Fanatically in Trouble Page 2

  His eyes never leaving Jaz, Henry woodenly shook her hand, his cheeks an interesting shade of pink. “No.” He swallowed. “I’m not.”

  Big help he was. I couldn’t believe even starchy, tie-wearing Henry wasn’t immune to Jaz. I’d never seen him at a loss for words or without that mask of not-so-veiled superiority. Jaz was like a siren who’d capture you with the first note, or a vampire you didn’t want to invite into your house. Once she gained access, she’d inject you with her poison and walk away without a care.

  Jaz clutched Henry’s hand in hers. Wasn’t this how Little Red Riding Hood went down? “I thought I’d brought Paisley a business proposition, but I guess I’ve brought you both one.”

  Henry finally spared me a glance. “A proposition?”

  “Yes.” Jaz led Henry to our desks and pulled a chair from his space to create an unholy triangle of seating. “I’ve been thinking for so long how much I’d love to catch up with the Electric Femmes and have one big week-long party for my fans.”

  Henry just stared, and I looked closely to make sure he was still breathing and didn’t require CPR. Or electric shock.

  “What she’s not telling you, Henry, is Jaz needs a serious PR about-face, and she thinks an Electric Femmes reunion and frolicking with her fans in small-town America would make people forget her diva behavior.”

  “I resent the term diva.”

  “You pushed America in front of a moving tour bus,” I said. “Would you prefer the term erratic criminal?”

  “Like I knew a bus would be coming!”

  “Your image is not my problem.” Just like my image was never hers to care about. Or the fact that I couldn’t pay my rent or get another singing gig not long after she incinerated the Electric Femmes.

  “I know. And I realize I haven’t always been the nicest to you.”

  I snorted indelicately. “You left the band with zero notice. You broke up with Trina and me on national television, treating it like some ratings stunt to propel you to your solo launch.”

  “I got bad advice on how to handle leaving. And then I got so caught up in it all—the big contracts, the promises. I was young and immature.” Jaz reached for a tissue from my desk and clutched it. “I want to make it up to you. Let me have my fan fest here in Sugar Creek, and we can both benefit. You’ll get international recognition as my event planner, and I’ll get some good press and reset some of the negative hype.”

  She still didn’t get that her issues were so far beyond negative hype. “I’m sorry. I’m not interested.”

  “I want to remind the world who I really am.”

  “Yeah, I don’t recommend that.”

  But Jaz didn’t hear. “I want them to see me as a person, a friend. I want them to see me in this small, cute town, spending time with my fans, giving back to the community, and just . . .being a pal.”

  A pal. I tried not to laugh and failed.

  “I’ve changed, Paisley. And yes, I got a little overwrought with America. But what the cameras didn’t catch is what a total brat she is. She’s terrible! She’s selfish, infantile, has to have everything her way, and doesn’t care who she steps on to make it happen.”

  Boy, did that sound familiar. “So, you’re jealous of the younger pop star elbowing you out of the way.”

  “I’m not jealous! I’m Jaz. What do I have to be jealous of that newcomer for?” Her almond-shaped eyes shone with simmering fury. “I mean, sure my manager loves her and takes her calls whenever he’s with me. And yeah, America’s years away from a Botox needle. Designers flock to her like she’s the second coming of Gisele Bündchen. And maybe she can fit into skirts I’d have to starve myself to slither into, but wait ’til she hits thirty and realizes her metabolism is as fickle as her entourage.” Jaz sniffed and looked at me with her puppy-in-a-kennel gaze. “She treats me like I’m her mother. Do you know she bought me shoe inserts for our last concert?”

  I bounced one crossed leg. “It actually sounds very thoughtful.”

  “I don’t need her arch support!”

  I looked at Henry like, “See, she’s crazy.” But he was still watching Jaz like she was an angelic being who’d dropped from the celestials. “You’ve screwed up, Jaz, and that’s not my problem. I agree you need PR help, but Enchanted Events doesn’t work miracles.”

  “That’s a little harsh.” Jaz tsked. “Is this what you have to put up with as well, sweet Henry?”

  Sweet Henry nodded.

