Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Those walls are paper-thin. I’d hear you if you so much as hummed. Growing up, you’d sing nonstop. In the halls, in class, in church.”

  I resented the way he could chitchat as though he hadn’t just kissed me boneless. “Uh-huh.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly, as if all the details of my life and career were one big algebraic equation and he was close to filling in all the variables. “You are still going to pursue your music career, right?”

  “Yes, of course. Inheriting Enchanted Events hasn’t changed that.”

  The song built to a crescendo, running toward the bridge. And crashing right into my soul. Those days seemed so long ago and far away. It was a distance paved with mistakes, regrets, and a holy and all-too-brief moment in which I held success in my hands for the first time. I knew what I wanted then. Knew who I was. I’d had it all.

  And I wanted it back. I wanted the old me back so badly.

  Tears pressed at my eyes, and I took a shuddering breath to hold them at bay. I was seconds away from the dam breaking, and I was not going to spastically fall apart in front of Beau.

  “I’m going to—” Just as I was about to excuse myself for an escape, a man in a charcoal suit walked past us, making a determined beeline for the bar. “There’s Sasha’s father.” I blinked away a stray tear and forced a smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  “Paisley, wait.”

  I threw up my hand in a dismissive wave, sidestepping Beau’s reach and weaving between groups of happy, dancing people.

  Steven Chandler paused only a moment to speak to an elderly couple before continuing on his path. I watched him enter the bar and take a seat on a stool. Not wanting to appear obvious, I waited a good minute before my too-tight dress and I eased onto the seat beside him. I risked a glance at Chandler. His chin in his hand, he looked depressed and slightly foxed.

  I blotted the moisture beneath my eyes with a cocktail napkin before turning to him. “How’s the wine tonight?”

  “Watery.” He lifted his head, recognition dawning on his face. “Oh, it’s you.” He identified me with the same enthusiasm Sylvie had for colonoscopies. Lifting his near-empty glass, he took another drink as if resigned to my intrusive company. “But that’s how they get you at these events. Not only do you pay through the nose to get in, but then you fork over wads of cash at the bar to wash away the taste of their complimentary dollar-store wine.”

  “What a racket.”

  “You’re telling me. If this weren’t for the fact that this is a party for my buddy Mitchell and the money’s going to his charities, I wouldn’t even be here.”

  “Everyone would understand your not feeling especially social right now. I’m sure this has been a terrible time for you and your family.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  No, but I wanted to. “I’m a good listener if you’d like to talk.”

  He swayed my way and wagged a finger. “I know what you’re doing. You’ve been talking to people. You want me to start rambling on in hopes I’ll say something revealing, something you can use. That’s what you’re doing.”

  “Is it working?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Well, you don’t look like a killer to me, if it’s any consolation.”

  “I’ll take that.” Maybe a jury would think so too.

  “I can tell you have questions. I know you’ve already talked to my Zoey. So just ask your questions so you can get back to the festivities.”

  I certainly appreciated this man’s bluntness. “I know you and Sasha got into a big argument the night before her death.”

  Surprise struck his features. “Yeah. So? We argued all the time.”

  “Can I ask what it was about?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I have zero faith in the authorities on this investigation, and I’m trying to piece together the days leading up to Sasha’s death. I’ve talked to enough people to know you were an incredible stepfather to her.” I was pouring it on thick as cake batter, but hoping the alcohol would dull Mr. Chandler’s common sense enough to talk uninhibited. “I’m sure you want to see justice for your family.”

  “And what if you’re the killer?” he asked.

  “Would I be getting in everyone’s business and drawing attention to myself if I were?”

  “Probably not.” He frowned into his drink. “But I’ve already discussed all I know with the police.”

  “Then you won’t mind rehashing it with me, right? How about I promise to give you a discount on any future weddings.”

  “I’m never getting married again.”

  “I meant Zoey.”

