Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 7

  Phoebe startled. “Paisley?”

  Raven propped a hand on her hip. “Should you be here?”

  “I wanted to pay my respects.” Someone needed to alert our justice system this whole innocent-until-proven-guilty thing was kind of a joke. “Such a tragic end to a life. I didn’t know Sasha well, but I’m sure she was a wonderful person. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  My comment was met with silence more awkward than an eighth grade slow dance.

  “I mean, it sounds like she was just a beacon of humility and grace,” I continued, watching their reactions. “All that charity work. Her heart for her family and friends. The way she—”

  “She was a mean-spirited viper, and most of that crap Pastor Mulroney said wasn’t even accurate,” hissed Raven.

  “Raven!” Phoebe whacked her arm.

  “It’s true. I wouldn’t wish anyone dead, but it’s ridiculous for all of us to pretend Sasha was this kind, giving saint. She wasn’t. She made us all miserable, she couldn’t be trusted, and she’d do anything and hurt anyone to get what she wanted.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Raven...”

  “She’s hurt all of us,” she said. “You could poll this whole churchyard and you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone Sasha didn’t betray.”

  “How long have you both known her?” I asked.

  “Since kindergarten,” Phoebe said. “Sasha shoved me into a mud puddle on the first day of school because I was wearing the same dress as her. Then she forced me to push her on the swings at recess. We were pretty much best friends since day one.”

  “Because you had no choice,” Raven said.

  “We had a lot of good times.”

  “Usually at our expense.” Raven turned stormy brown eyes my way. “I met Sasha my sophomore year in college. We rushed together and were sorority sisters. She stole two of my boyfriends and frequently ‘borrowed’ my homework.”

  “Then why be in her wedding?” I asked.

  The girls exchanged a fleeting look.

  “It was the right thing to do,” Phoebe said.

  That sounded weirdly ominous.

  “If you want to know who really suffered, that’s Zoey,” Raven said. “That poor girl’s been on the receiving end of Sasha’s torment more than anyone.”

  I followed the line of Raven’s gaze to where Zoey stood next to her parents and shook the hands of well-wishers. She didn’t look like a killer, but what did I know? The finer points of murder were still pretty new to me.

  “Do you have any idea who would’ve wanted to hurt Sasha?” I asked.

  Raven studied her fingernails and shook her head. “I should go. I need to get back to work.”

  “But if you had to guess . . .” My question went ignored by Raven as she darted away, weaving in and out of the crowd until she reached the parking lot.

  “Funerals make her nervous,” Phoebe said. “I really need to go too.”

  “What about you, Phoebe? Who do you think might’ve killed Sasha?”

  “Grab a Sugar Creek phone book. There’s your suspect list.”

  “If you and Raven disliked Sasha so much, why continue to be her friend?”

  Phoebe turned grave eyes to me. “Because we didn’t have a choice.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next morning I walked to my car in a sleepy trance, clutching my coffee cup as though it were liquid survival.

  “How was the memorial?”

  I turned at Beau’s husky voice. Men were off-limits to me right now. I was only passing through Sugar Creek, and I needed to keep my mind on more important things. Like not rotting in a prison cell. “It was interesting.” I took a sip of coffee as he walked toward me. “Why didn’t you go?”

  He lifted a broad shoulder, pulling his aqua T-shirt taut against his chest. “Didn’t know her well, and not my scene.”

  “What is your scene, Beau Hudson?”

  “Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”

  I laughed. “I’ve fallen for that one before.”

  His full lips parted in a grin. “I was referring to the outdoors. Someplace with trees and birds and nature. Space to breathe. I bought my grandpa’s land back a few years ago, and I’m running an outdoor retreat. Added cabins for folks to stay in. They can hike, ride four-wheelers, swim in the waterfall, fish the sweet spot where Sugar Creek meets Lee River.”

  His grandfather’s land was beautiful and probably had over five hundred acres. “Sounds perfect for you. What’s this business venture called?”

  “Fox Falls.”

  “Was it hard finding a new career after you came back?”

  And just like that, the light in Beau’s eyes snuffed out like a candle. “I like what I do.”

  In that moment a memory surfaced from the night before. “Were you sitting on the porch in the middle of the night?”

  Beau rested a hand on the hood of my car. “Just keeping an eye on the neighborhood.”

  “At one in the morning?”

  He stepped closer, his face hovering over mine. “You keeping tabs on me, Sutton?”

  “When a creepy shadow falls across my bedroom floor, I can’t help but notice.” Just as I was noticing the way my heart picked up its tempo. “Plus, I was awake myself.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “The fact that you’re diverting the topic does not go unnoticed.” I took a step back so I wouldn’t smell the citrusy scent of his shampoo. “But no, I couldn’t sleep. Instead I made a list of possible suspects in Sasha’s murder, as well as motives. Actually, I don’t have a lot in the motives category. But I’m working on it. So were you haunting the grounds at night like one of the Civil War ghosts at the battlefield?”

  “Nothing wrong with taking a midnight stroll.”

  “Says every good serial killer.”

  He rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheek and laughed. “Who’s on your suspect list?”

