Royally In Trouble Page 16

  “You would be wrong there. He and I are”—what exactly were we?—“good friends. I’m aware of the details of the ambush that got him an honorable military discharge and a medal or two.”

  “You can account for his every day, his every year since he left Sugar Creek as a teenager?”

  “No, but—”

  “Paisley, he has motive.”

  “Because of something that happened twelve years ago? You have to admit it’s not a strong one. And other people have motive as well.”

  “Like who?”

  “There were at least four other people in the general vicinity of Trace that night.”

  Matt sat back in his chair, getting comfortable. “Let’s hear your thoughts.”

  “Nathan might’ve been tired of Trace as a business partner.”

  “Possibly, but I haven’t heard anything to that effect, and that’s pretty weak. Why wouldn’t he just cut ties?”

  I wasn’t ready to reveal our affair theory. “He’s also super defensive of Rebecca.”

  “As is Ida Alderson if you talk to her, as well as Cameron, and any of the crew who’ve joined them in Tulsa. People love Rebecca. She’s the silent partner who mothers them all and takes care of their every need. What else have you got?”

  “There’s Cameron.”

  I could see from Matt’s wry grin he had a pretty clear picture of the quirky Cam. “You think he’s capable of murder? He can barely remember to tie his shoes.”

  “I would hate for an innocent man to be charged with murder just because the police didn’t keep an open mind.”

  “Point taken.” Matt sobered. “Continue.”

  “Cam was obsessed with Trace. Idolized the man.”

  “Would you kill your idol?”

  “You might if he consistently treated you like an unpaid servant, a nuisance. Trace wasn’t exactly the kindest to Cam. Maybe Cam got sick of it, seeing it was getting him nowhere in being a part of the core cast.”

  “It’s definitely an angle we’re looking at.”

  “One time Jaz had a stalker, and while the man claimed he loved her more than anyone, he also eventually made death threats and went to prison.”

  Matt rested his hands in his lap as the waitress brought our plates. “Obsession can definitely make someone do horrible things.”

  “And Cam apparently learned how to be quite the knife thrower in Muskogee.”

  He paused in picking up his fork. “Is that a fact?”

  “But I’m sure you’ve already talked to folks Cam’s previously worked with.”

  “Right.” Matt speared a bite of cucumber. “One thing to remember though is everyone stepped in wherever they were needed. They were basically all cross-trained. There are few faire skills your core group couldn’t do—including hitting a target with a knife.”

  He had a valid point there. “Rex Alderson was in proximity of the cast tent.”

  Matt neither confirmed nor denied this. “What do you know about Rex?” he asked.

  “Not much. Nice guy. Been with the core faire group a while. He and his wife are good cooks. If Rebecca’s the troupe’s mother, they’re the grandparents.”

  “You don’t have a theory for motive for him? I’m a little disappointed.”

  “That’s one I’m going to have to work on. But feel free to fill in some blanks for me here. This conversation feels a little one sided.”

  Matt chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling with every flicker of the candle on the table. His short-cropped hair barely moved in the evening breeze as the last of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. His lips weren’t as full as Beau’s, and though he was easily a good eight or nine inches taller than my five-foot-two, Beau stood taller, broader.

  Not that it mattered!

  Picking up my knife, I sliced a thin piece of steak. “Then there’s Rebecca.”

  “Ah,” Matt said, “the grieving widow.”

  “Is she? Trace was clearly having an affair with Angela, so what if Rebecca was fed up with his cheating ways? The man was a total player.” I told him about the showdown between Rebecca and Angela last Saturday morning.

  Matt took a few notes on his phone before giving me his full attention again. “Anything else I need to know about?”

  “I wouldn’t count Angela out as the murderer.”

  “We’re not counting anybody out, but to play devil’s advocate, she loved Trace. She could barely get through her statement for sobbing.”

  “She’s also an actress.”

  “Angela comes into the station every day to see if we’ve made any progress on the case.”

