Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [14]
As they drove out onto the Strip, the brightly colored light extravaganza created a splashy circuslike show, but once they left the tourist area, things became darker and grittier. Her evening had turned out the same way—starting out with the extravaganza of the wedding before deteriorating into a mess. Not that the areas they passed were dangerously bad, but they weren’t the finest part of the city by any stretch of the imagination. For the first time, she sensed the desperation and despair that was also a part of Las Vegas.
Then the streets became more commonplace to any franchise-ridden highway in America.
Aunt Sally’s Pancake House was located near the outskirts of the city before the sprawl of the express-ways leading to surrounding suburbs. The strip mall also included two pawnshops, a nail salon and an Asian market.
Once inside, Megan studied the plastic-laminated menu.
“Their oven-baked pancakes are really good,” Logan said.
There were lots of choices: silver-dollar pancakes, buttermilk pancakes, Swedish pancakes . . . That last entry reminded her of Gram. Did Gram know that Megan’s mom was still alive? Had she been part of the deception?
The thought made her stomach tie into even more elaborate knots.
“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was flat as she slapped the menu onto the table.
“You will be when they put a plate of pancakes in front of you.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”
“No, but they’ve told me you’re stubborn.”
“And they’re right,” he cheerfully acknowledged. “I take after my granddad that way. He’s the one who told you I was stubborn, right?”
“I’m not going to confirm or deny your statement.”
“Did my granddad teach you that?”
She answered using one of Buddy’s trademark sayings: “That’s for dang sure.” Her smile faded as her thoughts of Buddy reminded her of Gram, which took her right back to the appetite-killing possibility that her grandmother had been part of the family conspiracy to keep the truth from Megan.
Her mind was still spinning after everything that had happened. Part of her felt numb, unable to fully comprehend all the ramifications of what she’d overheard. The other part felt betrayed at such a deep level that she wasn’t even able to comprehend it.
Had her grandmother been part of the conspiracy? What about her aunt, Faith’s mother? Had she known the truth too?
And Faith. What about her? No, Megan refused to believe that Faith would keep anything like this from her. She was gut-certain of that.
But as for the others . . . Megan didn’t know, didn’t want to believe they were capable of deceiving her this way. But then she would have bet a million dollars that her own father would never have lied to her the way he had.
So what did she really know? That she felt awful, for one thing. That she’d apparently been living in a house of mirrors where nothing was what it seemed.
When a cheerful gum-smacking waitress who had to be well past retirement age moseyed over to take their order, Logan said, “She’ll have the chocolate chip pancakes and I’ll have the oven-baked apple pancakes. And keep the black coffee coming for me.”
“I told you I wasn’t hungry,” Megan said.
“You will be by the time the pancakes come. Thanks, Blanche,” he told the waitress, reading the nametag on her uniform as she poured him his coffee.
Pulling out his iPhone, he focused his attention on Megan. “So tell me about your mother.”
His tone was matter-of-fact. And that irritated her for some reason. Or maybe it was residual leftover aggravation about him disregarding her wishes and ordering her food anyway. She wanted to bang on the table and tell him he wasn’t the boss of her but that would be childish.
Instead she gathered her composure and tried to answer his question as best she could in the circumstances. “She was a mathematician. I was told she died when I was two. I don’t remember her. Tonight I went back to the reception room to get my purse and I overheard my uncle talking to my father. He said