Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Anna Grace sat back, as if the weight of the question offended with a shove. “He was at his monthly department meeting on campus. First Tuesday of the month at ten o’clock. Without fail.”

  All of this was so very strange and nonsensical. How had Sasha Chandler managed to exploit everyone in town? One thing I did understand was the desperation to get back on track and pay your bills. If someone threw cash at me to bask in my presence, I’d probably sign up for the arrangement as well.

  “Promise me our secret is safe with you.” Anna Grace’s voice was fraught with alarm. “Carson would kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but it’s important you understand why he did it. And why he didn’t want to admit his connection to Sasha.”

  “I don’t see any need to share this information yet,” I said.

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.” Anna Grace turned expectant eyes to Sylvie.

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said. “I’ll keep my yapper shut too.”

  “You’re just as wonderful in person as I knew you would be.” Anna Grace threw her arms around me and squeezed. “You’re the best, and I can’t wait until your next album. Tell me you’re going solo. You are going solo, right?”

  I was about as solo as it got. “Goodbye, Mrs. Fielding.” I rose and walked to the door. “Thank you for the information.”

  She stood in her driveway and waved with impressive enthusiasm until our car was out of sight.

  “Well, what did you think?” Sylvie asked as she dodged a pothole a little too aggressively.

  “She’s a strange bird,” I said. “I’m not sure how I feel about her story.”

  “Agreed.” She braked to allow a child on a bike to cross, nearly sending me into the windshield. “Let’s do some research to see how much of her story holds up. We’ll let Frannie do some fact-checking.”

  “Frannie does her research legally, doesn’t she?”

  “We’re not afraid of little roadblocks called laws.” Sylvie stomped on the gas. “Now let’s get you back to Enchanted Events so you can work on throwing Emma the best bachelorette party this town’s ever seen.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Some of the ladies are trickling in.”

  I looked up from my computer Friday to find Henry standing in the doorway of our office. “Wow, the day flew. How is it five o’clock already?” I stood up, stretched, and pressed a hand to my aching back. We had been hustling day and night this week, and between the stress of work and the case, sleep had been a fickle friend.

  “Your first solo event.” Henry settled himself into the tufted chair in front of my desk. “How does it feel?”

  “Like I’m about to throw up.” Tonight was Emma’s bachelorette party, and my gift to her was to give her the best pre-wedding bash this town had ever seen. One that was fun yet functional. One that entertained and fit my cousin’s eclectic interests. “I’ve reviewed my list a million times today, and I think I’ve got it all together, but I’ve probably forgotten something.” Because it would be so like me to screw it up. “Emma’s only now speaking to me since the dress disappeared.”

  “Any word on that?”

  “None. Nobody saw a thing, which is strange in a town that prides itself on minding everyone else’s business. Sugar Creek Formals said they couldn’t get that exact dress, but they think they can get one very similar. I insisted on handling it for Emma.” My cousin pretty much bursts into tears every time she had to talk about her missing wedding gown.

  “You’ve got this, Paisley.” Henry gave me a bolstering smile.

  “Do I?” I had discarded exactly fifty-seven ideas before coming up with something that got me energized, and now that it was show time, I doubted every single detail I’d devised.

  “Well, for one, I am quite proud of your end product. It’s creative, it’s different. Maybe a little violent for my taste, but you are Sylvie Sutton’s granddaughter. After tonight, our phones will be ringing off the hook for bachelorette party requests.”

  “Thanks, Henry.” I walked around the desk and wrapped my arms around him. “Don’t pull away there, big guy. We’re hugging this out.” I smiled as he predictably squirmed. “Just gonna stay like this until I squeeze every ounce of my gratefulness right into that snobby suit and chilly heart of yours.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay, that’s enough.” One arm came around and stiffly patted me on the back. “Enough huggy stuff. We’re cool. We’re good. Paisley, let go, now. All right, I’m about three seconds away from having an allergic reaction. Paisley!”