  “Because she’s trying to throw you off?”

  “So far it’s pretty effective. What’s her motive, Detective Sutton?”

  That kind of had a nice ring to it. “Maybe she did love Trace, but what if she realized he wasn’t going to leave Rebecca? That she truly was just another woman in a long string of affairs?”

  “It’s possible,” Matt said. “Love can make people do things they regret.”

  I could certainly testify to that. “But then again, it really did seem like Trace intended to leave Rebecca.”

  “Why do you say that?” Matt pierced a bite of potato.

  “He’d served her with divorce papers.”

  Matt’s silver fork stilled, and his mouth ceased chewing. “Where’d you get that idea?”

  “That’s what Angela said when she lit into Rebecca.”

  “Have you looked up the legal filing? It’s public.”

  “No.”

  “Trace isn’t the one who filed for divorce, Paisley.” He wiped his lips with his napkin before resting it on the table. “Rebecca Hudson did.”

  23

  Friday mornings and rain did not go together.

  The week sped by on Formula One tires, as I’d taken on events that would’ve normally gone to Alice, working late almost every night. When Matt had suggested a moonlit walk along the creek shore last night, I’d begged off, desperate to catch a little sleep. I’d need it for the weekend, which would probably be nonstop Renaissance business.

  Stepping off my front porch, I opened my red and white polka dot umbrella and made my way to the car—just as Beau pulled into the driveway. I didn’t have to glance at my watch to know it was six-thirty, a time he normally shuffled out the door.

  Rushing toward my Camry like it was the last lifeboat off the Titanic, I cringed when Beau called my name. I pointed my key fob like a magic wand, listening for my glitchy car to unlock, pretending not to have heard his voice.

  “Paisley, wait.”

  A light mist pitter-pattered on my cute rain boots as I swiveled to face him. “Good morning.” I forced the words out, then clamped my lips before “Did you sleep over at Haley Jo’s?” followed.

  Beau looked as exhausted as I felt. Indifferent to the elements, he stood before me, letting the rain fall on his hair, his clothes, and that weary, touchable face.

  “I guess you had a late night.” I heard myself say. So much for self-control.

  “It wasn’t really my choice.”

  Cryptic. I did so love a man who spoke in code—SAID NO WOMAN EVER. “I guess you and Haley Jo enjoyed your evening.”

  “It was fine. And your date with . . .what’s his name?”

  Like he didn’t know. “Matt. His name is Matt.”

  “Yeah, how was that?”

  “Fabulous,” I said. “The best. It was like the crème brulée of dates.” I yawned for effect. “So tired though. I also stayed up pretty late . . .” I let my voice trail. “. . .talking.”

  I could’ve sworn I saw that muscle in Beau’s jaw twitch. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

  “Yep. Matt’s a total gentleman, a great conversationalist, and—I’m happy to report—does not possess one serial killer vibe about him.”

  “I didn’t say he was a serial killer. I just said—”

  “He’s harmless. In fact, I felt safer in his presence than in my own home
. So strong and muscular—with ample access to Kevlar.”

  Beau’s lips barely moved. “Great.”

  “And how’s Haley Jo?”

  “She’s . . .going through some stuff.”

  Like love and other maladies? “Her family must be missing her back home. When did you say she was leaving?”

  “It’s kind of up in the air.”

  And dependent on what—his acquiescence to rejoin her on the dark side? “Okay, well, I’ll see you later—”

  “You gonna invite me under that umbrella or just leave me standing in the rain?”

  “I really need to get to work.” I startled when he dipped beneath the canopy, took the handle from my hands, and held it over us both.

  He stood so close, I had to lean back so my nose wouldn’t press into his shirt. “I’m not through talking,” he said.

  Memories intruded of one unexpected kiss beside a copy of Warren Buffet. “By all means, say what you need to say. I don’t have a festival to get to or anything.”

  He had the nerve to smile. “I was hoping you’d have some coffee.”

