As I skimmed the crowd, my eyes widened as I saw a familiar pair in the fifth row, fanning themselves and smiling.
Zoey and her boyfriend, Max.
She wore a strapless dress, while a muscled-up Max donned a skintight blue polo that was surely sticking uncomfortably in this heat. This was my chance to talk to them, as I still had so many questions. I didn’t know if they were on Detective Ballantine’s suspect list, but they were still on mine.
There was little we could pack up until the photographer finished with the wedding party, so I completed a few odds and ends. Then I made my way to the reception, held beneath an air-conditioned tent and spilling out into the yard, decorated with hay bales for sitting and wildflowers for admiring. Waiters in boots, plaid shirts, and Wranglers wove through the crowd, offering icy drinks and appetizers. At the request of the couple, everything was low-carb. I worried that detail alone would curse their marriage.
“Zoey, Max!” I waved and dodged my way through the crush of people.
The two stood beneath a shady oak, where Zoey sipped a cucumber-infused water and Max held a beer. Once recognition lit Zoey’s features, her smile faded. They did not return my enthusiastic greeting.
“Quite the event, huh?” I grabbed an iced tea from a passing waiter as a country band began to play another love song. “Such a fun wedding.”
“Yes, beautiful ceremony.” Zoey shifted closer to her boyfriend. “I thought they’d arrested you by now.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “Nope. Still here. One of the perks of being innocent, I guess.” My goodness, she was frosty tonight. “Are you friends of the bride and groom?”
“They work out at the gym I manage,” Max said. “And he’s my running buddy.”
“What gym is that?”
“Blazing Guns.” He fished into his pocket and produced a card. “We’re a mile from downtown. Been open six months. We offer personal training if you ever want to try us.” He looked at my arms with a disapproving frown. “We could start out light. Like we do for some of our senior citizens.”
When a girl passed by with a tray of fruit, I snagged a strawberry and stuck it in my mouth, reminding myself I needed to be nice. A snarky comeback would not get me information.
I swallowed the berry and licked my lips. “So, Zoey, how are you and your family doing?”
She focused on a spot over my head. “We’re fine.”
“I know these last few weeks have been hard.”
“We’re getting by, but thank you for asking.”
My phone in my pocket buzzed, and I pulled it out to read a text from Henry. Shoot. He needed me at the trailer ASAP.
Well, no time to slowly ease into my questions. “Zoey, can I ask where you were the morning of Sasha’s murder?” Her eyes went wide in offense. “I know it’s crazy, but I’m just trying to piece together where everyone was.”
“I was in a hot yoga class at Surrender, a new studio here in town.”
What was it with these people enjoying the heat? “Do you have any witnesses to confirm this?”
One eyebrow lifted in disdain. “I don’t really know anyone in the class, but I guess I would’ve signed in when I got there.”
How would I check that? The yoga studio wasn’t going to hand over their sign-in records.
“And you, Max?” I turned to Mr. Muscles. “Where were you when you got the news?”
“I was at work.”
“At Blazing Guns Gym.”
“Right.”
I swear the man flexed beneath his shirt. “Can anyone vouch for that?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah. The ten people I was teaching in my advanced bodybuilding class. There’s one right there.”
He pointed to a burly man big enough to lift a refrigerator.
“The guy with the mustache?” I asked. “Wow. He’s buff.”
“That’s Helen,” Max said. “My mom.”
Oh, my. “And isn’t Helen lovely?” Smiling, I retreated a step as my phone continued to buzz. “Sure nice talking to you both. I’ve got to get back to work, but thank you for the information and enjoy your evening.”
Zoey should definitely give a second thought to ever having children with Max and his Hercules DNA.