  “Wouldn’t you like Enchanted Events’ name to be attached to the party of the century?” Jaz asked with a Marilyn Monroe pout.

  “Hrmphhh.” Henry made a strangled noise like a balloon deflating.

  I translated. “He says no way.”

  Jaz ignored me and focused on my tongue-tied compadre. “Just think of all the publicity for you and this company. Every major news outlet will cover it, from People mag to the BBC. We’ll have hundreds of fans filling this town with their hard-earned dollars, spending money at your restaurants, your hotels, your shops, your . . .” She scrunched up her surgically modified nose. “Bait shops and doily stores.”

  “Okay, we’re done here.” I stood as tall as I could for someone barely over five feet. “Thanks for the visit. Let’s do it again in another few decades. The exit’s on your left.”

  “Henry.” Jaz scooted her chair closer to his and all but purred against him with her heaving bosom. “Can I call you Henry?” She didn’t wait for his agreement. “I have this eight-day shindig all planned out, and it’s going to be spec-tac. We’ll open with a house concert, a small intimate show for a few hundred attendees who’ll pay a primo price for tickets—all going to a Sugar Creek charity, of course. I have a new book coming out, so we can do a book signing and give this town an advanced sales debut. We’ll have a movie screening of my last film right as it hits its digital release, dance tutorials with my choreographer, plus a menu sampling with my personal chef. For the pièce de résistance, we’ll top it all off with a reunion concert of the Electric Femmes—while cruising on the nearby lake.”

  A wheezy noise came from Henry’s nose as if words were trapped in his nasal passages.

  “He says he’d rather stop ironing his underwear.”

  Henry shook his head.

  “He says he’d rather eat his entire collection of Cole Hahns.”

  Henry coughed and choked, his eyes losing their fight to stay off of Jaz’s impressive bazingas plastered to him. “I think . . .I think, that is—”

  “He declines.” I jerked my head toward the door in an obvious hint. “We both decline.”

  “My manager will email you a full outline of our ideas,” Jaz said. “I’m willing to pay. A lot.”

  “When?” Henry finally managed a whole word.

  She patted his cheek. “Next week.” Her eyelash extensions batted. “You didn’t have anything more important going on anyway, did you?”

  Henry stood and walked to the window, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “We can’t.”

  “Yep.” I took Jaz by the arm, ignoring the annoying rock-hard tone of her bicep. “We have a conference booked. We’re unavailable, and so is every B&B, hotel, rental, and park bench. So your idea is actually impossible.”

  Jaz wrenched free and grabbed her wig, crookedly returning it to its spot of honor on her head. “I see. That is a shame.” And then her eyes pooled, and her bottom lip quivered. She dashed away a tear and forced a watery smile. “Henry, it was a pleasure to meet you. And Paisley. . .” Jaz took a long pause, blinking her lash extensions and watching me, her head tilted in bittersweet sadness. “I know I wronged you years ago, and I wish I could repair the damage. I hope one day you can forgive me, and we can truly catch up.” She hugged me, a squeeze that was quick as it was uncomfortable. She pressed a scrap of paper into my hand. “I’m staying in Sugar Creek for the next two days. That’s my address and a number to reach me. You call if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t be calling, Jaz.” I crumbled th
e paper and stuck it in my pocket. “But best of luck. I’m sure you’re going to be just fine.”

  She nodded and waggled her fingers in a sad little wave.

  Then disappeared out the door.

  Henry rubbed his eyes as if coming out of a dream. “Did . . .did that really just happen?”

  “Oh, so now you find your voice? My arch-nemesis returns in a cloud of grandeur and French perfume, and instead of coming to my defense and helping me tell Jaz where she can stick her narcissistic party, you stood there like a concussed dummy who couldn’t remember how to work his own tongue.”

  The hard edges of the insult barely nicked my partner. “That was the Jaz. She’s even more beautiful in person.”

  “It was the bleached wig. Brought out her cheekbones.”

  “I’m serious. She’s gorgeous.” He collapsed back into a chair like Jaz’s very presence had liquified his bones. “She touched my face.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. “If it helps you feel any better, I can bring you photos of a younger Jaz with zits and a retainer.”