  Laughing, I released my stoic partner. I would surely miss him when I was gone. Henry was a whiz at the event planning business, and he got stuff done. He could be as prickly as a corsage pin, but he was also as reliable as a wedding march.

  Layla popped her head around the door. “Some ladies just walked in wearing some seriously frightening bridesmaid dresses.” She visibly shivered.

  I straightened the butt bow on my moss green tea-length gown, and gave my rhinestone-covered bodice a tug. “Perfect!”

  Within the next ten minutes, every able-bodied person who’d been invited for the party had arrived looking adorably awful in their ugliest bridesmaid dress. Henry and Layla helped me serve drinks in to-go cups with glittery straws. With Enchanted Events closed, the noise level swelled with the buzz of excitement and the shared laughter over their punishing attire.

  “Good evening, friends and family of our beloved Emma Sutton.” I stepped into the center of the room, my volume finally getting everyone’s attention. “We are all gathered here tonight to celebrate our dear friend and my cousin—a woman who’s incredibly smart, sassy, and snagged herself one fine fellow.”

  “Aw, thanks, Paisley.” Emma blew a kiss my way.

  “And a lady who has a mere nine days left as a single lady.”

  “Enjoy it while you can!” Frannie yelled.

  “I’d like to welcome you all to Sequins and Starlight,” I said. “You’re in for a ton of surprises and even more fun. Tonight we’ll share some good food, some sweet memories, and a lot of adventure. Are you ready?”

  A mob of about twenty-five women cheered, and some of my anxiety flittered away on dragonfly wings.

  I could do this. I’d poured all my spare time and energy into a solid plan, and it was going to be a success, by gosh. Now I had to just repeat that in my head one hundred more times, and I’d be good to go.

  We herded the women to the parking lot, where a zebra-striped party bus waited to take us to our first destination.

  The old zebra tossed and jostled like it was mid-seizure, but none of the ladies seemed to mind. We looked like a bunch of misfit beauty queens as the bus rambled down a series of dirt roads.

  Frannie sat across the aisle and tugged at her sleeve. She wore a peach chiffon confection that could’ve been the height of fashion when Madonna still crooned about virgins. Her shoes were dyed to match, and if I looked closely, I was pretty sure the heel had a tiny compartment—probably customized for some mode of malice.

  The large bow decorating my derrière ground into my back as we were jimmied about. “This dress is uncomfortable,” I said to Sylvie, my seat mate.

  “What do you have to complain about?” She wore an intricately detailed red kimono with a samurai sword looped to her waist.

  “Is that thing real?” I asked with a pointed look at her weapon.

  “Of course it’s real. And it’s digging into my hip.” Sylvie adjusted the holster. “I was the bridesmaid for a PSIA.” She frowned at the blank look on my face. “Public Security Intelligence Agency? Japan’s version of the FBI? Anyway, like all good nuptials, it was a secret wedding, and Akeno and her sweetie were only hitched ten minutes before her father found out, dissolved the marriage, and married her off to a short, fat prince from Kyoto. Prince Chubby mysteriously died in his sleep six months later, but I know nothing about that.”

  When we finally arrived at Shadow Ranch, the bus doors wheezed open.
I followed a whistling Frannie down the steps to get a closer look at her wig and the peach chiffon monstrosity she wore. Bridesmaids’ dresses were often such cruel and unusual punishment.

  A muscular man in full camo rose from his seated position on a hay bale. “Hello, there, Ms. Sutton. I’m John Simpson.” He shook my hand, his fingers curving around mine with an impressively, firm grip. “So glad to see you haven’t backed out yet. You ladies are going to have so much fun.”

  Sylvie elbowed me. “As long as Sargent Sexy Stuff is with us, I know it’ll be a good time.”

  Frannie’s eyes twinkled. “He can check my pistols anytime.”

  “Are y’all ready to get a little rowdy?” John called out.

  The bevy of ladies clapped and hooted, Emma leading the pack.

  “Paisley here has quite an evening planned for you.” John took off his sunglasses. “First we’re going to start with a little target practice.”

  “Otherwise known as my daily workout,” Sylvie said.

