Haley Jo pouted. “I told you, you shouldn’t have left my cabin to work on that generator.”
Were Beau and Haley Jo back together? Was that why she was “studying” at Fox Falls? Stop thinking about it, Paisley. You don’t want to date him anyway.
“But there’s an entire cast who were near the scene of the crime,” I reminded Beau.
“True,” he said. “So it’s nothing to get worked up over yet, right?” His lips tugged into an unconvincing smile. “Did you stop by to eat in front of me?”
Fine. I could at least give him the food. “This is from Ida Alderson.” I handed it over.
“And the coffee?”
“Mine. All mine.” His girlfriend could go get his darn coffee. “So what else did Ballantine have to say?”
“Had a few more questions about my whereabouts. Still trying to fill in his timeline, I guess. He reminded me not many people have a history with Trace like I do.”
“Ballantine made it pretty clear he thought Beau had motive,” Haley Jo said. “He even brought up Beau’s military training with weapons.”
Beau had been a captain in a Special Forces unit in the Army until an ambush changed his life and sent him home. And now that service was being used against him? “Everyone in this town knows you wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll be off the suspect list in a matter of time. They probably cast a wide net at the beginning of the investigation.”
“Paisley, weren’t you suspected of murder recently?” Haley Jo asked.
I was feeling a little murderous right now. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“I’ve told Beau not to worry about this another minute.” His ex tossed her wavy, frizz-free locks. “My father has access to the best legal team in the country. If needed, we can get them here by morning.”
“That’s not going to be necessary,” Beau said. “Paisley’s right, I’m sure it was just routine questioning.”
“I’ll make you a nice dinner tonight, pop the cork on some wine.” She was all but purring. “You can relax and forget all about this terrible situation.”
“I should go.” Before I barfed on the hardwood floor. “The faire’s opening for business in a few hours, and I have some loose ends to tie up.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Beau said, shutting the door on Haley Jo and leading me into the lobby.
My wedge heels wobbled as I stepped outside onto the sidewalk. My ankle suddenly rolled, and my feet stumbled to stay upright.
“Easy there.” Beau steadied me with an arm, and we both stopped. He turned me to face him. “Paisley—” His fingers circled my arm, lingering.
His scent caught on the breeze, and I absolutely refused to sniff it. “Yes?”
“It’s not what it looks like.” He looked delightfully uncomfortable. “I mean, me and Haley Jo.”
“It doesn’t matter.” It shouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter. He’d once let me know he was Mr. No Commitment, and I had barely disembarked from my first class seat on the Heartbreak and Rejection Plane. “You and I aren’t dating, right? If you want to hang out with your ex-girlfriend, that’s entirely your business.”
“She’s a friend,” he said. “An old friend.”
“Of course she is.” The day was already proving to be a little too much. Zero sleep, trying to salvage the Ren faire, then seeing Beau wrapped in Haley Jo’s skinny, genetically blessed arms. “Look, I came here to make sure you’re alright and to—”
“And to what?”
“Nothing.” I clutched the coffee cup, wishing I could click my heels and be back at Enchanted Events. “I simply wanted to tell you again I’m sorry for the loss and see if you needed anything.” I glanced back at the office where his ex-girlfriend waited. “But it appears you have everything you need.”
With an angry disregard for grace, I race-walked to my car and shut myself inside, the sweltering temperature within a match for my fiery humiliation. Phone in hand, I punched in a number, the air conditioner failing to cool me down.
A friendly-sounding voicemail played in my ear.
“Matt?” I put the car in reverse and watched Fox Falls in the rearview. “What are you doing next Thursday night?”
* * *
“Yes, mother, I’m fine.” I pressed my cell to my ear, my head aching from so many eye rolls in a single phone call, as I locked up Enchanted Events and walked toward my car. “No, I’m not responsible for this homicide. I actually wasn’t responsible for the last one, if you recall.” I’d worked past eight, and I simply did not have the patience for this conversation. My brother and sister were brilliant overachievers, just like our parents. Did my siblings have two Grammys on their mantle? They did not. But did they also have regular nagging phone calls from Mom? Um, no.
