Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  Royally in Trouble

  An Enchanted Events Mystery

  Jenny B. Jones

  Sweet Pea Productions

  Contents

  Free Book Offer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Letter to the Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jenny B. Jones

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, persons—living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Royally in Trouble. Copyright © 2018 by Jenny B. Jones, Sweet Pea Productions

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations contained in critical articles and reviews. For information contact jen@jennybjones.com.

  * * *

  Cover Design by Seedlings Design

  Created with Vellum

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  This book is dedicated to my sweet son.

  I adore your smile, your laugh, and the light you shine everywhere you go.

  You will always be my greatest plot twist.

  1

  Corsets.

  Tiaras.

  Turkey legs.

  I stepped out of my palsied car and walked toward the lodge at Fox Falls Retreat, my head recycling a looping list of things I had to remember.

  Kings.

  Jousting.

  Jesters.

  Anxiety fluttered in my chest as I got closer to the lodge entrance. Taking a deep breath, I checked my reflection in the glass door. Per my usual style, I’d paired a piece of my old pop star attire with an updated item, like my floral pencil skirt. The woman staring back at me confidently wore a hot pink bustier, navy cropped jacket, stilettos, and her long, red curly hair tamed into waves like she had spent some time on it.

  Because she had.

  It wasn’t just that my partner at Enchanted Events had thrown this Renaissance faire on me only yesterday. I’d begged Henry to give the gig to someone else, but he’d refused. I’d been the co-owner of our event planning business for less than a summer, thanks to unexpectedly inheriting the place from a kooky great-aunt, and I still didn’t know much about organizing festivities. At almost thirty, I really didn’t know much about anything. But a Renaissance faire? I was seriously out of my league with this one. Lisa, one of our employees, had done most of the planning already, but she’d declined to return from maternity leave last week, and even though the job was now just a matter of overseeing and managing what was in place, someone had to pick up the slack. Henry nominated me.

  Didn’t he know I’d never been to a faire? Didn’t he understand I didn’t know squat about Renaissance history beyond watching a few shows on PBS?

  And was he blind to the fact that this event took place at Fox Falls, an expansive nature-retreat property owned by Beau Hudson? A man I’d recently kissed—and had yet to get out of my system. Like a reoccurring flu.

  So here I was, walking into the lobby of the lodge, my heels on the hardwood floor announcing my approach, sweat beading on my neck beneath all my high-maintenance hair.

  I had nothing to be nervous about.

  It was just Beau. We’d known each other since we were kids. I could certainly do business with the man without having kissy flashbacks and unbidden fantasies about picket fences and matching flannel shirts.

  “Hello, Miss Sutton,” said the white-haired fellow behind the granite counter.

  “Rob.” My smile was a radiant beam of happy. “How are you?”

  He rubbed his wrinkled hands. “My arthritis is acting up. You know what that means is coming later, don’t you?”

  “Rain?”

  “Naw.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Whiskey.”

  “Whatever it takes to get by.” I smiled. “I have an appointment with Beau.”

  “He’s in his office with a guest, but you can go on in. He’s in a bear of a mood, so Godspeed.”

  I walked down the hall and knocked on the door next to a sign that said “Gone Fishing.”

  Stepping inside, I found Beau seated behind his desk.

  And his ex-girlfriend seated criss-cross on the desk.

  “Oh.” My eyes blinked a few times as I processed the tableau. “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” I hovered in the doorway, as if an invisible fence kept me from stepping inside.

  “No, Paisley come in.” Beau stood, his smile dimpling one cheek as he gestured to an empty chair. “Haley Jo and I were just visiting.”

  Beau had turned his massive acreage into an adventure retreat where an outdoorsy sort could bunk in a beautiful cabin, then get up the next morning and fish, shoot skeet, hike, ride bikes and ATVs, and a laundry list of other nature-filled activities. Probably things that his ex-girlfriend adored. While I wasn’t the camping-hiking-catch my own dinner gal, a man as tanned, muscled, and drop-dead gorgeous as Beau could make any city girl reconsider.

  Haley Jo, one of those smart, rich, easy-to-dislike types, slithered off the desk with all the lithe grace of one who regularly practiced yoga and felt good about her long, slender legs she now showcased in cutoff denim shorts. She was no more than twenty-four, a good six years younger than Beau. Could you really have a solid relationship with that cavernous, insurmountable age gap? I thought not.

  “Hey,” she said, eyeballing me like I was blessed she’d given me so much as a single word.

  “Hi.” I one-worded her right back.

  “Haley Jo’s come out here to get some peace and quiet while she works on her doctoral thesis.”

