Royally In Trouble Page 25

  “Sad. Sick. Like a door was closing I could never pry open.”

  “Ah-ha!” Sylvie quirked a brow. “See? The thought of losing Beau upsets you.”

  “I think Haley Jo is a terrible choice for him.”

  “That’s not all it is.”

  “I have to be realistic—I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  “False.”

  “I really am drama. Always have been.”

  “All the fun girls are.” She kissed my cheek. “Present company included.”

  “And I’m really terrible at picking men.”

  “Sugar, we’ve all kissed some frogs we’re not proud of.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I breathed in the comforting scent that was my grandmother—a little perfume, a little gunpowder. “Paisley, talk to Beau. Tell him how you feel. Don’t let your fear of all things commitment get in the way of what could be something special.”

  “It’s all very scary.”

  “Love and waterboarding usually are.”

  I rested my head on my grandmother’s shoulder. “What if he’s not feeling the same thing? What if he truly does love Haley Jo, but hasn’t had the nerve to tell me?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “Bug his apartment?”

  My grandmother laughed and stole another fry. “Ask him.”

  37

  Sexy Book Club was like trash night—though scheduled, it always caught me unaware and rolled around much too often.

  “You get on in here, my little sweet tea.” Frannie pulled me into my grandmother’s house that night before I’d even knocked. “I haven’t seen you in at least a day. Bless you for joining us. I know you’re plum wore out.”

  The ladies of Sexy Book Club stopped their cookie-crumbed chitchat to gaze upon my battered face and assess the damage. The Sugar Creek rumor mill had churned out a handful of colorful interpretations of my hit-and-run. I’d heard I’d lost a limb, Frannie was asked if I’d been on life support, and Sylvie had listened to a diner version that involved my stopping the car with my bare hands.

  “I’m fine.” I winced as my aunt hugged me too tightly. “Seriously, my injuries are superficial. My dive to the pavement could’ve been much worse.”

  “Dive to the pavement?” Her new wig wobbled as she held me at arm’s length. “Naw, I’m talking about your heartbreak with Beau.”

  I slipped my shoulders from her grip. “Can you just point me to the cookies?”

  It was a larger crowd tonight, and I wondered if it was on my account. Two ladies from church had brought me casseroles yesterday, and my neighbor had baked me a pie. Growing up with my rock star dreams, Sugar Creek had just been a burdensome place to get out of when I was a kid. But now, it was home. A place that made me smile, filled with people I knew, people who had welcomed me back. It was Stan at the automotive store installing your new battery for the cost of listening to his corny jokes. Or Donna Paulsen at the grocery store handing you a coupon on aisle ten for your two pints of Ben and Jerry’s. And yesterday Mr. and Mrs. Batra from the flower shop delivered a vase of wildflowers they’d cut from their own yard.

  Surveying the room of familiar faces, I thought about how different things were since my first Sexy Book Club meeting. I’d arrived in Sugar Creek broke, angry, and resentful at my return to my Southern roots. Now those roots were so firmly planted, they reached down into the red dirt and rocky soil and anchored me to the family tree, providing me with a love and stability I hadn’t known I was missing.

  “Here’s one of my beautiful granddaughters right now.” Sylvie held court in the middle of a small group of women in the living room. “Paisley’s carrying on the tradition of protecting and serving Sugar Creek.” My grandmother grabbed me by the arm before I could detour. “I was just telling them about your near-death experience.” The ladies of this town hadn’t looked upon someone with such reverence since Johnny Cash came through in ’68 to pick up a coon dog from Farmer McGee.

  I held up a hand by way of greeting. “Just a few scrapes and bruises. Please go back to your refreshments.”

  “How are you doing?” Emma hugged me at the drink station. “I keep seeing your hit-and-run in my mind and haven’t slept all week.”

  In line with this month’s book theme, champagne glasses were stacked neatly among strands of pearls. I picked up a flute, filled it with punch, and handed it to my cousin. “You’re still a newlywed. Surely you have better things to do with your nights than lie awake worrying about me.”