  “She’d still be beautiful.”

  “She’s a selfish viper who worships at her own feet.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “Her fan fest isn’t going to happen. End of conversation.”

  “Paisley?”

  Henry and I both turned to find handyman Clem Millson in the doorway, completely oblivious to the fact that the most famous pop star in the world had just stood in that very space.

  “You ready for the bad news?”

  I rubbed the back of my aching neck. “Pretty sure I’ve been to the day-ruining mountaintop already.”

  “You owe me thirty thousand dollars.” And then Clem went and pushed me right off the peak.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your damage is extensive. You’ve had an intermittent leak for a while, probably since your great aunt ran the place. There’s some serious mold and rot. We need to replace all the insulation, rotten boards, treat the crawl space, put down a vapor barrier, put in a sump pump . . .”

  So many words came out of Clem’s mouth, but my brain turned off the volume. It didn’t matter what he said. It all translated to dollar sign after dollar sign. Enchanted Events was doing well, but we were still newly expanding. Money was in short supply, and what extra we had, it went back into our employees and the business. I’d hoped to hire more help, but now it was impossible. “Couldn’t we just rip everything out in the basement and let it go for a while?” I asked.

  Clem shook his bald head. “You gotta clean it all up. You don’t want that mold spreading and leeching into your vents and making your staff and customers sick. Then it’s lawsuit city. You ever Googled mold toxicity?” His eyes went wide as he whistled. “It’s no day at Disneyland, that’s for sure.”

  “Are we safe to work in the building right now?” Henry asked.

  “For now. You’d only have to get out for a few days if you’re up for working around our noise and mess.”

  My Jaz Headache had now morphed into Life Disaster Migraine. “Thank you. Henry and I will discuss it, and we’ll be in touch.”

  “I’m sorry, Paisley. I wish I had better news.”

  Me too. As Clem left, I grabbed my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk.

  “Where are you going?” Henry asked.

  “To get coffee.” Bugle Boy Bagels was calling my name.

  “We have coffee here. We just got a $30,000 bill and buying overpriced java’s gonna fix this?”

  “Of course not.” I dug out my wallet. “That’s why I’m gonna add two cinnamon rolls.”

  “We could rethink this Jaz fest.”

  I missed Beau. He’d see my way of things. “I’m not wasting a single brain cell on that idea, Henry.”

  “We could pull it off. Possibly schedule it for the end of the month. It might give us time to—”

  “No,” I said with all the finality of one who owned a whole one percent more in the business. “Maybe I can get a loan.” The local bank president kind of owed me a favor anyway.

  “I think you know what you need to do.”

  “No, Henry. Anything but that.”

  He stood and crossed his arms. “It’s the only answer.”

  “It’s not. I’ll think of something. I could pick up a night shift at Hooter’s.”

  “You’re a feminist without boobs.”

  “You’re right. You’d be better suited for the job.” I sighed. “I’ll grab you an application.”

  “Paisley, call Jaz. Maybe she’d be willing to select another week and work around our schedule.”

  “She betrayed me and ended my music career. That’s not going to happen.”

  “So now it’s time to make her pay.” He patted the wallet in his back pocket. “And I mean that quite literally.”

  Chapter Three

  “Crystal Bridges Museum will be a lovely spot for your husband’s surprise retirement party.” I typed some notes into my laptop then smiled at Mrs. Lynowski the next morning. “The museum tells me they’ll have the Degas exhibit open during the whole month of January, so what a perfect backdrop to celebrate the painter in your life.”

  My ten o’clock appointment nodded in agreement. “Lionel doesn’t suspect a thing,” she said of her art professor spouse. “Our son’s flying in from Antigua and—”

  “Paisley! Oh, Paisley, I must speak with you.” Edward Fellows, vice-president of the Arkansas Extraterrestrial Association, all but ran to where I sat in a plush seat with Mrs. Lynowski in our cozy corner of Enchanted Events. Sweat dripped from his temple, and his breathing resembled that of a charging rhinoceros as if he’d traveled miles on foot to Enchanted Events on this warm day.

  “Edward, I’m in the middle of an appointment. Can you give me thirty minutes?”

