Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Read online

  Emma picked up the report. “He doesn’t remember what the fight was about.”

  “He’s been kicked in the head a lot,” Frannie said mournfully. “But Sasha left the restaurant crying.” She looked at Sylvie. “Left a perfectly good six-ounce filet and a piece of pie.”

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  I lost all appetite as Detective Ballantine approached our table. Wasn’t one appearance a day from the man enough?

  “Hello, Mr. Ballantine.” Sylvie’s glossed lips curved into a smile, and she all but batted her eyelashes. “What’s got you out and about tonight?”

  “Taking a dinner break. The Bayonet has the best homemade fries in the county.”

  “Should you be taking dinner breaks?” I asked. “There’s a killer on the loose in this town, and you have a crime to solve.”

  “Do I?” He leaned a hand on the back of Sylvie’s chair. “I’m not sure this one is that difficult.”

  “Apparently it is,” I said. “And I’d feel better if you were out on the mean streets, talking to every person who’s stepped foot in Sugar Creek in the last two weeks. We should be searching houses, administering lie detector tests, and waterboarding every suspicious person until we get this thing resolved.”

  His left brow lifted. “We?”

  “You,” I corrected. “Your team. Your people. People who are not me.”

  “You’ve been warned to stay out of this investigation.”

  “I solemnly swear I haven’t waterboarded a single person.” Yet.

  “Did you or did you not visit Phoebe Chen?”

  “I was just checking on her. On behalf of Enchanted Events. And how did you know that? Are you following me?”

  “Are you following Paisley?” Sylvie swatted his hand off her chair. “She has a right to talk to anyone she chooses. It is a free country,” she said. “Thanks to our military. And thanks to women in secret branches of the CIA that often go unrecognized.”

  “You tell him.” Frannie glared.

  Sylvie nodded once. “So if Paisley wants to talk to this Phoebe person, she certainly can. The question, Detective Ballantine, is have you spoken with Phoebe yet? I’m sure you already have, right?”

  His gaze hardened. “She was on my list.”

  “Who else in on that list?” Sylvie asked.

  The detective’s smile was as friendly as an alligator’s. “How about you fill me in on how your little chat with Phoebe went?”

  “It was a good opportunity to console a new friend.” I picked up my water glass and took a drink before saying anything more.

  “You were telling us who else is on this list of yours,” Sylvie prodded.

  “I assure you we’re doing our job, ma’am.” He leveled those intimidating eyes on me. “And stay out of our way while we’re trying to do it.”

  “He wants this case tied up quickly, with a neat bow,” I said as Ballantine sauntered away. “He’s chomping at the bit to read me my rights, throw me in a cell, and call it good.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Emma said.

  I gave the waiter my order, then handed him the menu. “We did find out something interesting from Phoebe.”

  “Do tell.” Emma leaned in.

  “She said Sasha had dirt on all the bridesmaids, and that’s why they stuck around and put up with all her crap.”

  “Must be some serious stuff she held over their heads if they continued to pose as her friends,” Frannie said.

  “But how serious could it be? I mean, this is sweet Phoebe,” Emma said.

  After getting their oath of silence, I quickly explained Phoebe’s anxiety medication shame.

  “That’s such a minor thing to care about.” Frannie grabbed a fry. “So what did the other girls do—cheat on a test or take someone’s parking spot?”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate Sasha,” Emma said. “According to our intern down at city hall, the girls in the sorority house feared her. Her professors kept their distance. During her freshman year she outed a teacher who was moonlighting on weekends in a cross-dressing cabaret.”

  I snagged one of her fries and swooped it through the ketchup. “Would this professor be angry enough to kill?”

  “I dunno,” Emma said. “According to the intern, he left school and is now very happy in Tunica, Mississippi, doing a Marilyn Monroe tribute at the Lucky Jackpot Casino.”

  “That’s no help.”

  “It sounds like Sasha had an uncanny knack for uncovering the most sordid dirt on people,” Frannie said. “The hold she had on her friends should definitely be something we investigate.”