  “I’m glad you have a security detail at your house.” She took a long drink, as if the punch were spiked. Knowing our grandma, there was a fifty-fifty chance it was. “I know Beau’s really beating himself up over it.”

  I glared over the cup. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “No, I ran into him at city hall this morning. He’s pretty torn up over it. Said he was too far away to push you to safety.”

  Huh. He was probably more torn up over the fact that he was about to be hog-tied to Haley Jo Madewell. “How nice of him to be concerned.” So concerned I now had two patrol cars following me instead of one. Matt said it was at Beau’s buttinsky insistence, and the mayor, Emma’s husband, had concurred.

  Mrs. Cheek and Ms. Zowski joined us, clutching this week’s novel and peppering me with questions. Half an hour later, I’d been interviewed by everyone in the room. I guess when you read romance novels for fun, you appreciated true life plot twists—especially when they happened to someone else.

  “All right, my dears, let us grab our final yum-yums and take a seat.” Sylvie held her tablet beneath her arm. “This month’s theme is billionaire bad boys.”

  From the bright smiles, giggles, and waggling eyebrows, I could tell this motif was more of a hit than the time we’d tried shape-shifter werewolf romance.

  Sylvie settled into her chair of honor at the front of the room, her face intense as if she were conducting a bomb detonation. “Let’s discuss our novel Diamond Stud Muffin.”

  The woman beside me clapped her hands. “Ten stars!”

  “We scale from one to five, Hazel,” Frannie corrected.

  Hazel gazed adoringly at the bare-chested man on the book cover. “I know.”

  Emma and I shared a bemused grin as the doorbell rang.

  “Frannie, do be a dear and get that.”

  Only the untrained eye would miss the pointed look my grandmother gave my aunt.

  Frannie nodded once then hustled from the room.

  “What’s that about?” Emma whispered as Sylvie asked the book club about favorite kissing scenes.

  “No idea.” I tried to listen attentively as Hazel Denton began to read chapter ten aloud. Miss Hazel was the Sugar Creek children’s librarian and had a wide array of voices she employed during her daily story time. She certainly held nothing back now. And I was mighty grateful she hadn’t brought her hand puppets.

  Two pages later, Frannie returned to the meeting, holding a coconut cream pie. “Look who’s joining us. Aren’t we delighted Melly’s back? Ladies, give her sister Rebecca Hudson a big welcome.”

  38

  Rebecca Hudson and her sister Melly stepped into the living room, wearing tentative smiles while they shook hands and hugged necks.

  I locked eyes with my grandma and knew she was behind our new addition.

  Emma leaned in my direction. “Is Rebecca Hudson into billionaire romance?”

  “I guess Sylvie just wanted to make Rebecca feel at home in Sugar Creek. I’m sure there are no other ulterior motives. None at all.” We hid our laughing lips behind iced sugar cookies shaped like diamond rings and drank another champagne glass of punch.

  One hour and many ridiculously fun discussions later, Sylvie brought the book club meeting to a close. “Don’t forget in two weeks we’ll reconvene to continue our billionaire bad boy theme, discussing the highly acclaimed Canoodling and Caviar.”

  Hazel grabbed her quilted purse and stood. “I’ve alread
y read it three times.”

  As usual, most of the ladies stayed to revisit the snack table and chat some more. Even though I was always worn out by this portion of the gathering, I forced myself to stay at least another half hour. I’d earned Enchanted Events four jobs that way, plus I never departed without some scintillating morsel of gossip that had previously failed to trickle from the Sugar Creek news mill.

  Emma caught me up on all the joys of wedded bliss, while I picked her brain on my human resource issues with Alice at Enchanted Events.

  “No, you can’t pay me a hundred bucks to fire your employee.” Emma popped a cheese-loaded chip into her mouth. “Nice try.”

  “I didn’t say I was firing her.” I piled three bacon-filled rollups onto my plate. “But Henry certainly wants me—” I left the rest of the sentence unfinished as Sylvie power walked right by us.

  “Black crow flies near the water hole. I repeat, black crow flies near the water hole,” Sylvie hissed.