“But, darling, a murder? Again?” My mother had long ago worked with a voice coach to exorcise her Arkansas accent and enunciate to the point of annoyance. “Your father suggested I come off the tour and be with you during this trying time. And maybe help you relocate to a, shall we say, safer town?”
The parking lot lights shined like high beams on three familiar figures leaning against my aunt’s minivan. Sylvie, Frannie, and my cousin Emma chattered, completely oblivious to my presence.
“I don’t need you to come off the tour and be with me. I’m all right.” My parents were famously successful motivational speakers and traveled the globe telling people how to get inspired and take control of their lives. Meanwhile, their daughter was a washed-up musician who ran a “little business” they’d yet to give their approval of.
“But, darling, the tabloids could get a hold of this, and not that we care what they think of us, but—”
“I’ve had another meeting pop up. We’ll talk soon.”
I threw the phone in my purse and regarded this posse of trouble-makers. “Ladies, why do I feel like you’re about to kidnap me for some shenanigans?”
Sylvie looked up and smiled. “Because we are. We have food and information.”
Frannie tapped the white box cradled in her arm. “But only one’s for you.”
“It better be the food.”
“Nope,” Sylvie said. “Hop in the van.”
Too tired to object, I did as I was told. “What exactly are we doing? Please say it has something to do with a run through the Burger Barn.”
Sylvie buckled herself in then turned to eye Emma in the backseat. “Tell her what you told us.”
I angled the air vent so it blew right on me, my curly hair flying free. “I’m not sure I can handle much more today.”
Emma uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, the brunette ponytail on her head bobbing. “I’m discovering that one of the many perks of being married to the mayor is having a connection to the Sugar Creek police department. Noah might’ve heard some secret intel that Trace’s wife has been at her sister’s the entire time she’s been here.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Though not too strange. Maybe she just wanted to spend time with her sister.”
“And not take advantage of Beau’s beautiful little love shacks?” Frannie asked. “Sounds strange to me.”
I was sure Beau would die a thousand deaths to know anyone thought his cabins were chalets of passion. “I talked to Nathan today. He’s absolutely certain Rebecca had nothing to do with Trace’s death.” I filled them in on my conversation with the bank president as Frannie drove right past the Burger Barn, my interest in the destination waning one hungry mile after another.
“Nathan sounds very defensive of Rebecca,” my aunt said.
“Maybe he loves her. Or”— Sylvie snapped her fingers.—“maybe Rebecca’s the runner for the drug business he operated with Trace. Maybe he paid her to kill Trace. Maybe she paid him to kill Trace. Or Rebecca paid someone else to kill Trace? Maybe—”
“Or maybe Nathan’s just one of the nicest people in town and has never said a bad word about anybody,” Emma suggested.
“Hmph.” Sylvie turned back to
the front. “Your option bores me.”
Frannie turned left onto David Street. “Tell her the other news Noah heard, Emma.”
My cousin’s serious face had dread pushing on my temples. “What is it?” I asked. “Do not say you’ve discovered I’m once again on the suspect list because I will lie down on Interstate 49 before I go through that again.”
“You’re in the clear,” Emma said gravely. “But Beau’s definitely not.”
“He’s their number one focus,” Sylvie said.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, offering up a silent prayer for my neighbor and friend. I knew what it was like to be accused of something you didn’t do, to have the threat of prison looming like a horrible nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. “He suspected that might be the state of things. We have to do something.”
“I knew she’d be up for it!” Sylvie held out her waiting palm to Emma. “Pay up.”
Emma dug into her purse until she produced a twenty-dollar bill. “That’s not fair. Paisley said we had to do something. She didn’t say she was ready to launch another investigation.”
“I’m willing to help.” I glared at my grandmother and her best friend. “But this time we don’t do anything illegal.”