  “So who are we talking to next?” Sylvie asked.

  “I feel like this is a question you already know the answer to,” I said. “A test.”

  “And what’s your answer, shug?”

  “I’d like to talk to Mr. Chandler.”

  “A fine pick.” My grandmother smiled. “Frannie and I will do a little spying on Evan. See what we can dig up.”

  “I’m not sure how to make contact with Mr. Chandler,” I said.

  “That’s where I come in.” Emma stirred her drink. “Chandler Construction is one of our top sponsors for the Mitchell Crawford Gala next Friday, so he’s sure to be at the event. How about I get you a ticket?”

  “As your plus one?”

  “Sorry, my plus one is a hot mayor. But do find yourself a date so you look, you know . . . less stalkery.”

  “Words every single woman loves to hear.”

  “I have a nephew in Little Rock who might be available on short notice,” Frannie said. “He has one lazy eye, four pending paternity suits, and just a touch of that narcolepsy stuff.”

  “Thank you.” Was it too late to cancel my burger and go straight for pie? “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  * * *

  Not having read their book club pick, The Billionaire Boss Who Loved a Curvy Librarian, I left the ladies after dinner and walked to Sylvie’s to get my car. I turned down all offers from the girls for a ride, grateful the mile walk would give me a chance to catch an Ozark sunset and get some much-needed air. But halfway into that trek, that calming air dropped ten degrees, the trees blew with the rising winds, and the sky darkened like a Wes Craven movie as the heavens opened and let the pelting rains fall.

  Of course it would rain on me right now. What better way to end a horrible day? What I wouldn’t give for some sweet LA weather. And an umbrella.

  My feet slipped in my stilettos as I trudged on, my hand over my eyes as a shield from the torrential downpour. I’d left my jacket in the car, and my thin Aerosmith T-shirt didn’t stand a chance against the rain. With my other hand, I held down the back of my skirt, afraid I was about to add indecent exposure to my potential list of crimes. With only a few more blocks to go, I ran the rest of the way, only twisting my ankle twice and nearly stepping on a dead armadillo once. My limbs shivered with cold, and I wasn’t sure all the water drops on my face were from the rain.

  When I finally reached Sylvie’s driveway, I threw open my car door and dove inside. My arms wrapped around me, I rested my head on the steering wheel—grateful for the shelter, for the warmth. Somewhere there was an hourglass of sand, unstoppable and running out of time before the police crowned me most likely to have murdered Sasha Chandler. I wished I’d never come back to Sugar Creek, wished I’d never met Evan Holbrook. He dumped me, ditched me at the altar, and totally humiliated me. Hadn’t I been punished enough? And yet I was still paying for once loving him. Sometimes adulthood was just a series of events to remind you life wasn’t fair. Like breaking a heel on Watie Street while sidestepping roadkill in a pop-up storm.

  I jammed the keys into the ignition and fired up Shirley the Camry. Defrost on full blast, windshield wipers working like gladiators, I backed out of the driveway.

  Until the warning light dinged.

  And the car lurched to the left.

  Crap! I had a flat tire. That had to be it.

  Leaving
the shelter of Shirley, I ran a full circle around the car, the rain slapping at my skin. The driver’s side tires looked fine, but when I got to the passenger side, I knew doom had dropkicked me once again. Both tires were as flat as that armadillo on Watie.

  Dashing back inside, my fingers fumbled with the phone.

  I called Sylvie. Straight to voice mail.

  I called Emma. No answer.

  I called Frannie. No answer.

  I repeated the process three, four more times. They were all probably discussing the chapter in which the billionaire boss kisses the librarian and talks dirty Dewey decimal. My phone call in distress couldn’t compete with that.

  I had no one else to call. Nobody in this world. In this town I never wanted to be back in.

  Except.

  There was one person.

  I picked up my cell phone again and sighed with resignation.

  Because he was my very last hope.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Beau Hudson answered on the third ring.

  “Yeah?”