  I grabbed her hand before she sailed away. “What does that mean?”

  She rolled her eyes so big, I swear her ears wiggled. “Have you still not read the Sylvie-Frannie Code Talking Primer I sent you last month?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “It means Rebecca just went into the kitchen for some ice. Let’s go talk to her.”

  “Would it have been so hard to say that in the first place?”

  She shook her blonde head. “Do I even have to ask if you’ve read the Distinguished Hand Gesture Dictionary?”

  “I can think of a few hand gestures.”

  I followed my grandmother into the kitchen where Rebecca stood at the refrigerator as ice clunked into her cup.

  “Rebecca!” My grandmother floated to her, arms outstretched like she was the queen of the manor. “How wonderful you could join us.”

  Trace’s widow smiled. “Tonight was fun. I hadn’t realized how much I needed a break.”

  “You’re welcome anytime.” Sylvie picked up a handful of discarded dessert plates and placed them in the sink. “You’ll have to join us when we meet again in a couple of weeks.” She leaned against the granite counter and gave Rebecca her full attention. “Especially now that you’ll be living here in Sugar Creek—permanently.”

  Rebecca’s hand stilled as she reached for a sugar cookie from a bakery box. “My. I forget how fast word travels here.”

  “One of our finer features,” Sylvie said. “Carrie Smith-Hampton told Paisley all about it.”

  “Did she?” She rattled the cubes in her cup, watching them spin. “I guess there’s no reason for secrecy anyway. Now that Trace is gone, I’d like to live closer to Melly.”

  “Carrie mentioned you’d been house shopping for a while.” I popped the cork on that statement and let it breathe for a spell. “Really unfortunate timing.”

  Rebecca wagged a finger between Sylvie and me. “I know how you two work. You think that’s suspicious. That’s why you really invited me here—to quiz me about my real estate purchase and Trace’s murder.”

  “Goodness, that’s not true.” One might say Sylvie was lying through her teeth, but I think due to some altercations in the CIA, all her choppers had been replaced with veneers. “I sincerely wanted to include you in our book club. When I heard you were going to be moving to town, I thought this might be the perfect way for you to make some new friends.”

  A ghost of a smile made a brief appearance on Rebecca’s lips. “I could use some friends,” she said. “And it’s true I called Carrie Smith-Hampton on the day Trace died—before he died.” Rebecca looked like a woman on trial. “But that was just a terrible coincidence.”

  “She said you were considering homes on the golf course,” I said. “That area sure has grown, hasn’t it? Lots of stately houses to choose from.”

  “Are you implying I can’t afford it?” Stepping away from the refrigerator, Rebecca pulled out a tall bar stool at the island and sat down. “Let me guess, you think maybe I killed Trace for some life insurance policy or so I’d get all his earthly goods. Do you honestly think the police haven’t already worked that angle?”

  Rebecca was pretty good at this. If we ever had another murder to solve, maybe we’d include her in that mission as well as book club. “I didn’t mean to imply you’d murdered your husband or that you couldn’t afford a house at the golf course.” Though the properties could go for several million. “Expensive though those homes are.”

  “I wasn’t buying anything till our divorce was final.” Her sugar cookie broke in two as she took an angry bite. “Trace and I had worked our tails off at those car lots. They’ve been very profitable, and if we were divorcing, I was getting half. And if he wanted to speed things along so he could marry that hussie, I’d be collecting some hefty alimony. Enough to cover even the most ridiculous house payment. I assure you, if I was losing my husband, I wanted him to pay out the nose more than I wanted any sprawling mansion. And now that Trace is gone, Nate and Melly are helping me sell the car lots so I can make my life here.”

  That explained her holding off on the divorce proceedings. “Trace didn’t agree with your settlement ideas?”

  “No, of course not.” She wiped crumbs from her chin. “Trace was an arrogant, selfish cheapskate. He thought he could wear me down, and I’d give in—just like I always did.”

  “Did he?” I asked. “Wear you down?”

