Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  Hadn’t Trace told Beau that very thing? “Was he referring to the new Ren faire land? Did he say where it was?” Though I hadn’t dedicated as much time to the land search as I’d wanted, no property matched the blueprints I’d found in Nathan’s office.

  Sarge’s attention honed in on Frannie’s steak. “He, uh, didn’t say where the Ren faire would be. Was really cagey about it, and don’t think I didn’t ask. Wanted to know if I’d visited the faire, if I’d heard any town buzz.”

  “Do you have a photo of this man?” Noah asked.

  “I actually have three hundred and twenty-five photos, plus five minutes of video from ten different angles.”

  Sylvie’s lips quirked. “And you wonder why I won’t let Frannie go out with you.”

  Our guest pulled a nondescript black phone from the pocket of his camo jacket. “It’s all on here. The phone is yours to keep. It’s just a burner.”

  Sylvie took the device. “Is this thing gonna self-destruct in thirty seconds?”

  “Naw, shoot,” he said. “You’ve got at least an hour.”

  My grandmother perused the photos, while fine lines fanned her eyes as she scrutinized multiple shots. “Handsome fellow. Take a look-see, Frannie.”

  Frannie held the phone with one hand and slapped the table with the other. “Oooh, my! You didn’t mention he was a brother!” She smiled as she swiped through the phone. “And a fine one at that.”

  “I don’t really find that relevant,” Sarge said. “Nor do I see color. All I see is heart, soul, intentions, and whether someone would have the upper body strength to swing an axe should the zombie apocalypse befall us.”

  I didn’t know if they made an antibiotic for this type of love malaise, but Sarge was going to need a triple dose. And maybe an enema.

  “Wait,” Sylvie said. “I saw that guy at the faire this week. Maybe the day before yesterday?” She snatched the phone from my aunt. “Nate had me covering the face painting booth during lunch. I noticed the man hovering about, and he didn’t exactly look like the type to stand in line for a butterfly on his face. He was doing some major people watching. But I was too busy sneezing glitter out my nose, and I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

  “Did he leave his name, his card, anything?” I asked.

  Sarge seemed mesmerized by watching Frannie eat. “Introduced himself as J.D. Goldberg.”

  “Goldberg?” I repeated. “That’s the last name of the faire design consultant Nate said Trace found.”

  “Google that name, dear Frannie,” Sylvie said.

  “No need.” Sarge inched closer to the object of his affection. “And that guy’s no consultant. I had one of my guys follow him. Tracked him all the way to Springfield, Missouri, where he pulled into the offices of a place called Heartland Amusements.”

  “What’s that?” I knew Sarge would’ve already dug up the answer. No wonder Sylvie kept him in her loop of friends.

  “It’s a corporation that franchises events. They take successful local amusements and duplicate them nationally. Like craft shows, carnivals, music festivals—”

  “Or Renaissance faires.” I was starting to understand.

  Sarge nodded. “They pay big bucks to relieve you of your event and make it a chain.”

  “You’re saying Trace brought the faire to Sugar Creek, but had planned to sell it and take it even bigger?” Emma asked.

  “Possibly,” Sylvie said. “But it certainly adds an interesting kink. If that was the plan, surely Nate knew, right? And who else?”

  “What if none of them were aware of this franchising idea?” I wondered.

  “Or what if the killer knew and that’s connected to our motive?”

  Sarge pulled a red bandana from one of the fifty pockets on his jacket and wiped his glistening brow. “I’m feeling a little woozy from all this city air and stepping beyond my boundaries. I better get back to the shop. I’m monitoring a situation in Montana that I think could be an alien uprising. I’ll keep you posted.”

  Emma nudged her husband. “He doesn’t mean humans here without a visa.”

  Sylvie escorted him to the doorway. “Thanks, hon.”

  “Yeah, thank you, Sarge.” Frannie graced the man with a dimpled smile.