  “Oh. Right.” Chandler took a handful of peanuts from a bowl.

  “I’ll buy you a drink in exchange for a little information.”

  He paused for consideration. “I’m going to need that drink to be extra-large,” Mr. Chandler said. “And none of this wine stuff. Gimme a Jack and Coke, light on the ice, heavy on the Jack.”

  “Coming right up.” I signaled an oily-skinned bartender who didn’t look old enough to drink and ordered a super-grande Jack and Coke, plus a Dr Pepper for me. I didn’t want my wits muddled by any more liquor. Just sugary carbs. “So, this argument . . .” I turned my attention back to Mr. Chandler.

  He rested an elbow on the bar and popped a peanut in his mouth. “Sasha wanted more money for her wedding. She’d asked for a bump in wedding funds half a dozen times. This was just another attempt, and I told her I was done hearing these requests. I might’ve said it a little louder than I should have.”

  “So you told her no more money?”

  “I’d cut her off months ago. She knew seventy-five grand was my max. I mean, if you can’t get married on that, then there’s a problem. And I pride myself on not living large, you know? We Chandlers are not showy, ostentatious people. But Sasha wanted it to be like some sort of Kardashian event.”

  I did a quick mental review of Sasha’s wedding file. Her flowers, music, and catering alone were well over that budget. Who had provided the rest? The event had already been paid in full. Had Evan and his family kicked in some money? I’d have to go back and look at the paper trail, see if Sasha paid with someone’s credit card, perhaps. And it still didn’t answer the question of where Sasha got the funds for Evan’s campaign.

  “So that’s all the argument was about?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You said no to more cash, and she got upset?”

  “Right.”

  I didn’t have much of an instinct for crime-solving, but after years in the music biz, my BS-meter was a marvel of accuracy. And it was going off like a tornado siren. “Nothing else was discussed that night?”

  “Nope.”

  Interesting how Mr. Chandler could no longer look me in the eye. “Can I ask where you were at the time of the murder?”

  “In a meeting with my management team. Reviewing their severance packages. Some of those people have been with me thirty years when we operated our construction company out of a single-wide trailer on a quarter-acre lot east of town.” He downed half his glass.

  “I’m sorry about your business.” Apparently Mr. Chandler’s bankruptcy wasn’t the gentler kind.

  “It wasn’t just a business. It was people’s livelihoods. And my dream. The only thing more important to me than Chandler Construction is being a father, and I’ve even failed in that job too.”

  “Sir, there’s nothing you could have done to save Sasha.”

  His forehead bunched in a frown as he gestured to the bartender for another drink. “I don’t mean Sasha. I’m talking about Zoey.” He swirled the remaining liquid in his glass.

  I aimed and took a shot in the dark. “Did you and Sasha argue about Zoey the night before she died?”

  Mr. Chandler said nothing for a full minute, but continued to sip his Jack and Coke. “I might’ve brought up Zoey.”

  He turned unfocused eyes back to mine and dropped his voic
e to a near-whisper. “She thinks I don’t know about the accident, but I do.”

  “Who?”

  “Zoey.”

  Zoey? “What accident?”

  His head bobbed in a woozy nod. “Her car wreck.”

  “Her DUI from last December?” That was a matter of public record. Of course he would have known about it.

  He contemplated his drink an agonizing length of time, then ran his finger over the grain of the walnut bar top. “So many times Zoey took the fall for Sasha,” he mumbled. “So many times, and I just turned a blind eye to it. It wasn’t worth the wrath of my wife. When the wife’s unhappy about her baby Sasha, she makes my life miserable. I just wanted a peaceful home, you know? I wanted everyone to get along, and I guess I thought if I ignored it long enough, the girls would work things out between them.” He stopped his inspection of the bar. “But they never did. And that time Sasha went too far. She never thought of anyone but herself.”

  “Are you saying Zoey wasn’t the one behind the wheel that night?”