  “You mean was I mad enough to kill him?” She lifted her brown eyes to the antique pendant light above her. “Yeah, I was. But did I? No.” She pointed a cookie right at me. “Have you ever been that angry at someone—so furious you just want to claw their face off and shove them in front of an oncoming train?”

  I thought of our lead singer Jaz who’d announced her solo career on national television—the first our band heard about it. My ex-fiancé sprang to mind—ditching me at the altar then giving those bottom-feeder tabloids the story that I’d been an unstable addict and had lost my way. Then there was Beau’s friend Haley Jo. “Yes.” Funny how old wounds could still burn. “I have been that angry.”

  “But it didn’t mean you’d actually kill someone,” she said. “Of course you wouldn’t. And I didn’t. I’m a fifty-year-old woman who knits on Thursdays and mends historical costumes on the weekends. I’ve raised two cats and a serial-cheating husband.”

  “And rekindled a romance with Nathan.” Sylvie was playing all her cards tonight.

  In Rebecca’s defense, she didn’t gasp or feign shock. Her hands gripped the edges of her bar stool while her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  “There’s no point in lying about it, hon,” Sylvie said. “We know.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve been seeing Nathan.”

  Finally, some truth. “For how long?”

  “Six months.”

  Interesting.

  “Why lie about it now?” Sylvie asked.

  “Because Nathan’s a pillar of this community. He’s Mr. Church Deacon and a regular volunteer at the school. He’s the man who passes the collection plate on Sunday and doles out suckers to kids in the bank lobby on Monday. And he’s beloved by everyone in this faire family.”

  I rearranged the words of my next question in my head at least three times before finally giving it voice. “Did you know Trace was going to franchise the Renaissance faire?”

  Her face didn’t move, remaining impassive as if I were speaking another language. “What are you talking about?”

  Melly chose that moment to join her sister, her ever-present concern a constant expression. “Are you ready to go, Rebecca?”

  Rebecca ignored her. “That’s not possible, Paisley.”

  Sylvie picked it up from there. “A man from Heartland Amusements has been skulking about the town. A Mr. Goldberg? They buy—”

  “I know what they do,” Rebecca snapped. “And I know who that man is. Trace told me he wasn’t selling out. He promised.”

  “Goldberg?” Melly chimed in. “J.D. Goldberg?”
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  “Yes,” Sylvie said. “You know him?”

  “I think that’s the man who sent me a gift card with a packet of information for some proposal. I never opened it. He buys Renaissance faires? I didn’t even know that was possible. Rebecca, is yours for sale?”

  “Of course not. That man came to see us with big talk and big numbers, but I heard Trace tell him no. He even offered Trace a job—said if he sold the faire, he could work for them in Springfield and make sure the franchise was done right.” She shook her head in adamant denial. “Trace has made a lot of poor choices over the years, but that would’ve been a new low even for him. He wouldn’t have gone back on his word. I just can’t believe it.”

  I side-eyed my grandmother, wondering if she was buying this. What if Trace had changed his mind? Could Rebecca have discovered he was selling the faire that meant so much to her and she took her revenge?

  “This Goldberg fellow mailed gift cards to everyone on the city council,” Melly said. “He called and left a message, and with all that’s been going on, I’ve yet to get back to him. He said he wanted to talk to the council about commercial zoning. If the Sugar Creek faire land is out in the country and a franchise, he’d have to get that rezoned. If that doesn’t fly, there’s no faire.”

  “It’s definitely in the country,” Rebecca said. “But if we were bought out, we couldn’t operate things our way,” Rebecca said. “We’d just be employees of a company.” She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes filling. “It’s just too much.” Patting the pockets of her jeans, she extracted her phone. “Let’s go, Melly. I need to talk to Nathan.”

  “Do you think Nathan knew?” I asked.

  “Impossible.” Rebecca’s vehemence certainly sounded sincere. “But Trace owned a bigger share. Technically he could sell without Nathan’s approval.”

  “And where is this land, Rebecca?” Sylvie asked.

  “It’s the old Peele property,” she answered.

  I had no idea where that was and Sylvie looked just as confused.