  “Why can’t you sleep, Beau?”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you dress crazy?” His gaze did a lazy inspection of my cherry red stilettos, black leather pants, and a glittery gray tank.

  “You’re changing the topic.” Thank God I wore my good bra today.

  “I have a business to run,” he said. “It keeps me wired.”

  “I don’t think that’s all there is to it.”

  “You’re not my therapist, Sutton.” He took the coffee from my hands, pressed the cup to his lips, and drank.

  “Do you have one—a therapist?”

  He looked at me for a long moment before speaking. “Sasha’s stepdad owns Chandler Construction. They filed for bankruptcy this week.”

  “Oh.”

  “Probably not related to Sasha’s death at all, but as long as you’re collecting information, I thought you might want to add that to your list.”

  “Thank you. Good to know.” I would definitely be checking into that. “Now back to—”

  “Have a good day, Paisley.” Beau handed me my coffee and walked toward the house. “Try not to get arrested.”

  * * *

  “Two more brides cancelled their appointments.”

  Henry met me at the door of Enchanted Events with another cup of coffee. At his dire announcement, I took his offering. I was going to need a double dose of caffeine.

  “Did they reschedule?”

  “No. Totally cancelled. They both said they didn’t feel safe here.”

  “Me and my dumb champagne idea.” I followed Henry back to our office. “Who’s on our agenda today? Anyone left?”

  “Your cousin Emma’s in at ten. You and I will take care of her, of course. Little tip—don’t kill her.”

  “Not serving her so much as a drink of tap water.”

  “Cecily Blackwell has a twelve o’clock, as does Grace Philpot. Those are both introductory meetings. Then we have three reception appointments, and a consult on a bridal luncheon.”

  “Maybe the best thing
for Enchanted Events is that I don’t work here anymore.”

  “Then you lose the business. The terms state you run it.”

  “I can do administrative tasks from home. I’m a whiz at the computer.” My Candy Crush score was something of a marvel.

  “Paisley, now is not the time to cower. If you didn’t kill Sasha, then don’t hide your face as if you did. Hold your head up high and show the good folks of Sugar Creek you have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “They look at me like I’m a criminal.”

  “Maybe that’s less about Sasha’s death and more about those diarrhea jingles you did last year.”

  “Those medicine jingles paid for three months of rent.” Never mind that singing “You’ll feel like a champy when your bowels aren’t crampy” completely brought me to a new level of humility.

  “That Detective Ballantine is on the warpath,” Henry said. “He stopped by here while you were at the funeral yesterday.”

  “What more could he possibly have to question you about?”

  “Had questions for all of us. Mostly about you this time.”

  “What about me?”

  “Wanted to know about your temperament, for one thing.”

  “I hope you told him I’m chock-full of peace and tranquility.”

  “Also asked if any of us could verify your location at the time of the murder.”

  “And you said no.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Did he ask about anyone else—Mary, Alice, Layla—or even you?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I the only employee of Enchanted Events he’s focusing on?”

  “Because we were all with clients who’ve confirmed our whereabouts.”

  “And to think I thought stepping away from Sasha was a helpful thing to do. I should’ve stayed in the parlor and chewed her out like I’d wanted to. I should’ve kicked her out at her first insult.”

  “Ballantine is just doing his job by gathering information,” Henry said. “It’s procedure. Don’t fret over it yet.”

  That was easy for him to say. His neck wasn’t on the line.

  * * *

  Henry spent the next hour reviewing information on the day’s brides, from their personality quirks to their family histories. As usual, I was amazed at the details he gathered on each of his brides. It gave him the ability to see their vision, shape their ideas into a wedding they loved, and make everyone involved happy. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. But he was also a good teacher, giving me regular tips and tutorials that made each day more and more doable. Minus the cloud of murder hanging over my perfectly innocent head.

  Some time later Layla poked her head into our office. She shot me a glance as if I was on par with Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees, then spoke to Henry. “Your ten o’clock is here.”

  Emma walked in seconds later, arms extended. “Paisley! You poor thing.” She crushed me to her with a fierce hug. “How are you holding up?”

  Right now I was struggling to breathe. “Hanging in there.”

  She stepped back with a comforting smile. “Noah and I want you to know we’re here for you. We have absolute faith in your innocence. If there’s anything we can do at all, just say the word.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you have a lawyer lined up? I know a few.”

  “Um—”

  “Not that you need one. But you should have one. A total beast of an attorney, I say. One who can lunge for the jugular and—”

  “How about we focus on happier matters?” Henry interjected. “Let’s talk about your wedding. It’s only the event of the year.” He made every bride feel like theirs was the wedding of the year.

  “I’m up to speed on your ideas,” I said. “The venue you’ve chosen is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Her lips twisted in temporary distaste. “The Sugar Creek Chapel isn’t big, so we had to cut out so many people on the invitation list. With us both working for the city, it’s caused some hurt feelings.”

  “I’m excited to have made the short list,” I said. “Take a seat and let’s go over a few questions I have.”

