Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “You couldn’t talk to him on the phone?”

  “No. Too impersonal.”

  He glanced toward the fluorescent lights and sighed. “You’re going to interrogate him, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all,” I said. “But if an inquisitive question happens to slip—”

  “I want you to back off on the detective work.” Beau surveyed the perimeter for listening ears. “For all you know Nathan Moore is a murderer, and you’re walking right into his lair and letting him know you’re on his trail.”

  His lips were so close to my ear, the hushed words tickled. “My . . .that’s a lot of metaphors.”

  “If someone’s psychotic enough to kill Trace, they might be crazed enough to come after anyone who could expose him.”

  “Or her.” I held up my hands to halt any further tirade. “Mr. Moore is a pillar of this community and one of the kindest, most well-mannered men I’ve ever encountered.” I shot Beau a withering look. “You could take a few lessons.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Stand down, Beauregard. There’s nothing dangerous in my coming to the bank. And I’ll thank you to stop telling me what to—”

  “Paisley, hello. What a nice surprise.” Nathan Moore emerged from his office, his loafers clicking across the tile floor as he greeted us with a smile. “Hi there, Beau. What brings you two into the bank?”

  Nathan wore navy slacks ironed with a crease so symmetrical, you could use it as a level. His sky blue Oxford provided a neutral backdrop for the whimsical nautical tie around his neck. He reached for both my hands, giving a warm squeeze. Even though he was only about fifteen years older than I, he still gave a fatherly vibe. My own dad didn’t give a fatherly vibe, so I tended to soak that sort of thing up like a marigold to the sun.

  “I’m dropping off some paperwork for an employee,” I said.

  “I’m helping her.” Beau’s stiff expression dared me to argue.

  “Beau was just leaving. Too many responsibilities back at Fox Falls.”

  Nathan wasn’t sure what to do with us.

  I quickly explained my errand on behalf of Alice’s father-in-law and handed over my parcel. “I also thought as long as I was here, maybe we could touch base. Go over an updated report and see if you’d like me to follow up on any of the items.” And try to distract you with enough inane chitchat, you drop your guard and reveal something useful and revealing. Something like, I killed Trace Hudson would do the trick.

  “Paisley thought it would be nice to include me in the updates,” Beau said. “She’s thoughtful like that.”

  Oh, geez.

  “I believe I said I would update you later.” My teeth would turn to dust if I ground them any harder. “We’re not talking about hiking trails or fishing holes, so these festival details would totally bore you. I’d like to talk to Nathan. Alone.” I cupped Beau’s warm cheek in my palm and grinned. “But thanks all the same.”

  “Mr. Hudson?”

  Beau turned at the appearance of a college-aged boy in rumpled khakis. “We have your change order ready, sir.”

  “You heard the young man,” I said. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Beau stood rooted to the spot, his eyes boring into mine, long enough to transfer his every cursing thought into my brain. “Nathan” —He reluctantly faced the banker— “good to see you. And Paisley, I’ll get that update from you—later.”

  Beau walked away, his casual saunter a handsome cover-up for anger lit to a simmer.

  “Well, come on back to my office.” Nathan waved a hand for me to follow.

  Much like Henry’s desk, the bank president’s workspace was intimidatingly tidy. Artful black and white photos of Ozark landmarks hung on the white wall behind him. I spotted a Eureka Springs hotel rumored to be haunted, a popular hiking point in the shape of a hawk’s bill, and a canon from a nearby military park. His lacquered desk looked efficient but lonely with only a sleek keyboard, a matching monitor, and a coffee cup reminding me of the bank’s name. Personally, if I didn’t have at least three piles surrounding me and twenty-five tabs on my browser, I couldn’t get a thing done.

  Nathan gestured to a black chair then seated himself on the other side, a single window inviting the afternoon light inside. “Things are so frantic when we’re at the festival, we barely get a chance to speak,” Nathan said. “Let’s hear some updates.”

