Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 12

  “Only if it has darts stuck to it.”

  His lips quirked. “I’ll take your car to the tire shop tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” I walked to the man, his scent a faint caress on my skin. Reaching up on tiptoe, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  Beau’s smile slipped away, his face impassive. “If you need anything else, call—”

  “Sylvie?”

  “You can call me. You know that.”

  “I do need one more thing.”

  He already looked suspicious.

  My hair dripped on the tops of my bare feet. “Are you going to the gala for Mitchell Crawford?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Because you’re a big landowner. He’s a big rancher. You used to work on his ranch in high school, right? I thought you two might be friends.”

  “We are friends, but I don’t do galas.”

  “Don’t have the right dress to wear?”

  “You got a smart mouth on you, Sutton.”

  “I have an extra ticket if you’d like to go.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Organizing my tackle box.”

  “I get it. You’re dating someone, and it would be weird.” Beau didn’t deny it, and I sensed he was ready to get out of my crazy, drippy presence. “Sometime you’ll have to tell me about your lady friend out there.”

  He shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “It’s complicated.”

  “What other kind of relationship is there?”

  “Goodnight.” His eyes lingered on mine for three patters of my heart before he moved to the door. “Oh, and Paisley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lock your doors.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The incessant knocking on my door Saturday morning woke me up hours before I was ready to rise.

  I checked the peephole, then eased open the door.

  “What are you doing on my front porch at this unholy hour?” I yawned and rubbed my bleary eyes.

  Sylvie slipped past me carrying two coffees and a brown bag from Bugle Boy Bagels. “It’s ten o’clock. Either you’re still on rock-and-roll time, or somebody spent the night with a bottle in one hand and a lampshade in the other.” She blew a kiss my way. “Either way, I don’t judge. As long as you give me details. And party pics.”

  I shut the door with a loud thud. “There was no party. I didn’t sleep last night.” I held up a hand before Sylvie could get in a wisecrack. “And not for glamorous reasons.”

  “Were you lying alone in your empty bed all night yearning for a tall, dark, handsome, military-serving, outdoor-retreat-owning neighbor?”

  I reached for one of the coffees and took a hot sip. “No. No, that is not what kept me up. And seriously, you have got to start reading something besides smutty romance.”

  “I read sci-fi for a bit, but people got tired of me asking about their quasars and wormholes.”

  More coffee. This conversation definitely required more coffee.

  “Well, that hot neighbor of yours was over at my house bright and early to get your car. Said he was taking it to Delta’s Garage and would have it back to you by this afternoon.” Sylvie wiggled her eyebrows. “One second he’s taking care of your automotive needs, the next he’ll be taking care of your—”

  “No, there is nothing between Beau and me. And there’s not going to be. In fact, he’s got a girlfriend.”

  She snarled her pink lips. “That Haley girl? All brains and boobs and no personality. They’ve been off and on for over a year. You can take her.”

  “I have no intentions of competing.”

  “Want me to make her disappear? Call some of my Italian friends?”

  “That’s a no. What’s in the bag?”

  Sylvie set the food on the granite counter in the kitchen. “Bugle Boy Bagels’ famous Bull Run Croissants. Egg, pepper-jack cheese, thick-cut bacon from the Miller farm, and their own special sauce on a homemade croissant.” She unwrapped one and handed it to me. “I haven’t had a croissant this good since I went undercover as a poetry-writing Parisian cocaine smuggler in ’84.”

  I smiled at the familiar tale. Some kids grew up with fairy tales for bedtime stories. My grandma had lulled me to sleep with gruesomely vivid details of her CIA escapades.

  “So why the puffy eyes this morning?” Sylvie inched her way onto a yellow barstool.

  “Just anxious, I guess. I didn’t have two flat tires last night. I had two slashed tires.”

  Sylvie slowly lowered her coffee cup. “Intrigue.”

  “And you’re not going to get involved.”

  “I have a friend in Mexico who’s created a security system that can shoot dynamite straight at an intruder’s tochus.”