  “Okay.” Emma’s smile returned as she sat down in the white chair at my desk. “I can’t believe we’re only three-and-a-half weeks away.” My cousin Emma had moved back to Sugar Creek last year during a career crisis of her own. She hadn’t planned on a long stay either, but she’d met the handsome mayor, fell in love despite her best efforts, and left a lucrative job in broadcasting to stay here. I was grateful Enchanted Events could at least count on Emma not to back out.

  Henry’s phone played a loud minuet, and he reached into his pocket. “Just going to step outside and take this.”

  “So how are you really doing?” Emma asked as I pulled up her file on my laptop.

  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned,” I said. “But I have Sylvie and Frannie on the job, and you know they’ll have the murderer bound and gagged before the police department can even question their next suspect.”

  “We’re not just a family, Paisley. We’re a team. We’re going to make sure your name is cleared and you don’t spend one second in jail.”

  I braved a smile. “I have no shoes that match an orange jumpsuit.”

  “I doubt that.” Emma leaned in and put her hand on mine. “But let’s talk about the good stuff. What’s it like living next to Beau?”

  My face unexpectedly flamed. “Oh. Um, fine.”

  “That’s no answer. Come on, he’s a blast from your past—someone you’ve always had a thing for.”

  “No, I haven’t! One childhood kiss doesn’t mean I committed my heart to him. We’ve spent years hating one another.”

  “You were kids. And he’s still very handsome,” Emma said. “He’s got that whole war hero ruggedness.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Right. Every woman in town from infant to centenarian has noticed.”

  Well, as long as Emma was here. “I did wonder if you had any inside information on what happened to him in the service. I read the paper, scoured the internet. It sounds like he was very close-lipped about what brought him home. Other than an ambush at a military checkpoint, I really don’t know much.”

  “I’ve just heard bits and pieces. He was Army Special Forces, you know. A captain. According to his men, he saved their lives. Something about a Libyan checkpoint being infiltrated. The enemy started shooting as they neared the checkpoint, and Beau somehow saved the day. That’s the simple version, but he came back home not too long after that—with a faint limp and that brooding, quiet demeanor that makes a girl sigh a bit.”

  “Just in the short time I’ve been here, I’ve seen him walking the backyard in the dead of night.”

  “He took a bullet or two in the leg, I think. No doubt he still has a lot of pain, poor guy.”

  The kind that mangled body and soul.

  But it was none of my business. By August, I would be rolling out of town, so I definitely didn’t need to get too invested in a friendship with Beau. But still, I couldn’t help but be concerned for him.

  “Oh, look at this wedding planning book.” Emma picked up an artfully decorated three-ring binder from a pile on my desk. “Someone really put some time into this.” She ran her hand over the illustrated cover as I entered some additional data into Emma’s file.

  “Henry likes to keep them for a few days to get to know the brides and their ideas. I don’t even know whose that is.”

  “I think it’s bigger than mine, and Noah says my planning binder’s heavy enough to hold a tin roof down on a trailer house.”

  I glanced up from my laptop. “Oh. I haven’t even begun to tackle the clutter on this desk. Henry can’t bear to look at it.” His desk was ever spotless, while mine resembled more of a mini-landfill.

  “Mind if I take a peek?” Without waiting for an answer, Emma opened the book and turned some pages. “Oh, it’s Sasha Chandler’s. Her family hasn’t asked for i
t yet?”

  “I guess they’ve had bigger things on their minds.”

  “She had exquisite taste.” Emma continued to flip through the giant tome. “I love her fabric samples. She’s even illustrated her bouquet choices in charcoals. I’ve never seen anything quite like this. And look at these photos—her venue, her dress selections—the photography is almost better than the subject. Did you create a binder when you were engaged?”

  “No. My agent hired a wedding planner who took over the details. I actually had very little say.” It should’ve been an omen of the disaster that would follow. “I wanted a private destination wedding in the Caribbean, but Evan insisted on a big public event. He said it was good PR for his career.” But it sure ended up being bad PR for mine.

  “This is quite the keepsake.” Emma handed the book back to me with a pointed look. “Maybe you should drive it over to her family today.”

  “Yeah, I’ll have Layla or Alice do that later.”

  “No, I think you should.”

  Emma’s words sank into my overwhelmed brain. “I should do it, shouldn’t I?”

  “Yes.” She nodded her head thoughtfully. “Give the book back, offer your condolences, ask a few leading questions.” She studied her manicure. “Inspect a medicine cabinet. Rifle through a dresser drawer or two . . .”

  Well, my goodness. I had no idea my sweet cousin had this in her. “You are so Sylvie’s granddaughter.”

  “As are you, Paisley.” My cousin lifted her chin and smiled at me like a partner in crime. “It’s time to start acting like it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Perhaps I should have worn gloves.” Sylvie checked her lipstick in the passenger-side mirror of my car.

  “For what?” It was hotter than my straightening iron today, and I had the air cranked to a setting I called Antarctic Wind Tunnel.

  “So I won’t leave fingerprints when I’m snooping.”

  “You’re not going to snoop.” I made a left onto McCullough Street. “You’re just going to help me carry the conversation.”

  “I don’t think you understand the perks of having me for a wingman. Did I mention Zoey occasionally comes to my Sunday school class?”