  “You should’ve gotten your fix at Haley Jo’s.”

  He breathed in, nudging closer. “I didn’t sleep over at her cabin.”

  The umbrella formed a bubble around us, blocking out the world, shielding me from everything except Beau and the massive potential for heartbreak. “I didn’t ask.”

  “But you wanted to know.”

  I pulled my gaze from his red t-shirt, meeting his eyes with a look of indifference I’d later be proud I’d accomplished. “I did not.”

  Beau’s laugh was slight, his minty breath fanning on my cheek. “Did your new boyfriend have any updates on the case?”

  “Can I have my umbrella back?”

  “Not until you answer me.”

  “Matt isn’t able to discuss the case.” Though I did let Beau in on the detail of Rebecca filing for the divorce.

  “Interesting,” Beau said. “That’s all you got out of the date?”

  “I happened to get a lot out of the date.” Take that, Beauregard! “But nothing more about the investigation.”

  Beau’s dark brow lifted slowly, his eyes fused to mine, and my heart kicked up the tempo as his warm chest pressed near. “Did you talk to Rex at the restaurant?”

  “No.” I licked my lips, my mouth dry, my voice cracking like a teenage boy’s. “I didn’t see him.”

  “I spoke with the restaurant manager, and Rex has been working there for about a month.”

  “I still don’t find that relevant.”

  “Why does he need two jobs?”

  “Because nobody can afford to retire these days?”

  “The guy’s hiding something. I’m going to check into that.”

  “You do that. But I think you’re wasting your time. You could be talking to your aunt Rebecca instead.”

  “I don’t even know her.”

  “You have Trace in common.”

  A rogue droplet lit on my cheek, and Beau reached out, his finger sliding across my skin as he slowly swiped it away. “Paisley?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not sleeping with Haley Jo.”

  I let the words drop like a pinball in my mind, letting them roll around and bump against other loud, dinging, contrary thoughts. Then decided I didn’t really believe them.

  I patted the solid wall of his chest. “Whatever you say, big guy.”

  He laughed again, and I jerked my umbrella out of his grip.

  “Be careful if you’re snooping around today.” Beau said as a rumble of thunder shook the ground. “It’s hard to know who to trust.”

  * * *

  A hospitality tent sat at the north end of the faire grounds, a maroon striped structure with a green flag that twitched and jerked in the breeze. It was a place where the cast, workers, and volunteers could gather in the mornings and throughout the day to touch up makeup, take a break, or eat a meal. There were plastic tables and chairs, and I kept a constant supply of fresh fruit, granola bars, and cold drinks. It wasn’t the coolest location, but it was a nice spot to step out of character for a few minutes and get away from the crowd.

  Currently, it was also serving as a shelter for the rain that was thankfully dwindling by the minute.

  “I’m not saying you’re boring, Paisley.” Sylvie stood beside me in her regal costume as I typed out a text to Henry. “I’m saying your date details are dull.”

  “Yeah,” Frannie said. “Not once did we hear the words kissing, canoodling, or back seat hanky-panky.”

  Sylvie shook her head sorrowfully. “The Good Book says to train them up in the way they should go.” She cut me with a side eye. “Where did we go wrong?”

  I shoved my phone into the pocket of my leather bag. “Sorry for the disappointment.”

  “Will you see him again?” Frannie asked.

  “Probably.” Matt had already texted a sweet message after our date and asked if I wanted to go to a concert on Sunday night. Unfortunately, with Alice off, I had to work, but I promised him lunch next week.

  “I’ve been assigned to help out with the knife throwing game,” Sylvie said. “It was kind of a letdown when I learned we wouldn’t be lobbing them at actual people.”

  Frannie nudged her friend. “Just like the good ol’ days, eh?”

  Nathan walked into the tent, looking dapper in a white gauzy shirt, black pants, and a maroon cape embellished with jewels. He held a matching hat in one hand and a large box in the other. “Bagels from Bugle Boy Bagels as we wait until the weather clears.”