  He shook his dark head. “I should’ve known sooner, the way Sasha was so sweet to Zoey after that. That wasn’t her personality at all. I should’ve known something was up, and it hadn’t just been a change of heart from seeing her life flash before her eyes.”

  “Did Zoey tell you this?”

  “No.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “She’d stopped trusting me with her Sasha stories years ago because I’d never do anything about it. She pushed you out of the tree? Aw, just shake it off. She stole your homework? Well, maybe you should keep your backpack in a safer location. She took your date for junior prom? The boys have gotta be lined up for miles to step into his place, babe.” Mr. Chandler wrapped his hands around a napkin and crumbled it into a ball. “I did nothing. And look where it got us.”

  I tried to nudge the super tipsy Mr. Chandler back to my question. “So how did you discover who was really behind the wheel?”

  “An anonymous call at the office.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Female. About a week after the accident.”

  “Young voice? Old? An accent?”

  “I don’t know. Youngish. Maybe twenties or thirties. No accent that I can remember.”

  “Why would you believe a person who wouldn’t even identify herself?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? It aligned perfectly with Sasha’s character.”

  “How would this lady know what really happened?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t really care about that part.”

  “Did you confront your daughters?”

  “Every day I woke up, I’d say, ‘This is the day I talk to Sasha.’ But I didn’t. I couldn’t. My business was nose-diving, my wife was remodeling the house for the third time and sneaking out with the pool guy, and . . . I just didn’t do it.”

  “Until the night of your argument with Sasha.”

  “I finally brought it up. You know what she did? She just blew it off. As if my kid getting arrested for her was no big deal.”

  “I’m sure that made you furious.”

  “I told you, Detective Pop Star, I wasn’t anywhere near your shop the day of Sasha’s murder. I’ve got about twenty employees to back that up.”

  Fine. I’d cross Mr. Chandler off my dwindling suspect list. “What incentive would Zoey possibly have for taking Sasha’s place behind the wheel?”

  He only shrugged. “Zoey’s spent a lifetime being the good daughter, trying to win Sasha’s affection.” He thanked the bartender for his drink. “I guess she doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  “Mr. Chandler, can you think of anyone who’d want to kill Sasha?”

  He swiveled his head and trained those heavy-lidded eyes on me. “Not Zoey, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t. I—”

  “She didn’t do it. She couldn’t hurt a fly. My Zoey had been pushed to the limits, but that’s my fault. Not hers. She wouldn’t kill anyone. She wouldn’t. Not even her brat of a sister.” He wiped away a tear and sniffed. “Crap.” Something behind me snagged his attention. “My wife just spotted me. That harpy can’t leave me alone for a second.”

  “One last thing.” I slipped off the barstool. “Evan said Sasha had given him tens of thousands of dollars toward his campaign. Did you provide that money?”

  That sobered him. “What are you talking about? Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Mr. Chandler looked genuinely confused. “The only thing I gave Sasha money for was her wedding. Where on earth would she get that much cash?”

  “I don’t know.” I laid down some bills for the man’s drinks. “But I’m trying my best to find out.”

  I found Beau seated at a table talking to Emma and Noah. Or rather watching them talk as he tried to stay awake. As if he knew I was near, he turned his head, searched the room, and locked his eyes with mine. I wondered what thoughts lit up his eyes, what made his lips curve in a gentle smile. Was he thinking about our kiss? That distraction?

  By the time I got to the group, Beau stood. “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Not bad. I might possess some of Sylvie’s gifts of interrogation.”

  Emma snuck a shrimp from Noah’s plate. “Just make sure you don’t also have her gift of hiding lethal weapons in your bra.”

  Beau pulled out a chair. “Sit. Tell us about Chandler.”

  “No, I think it’s time we called it a night.” I patted his chest. “Mr. Outdoorsy is dead on his feet.”

  “I still owe you a dance, per our agreement.”