  “No. I’m sorry.” He offered a weak smile to Mrs. Lynowski. “This simply can’t wait.”

  I stood and apologized to my waiting client. “I’ll be back in a minute. Help yourself to some coffee, Mrs. Lynowski.”

  Edward dragged me behind a potted fern. “I have some seriously bad news about the Arkansas Extraterrestrial Association conference.”

  I did my best to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

  “Our president took off with all our money.” Edward pulled an inhaler from his shirt pocket and wheezed as he inhaled. “We need to cancel the conference.”

  “Why?” Was the mother ship coming?

  “Barney Bivens cleared out our account at the bank, bought a plane ticket to the Dominican Republic, and flew out this morning.”

  “Barney brought me the other half of your deposit yesterday afternoon,” I said. “You’re all paid up.”

  Edward lowered his inhaler. “A check?”

  Oh.

  Now I understood. “Yes.”

  “Have you deposited it yet?” he asked.

  Dread expanded in my stomach with all the foreboding of a bad taco. “No.” The check would’ve covered payment for our services as well as all the vendors we’d prepaid. “There are quite a few zeroes in that check. You’re telling me the account is completely wiped out?”

  “Empty as a school parking lot in July. There’s no money to cover the rest of your fees, our additional staff needed, or the long list of final supplies.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to find a calming thought. There was none to be had. Being a business owner was just bollocks some days. “Maybe if you found Barney in the next day or two?”

  “He’s gone, Paisley. Left his wife a goodbye letter, cleaned out their bank account, told his boss to shove it, and he’s never coming back. He always was a tad strange.” Edward wiped his sweaty palm on his The Government Knows They’re Out There shirt. “It’s over. We gotta cancel the conference.”

  I swallowed past a lump of impotent regret. “We’ve lost so much money. If Barney steps one foot back in Sugar Creek, aliens will be
the last thing he needs to fear.”

  “I hope he gets sucked into a wormhole.”

  But that still wouldn’t repair the damage. Not only were we out thousands, but half the town was in the hospitality business and planning for the conference. “Thanks for bringing me the news, Edward.”

  I caught Henry’s concerned look across the room and just shook my head.

  Enchanted Events was in serious trouble.

  Three hours, two mochas, and one double scoop ice cream cone later, I sat in my office and gave up any pretense of work. When my grandmother and aunt showed up for a visit, they commanded my full attention, even if I didn’t have time for it.

  “The Arkansas Extraterrestrial Association conference was gonna be big business for me.” My aunt Frannie gestured to her shirt emblazoned with a curvaceous brown alien beneath hot pink letters that spelled I-S-O.

  I knew better than to ask but did it anyway. “What’s an ISO?”

  “Identified Sexy Object.” Frannie patted her latest wig, a dark, curly-haired creation that looked like my aunt had raided Beyoncé’s costume closet. At least it looked better than Jaz’s. “I’ve got four dozen of these shirts made up to sell at the UFO conference. Now, what am I gonna do with them?”

  “Burn them like you should have in the first place,” my grandmother Sylvie said. “The bigger problem is all those cupcakes you have stored in my freezer.”

  “It’s true. I’ve got cupcakes to glory. And now that the space nerds aren’t coming, who’s gonna buy my wares? Unless . . .”

  “Unless there was another event that could suddenly and fortuitously replace the UFO convention.” My grandmother massaged her temples as she paced my office. “Wait. I’m getting a vision.”

  “Speak to me, Sylvie,” Frannie said. “Share your gift of prophecy and give us holy direction.”

  Oh, geez.

  Sylvie and Frannie were newly retired CIA. Eons ago, they’d both been recruited straight out of their respective high schools for an experimental department of female spies. This launched many a covert operation and a new branch in my family tree. Frannie and my grandmother became the best of friends, and in no time, Frannie was adopted as one of our own. I was pretty sure their retirement was less of their decision and more of a shove out the door, courtesy of the brave men and women who’d endured these two for over five decades. My grandmother and aunt were still adjusting to civilian life and figuring out that they couldn’t always get their way by blowing things up or making people disappear. They passed their time by butting into my business and running their own vigilante neighborhood watch.