“Hon, we’re former CIA. Laws are just suggestions for those lacking creativity.” Frannie waved her hand toward the box in Sylvie’s lap. “I’ve got a dozen cupcakes for Rebecca Hudson and her sister Melly. I thought we could pay our respects.”
“Those poor women,” my aunt said. “I made them a lasagna.”
“Tell me you didn’t lace it with truth serum,” I said.
“Why, of course not!” Sylvie’s laugh filled van. “I used it all at the city council meeting.”
10
Melly Pittman lived in a newer subdivision whose style mimicked the classic Victorian homes near the square and surrounding roads. Every house was at least two stories with grass so green it scared all the weeds away, and flowers didn’t know a moment of wilt.
Sylvie stood before Melly’s bright red door and mashed her finger against the bell, eyeing the trickling water fountain, the trellis of roses, and the Re-elect Melly Pittman for City Council sign in the yard. “Fancy neighborhood,” she said none-too-quietly. “Probably got security systems in every home.” She sniffed as we heard footsteps. “I mean, nothing I couldn’t disarm with five seconds and a Tic-Tac.”
The door opened, revealing a tired Melly Pittman, her olive skin scrubbed of makeup, and a heavy fatigue magnified by her glasses. I recognized her as the newest recruit to join Sexy Book Club, though she didn’t look like she was in the mood to discuss shirtless dukes and swashbuckling rogues. “Ladies. . .hello.”
“We’re so sorry to hear of your loss,” Sylvie said. “We brought you some dinner.”
“How thoughtful of you.” She gestured for us to step inside. “Come on in, won’t you?”
The home boasted a new paint smell, as well as wood floors as far as the eye could see. We followed her into the open living room where two beige couches faced one another, divided by a white coffee table. Above the fireplace hung a family portrait taken at a beach. Two toddlers in the photo told me that Melly was now a proud grandmother. A dining room jutted to our right and continued the white furniture theme with its large farmhouse table and matching white china cabinet.
“Melly, we were so sorry to hear about your brother-in-law.” Frannie plopped onto one of the couches, sinking into it with a contented sigh.
“My goodness,” Sylvie said. “What a terrible thing to happen.”
Emma’s head shook sorrowfully. “You have our deepest sympathies.”
“Thank you.” Melly sat next to Frannie, her fingers righting bangs that hovered near her brows. “It was a shock. I mean . . . can you imagine? Murder in our little town?” Her eyes cut to me “Well. I guess you could.”
I just ignored that. One day the good citizens of Sugar Creek would be able to look at me and not connect me to a homicide. “How’s Rebecca holding up?”
“I think she’s still absolutely traumatized,” Melly said. “And of course she feels guilty that she didn’t hear or see anything to help with the investigation. The police just left an hour ago, and she didn’t have much to share.”
“So Rebecca’s been staying here.” Sylvie’s voice was casual as a query to the weather conditions. “Must be nice to catch up with your sister.”
Melly had a grip on the large turquoise beads at her collarbone. “Yes. Up until last night, it has been lovely. We don’t get to see each other much. Trace always liked Rebecca to stick close. This faire brought her home, but it’s a shame his death is what’s allowed all this catch-up time together.”
“Melly?” The sound of footfalls preceded the appearance of Trace Hudson’s widow stepping into the living room, her black hair wrapped in a towel, her skin glistening as if she’d just stepped from the shower. “Oh. I didn’t know we had company.”
“Rebecca, my friends have brought us some food.” Melly curled her sister into her side. “I think you already know some of these ladies.”
Rebecca turned tired, red-rimmed eyes to me. “I’m sorry I don’t look fit for guests tonight.”
“We don’t want to stay long,” Frannie said. “We dropped by to bring you something to eat.”
“It’s so nice of you.” Melly took the lasagna from Sylvie. “I’ll just put this on the dining room table with the other wonderful donations. Rebecca, you sit down and rest.”