  My teeth chattered as I pressed the phone to my slick cheek. “Hi, it’s Paisley. I wondered if you were busy and—”

  “Are you okay? Paisley, are you okay? I can barely hear you.”

  The rain pounded the roof of my car. “I’m stranded at Sylvie’s with two flat tires. Do you think you could—”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I closed my eyes, dissolved into the seat, and let myself appreciate the moment of being taken care of. With my luck, it wouldn’t last long, and I wanted to savor the rare gift. I’d been on my own since I left Sugar Creek, barely old enough to drive. These last few years had been the worst, living month to month with a sporadic income, chasing empty promises and paralyzing disappointments. There was no one in Los Angeles looking out for me. Few I could count on. I didn’t miss that part of my life back in California.

  Ten minutes later a familiar truck pulled up, and Beau limped out, the rain still falling as though it was angry at the world. He held a dark umbrella with one hand and a flashlight with the other. I watched him stoop down and make a thorough inspection of the tires before opening my car door. He’d yet to shave, and his stubble was fast approaching beard status, which was an unexpected addition to his manly appeal.

  “What happened to you?” He stood there and let his eyes slowly roam over me, as if we both weren’t getting completely soaked again.

  “I had a little run-in with Mother Nature.” I grabbed my purse.

  “I’d say she won.” With a hand lightly holding my upper arm, Beau helped me to my feet. “Nothing you can do about your tires tonight. I’ll take you on home.”

  As Beau gallantly held the umbrella over my head, I hobbled beside him to the waiting truck and opened the passenger side.

  Where a pretty blonde sat in the front seat.

  Beau stared blankly for a moment, as if she were a surprise to him too. “Oh, yeah. Paisley, why don’t you hop in the back,” he suggested, then pulled open the door. “Easy there.”

  His arm came around me when my broken shoe slipped, and my eyes met his for a brief moment, rain dripping off both of us. I climbed inside and Beau jumped into the driver’s seat, only to reach into the back and grab a denim shirt. “Here. It’s mostly clean. Throw this on.”

  Slipping my arms into the sleeves, I resisted holding the material to my nose and inhaling the scent of it. “Hi, I’m Paisley.” I leaned toward the mystery date. “Beau’s neighbor. I’m really sorry if I interrupted your evening.”

  “It’s okay,” the woman said, but her smile didn’t quite reach her brown doe eyes, which were highlighted by the most perfect winged black eyeliner. I was pretty sure any eyeliner I had left was smudged all over my cheeks like tribal war paint.

  I remained in Poised for Conversation Posture for a full minute before settling back in my seat when no further chitchat came. Beau’s friend didn’t seem interested in small talk.

  “Paisley, this is Haley Madewell,” Beau finally said, breaking the silence.

  She certainly was made well. While I resembled a woman tossed overboard, Haley wore a slender sundress that revealed toned arms and a golden tan. Her hair had not been assaulted by the sudden storm, and it lay in gentle, thick waves down her back. She was no bigger than a size two, and she looked like the type who routinely forgot to eat lunch—and told people about it. I disliked her immediately.

  “Nice to meet you.” I pulled Beau’s shirt tighter around me.

  Beau turned at the stop sign. “Haley’s dad owns Madewell Grocery, a chain of stores all over the state.”

  Ah, so a trust fund baby. Nothing impressive about riding on your parents’ coattails.

  “And she’s finishing up her PhD in biochemistry at U of A Med School in Little Rock.”

  Oh.

  “How nice,” I said as a droplet slid from my hair and plopped on my nose.

  “You might remember Paisley from a band. The Electric Femmes?”

  At that the woman turned. “Oh, my gosh! You know Jaz?”

  I shoved a swath of hair out of my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

  “It must’ve been an incredible experience to work with such a legend.” Haley didn’t even bother to temper her awe. “What a gifted singer she is.”

  “Paisley’s gifted as well,” Beau said quietly. “She’s got a voice that could rival Adele’s.”