  Lord only knew how they’d product-tested that one. “Not interested.”

  “He has another model that propels fire ants—”

  “Remind me why you stopped by this morning?”

  “Fine.” She let herself fume for another moment before speaking. “I thought you might need a ride.”

  “To where?”

  “The salon.”

  “I don’t have a salon appointment.”

  “You do now.”

  I touched the tips of my messy ponytail. “Why?”

  “I have it on good authority that Raven Arnett will be there for her cut and color.” She consulted her silver watch. “And frankly, those grown-out highlights of yours need to go, so I pulled a favor and got you in with my boy Armando.” She blew on her steaming coffee. “I promised him a signed photo of Jay Z. I do hope you can get that for him.”

  A half hour later, it was already hot enough to melt butter and wake up the mosquitos when I got in the car with Sylvie. She drove us to her salon, which occupied the entire second floor above Easley’s Hardware Store.

  “When did Sugar Creek graduate from beauty shops to salons?” I followed Sylvie up the wooden stairwell.

  “Since Armando moved to town last year. He’s a true artist. No poodle perms allowed in his shop.”

  I carried my doubts with me as we stepped inside, but they soon vanished into the cedar beams above us. The salon was designed in a loft style with cottage wooden accents contrasting against a color palette of hot pink and metallics. R&B competed with the sounds of scissors snipping and gossip percolating.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Sutton.” A young woman behind a marble counter smiled at my grandmother.

  “Good morning, Gretchen,” Sylvie said. “You’re looking beautiful as ever.” She leaned toward the girl. “And thanks for the hot tip.”

  Gretchen, dressed in black pants and lacy top, had model-gorgeous blonde hair and looked as though she frequently dined on ice cubes and lettuce leaves. She adjusted her tortoise-rimmed glasses and turned her gaze to me. “Welcome to Ratify. Can I get you an organic, responsibly sourced coffee, or perhaps a fruit-infused water? Today’s selection is mango-peach.”

  What had become of my humble little hometown? I remembered getting my hair cut as a child a half-mile away at Maida Pearl’s Shears and Beers. Part beauty salon, part liquor store, the place eventually added a third component of tattoos before Maida retired at the age of eighty-five.

  “Nothing for me,” I said, still trying to take in the scenery. This salon could easily hold its own in Los Angeles.

  “Would you like to start with your manicure or pedicure?”

  Sylvie stretched her neck to peer toward the back of the salon. “She’ll start with a pedi.” My grandmother rested her hand on my back. “Go enjoy yourself. Relax.” Her lips hovered near my ear. “And by relax, I mean interrogate.”

  “Right this way, please.” With a dainty hand, Gretchen motioned me to follow. “Sylvie took the liberty of picking your color.” She handed it to me as we walked, and I read the color label: Magenta-men Prefer Redheads.

  “Here we are.” Gretchen stopped by a pedicure chair that looked nearly space-age. “Lilac
, here, will take great care of you.”

  “Welcome! Your first time at Ratify?” Lilac was a good half-foot shorter than Gretchen, but at least twice her weight. “Sit. Sit. We give you best seat in house. I listen to your band all the time when I young. ‘Caged in a Love Zoo’ was Lilac’s makeout song, you know?”

  “That’s so . . . nice to hear.”

  She nodded like her head was caught in a spasm. “You still sing?”

  I picked up the chair remote and mashed one of the fifty buttons. “Not as much as I used to.”

  “Too bad. That too bad. But Jaz real big star now, no?”

  “Yes. She’s a very big star.”

  And my own star had flickered ’til it eventually flamed out.

  I searched for Raven and was finally rewarded minutes later when I saw her being escorted my way. Another Ratify staff member, who could’ve been Lilac’s twin brother, led her right to the empty chair beside mine. Her hair freshly cut and blown-out to shiny perfection, Raven eased into the cushy seat and placed her nail polish bottle on the table between us. Her nail tech turned on the bubble jets to Raven’s footbath and chattered with Lilac in a language I didn’t understand.