My heels spiked into the ground as I walked across the grass toward the Enchanted Events van. Clusters of vertical lights hung from trees like cascading stars, giving the farm setting a magical, romantic glow. My heart pinged for a mere second, the longest I would allow myself to dwell on the fact that I was alone, denied my own wedding. Though Evan ditching me at the altar had really pulled the rug out from beneath me, it had been for the best, and I needed to remember that. Still. It would be nice to have a strong, handsome shoulder to cry on when one faced sad and dramatic days. Like the days that included a murder.
The warm air carried the sounds of the band, their stringed instruments in harmony with their voices. I knew soon a line dance instructor would take the stage, giving everyone in attendance a brief lesson in some easy dances. This wedding was just as fun as Sasha and Evan’s formal event would not have been. Such a study in contrasts.
I listened to the music a moment and reviewed my suspect list. Evan was no longer a contender, so I could stop fantasizing about him in an orange onesie. I’d make sure Max’s alibi checked out, but he, too, seemed to be in the clear. I still needed to verify Phoebe’s whereabouts, but could sweet Phoebe really commit murder? She’d gotten so emotional when I’d spoken to her. Almost too willing to share information.
Then there was loose-lipped Phoebe’s opposite—Raven Arnett. I got a weird vibe from that girl, but her lack of personality didn’t make her guilty. Still, why was she so uncooperative? And if she did kill Sasha, what would be her motive?
Zoey said all the right things, but she had motive. She’d been second fiddle to Sasha for years. That could surely mess with a person’s mind. And then there was her father—Mr. Chandler. Maybe he’d gotten tired of his stepdaughter, or maybe he had been funneling her money after all. He’d been in an argument with her the night before the murder, a detail I’d yet to explore. It was imperative I find a way to speak to him at the gala.
“Paisley, hello!”
I was saved from my own heavy thoughts as the woman I’d met at the Sugar Creek Library stepped into my path, her smile wide.
“It’s so good to see you,” Anna Grace said. “This is my husband, Carson Fielding.” She nudged the hipster man beside her. “See, honey, I told you I met her!”
“Professor Carson Fielding?”
“The one and only,” he said with a grin.
The very guy Raven said I should talk to! Finally, something was going my way.
“My wife’s a big, big fan.” Professor Fielding smelled like expensive cologne and looked like he’d read a fashion blog or two. His dirty-blond hair stopped just short of the collar on a linen jacket that coordinated beautifully with his leather wingtips. “She has all your music. Even has a collector’s edition of your debut album on vinyl.”
“Wow, not many copies of that around,” I said. It was kind of nice for someone to remember the group for what it was and not just the little band that Jaz used to launch her solo career. “Beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Anna Grace said. “Anytime Enchanted Events handles a wedding, you know it’s going to be fabulous.”
“Thank you.” So far, Anna Grace was right. Henry and his crew put on events to rival anything I’d seen back in California.
I turned to her husband. Now that I had this opportunity, I had no idea what to ask. What exactly was his connection to Sasha and why did Raven think he was a person of interest? “You teach at Arkansas A&M, right?”
“Yes. I teach art. Upper-level painting classes mostly. Been there about six years.”
“Kind of a random question,” I began. “But did you ever have Sasha Chandler in any of your classes?”
The professor’s smile flickered. “Ah
, I think I might’ve years ago. I encounter hundreds of students every year, so—”
“But I think you’d remember Sasha, and—”
“Mr. Fielding! Carson Fielding!” A woman in a too-tight pink dress hustled toward us, fan waving and buttons straining.
Anna Grace rolled her eyes at her husband then looked at me. “He has quite the following.”
“Hello!” The woman stopped mere inches from Carson, her updo nearly unwound. “Oh, my.” One diamond-covered hand fluttered to her bosom. “I just wanted to say how much I adore your current exhibit at the Sugar Creek Gallery.”
“Well, thank you.” Professor Fielding’s easy grin reappeared. “That’s a very nice thing to say. And you are?”
“Veda Nelson.”
Professor Fielding lifted Veda’s right hand and shook it slowly, gently. “Veda. What a lovely name.”