  Sarge stumbled and nearly face-planted into the wall, finding it difficult to walk and stare at Frannie at the same time. “If you’d ever like to share a dehydrated hot dog and a powdered YooHoo, Miss Frannie, I request that you please give me a call. If you’d like I can leave one of my one hundred phone numbers. They expire daily. As do our individual freedoms under the Godzilla that is taxation. I bid you all good evening.”

  “What do we do with that information?” I asked when Sarge had driven away in his lime green solar-powered car.

  “I guess we find out who knew,” Sylvie said ominously. “And if it was reason enough to kill.”

  34

  “Can I interest you in some ice cream?”

  Matt held the door open for me as I exited the Bayonet the next afternoon. We’d enjoyed a quick lunch in the restaurant housed in a two-story building that had been a Civil War hospital in its former life, but I really needed to get back to Enchanted Events. My head spun with the random facts surrounding Trace and those in his company, to the point that I could hardly focus on the corporate party I’d been trying to work on all day.

  “No ice cream for me, but thank you for lunch.” I stepped onto the sidewalk, the sun a fiery aggressor in the sky. “We’re short-handed right now, and duty calls.”

  Matt wore his dark blue police uniform and earned quite a few appreciative glances from some envious women we passed. Yet . . .still no zing-pow.

  “I hear Southern Scoops food trailer makes a mean ice cream sundae.”

  Well, they were no Dixie Dairy, but I did like to support all local businesses. “Maybe just a cone.”

  We’d just passed my favorite clothing boutique when the door opened to Easley’s Hardware and out stepped Beau Hudson.

  His words from Saturday morning replayed in my head. Here we stood in front of the big window of the store. It was all I could do not to grab Matt and kiss his face off.

  “Paisley.” He nodded his head in greeting and slipped a shopping bag beneath his arm. “Hey, Matt.”

  “Hello.” The only thing colder than my voice might be an Alaskan winter. Thanks to Beau, I’d had a police escort to work this morning. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to snoop on people when I had the fuzz on my tail.

  “Just getting some nails.” Beau shifted the bag to his other arm, as if pained to make conversation. “Building a new cabin.”

  “That’s great,” Matt said politely. “Glad to see Fox Falls is growing. Right, Paisley?”

  “Yep. Well, bye now, Beau.”

  “Off to get some dessert.” Matt’s hand found the small of my back, and he guided me toward the square. “That guy’s everywhere,” he said after some distance.

  I looked back over my shoulder. “You have no idea.”

  We stopped at the neon orange food truck, and while it blasted Beach Boys hits, we got two chocolate cones.

  “A double scoop for you.” Matt handed mine to me then frowned at the ringing from his back pocket. He pulled out his phone, read the display, and frowned. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. Excuse me for a moment.” With his ice cream in one hand and his phone in the other, Matt walked away, leaving me beneath the shade of a giant oak.

  After waving at two women I knew from church, I began to stroll, lured by the fountain.

  I smiled as I spied an elementary-aged child hop into the waters when his mother wasn’t looking. Oh, to be young and adventurous again.

  My thoughts wandered to the murder investigation. We still had more questions than answers. Had Rebecca killed Trace to get all their joined assets? Were their assets enough to cover the equivalent of a luxury home on the golf course? Or maybe Nathan killed Trace so he and Rebecca could finally be together. Then there was Ca
m. Perhaps he had gotten so beaten down by Trace’s maltreatment and empty promises he’d finally snapped. My gut said Angela was no longer on the suspect list, but what if she’d intentionally murdered her first husband? Could she have done it again? And maybe Rex was acting strange. Did he know more than he was letting on?

  Checking both ways, I stepped onto Main Street, the crosswalk light flashing. My toes ached in my stilettos, and I hadn’t taken five steps when I heard it.

  Squalling tires shrieked as an engine revved. I took my eyes off my beloved ice cream in time to see a blue car speed my way.

  “Move!” someone yelled. “Move!”

  My brain struggled to process. Like a scene from an action movie, the car barreled toward me.

  My heels dug into the pavement as I began to run. Must make it to the other side.

  The car swerved toward me—just as I dove, my body slamming onto the pavement where I rolled.