  “I’m from Splat Paintball Academy. And with thanks to Shadow Ranch for allowing us to set up here today, we have fully customized a great time for the bride and her friends. To begin, you’ll be split into groups. While I’m training one group, the other half of you will go into the barn, where we have a photographer waiting. Then you’ll get some . . .” He lifted his camo hat and scratched his head. “What did you call those things, Miss Paisley?”

  “Glamour shots,” I said. “And if you walk inside this barn, not only will you find all the props and backdrops you need to take the most beautiful bridesmaid photos, but you’ll also see a selection of hors d’oeuvres and drinks.”

  “So this is a scavenger hunt,” John said. “And the first to get the most items without being taken out by paint is the grand prize winner.” John explained the rules, passing out a list of things we were to find around the ranch.

  Emma perused her list. “A bottle of champagne, a beach towel, a travel journal . . . Aw, they’re all things we can use on the honeymoon, aren’t they?”

  I nodded.

  Her eyes misted. “This is awesome already, Paisley.”

  Later I would analyze that warm, cozy feeling in my chest, but right now, I was still on the job. “The winner tonight gets a two-night stay at the Sugar Creek Bed and Breakfast, as well dinner at the Bayonet,” I announced.

  After half of the ladies departed into John’s care, I went inside the barn. Stopping in the doorway, I looked around, a smile lifting my lips. A powerful feeling welled up within me, one I hadn’t experienced in so long I barely recognized it.

  It was pride.

  I was proud of what I’d created here.

  The barn had been completely transformed. To one side was a series of rustic farmhouse tables filled with chilled drinks and hors d’oeuvres. In the center I’d set up elegant Lucite chairs and tables, Tiffany-blue floral centerpieces blooming on each one. In another corner, where the ceiling dipped, floated hundreds of blue-and-white balloons—with trailing strings to which I’d attached black-and-white snapshots of Noah and Emma.

  Laughter bubbled from another corner, where ladies posed and the photographer styled them in various tableaus of mock-sexiness. Sylvie was already arguing at the photographer’s request for her to drop the samurai sword.

  “This looks real good, hon.” Frannie sipped on a piña colada as she stood beside me. “You did a real nice job.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “I think the best is yet to come.”

  She hugged me to her and kissed my cheek. “Oh, sugar. It certainly is.”

  The phone in my hand vibrated, and I didn’t even bother checking the display. “It’s going fine, Henry.”

  Crackling on the other end. “Um, is this Paisley Sutton?”

  That wasn’t Henry. “Yes.”

  “This is Raven Arnett. I was wondering if you had some time to talk.”

  Four women in flouncy taffeta ran by giggling, drinks in hand. “I’m working an event right now. Can I call you back later?”

  “I’d rather discuss this in person.”

  “Okay.” My barely existent sleuthing senses tingled.

  “I’ll be home all day Saturday.” Raven rattled off an address. “Can you stop by?”

  “Can I ask what this is concerning?”

  I heard her exhale. “Sasha Chandler.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  An hour later, the bridesmaid brigade reassembled in the barn, dripping with sweat and clutching battered helmets. Our dresses were torn and covered in splatters of paint. We looked like we’d been assaulted by rainbows and dropkicked by Crayola.

  “I see Emma got the grand prize.” Sylvie sat at one of the Lucite tables, her arms crossed over her bosom. Beside her Frannie munched on a plate of stuffed mushrooms.

  “What place did you get?” Emma asked as we sat down and joined them.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sylvie said. “I am your grandmother—and Frannie’s your dear aunt. What kind of matriarchs would we be if we had showed you girls up with our unfair advantage?”

  Frannie popped another mushroom. “Yeah, not to mention that little first-grade teacher over there is a crazy sharpshooter. Took us both out like it was our first day on the job. If she’s not careful she’s gonna blow her cover.”

  “First grade teacher, my tush.” Sylvie threw the woman a dirty look. “She’s got NSA written all over her.”

  Emma reached for a cupcake on Sylvie’s plate and took a bite. “What is this heaven I’m tasting?”