The woman had to be old enough to be the man’s mother, yet she blushed like a sophomore being asked to prom. “The beach paintings are so real.” She flapped her fan, her bangs aflutter. “I can practically smell the ocean.”
“Thank you.” Fielding’s accent was decidedly Midwestern, as no twang dented a single syllable. “May I ask which one is your favorite?”
“Lonely Woman on the Shore.” Veda’s eyes went distant, as if she were imagining herself there. “She appears to be simply wading, yes? But when you look at the despair on her face, juxtaposed with the ominous cloud above her, you wonder if she’ll walk out into those waves and never return.”
“I love it when someone gets my work,” Fielding said. “You really do understand it.”
“Well, what does the woman choose?” Veda rested her hand on his arm. “Does she keep walking into the waves?”
“Whatever you believe. That is the answer.”
As Veda giggled, I looked at Anna Grace, whose shallow tolerance seemed to have morphed to barely contained annoyance.
I caught Anna Grace’s eye and inclined my head toward her husband and his adoring fan. “Does this happen often?”
“He’s something of a local celebrity,” she said low, not that Veda or Carson were listening. “Especially when he turns on the charm, but I guess it helps him sell his work.”
“He’s good at it.”
“Too good,” Anna Grace said before resetting her facial features to their perky default. “Don’t mind me.” Her laugh was a little too squeaky, a little too loud. “I’m glad he’s finally found success in the art world. He’s an incredible talent, and we’ve waited years for everyone to see how brilliant he is. It just comes with some occasional arrogance, and I have to take him down a notch or two by telling the artiste extraordinaire to just unload the darn dishwasher, you know?” She nudged me as if we were best friends and laughed some more.
Bubbly Anna Grace was back, but I still wondered why a senior citizen’s attention bothered her to such a degree. Maybe it did happen a lot. Maybe it intruded on their privacy, which I certainly understood. Back in the Electric Femmes’ heyday, I couldn’t enjoy a quiet dinner in a restaurant without multiple interruptions for photos and autographs. It did get old and annoying, especially to those who were with me and just wanted to eat a burger in peace. Was Professor Fielding really that big of a deal?
“I’m sure you’re very proud of your husband,” I finally said, still observing his amazing gift of schmooze. He really had some charisma. The romantic kind. Perhaps this was part of his marketing, his brand.
“Yes,” Anna Grace said. “We’ve both taken the slow route to success. I worked and put him through college and grad school. Now that things are going so well with his job at A&M and his showings, it’s my turn. Or will be.”
“Your turn for what?”
“I took the spring and summer semesters off from school, but I’m going back in the fall. It’s my turn to focus on my career.”
“That’s great,” I said, for lack of anything else in my head. I never got the chance to go to college and wondered if it was something I needed to look into when I returned to LA. But I had no idea what I’d major in. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a degree plan called Aging Rock Star with Zero Direction.
“Goodbye, dear,” Professor Fielding said to Veda Nelson. “Such an absolute joy to talk to you.”
“And you as well.” Veda looked at the professor like her long, lost love. “I’ll be back in the gallery to purchase the next in the series as soon as I can talk my cranky old husband into it.”
“I’ll rest easier knowing my beloved work will be in your worthy home.”
A starry-eyed Veda reluctantly walked away, and I half expected her to turn back and blow a kiss.
“Wow, you have quite the way with the art-loving ladies,” I said.
Professor Fielding’s mouth paused for a brief second before curving upward. “It’s all in good fun.”
Anna Grace nodded and threw her arm around her husband’s waist. “Whatever sells the goods, right?”
“So, Professor Fielding, you were telling me about Sasha Chandler.”
“Ah, yes.” He swiped a drink from a passing waiter. “A good student, if I recall correctly. Nothing about her really stands out.”
“She was a business major. Why was she in one of your upper-level art classes?”
“Everyone needs electives.”
“So no complaints about her?”
“Can’t think of any.” He took a drink.