  And rolled.

  And rolled.

  “Paisley!”

  I lay face down on the road, my head ringing like a bell. Voices ricocheted all around.

  Eyes closed, I whispered a plea to heaven, praying I wasn’t actually dead, my body unattractively flattened like a pancake. With great expectation, I wiggled my toes, encouraged by movement. Surely if I were dead I wouldn’t hear all this chaos around me. People yelling. Feet running. Beau and Matt both bellowing my name as if their volume alone could lift me from the pavement.

  “Paisley!” Someone dove next to me, knees skidding on the ground. Hands moved all over my aching limbs, searching for signs of life.

  “Call an ambulance!” I heard Beau command.

  Then Matt’s terse voice. “Paisley, can you hear me?”

  “Back up,” Beau said. “I’ve got this.”

  “I’m a trained medic.”

  “I said back up. I’ve got her.” Beau’s volume rose as I successfully wiggled my fingers. “Find that car before it gets away.”

  I tasted blood and slid my tongue across my teeth, enormously relieved not one molar had been relocated. My cheek burned from what I guessed was an impressive road rash, and when I gingerly wiggled my arm with the intention of sitting upright, Beau lightly held me in place.

  “Don’t try to move,” he said. “An ambulance is coming.”

  “Not necessary,” I mumbled, my lip stinging something fierce.

  “Talk to me, Paisley.” Beau continued his intrusive physical, his fingers meandering for breaks and bumps. “Tell me where it hurts.”

  My eyelids fluttered open, and I struggled to lift my head. Beau leaned over me like a warrior angel. “I . . .I think I’m okay.”

  “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

  “In Sugar Creek.”

  “What day is it?”

  My shoulder throbbed something fierce. “A really unfortunate one.”

  “Who am I?”

  “Chris Hemsworth.” I managed a small smile. “I always knew you’d come for me.”

  Beau’s body slackened, some of the tension leaving his bones. “I see the car didn’t knock the sass out of you.”

  “It didn’t even hit me. Though my swan dive to the pavement jarred me a bit.”

  “Your face and arm are bleeding pretty bad.” He got all handsy again as he did a more thorough inspection, with his eyes narrowed and his lips set with concentration. “Does anything hurt?”

  I eyeballed the lookey-loos. “My pride.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?” He glanced toward the direction the car had squealed away and sat back on his haunches.

  I gingerly rolled to a seated position, swatting his hands when he tried to stop me. “Nothing’s broken.”

  “You need your head examined.”

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”

  His face remained soldier serious. “You scared me, you know?”

  “Well, that scene was a little angsty from my view as well.”

  “I heard the vehicle . . .” Beau’s words fell out, scratched and raw. “And I saw you in the path, but couldn’t do anything. Lord, Paisley, it was something out of a nightmare.” The hand he shoved through his hair tremored slightly. “I could see you, but I couldn’t get there fast enough. I yelled, but you couldn’t hear me. I thought. . . I thought . . .” He shook his head, his expression hollowed, then his arms gently wrapped around me and pulled me to his chest.

  I closed my eyes again, breathing in the moment of safety and let myself be enfolded into the bliss of Beau’s care and regard. His shirt smelled like Coppertone and heartache. His hand brushed over my hair, skimming across the back of my aching head, curving around my neck. In this embrace there was just the two of us—no death, no fear, no evil lurking in darkened corners. I wanted him to hold me like this forever.

  And I wondered if he might.

  But a wailing siren pierced our suspended moment, and Beau eased away. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He glanced down at my knees, which looked like they’d met a cheese grater. “You’re bleeding.” Then he touched my temple, his fingers finding another open wound.

  “I’ll be fine.” I watched the ambulance park, and Beau helped me to my feet. My ankle wobbled, and I looked down to the see the source of my imbalance. The heel of my shoe was completely snapped, lying on the ground, a casualty of the day. “That jerk made me break my heel.”

  “That jerk almost killed you.”

  “But these are my favorites.” Irrational tears appeared before I could get them in check. “I wore these shoes the first time the Electric Femmes headlined with Coldplay.”