  “Love that shade you picked.” I nodded toward Raven’s bottle of polish.

  She startled as if I’d pulled her from a deep thought. “Oh.” Recognition tightened her features. “Hello.”

  “Deciding on a color stresses me out. I stand in front of that wall of choices and deliberate like it’s life-or-death.”

  Her smile was indulgent and forced. “Me too.”

  Lilac massaged my left foot, and I briefly closed my eyes and breathed in the bliss. “So, Raven . . . how are you doing?”

  Raven watched Lilac’s twin at her feet. “I’m fine.”

  “I know it must be hard.”

  She took a sip of her fruity water. “I’m getting by.”

  “Tell me, if you were a betting person, who would you put money on as the prime suspect?” So far, finesse was not my strong point in this crime-solving gig.

  Raven let her head fall into the cushion behind it. “At the moment, you’re my first guess.”

  Understandable. “Let’s talk about your runner-up.”

  “I’m not sure.” Raven spoke slow and deliberate, as if her lips were too lazy to fully participate. “Lots of people hated Sasha, but I can’t imagine any of them being cold-blooded killers.”

  Well, of course they could. It was how Lifetime movies got made. “Maybe Sasha finally pushed someone too far.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Where were you at the time of the murder?”

  Raven set down her drink with a thunk. “I’ve already told Detective Ballantine.”

  “Just for kicks, tell me.”

  “I was at work.”

  “And where is that?”

  “An attorney’s office in Fayetteville. On that day I was doing research for one of the lawyers.”

  “Where?”

  “The Sugar Creek Library.”

  “Why not use Fayetteville’s or the university’s?”

  Her bland facial expression matched her monotone. “Because our library had what I needed.”

  “Can anyone verify you were there?”

  “I went alone.”

  “Interesting.”

  She straightened in her seat. “What does that mean?”

  I didn’t know. It just seemed like the Jessica Fletcher thing to say.

  “You have pretty feet,” Lilac’s twin said to Raven. “You want sugar scrub, honey? Make skin real soft.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Raven returned her attention to me.

  “Did anyone see you while you were doing this . . . research?”

  “I’m not certain.” She didn’t act like she cared.

  “Phoebe said Sasha had dirt on everyone she knew, and especially the bridesmaids. What was she holding over your head, Raven?”

  “Nothing.” She frowned as her nail tech coughed behind his mask.

  “How close would you say you were to Sasha?” I asked.

  “Close enough to be her bridesmaid.” Her exasperation was as loud as the neon polish she’d chosen.

  “Had you known her long?”

  “I already told you we met during our sorority rush. Look, can I just sit here and enjoy my pedicure? I’ve worked a million hours this week, my friend just passed away, and I’m starting to get a migraine.”

  “Yes, sure. Of course.” I could feel the sweat beading beneath my armpits. This sort of thing stressed me out. How did Sylvie do it all these years? And yet, I still hadn’t learned any new information. “Can I ask you one last thing?”

  Raven’s exasperated huff could’ve lifted the beams from the ceiling. “Yes?”

  “My life is on the line here. I’m being accused of murdering a person I did not even know. So if I’m being obnoxiously nosy, it’s because I don’t want to go to prison for a crime someone else committed. If you were me, who would you focus on? Who would be your prime suspect?”

  Lilac and her brother stopped chattering, and their hands stilled.

  Raven inspected a pinky nail, her French manicure glossy and white. “I don’t know. I guess if I had to choose, I’d say Professor Carson Fielding.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s an art professor at the college.”

  “Why would I talk to him?”

  She pulled her feet from the hands of the wide-eyed tech and shoved them into some flip-flops. “That’s enough. I have to go before this headache gets any uglier.”

  “But what’s this professor got to do with—”

  It was too late.

  With three toenails painted, Raven hobbled off, threw some cash at the front desk, and blasted out the door.

  Lilac’s brother propped a hand on one hip. “She no like my pedicure?”