  My blood thrummed with bitterness and sass. “It is a beautiful setting for working.”

  “I told Haley Jo she wouldn’t get much done with all the comings and goings of the Renaissance fest,” Beau said. “But she wanted to keep her reservation anyway.”

  I’ll just bet she did.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Beau glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got a twelve o’clock with Lisa to discuss the big event.”

&n
bsp; “Lisa turned in her notice.” I sat in one of the chairs opposite Beau’s desk, disappointed to see my bustier showed absolutely no cleavage. Probably because I didn’t have any. “I’m now your point person. I’ll be the middleman between you and the faire organizers.”

  “I should go.” Haley Jo’s words came out like a reluctant question, inviting Beau to disagree.

  I was heartened when he didn’t.

  “I’ll catch up with you later, Haley Jo.” Beau walked her to the door, a slight limp to his right side, a souvenir from his days in the military. “Good luck with your work. Let me know if you need anything.”

  The door shut with a click and Beau turned around. Saying nothing, he merely watched me a moment, his eyes making a slow meander over my form before meeting my gaze. “Hello, Paisley.”

  Oh. This man.

  My mind instantly flashed with images of our last kiss. It had been unexpected, all-consuming. And something I’d yet to exorcise from my memory. “Hello, Beauregard.”

  His back pressed to the door, he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “You know that’s not my name, right?”

  “I’ve yet to see your birth certificate.”

  Beau smiled at the nickname, then sat in the chair beside mine and watched me for the space of two breaths. “Surprised to see you today.” That voice. Deep and husky, with a Southern lilt that spoke of front porch swings and creek wading, fishing poles and pickup truck makeout sessions. It never failed to make my pulse up its tempo and my heart soften like butter on sweet corn.

  “I’m sure you are surprised to see me,” I said. “Since you’ve been avoiding me.”

  His dark brow lifted in challenge. “I think you have that wrong. I’m pretty sure it’s you who’s avoiding me.”

  Not only did Beau and I live in the same town, but we lived in the same duplex, both of us taking a side in the restored Victorian split in two by my grandmother, our landlord. He and I had always been oil and water, but since I’d moved back to Sugar Creek, we’d been more like kerosene and fire, a combustible combination neither one of us seemed to know what to do with. And ever since that kiss—and an argument over our dual romantic dysfunction not too long after—things had shifted, changed. Like a Jenga piece nobody wanted to touch for fear of the crash. We’d taken to avoiding each other, agreed actually that due to our individual U-hauls of baggage, we’d keep it platonic. I hadn’t seen more than a glance of him in weeks.

  “We can talk about how you’re completely wrong later.” I whipped my iPad out of my purse and opened a file. “Right now we need to discuss the Renaissance festival.”

  “Lisa’s gone?”

  “Yes. And now you’ve got me.” I paused at that statement and wondered if the words hung as heavy in the room as I thought they did. “I mean, you don’t have me. At all. Well, in the business sense, yes. You do have me for that.” Oh, my, I had gone to rambling. “The faire takes place over the next four weekends, culminating in a charity dinner theater on the very last night.”

  “I’m staying out of all of that. I’m just offering the property, much to my regret.”

  “Afraid they’ll have you in tights and a codpiece by the end of the week?”

  “Hey, boss, sorry to interrupt.” Rob stood in the office doorway, his Shar-pei forehead engaged in a frown. “There’s a guest out here asking for you. Someone who says he’s the organizer of all this hoopla.”

  Beau gestured to a bowl on his desk, then stood. “Try not to eat all my deer jerky while I’m gone, Paisley.”

  “Nathan Moore is here? This is perfect.” I closed the cover on my tablet. “We can all sit down and review some details.”

  I rushed behind Beau, smacking right into his back when he came to a sudden halt in the lobby.

  A man stood at the front desk, his eyes a familiar sea glass blue. It wasn’t the faire organizer I’d previously been dealing with. “Beau, good to see you,” the gentleman said. “You look well.”

  The temperature in the lobby dropped and the air stilled, as if imminent lightning charged every particle.

  “What are you doing here?” Beau’s jaw clenched.

  “What? No hug for your uncle Trace?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I’m here for the Renaissance faire. I’ve had a room booked for three months.”

  “I would’ve seen your name on the roster,” Beau said.

  His uncle chuckled. “The missus booked it under Henry Tudor. She’s cute like that.”

  “Consider your accommodations canceled.”

  I took a step closer, worried I might need to referee. Beau had little family, and I didn’t recognize this man who stood there with something akin to hate emanating from him like cologne.