  “Right.” I caught him up on a grounds-cleaning company I’d had to replace last week and gave him my attendance data with the recommendation we hire two more ticket-takers for the gate. I shared a lengthy list of compliments I’d received from faire visitors from our social media pages, before passing on the handful of constructive criticism I felt worthy of consideration.

  Nathan took my offered printout of the report and gave it a cursory glance. “Good work, as always.”

  “Thank you.” Work compliments were still a novelty to me and lit me up like a carnival ride. “So . . .” It was time to put on my detective hat. “How are you holding up?”

  “Oh.” He pondered this for the space of a single breath. “Pretty well, all things considered. It helps to stay busy.” He slipped off a pair of square-rimmed glasses, folding them on the desk. “It’s still surreal that Trace is gone. But he’d be proud of the work we’re doing.”

  “And that Rebecca, huh? What a trooper. Taking on a big part in the faire while grieving. She’s an admirable woman.”

  “That she is.” Nathan’s small smile grew. “One of the best.”

  “And you dated her in high school, right?”

  Nathan ignored his ringing phone. “Wow, hadn’t thought of that in years.”

  “Oh, come on now. We all remember our first loves, our teenage crushes.”

  His hand on a pen stilled. “It was high school stuff. A lifetime ago.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “I don’t recall.” Nathan shrugged. “A year or so.”

  He said it so flippantly, but that was a fairly significant amount of time. “Can I ask why you broke up?”

  Nathan chuckled. “Who remembers? Heck if I know. Any reason you’re asking?” His mouth opened on a thought, only to close. “Ah, I see. You think I might still be carrying a torch for Rebecca—because I dated her when we were kids.”

  “Well, now—”

  “And you think with Trace out of the way maybe I wanted to swoop in and rekindle what we once had?”

  “I was more interested in the romance and drama of it all,” I said smoothly. “But I suppose it could be an avenue the police explore. Have they talked to you about it?”

  “They have,” he said. “And I’ll tell you what I told them—my feelings for Rebecca are protective, yes,” Nathan said. “But my motives are purely brotherly. I assure you I did not kill my good friend so I could move in on his wife.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone thinking you would.” Smiling, I leaned forward, as if sharing a secret between two friends. “But if you can believe this, Angela swears she saw you kiss Rebecca the night of the murder.”

  “I see.” He tugged on the tie at his neck. “Admittedly, that did occur.”

  Brotherly feelings, huh?

  “Feelings get revved up on opening night,” he said. “It was an ill-timed mistake. Nothing for anyone to read into.”

  I’d just have to revisit his relationship with Trace’s widow later. “It seems Trace wasn’t the most faithful husband to Rebecca. Could she have reached a breaking point that night? Perhaps something triggered her?”

  “That’s not even possible,” Nathan said. “She just doesn’t have it in her. And neither do I. Did I have moments over the years I wanted to strangle him? Absolutely. It would be hard to find anyone who didn’t feel the same. I can’t count the times I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. But let’s face it, I’m not someone who would fare well in prison, I’d definitely get demoted as a deacon, and I cared too much about our festival to ever consider doing this without him. Trace could be perfectly awful,
but he was matchless in his passion and vision for the festival. We’re weeks from finalizing our land purchase. Losing Trace absolutely cripples me, cripples our project moving forward. It upset me to see how cavalier he was to Rebecca. But as a business partner? He was essential.”

  Still, Nathan could hire someone to be the new vision. Trace was replaceable. “Can I ask where you were at the time of the murder?”

  “I escorted Rebecca part way to the bathrooms, then stood guard, waiting for our queen to return. She can confirm my whereabouts.”

  And she had. There was no getting around that. But what if they were in it together? Or what if Nathan turned his head for a second and Rebecca went backstage? Or what if he ran backstage while she was visiting the loo? Surely with the layers of costume it would take her a while to do her business. It didn’t seem likely, but there was wiggle room for either of them.

  “We all want to get to the truth and see the murderer caught and brought to justice,” Nathan said. “Not to make light of this situation, but my eighty-five-year-old mother at the nursing home now calls me every hour to make sure I’m still alive. I need this person to be caught as quickly as possible.”