  Rex and Ida walked in behind him. “And coffee from Renaissance Brews.”

  The crowd seemed to multiply, and attitudes visibly cheered as the group flocked toward them.

  “Ida has an airtight alibi,” Sylvie said, watching the woman in her matching skirt and vest help distribute food. “She was with someone the entire night of the dinner theater.”

  “What does your gut say about Rex?” I asked.

  “My gut says I’m ready for a bagel.” Frannie moved toward the eats. “Hope they brought some of that fancy cream cheese.”

  A movement in my peripheral caught my eye, and I smiled at the young man hovering in the entrance. “Cam!” I waved him over, watching his eyes dart rapidly as if waiting for someone to protest his reappearance. “Welcome back. You’re just in time for breakfast.”

  His gaze skittered over the crowd. “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  “Absolutely.” I snagged Nathan as he walked by. “Look who’s here.”

  The bank president strode to us with a welcoming grin. “Good to see you, son. We could sure use your help.”

  “I didn’t kill Trace.” His eyes pooled with tears. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  Nathan clapped him on the back. “I didn’t think you did. Now, how about we put you to work?”

  “Before you head off, I’d like to speak to both of you if I could,” I said.

  Frannie and Sylvie circled in.

  “We talked to John Barowitz from the Muskogee Renaissance faire.” I watched Cam’s face for a reaction.

  “Oh,” he said. “How’s he doing?”

  Frannie sighed. “Handsomely well.”

  “Would you like to tell us about your time there?” Sylvie asked.

  Cam’s shoulders rounded in a defeated slump. “I could. But I’d be telling you stuff you already know, wouldn’t I?”

  This kid was no dummy. “Did you steal Muskogee’s plan for their future faire design?”

  He chewed on a fingernail with no small amount of aggression. “It was a mistake. But Trace promised me he wouldn’t copy it. He said he just wanted to see what the competition was doing so they could top it.”

  “You shared Muskogee’s plans with Trace?” Nathan sounded like a scolding father.

  “I’ve regretted it ever since. I know I betrayed John and the Muskogee clan. But I truly didn’t think the plans would be used.”

 
; “Are they being used?” Sylvie asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Nathan said. “But now I don’t know. Trace hired this Goldberg consulting to help him. I’d have to see those blueprints Cam copied to compare. If there are similarities, we’ll revamp them, of course.”

  “I deleted all the files I had,” Cam said. “We’d have to check Trace’s computers and devices.”

  “The police have them,” Frannie said. “They probably won’t give them back for a while.”

  “I was just trying to be a help.” Desperate was often the tone Cam employed when referring to Trace. “But now you think it makes me suspicious.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Frannie said.

  “You think someone who’s rogue enough to steal top secret faire plans could be immoral enough to kill. But after I copied those blueprints, I swore off a life of crime. I promise, I haven’t even jaywalked since that time. And when I find my phone, I’m going to clear my sullied name.”

  “No one’s accusing you.” Nathan studied his over-eager helper. “But did anyone else among our group know you stole the plans? Anyone holding that over your head or using them against Trace?”

  “No one else knew. I thought I’d go to my grave with that burden.”

  “Paisley, I assure you I certainly wasn’t aware of this,” Nathan said. “I left the creative aspects to Trace and just crunched numbers. I had no reason to distrust my partner with this matter, but whether he used these designs or not, Trace crossed a line.”

  If Nathan was lying, he was doing a remarkable job.

  I shifted the conversation back to Cam. “Mr. Barowitz did brag on you though, Cam.

  He brightened at that. “He did?”

  “He said you were an expert knife thrower. Barowitz acted like he really missed your talent.”

  Cam’s face went white as the tent next door. “But. . .but I’ve never used that skill to hurt anyone. And we’ve all done our time working the knife tossing game.”

  “Do you recall who trained you years ago?” I asked.

  “Absolutely” He waved to someone across the tent. “It was Rebecca.”