  “You can’t cancel my accommodations,” Trace said.

  “I can. Go stay at one of the B&Bs.”

  “There’s no vacancy for twenty miles. And if I leave, the faire leaves.” He pulled a card from his shirt pocket and held it for Beau. “I’m the organizer. Well, co-organizer. Nathan Moore and I are both in charge.” He wisely cut the acid from his tone. “Come on, can’t we let bygones be bygones? Are you honestly still mad at me for something I did twenty years ago?”

  “It was twelve. And not something I’m—”

  My phone sang in my hand, and I silenced it before it could interrupt the argument.

  Then promptly received a text from Henry back at the office.

  CALL ME NOW OR I’M THROWING OUT ALL THE

  CHOCOLATE IN YOUR DESK.

  * * *

  I rolled my eyes toward the beams in the ceiling. My partner had the worst timing.

  With frustrated reluctance, I stepped back into Beau’s office and called Henry. “What do you need?” I kept the door open so I could keep an eye on Beau.

  Three beats of silence from the other end. “That’s just rude.”

  “Sorry.” I inhaled and counted to three. “How can I help you?”

  “You can start by answering my calls. Our tent supplier for the festival just backed out.”

  I peeked into the lobby where Beau stood, face tight with anger and body rigid with a furious tension. “You couldn’t have just left me a message?”

  “I don’t have conversations with voicemail,” Henry said with his trademark grouchiness. The genetic genie might’ve blessed him with the looks of a younger Idris Elba and an oversized brain for business, but we were still working on his people skills. “I’ve got a list of three more vendors to consider and . . .”

  His voice became a buzz in my ear as the volume from uncle and nephew rose.

  “Everything turned out okay despite us all,” Beau’s uncle snipped.

  Beau ’s voice went low. “Get out before I toss you out.”

  “I don’t think you will.” His uncle sauntered toward Beau, his cowboy boots scuffing across the wood floor. “If I shut down this faire, you lose your money and this town loses a month’s worth of revenue. Something tells me you don’t want that to happen.” His smile dripped saccharine.

  “You haven’t changed a bit.” Beau radiated heat like a melting nuclear reactor. “Stay out of my sight, Uncle.”

  “I’d advise you not to mess up this event,” Trace said. “I expect you to give us every amenity and courtesy you’d give—”

  “Paisley, are you even listening to me?” Henry asked.

  “Uh-huh.” A new player entered the scene, a plump, raven-haired woman with bangs like a curtain valance. She wheeled in a stack of boxes someone had labeled props with a zealous use of permanent marker, stopping at the sight of the two men squared off like cowboys ready to draw pistols.

  “Hon, what’s going on?” I heard her inquire.

  “Nothing, dear.” Beau’s uncle didn’t look much happier to see this woman. “Just talking to our nephew.”

  “Oh.” Her face lit in a hesitant smile. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Rebecca. I guess I’m your aunt—.”

  “Paisley
, I’m waiting on an answer,” Henry groused in my ear. “Did you catch anything I said?”

  I sighed. “Yes, yes, the tent company canceled.” Beau and his uncle exchanged more words and I missed every one. “I’ll be predictably stressed about that as soon as I have time.”

  I was pretty sure I heard Henry thunk his head on the desk. “Paisley, you’ll need to call the three backup options I sent you.”

  I watched Beau nod toward the raven-haired woman, turn, and stalk my way.

  “I’ll handle it,” I told Henry, then ended the call.

  Beau shut the door a little harder than necessary and headed straight for his mini fridge.

  Had I waited for him to fill me in, I would’ve fossilized where I stood. “What was all that?”

  He handed me a bottle of water then uncapped one for himself. “Nothing I want to discuss.”

  The man was into sharing about as much as I was into marathons. “Well, it looked like your uncle showed up, you can’t stand each other’s guts, and he ticked you off.” I sat down as Beau braced his hands on his desk and stared blankly at some paperwork, as if waiting out the fire of his temper. “You kind of looked like you wanted to punch this guy.”

  “I wouldn’t have touched him. Though I wanted to.” He scrubbed a hand over his stubbled face. “I seriously wanted to. All these years, and Trace can still get to me.”

  I felt the same way about Hugh Jackman.

  But that was probably different.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met that uncle,” I said. Beau and I had both grown up in Sugar Creek, until I’d left town to join a popular chick band at sixteen.

  Beau drained half his water bottle then sat in the chair beside me. “Trace is my dad’s brother. I don’t want to waste anymore time thinking about him.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I can’t believe he has the nerve to stay at my place. This town has a B&B on every corner, and he picks Fox Falls?”