  “Frannie made them,” I said. “We still haven’t found a bakery up to our standards who’ll do business with us, so Frannie volunteered.”

  “It was nothing.” Frannie blushed.

  “You should open a shop,” Emma said.

  “I’m pretty busy with my neighborhood watch and Sexy Book Club.” Frannie blotted her lips with a napkin. “But I might give that some thought.”

  When dinner was over we loaded our tired bodies back onto the bus. As we cruised over the dirt roads, I stood and announced our next stop.

  “Tonight is about celebrating Emma, and I wanted to give her one adventure that was unexpected.” I brushed at my arm, which was decorated with paint. “In the last six months, Emma has taken up yoga, so we’re all going to join in her new hobby. But this isn’t regular yoga Emma will be practicing this evening. No, tonight we’ll be trying . . . aerial yoga.”

  With twitters of trepidation, the ladies and I unloaded from the bus and marched single file into Surrender Yoga. The very studio where Zoey Chandler had a membership.

  An employee handed us shorts and cotton T-shirts bearing Emma’s and Noah’s faces.

  “I’m so glad you could join us tonight,” the instructor said as we walked past the office and into the class. “Aerial yoga is brand-new to our studio, and you’re gonna be one of the first classes to try it out. We hope you like it so much that you want to return.”

  “I just hope I don’t wind up in the hospital,” Emma said.

  Though yoga was the chic thing to do in LA and among the music crowd, I had very little experience with it. I wasn’t exactly super-bendy.

  Inside the classroom, fabric harnesses hung from the ceiling like narrow hammocks. Gentle music wafted above us as the instructor began.

  “Let’s start with some basic stretches.”

  A half hour later, I wanted to cry. The twiggy instructor had us suspended in the air, knees pointed east and west like a frog. I expected to split in half at any second, which was really going to stink as I had terrible health insurance that did not cover midair yoga catastrophes.

  “You ladies are doing lovely.” The instructor’s voice was as Zen as an NPR radio host’s. “I can tell you’re ready to move on. Now I’d like for you to drop down and dive to the floor, letting your legs in the fabric catch you. And there you’ll just hang.”

  And hang I did. My fabric wrapped around my ankles, and I began to swing by one leg. I knocked into Sylvie
next to me, who hung like a bat—perfectly graceful, as if she were meant to contemplate the earth from upside down.

  The material around my ankle decided to release me, and I hit the mat below us with a loud thud.

  “You okay down there?” Sylvie asked.

  “Couldn’t be better.” I rubbed my sore tush. “I’m going to get a drink.”

  Limping out the door and into the hallway, I found a fountain and let the cool water glide over my lips as exhaustion washed over me. I was tired, I was dirty, and I clearly wasn’t cut out for hanging upside down spread-eagled. Plus, it was time to get down to business of why I was really here.

  Glancing about to confirm no one was around, I then padded on bare feet toward the office at the front of the building. My aching hands twisted the doorknob, and disappointment speared through me to see it was locked. I rattled the knob again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I spun around and swallowed my heart.

  Only to find Sylvie. “I asked you what you think you’re doing . . . without asking for my assistance, that is.”

  “It’s locked.”

  “Only to you mere mortals.” She reached into her shirt and extracted a silver object. “Stand back and observe some greatness.”

  “Did you just pull that thing from your bra?”

  She patted her bosom. “It’s like a treasure chest down there.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed her hand on the door. “There could be cameras on us right now.” I furiously looked about.

  “There’s not. I assessed the place within sixty seconds of walking in the door.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I was about there being an underground city beneath the Chicago subway system.”

  “I’ve never once heard this claim.”

  “Oh, it’s there.” She patted my back like a coddling parent. “Scoot out of the way so I can get us inside.” She paused. “By the way, what are you breaking in for?”

  Now that was family. My grandmother would commit a crime for me without even knowing the cause. “This is where Zoey takes yoga. I want to get a look at their studio sign-in sheets on the day Sasha was murdered.”