  Beau ran his thumb over my cheek. “I’ll buy you some more.”

  I held the heel like a spike in my hand. “Another piece of my rocker life—gone.” Just like my ice cream.

  “But you’re here. Shoes we can replace.”

  Two EMTs bailed from the ambulance just as a police SUV parked nearby.

  Beau slid his arm around my back as we waited for the cavalry. “Did you recognize the car?”

  My head ached with the effort to think about it. “I don’t think so, but I believe it might’ve been a Mustang. Something sporty. How about you?”

  “No. Did you see the driver?”

  “Barely. I think it was a man?” I was too busy sticking my landing. “Do you believe it was random?”

  A squall storm brewed behind those eyes. “What do you think?”

  “Probably not.”

  “You must be getting closer to the truth.”

  “Hey, that sounds encouraging.”

  He watched the EMTs run our way. “Not if someone’s determined to stop you.”

  35

  “I promise to call if I feel like I’m about to die.” Three hours and one trip to the ER later, I closed the door on Beau, Sylvie, Frannie, and my cousin Emma. They’d all hovered nervously, worried my head might crack open in a delayed reaction, until I finally couldn’t take it anymore and kicked them out.

  I smiled weakly at my final guest, who was still asking questions on behalf of the Sugar Creek P.D., despite the fact that I’d filed a police report and regurgitated my version of events half a dozen times. “Really, Matt, I didn’t see much.”

  Resuming my spot on the couch, I pressed a bag of frozen peas to my achy skull (the only thing peas were good for) while Officer Quincy draped a quilt over my legs.

  Sylvie and Frannie had turned on a DVR’d General Hospital for me before leaving, and some shirtless man with a six-pack had just saved the ransomed librarian from a drug cartel with nothing more than a few karate chops and one heck of a smolder.

  “You’re sure it was a man behind the wheel?” Matt asked.

  “Yes.” Bald head, unless he wore something to give that appearance.

  He consulted his notes as he sat down beside me. “Blue car. Beau thought it was a two-door?”

  My left eye ached with the effort to recall the car zooming right for me. “Yeah. Like a Mustang or a Camaro.”

 
“This year’s model?”

  We’d been over this, and I barely kept the testiness from my voice. “I don’t know. Older? The car was covered in dirt.”

  “Maybe the owner lives on a dirt road.”

  In this town, that really didn’t narrow it down. “Maybe.”

  “What about hubcaps—anything striking about those?”

  “I didn’t see hubcaps, hood ornaments, or any defining markings.” I let my head fall against the pillowy softness of the couch cushion. “I think I’d like to take a break from the questions and watch the librarian kiss her shirtless hero in peace.”

  “I’m sorry. You must be exhausted.” Matt reached for my hand, the one that didn’t look like I’d been on the losing end of a brawl. “Can I get you some more ice cream?”

  Calories didn’t take the day off just because a car had tried to snuff you out. “I think three bowls is enough.” At least until bedtime.

  “Dr. Sylvie said to feed you queso in two hour intervals.”

  “She is the great-granddaughter of a Navajo medicine man,” I said.

  “One of the many qualifications she provided.” Matt’s fingers feathered over the top of my hand, back and forth. “Have I mentioned I nearly had a heart attack today?”

  “A few times.”

  “I hate that I took that stupid call. That I didn’t see it coming and push you out of the way.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard. There’s no way we could’ve anticipated what happened.” I rested my sore hand on his. “I appreciate your staying to take care of me, but I’d like to take a little nap.”

  “How about I stay while you sleep? Just to stand guard.”

  I stood, the bag of peas dripping on my bare foot. “I have twenty-four-hour police surveillance right outside my door.” I waved my hand toward the street where a cop sat in his patrol car, the poor fellow. “I feel very safe.” And Sylvie would be back after her hot yoga class, insisting she spend the night.

  Matt’s gaze slowly roamed over my face as he lightly tucked my hair behind my ear. “You’re the bravest pop star I’ve ever met.”