I shook my head. "Oh no, no, no." Just thinking about the mega hot rocker made me weak. How would I react when faced with his long black hair and luminous gray eyes? What if he took off his shirt, like in his videos where his chest gleams with sweat as he makes love to the camera? Oh my God, the mere mention of his name was getting me excited. There was no way I could possibly con this man.
But Bea disagreed. "Oh yes, yes, yes. You don't have any choice, my dear."
"But," I stammered. "Why me? You could play this game with anyone else! Why pick someone who's a huge fan of his music, hasn't conned anyone in years, and hates doing it?"
She drew in a long hissing breath. "Because even though you hate it, you're good at it. And you owe me. So suck it up and do what I tell you."
Damn. I should have known I'd never fully escape my former life. Now I was being forced to swindle Alejandro, no doubt a mortal sin. I knew I'd never be able to forgive myself for what I was about to do.
I took a deep breath and settled back, waiting for Bea to unveil her plan. In the meantime, my brain quietly churned at top speed, hoping to find a way out of this mess.
Bea got comfortable and started to explain. "Since Alejandro collects rare guitars, we're going to sell him one. I understand he owns over fifty already."
I groaned. "So that's where Uncle Carl fits into this." Carl and his wife, Franny, were old grifting friends of Bea's. They owned a music shop where other con artists liked to gather. When I was young, Elle, Jay, and I spent hours in the shop while Carl and Franny planned cons with Bea and all of the other grifters.
Carl spent much of his time in the music shop's back room, where he did instrument repairs and built custom guitars. Known for his beautiful work and detailed craftsmanship, the man could talk endlessly about musical instruments. He lived for his guitars, his art, and his con games. So I knew that the con would involve selling one of Carl's fake guitars to Alejandro.
Bea grinned at me. "See? We make a good team. You already know my plan. Yes, Carl's going to make a guitar for us. And I've got our stories, too. I'm your old mother, moving to a nursing home. You're my daughter, selling my house and getting rid of all my stuff. I had an old friend who was a roadie for some famous bands, and he stashed stuff in my attic before he died. Now that I'm moving, we've discovered all sorts of rare gems up there. We can sell him dozens of fakes."