  My head lifted, and my heart caught. Beau’s gaze landed on mine from his rearview mirror.

  A cell phone trilled from the front seat, and the moment was over. But there for a few seconds, I was someone besides Paisley the Screw Up.

  A few minutes later Beau pulled into our driveway, and I bid him and his girlfriend goodbye. “Thank you for the ride. Sorry to interrupt your date.”

  I exited the truck as gracefully as a one-heeled drowned kitten could, only to find Beau at my side holding his umbrella.

  “You don’t have to walk me to the door.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” His hand pressed at my back.

  “Ridiculous is your lack of shaving.” Though I didn’t mean it.

  He took my house keys and opened the front door. “Ridiculous is your shoe choices.”

  “Like I knew I’d be doing a little track and field tonight.”

  He flicked on the living room lights. “Go change into something dry.”

  I stood in a puddle on the hardwood floor. “You don’t like this look?”

  His eyes slid over my wet form. “The look is . . . fine.” He cleared his throat and glanced elsewhere. “What I don’t like is the way you’re shivering.”

  Beau’s voice was as rough as magnolia tree bark. But I still smiled. “Beneath all that gruff, you’re a good man, Beauregard.”

  “Go change, Paisley.”

  “I will. Bye now.”

  “I’m not leaving just yet. I’m going to check out the house first.”

  “Why?”

  “Make sure you don’t have any leaks.” At my frown he added, “It’s an old house. It happens.”

  “Your date is waiting.”

  “She’s fine. She’s used to interruptions.”

  With the skeletal remains of my heels in hand, I sloshed back to my bedroom, peeled off my clothes, and slipped on a T-shirt and shorts that fit my only requirement of being dry.

  Padding out to the living room in my bare feet, I found Beau coming from the kitchen.

  “Any leaks?” I asked.

  “Didn’t find any.” He frowned. “Paisley, there’s no fixing those tires.”

  “Come on, they’ll be fine. Is Gus still down at Delta’s Garage? He can fix anything.”

  “Not this time.”

  “But I can’t afford new tires right now. I just need a little patch to hold me over until—”

  “Your tires were slashed.”

  “Slashed?” Lightning cracked outside and rattled the windows. “As in with a knife?”

  “Something like that.”


  “Someone intentionally cut my tires? This is Sugar Creek, for crying out loud. That doesn’t happen here.”

  “Maybe Sylvie’s security cameras will pick up the perpetrator. Probably just kids.” But Beau didn’t sound so convinced.

  “Or someone wanting to send me a message.”

  “To stop wearing high heels and sparkles?”

  “To stop nosing around. That’s a classic mystery movie plot. Girl gets accused of a murder she didn’t commit. When she starts talking to people connected to the case, the killer gets mad. So he tries to scare her into keeping quiet.”

  “Or it’s just kids.”

  “I talked to Phoebe Chen today. Maybe someone saw me at her place.”

  “I think you’re reading way too much into this.” He checked the locks on my living room windows. “What did Phoebe say?”

  I quickly filled him in as he walked down the hall, his boots thunking on the hardwood. “Where are you going?”

  “To your bedroom.”

  I followed right behind him. “If this is a cleaning inspection for Sylvie, I will fail.”

  He turned around, and I nearly collided into his chest. “Leaks, remember? Go back to the living room.”

  “No,” I said. “My bathroom’s a mess.”

  “Am I going to find unmentionables hanging from weird places?”

  My gosh, his eyes could still distract me from any rational thought. “Maybe.” His smile lit those baby blues, and any lingering chill from the rain steamed away. “You’re not checking for leaks, are you, Beau?”

  He turned on his heel and walked into my bedroom.

  “You’re checking to make sure no one’s in the house because you know it wasn’t just a coincidence that my tires were slashed.” I stood in the middle of my sunshine yellow bedroom as Beau inspected the windows. He moved on to the bathroom before coming back out and peering beneath the bed.

  “Is this a framed picture of me under here?” He stood and dusted off his pants.