I grabbed the cupcakes. “I’ll help you, Melly.” Keeping an eye on the living room scene, I followed her to a table covered with warm casseroles, flowers, and cards. It smelled like a church potluck, and I was heartened to see folks reaching out. The stack of restaurant gift cards were more my speed, as I was not gifted in the ways of the hot dish.
Pointing to the two hundred dollar gift card to Creekside Inn, I said, “That will be a lovely evening out when things calm down.”
“People have just been wonderful.” Melly sniffed. “We’re simply overwhelmed.”
Rebecca had eased herself onto a plump couch cushion as we rejoined the ladies.
“I hear the Renaissance faire will go on tomorrow.” Her voice was as fragile as my great grandmother’s China.
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “I hope that doesn’t seem insensitive. I talked to Nathan and some of the other participants, and they felt that was the thing to do.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Rebecca said. “It’s what Trace would’ve wanted. He worked for years on building up this Renaissance faire in Oklahoma, then worked so hard again getting it ready to relocate to Sugar Creek. It was his dream.” She swiped away a cascade of tears. “I just can’t believe he’s not going to be here to see it.”
Sylvie leaned forward, her expression full of grandmotherly solace—to the untrained eye. “Sugar, I know this is painful to talk about, but do you know anyone who would wish ill will on your husband?”
The towel on Rebecca’s head wobbled like a tipsy turban as she shook her head. “It’s no secret in this town that Trace could be a little bit difficult. That was a true fact when he left Sugar Creek years ago and it’s still true today. He’s hurt a lot of people in his life—like his nephew Beau.”
“Beau would never kill anyone.” Did I need to install a billboard or skywrite that declaration?
Rebecca didn’t acknowledge my sentiment. “Trace has broken my heart at least a dozen times, but I loved him so much. He was a very flawed man, but I can’t imagine someone being so angry they’d kill. How could anyone do that?” Her lips quivered and the tears began anew.
I reached over and rested my hand on Rebecca’s, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I know the police will do everything they can to see the murderer brought to justice.”
Melly came back into the living room, Emma following along behind her. “I read the papers last month,” Melly said as she sat down on a leather ottoman. She wagged a finger at me like she was about to unleash
a scolding. “When we had that murder in Sugar Creek last month, it wasn’t the police who solved the mystery. It was you.”
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a small source of pride. “Me and my team.” I gestured towards my family. “But that doesn’t mean the police aren’t capable. Detective Ballantine’s pretty sharp.”
“Sharp as a pair of kiddie scissors,” Sylvie said.
“Had you and your husband been having any trouble lately?” Frannie asked with all the grace of a belch at the dinner table.
Rebecca straightened her spine. “Nothing we couldn’t overcome.”
I watched Sylvie’s eyes narrow at that statement. “So there were some . . .difficulties?”
“Trace and I didn’t have the easiest marriage, but it was ours. And I was committed to that man no matter what. We’d had our ups and downs like any couple. And he had a bit of a roaming eye, but in the end, he always came back to me—his wife.”
We all processed that a little longer than comfortable.
I cleared my throat then gentled my voice. “Do either of you have any theories about what might’ve happened?”
There was an unmistakable pause in the conversation, as if the volume was cranked up on the words not being said. Melly toyed with the tassels on a throw pillow while Rebecca patted the towel atop her lowered head.
A strangled sound slipped the widow’s lips, and she shook with sobs.
Frannie’s eyes met mine as if to say, Oh, this is getting good.
“I feel so responsible.” Rebecca’s words rose in a wail. “Trace would still be alive if it weren’t for me.”
“Sis, don’t say such things.” Melly knelt before Rebecca, clasping her hands. “You couldn’t have done anything to stop this.”
“I’ve got my hearing aid turned up to ten if you’d like to unburden yourself,” Frannie said. “You go on and pour out your grieving heart.”
The only device in Frannie’s ear was a supersonic listening device held over from her days in the CIA.
Rebecca took a shuddering breath. “I was always in charge of props.”
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