  “Of course.” My face was the very visage of innocence. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Let’s take a look at that report, eh?” Nathan reached for his glasses. “I think I’ll go make myself a copy.” With a fixed smile and a set jaw, Nathan excused himself from the office, disappearing out the door.

  I had a long way to go to be a gifted inquisitor. I didn’t know how my grandmother finagled information out of people with them being none-the-wiser. Probably with illegal narcotics and torture devices.

  Peering into the lobby I watched Nathan intercepted by one, then two more customers. Deciding I might be waiting a while, I pulled my phone from my purse and checked email. I had just responded to an impatient request from Henry when my eyes lit on a bookshelf in the corner. Next to a perfectly straight copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People and a biography of Warren Buffet, I spied an interesting sight. A tube poked out, the kind one might put a poster or house plans in. The label on the round lid read: Sugar Creek Ren Faire.

  My fingers fairly itched to tear into that canister and take a peek.

  After all, if next year’s faire was even bigger and better, they were going to need help from Enchanted Events. Seeing the plans could give me a leg up on having ideas ready to go.

  After checking that Nathan was still ensconced in conversation, I bolted from my chair and grabbed the tube from the shelf. My armpits began to sweat, and my pulse went all Tell Tale Heart, pounding in my ears. I whipped off the small lid, backed out of the line of sight in the doorway and sprawled the contents on the floor.

  Maps were not my thing, and neither were blueprints. I had no idea what direction was up, but I saw some familiar landmarks such as the creek. Symbols marked the spot for various faire structures, and I could make out a drawbridge at the entrance, a castle at the back of the property that looked straight out of Disney, and an arena right in the heart of the acreage.

  “What are you doing?”

  I squealed like a runt pig and leapt to my feet.

  And found Beau behind me.

  I covered my hammering heart with a shaky hand. “Thank God it’s you.”

  “I repeat, what are you doing?”

  “Um . . . it’s not what it looks like?”

  “It looks like you’re snooping through Nathan’s office.”

  “It wounds me that you would jump to this conclusion.”

  “Pack it up, Pop Star.”

  “It’s the new Ren faire plans. Aren’t you interested?” I pointed to the floor. “They kind of jumped out at me.”

  “I’m sure that will be a strong defense when Nathan fires you.” Beau picked up the plans with deft hands.

  “Wait.” I snapped a picture with my phone. “Hold on just a minute.”

  “This is none of your business.”

  “How do you know? It could be really relevant. Why are they so hush-hush about the land?” I pointed to a windmill symbol. “Does that look familiar? Where exactly is this property?”

  Beau’s next words died on his lips.

  “Hold my calls, Liza,” came the bank president’s voice.

  I startled and dropped my phone. “I need a few more pics.” Why did I ever think I could be a sneaky spy? Footsteps sounded like ominous gongs of warning as I quickly snatched my phone, reached for a page of the plans and took one, two, three shots.

  “Paisley, for the love of—” Beau wrenched the blueprints away and furiously rolled them into a tight tube. He shoved them back into the canister as Nathan’s voice got even closer.

  “Tell Vance I’ll call him back,” Nathan said, only steps away. “And set up that tee time.”

  “Do you trust me?” Beau asked as Nathan neared.

  “Not even a little bit,” I whispered.

  His arms wrapped around me, and before I could say direct deposit, Beau sealed his lips over mine.

  My brain ceased all human function as Beau pulled me closer and deepened the kiss.

  Holy canoe paddles.

  Beau’s lips softened and slanted, and one hand moved to my face, cradling my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin as I simply held on.

  How long had I waited for this? It seemed like two forevers.

  The bank disappeared. The voices went silent.

  It was just Beau. And just me. Together.

  Though he stood over a foot taller, somehow the distance didn’t matter. Somehow we fit as if he was my missing piece.

  I’d kissed famous actors, model-gorgeous men, worldly rock stars. But nobody made me feel the way this Arkansas boy did.

