-four hours to assure their cover. Jim already had new Florida licenses in the works for them through his contacts in Tallahassee. They’d be overnighted from Omaha once Ben gave him an address.

It’s a Sweet Life

33

Allan guessed his brother was erring on the side of caution by going through a completely different agency for their disguises, but he wouldn’t question him on that, at least. “And why, again, was running the better option?” Allan would have been happy accepting federal protection, but deferred to his brother rather than argue with him about it.

Ben finally lifted his gaze, one eyebrow upraised. “Honestly? I don’t know who we can trust. I prefer being on the other end of a disposable cell phone than being a sitting duck in Miami.” His attention returned to the classifieds. “Look at it this way, now you’ll have time to do all that artsy crap you’re always bitching you don’t have time for when you’re too busy out scoring a new hot chick at a nightclub.”

Allan bristled, but bit back the “fuck you” struggling to get out.

This morning he’d had to fight not to stare at his brother. It was like looking in a mirror before his own dye job.

He didn’t like feeling guilty that his brother was willing to take on his appearance for the sake of keeping him safe.

Instead, Allan opted for civility. “You used to like to draw. Before college. You were really good at it, too.”

“Yeah, and that was before I saw what life was really like. What people are really like. I’ve got too much to do now usually.” He let out a snort that Allan recognized as Ben’s “shut the fuck up”

conversational warning.

Allan also felt guilty that his brother had, in essence, given up three years of his life to bring down a mob kingpin. All the while he’d been able to go about his own life in carefree freedom.

He sat back and focused on the front section of the paper.

Ben breathed a silent sigh of relief when Allan took the hint and shut his hole. They might have looked alike growing up, but the 34 Tymber Dalton

brothers couldn’t be more different in temperament. And he’d promised his mom before she died that he’d take care of Allan.

“He’s not like you, Ben,” she’d said one afternoon while he was alone with his mom in her hospital room. They’d just turned nineteen, and had spent it sitting at their mother’s bedside during her losing battle with breast cancer. “He’s as smart as you, but he’s book smart.

Your father always said you got the street sense.”

Which was why Allan majored in law, and Ben majored in law enforcement. Like their dad, who’d taken a bullet when he accidentally walked in on a robbery in progress at a bodega in Little Havana one night. He’d gone in at the end of his night shift to pick up a carton of milk to bring home for them for breakfast.

He’d never made it home.

Even though they were only nine when it happened, Ben remembered how hot the sun had felt on their backs as they stood beside their mother while a full honor guard carried their father’s flag-draped casket out of the church.

During school, Allan was the one picked on while Ben had to watch his back. Ben went out for football while Allan chose Latin Club.

For a couple of years he’d honestly suspected his twin brother was gay. Until the night in college when he accidentally walked in on Allan boinking a girl on their apartment couch when he came home unexpectedly after his own date fell apart early.

Then the girl, two years older than them, had brightened at the sight of him and suggested a threesome.

“I’ve always wanted to do twins,” she practically squealed. “It’s on my bucket list!”