  “I don’t know what that was,” I said. “But I’m definitely going to find out.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When Sylvie dropped me off many hours later, Shirley the Camry—washed clean and shining in the dimming sun—sat proudly in my driveway with two new tires. That Beau Hudson sure was swell. Who would’ve thought?

  Telling myself I was only giving the wheels a test, I got in and drove to the edge of town until I came upon a crooked dirt road that took me over a one-lane bridge, past three dairy farms, two chicken houses, and a log cabin that used to belong to a white-haired widow who liked her tobacco. Jostling over a rusted cattle guard, I drove under a sign that read Fox Falls and followed the worn gravel path. Green fields and trees as far as the eye could see. It reminded me of the Irish countryside a bit, one of my favorite touring stops. I meandered for another mile before I saw a group on four-wheelers zooming toward the sunset. Another quarter of a mile, and I met some guys pulling a boat, no doubt headed out for some night fishing.

  Finally a two-story brick and stone structure that said Fox Falls Lodge came into view, and I pulled into a small adjacent parking lot.

  The inside of the lodge looked like a grown-up tree house. Natural wood everywhere and huge windows that took up entire walls so the outside could come in. Antler chandeliers hung suspended from a planked ceiling, and paintings of wildlife adorned pine walls.

  My polka-dotted espadrilles slip-slipped on the hardwood floor as I made my way to the front desk. Beau stood behind the natural stone counter, talking to three guys decked out in what appeared to be brand-new hiking gear. They were almost too stylish, as if looking like hikers was more important than actually being hikers.

  “So if you come to the point where Sugar Creek meets Lee River, you know you’ve come about a half-mile too far.” His voice sounded weary, as if he’d already explained this a few times. “Happens a lot.”

  “Do we get cell reception out there?” A redheaded guy asked. “I need to FaceTime with Tokyo at seven.”

  Beau pressed his lips together in a smile. “Not likely.”

  “This wasn’t in the broc
hure.”

  “You’re in the middle of the woods,” Beau said. “Mother Nature’s gonna interfere with cell towers.”

  “Any wild animals out there?” another man asked.

  “Probably.”

  Redhead looked up from his phone. “Also not in the brochure.”

  “It’s a good night for camping,” Beau said. “The fish are biting, it’s a full moon, and the humidity’s dropped a bit. Stick to your maps, keep your food supply off the ground, take lots of water breaks, and you should be fine.”

  The threesome grumbled as they walked away, each of them tapping furiously on cell phones as if they were breaking up with technology forever.

  I stepped forward. “I’d like the four-wheeler tour. But you can’t mess up my hair, I don’t want any bugs to touch me, I expect complimentary drinks, and it had better be air-conditioned.”

  Beau scrubbed a hand over his face and laughed. “We’re all sold out of the Princess Package today. What else can I get you?” He leaned his tanned arms on the counter, fatigue shadowing his eyes. “Can I rent you a cabin for all your hunting needs?”

  “I only hunt in malls.”

  His smile deepened. “Need a fishing guide?”

  “Not the least bit tempting.”

  “Maybe some archery in the back forty?”

  “Is that where you dispose of people you don’t like?”

  Beau watched me for a moment, then walked around the counter until he stood before me, leaving little space between us. I thought about that space. I didn’t seem to mind him standing in it, and that did not bode well.

  His voice was as easy as the breeze outside. “So tell me how can I help you.”

  “You already have.” My fingers itched to brush that shock of hair from his forehead, and he’d yet to shave. “I wanted to thank you for getting my car fixed.” I reached into my purse and extracted a folded check. “I called Delta’s to find out how much it was.”

  “Keep it.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Consider it my welcome-to-the-neighborhood present.”

  “You know I can’t let you buy my tires.”

  “The deal is done.”

  I stood there juggling pride, gratefulness, and a healthy dose of attraction I needed to ignore. “Thank you.” He knew I was broke. Everyone in town knew I was broke. “I’ll just have to find some ways to repay the kindness.”