“Her death was really tragic,” Anna Grace said. “I hope they find her true killer.”
“If you think of anything else about Sasha, please let me know.”
“I’ll do that.” Professor Fielding waved to another attendee near us. “I see a friend from work I need to say hello to. Welcome back to Sugar Creek, Miss Sutton. I hope you find all the answers you’re looking for.”
The couple departed hand in hand, leaving me standing there knowing no more than I had that morning.
The clues were coming slowly, and time was running out.
I needed a break, a piece of information that would open the door to my freedom.
Before it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The rest of the week passed by in a flutter of activity. Not enough activity to erase the lines of worry that constantly marred Henry’s forehead, but enough to keep Enchanted Events in operation. For now.
On Friday night, I left the shop later than I intended, leaving little time to get ready for the Mitchell Crawford gala. Heels in hand, I flew through my front door, took the stairs two at a time, and jumped in the shower. I hated being late and hated being rushed even more. Leaping from the shower, I wrapped my body in a towel, the bathroom turning into a sauna. The mirror fogged over and sweat dampened my underarms. Oh, this would not do.
Desperate for air, I flung open the bathroom door.
And squealed at the man standing there. “Beau!” I clutched my sagging towel with one hand and held the other before my face, ready to defend. “Oh, it’s just you.” My spine shimmied in relief. “You scared me to death.”
Wait a minute.
“What are you doing here?” My heart had yet to resume its normal beating pattern.
Beau’s eyes dropped to the top of my towel and back to my face, but not before making a quick detour to my bare legs. “It’s, um . . .” Was he struggling for words? “It’s time to go.”
I glanced down at my chest and realized my yellow towel barely covered up the goods. I yanked it up, anchoring it with both hands. “It can’t be. Not yet.”
“Yep.” His eyes were trained on mine, and his mouth eased into that roguish smile. “Nice legs.”
“Thanks. Do you always conduct a little breaking and entering before your dates?”
One dark brow lifted. “Is this a date?”
“An outing. Before an outing.”
He stepped closer, and my only thought was that Professor Fielding’s deliberate brand of charm couldn’t hold a candle to this. Beau didn’t have to say pretty
words, didn’t have to even touch. His magnetism was an invisible force field that held him up like gravity. It was effortless and automatic, something that came to him as naturally as breathing. He wore a dark suit and crisp white shirt, looking like an NFL god whom men wanted to be and women wanted to devour.
“I knocked on your door for a good ten minutes.” Beau’s voice seemed deeper, softer. “When you didn’t answer the door or your phone, I got worried.”
“You were worried about me?”
“I hear they’re serving prime rib at this gala.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t want to miss it.”
Was it my imagination, or was Beau standing even closer? “So not worried for my safety?”
He planted a hand on the doorframe over my head, his head angled toward mine. “Just concerned about my ticket. Didn’t want it to go to waste.”
“Very economical of you.” His dimples were disarming. “Did you break my door down, Captain Hudson?”
“Nope.” He dangled something silver in his fingers.
“You still have a key?”
“Sylvie thought it would be a good idea.”
I cinched my towel in again, and his eyes followed. “Why don’t I have your key?”
“Because I don’t listen to all of Sylvie’s ideas.”
I’d be talking to my grandmother about this. “Well, as you can see, I’m running behind and am a little underdressed.”
“Tardiness looks good on you.” His grin was the stuff of Sylvie’s romance novels.
“Are you flirting with me, Beau?”
He reached out and traced a curl spiraling near my cheek. “I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight dealing with a water leak at Fox Falls. I’m sure it’s just the fatigue talking.”
He often had shadows beneath his eyes, but now I could see the hint of puffiness and his bloodshot gaze. “Do you want to cancel? I’d understand. Please, go home. Go to bed.”
“Not happening,” Beau said. “I committed to this, and we’re going to your fancy wingding.”
“Are you sure?”
Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 15