  I captured his top lip, felt the fullness of it, then heard myself sigh. Propriety didn’t matter. Breath was simply a waste. All I wanted was more of this.

  All I needed was more of Beau and—

  “All right, Miss Sutton, sorry to keep you waiting, I—”

  Gasping, I took a step back.

  Beau lifted his head, had the nerve to give me a slow wink, then grinned at Nathan. “Sorry about that.” He untangled himself from my hands, which had somehow made themselves right at home clinging to the back of his shirt. “I was just explaining prime interest rates to Paisley.”

  My skin flamed with embarrassment, adrenaline, and. . .one hot lip-lock.

  Saints above, that man could kiss.

  “I. . .I think I get it now.” I gulped in three ragged breaths. “Fascinating stuff.”

  Nathan laughed nervously, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to take an important call.”

  “Oh. Right.” The plans! Had he seen the plans?

  And that’s when I realized they were no longer in Beau’s hands.

  They’d somehow magically been returned back to the shelf. A little crooked—but there all the same. Now that was some talent.

  What else had happened during that flash makeout session? I did a quick check to make sure my bra was still intact. . .

  “We’ll let you get back to work.” Beau nudged me toward the door.

  “Have a nice day, Nathan.” I followed Beau in a daze, as if I’d just walked away from a head-on collision.

  He escorted me to my car, a ridiculously smug smile hanging on that tanned face. “Should we talk about what you just pulled in there?” I unlocked my door.

  Beau leaned a hip against my Toyota. “You mean how you went prowling through the bank president’s office?”

  “Not the part I was referring to.”

  He towered all that height over me. “And how you nearly got caught until I pulled you to me and kissed you?” He reached out a finger and traced it across my cheekbone. “How you melted in my arms, completely unaware when I walked us backward to the bookshelf and replaced the blueprints?”

  “There was no melting.”

  “Oh, I believe there was.”

  “And I knew exactly what yo
u were up to.”

  His focus dipped to my lips, lingered. “Did you now?”

  “Yep.” His hair was close enough to run my fingers through. Get a grip, Paisley. “And . . .and you’re welcome.”

  “For what?”

  “For playing along.”

  His lips kicked up in a deep, infuriating grin. “You’re kind of fun to save, Pop Princess.”

  Puh-lease. This conversation wasn’t even worth the effort of an eye roll. “See you later, Beauregard.”

  He opened my car door, some of that arrogance now replaced by curiosity as he took a pensive breath then looked back toward the bank. “Are you sniffing around Nathan Moore’s office because you suspect him?”

  “I . . .I don’t know.” My brain had yet to return to functional capacity. Seriously, how was the man able to string words together right now? “I, um, asked him about an affair with Rebecca—which he denied.”

  “But you think he’s sweet on her?”

  “Yes. I do.” I smiled at his phrasing as I settled into the driver’s seat. Under that gruff exterior beat the heart of a Southern gentleman. “But he probably doesn’t kiss her against bookshelves.”

  Beau grinned and gave my door a tap. “That’s certainly their loss.”

  19

  I wondered if Mrs. Marple had ever lied to a co-worker.

  At three o’clock on Wednesday, I tidied up my desk, grabbed my purse, and told Henry I was leaving for the day to check out a venue.

  It was true—I was checking out a venue. Just not for one of our events.

  Two hours and thirty minutes later, I sat in the backseat of Frannie’s van as she pulled right up to the front gates of the Muskogee Renaissance Faire. It had been a tedious car ride, in which Frannie and Sylvie brainstormed solutions to Trace’s murder, sexy things to say to Matt on our date tomorrow night, as well as names for my future children. Having brought my laptop, I worked on Enchanted Events tasks and pretended to ignore it all. Especially when they got to child number five.

  Muskogee, Oklahoma, was home to the state’s biggest Renaissance faire. I knew they were the model of what Nathan and Trace had envisioned for their Sugar Creek festival, with a permanent location and events throughout the year.