  I knew he’d drag himself back on that dance floor if I asked, but he’d put in his time. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  We bid Emma and Noah goodnight, then stepped outside into the evening air. The Arkansas humidity slipped around us like wool coats, but the moon more than made up for the rudeness. It glowed bright and full, hanging in the star-dotted sky like a disco ball just for the two of us.

  The ride home was short, but it provided just enough time to fill Beau in on my conversation with Mr. Chandler. Three country songs on the radio, and we were parked in the driveway.

  “So where did Sasha get the money to fund Evan’s campaign?” Beau jumped out of the truck and opened my door, reaching out a hand to help me climb down.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” I followed him to our front porch. “Maybe she gambled? Maybe she had her own loan shark.”

  Taking the key from my fingers, Beau opened my front door but didn’t walk inside. He stood there beneath the glow of the porch light, blocking my doorway, a heartbeat of space between us. He watched me for a moment, a slight frown marring his features. I wondered if he was contemplating another kiss.

  Until he spoke. “You kind of freaked out when your old song came on.”

  This was a conversational land mine. “It just brings back memories of wild groupies and all the broken hearts I left behind.”

  He flicked a faux diamond hanging from my neck, his fingers skittering across my skin. “You want to talk about your music career?”

  “No.”

  “What if you didn’t go back to it?”

  “Music is all I have. It’s all I know.”

  “You know weddings.”

  “Barely. And I didn’t give up ten years of my life to come back home and watch people get married.”

  Beau’s hand slid around mine, then gently opened my fingers. He pressed the house key in my palm. “Whatever your future holds, Paisley, you’re going to be okay.”

  “You’re a good man, Beau Hudson.” Standing on tiptoe, I kissed his fuzzy cheek. “I do hope you’re right.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Don’t you agree, Paisley?”

  “Paisley? Helloooo?” Sylvie waved a hand in front of my face as I drove down Main Street.

  “Hey! Trying to drive here.” I flicked my turn signal, a driving nuance many people in Sugar Creek didn’t seem to observe.

  “
Emma’s been talking to you for a good two miles,” Sylvie said.

  Now I took my eyes off the road on this sunny Monday morning and glanced at my passengers. Sylvie sat in the passenger seat while Emma perched in the back, her ivory wedding dress hanging up, the bag spilling into her lap like precious cargo.

  “Don’t mind Paisley.” Sylvie tsk-tsked. “She’s had her head in the clouds ever since that gala, mooning over that Hudson boy.”

  “I am not!”

  “You are.” Emma frowned. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?”

  “Sure. Of course I have.” What had they just been saying? “You’ve been talking about your in-laws, then we moved on to the topic of the best way to tie your ceremony program.”

  “That was a good ten minutes ago,” Emma said.

  Sylvie checked her pink lipstick in the visor mirror. “Yeah, we’ve since moved on to more important stuff, like nightie choices for the honeymoon.”

  “Paisley, you seem off today,” Emma said. “Is something wrong?”

  Is something wrong? Was that a rhetorical question?

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.” It was certainly true. But with my treasure chest full of problems, Sylvie was right. The thing that occupied most of my brain space was Beau. My lips and I couldn’t forget that kiss. He had kissed me like he meant it, yet dismissed it as nothing. Had it truly been nothing? And did I even want it to be something? All I knew was that I’d enjoyed it a little too much and relived it at least a hundred times. “I’m still thinking about my conversation with Steven Chandler, I guess.” Which was at least partially true.

  “Taking the fall for her sister’s DUI is definitely noteworthy, and may I say—good interrogation work on your part, shug. We definitely need to talk to Zoey again,” Sylvie said. “If I had access to, say, a truth serum, would you want that? It does involve a needle and has the side effect of the drizzles for days, but what’s a little gastrointestinal distress when it gets us our information?”

  My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I’ll deal with Zoey.”

  “Are you excited for your bachelorette party, Emma?” Sylvie asked.