Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Quit stalling.” Phoebe speared her friend with a harsh look. “Why don’t we all just take a seat?”

  I followed the two through the small entryway to the living room. The decorating style came as a shock, as it was as vivid and colorful as Raven’s personality was not. I knew she’d just graduated with a law degree, but if her legal endeavors didn’t work out, she definitely had career potential in interior design.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place.” She had taken a cookie-cutter apartment and made it her own.

  “Thank you,” Raven said. “Decorating is a hobby of mine.”

  The couch was accented with navy and coral pillows, made of material and patterns that shouldn’t have matched but somehow did. Over a chipped white mantel hung a wooden sign emblazoned with a Jane Austen quote in an elegant and whimsical font. Bookshelves to the right and left of the couch were painted a pale cream and trimmed in eclectic hardware. Raven was one of those who, unlike me, didn’t use her bookshelves to store books and stack junk she didn’t want to deal with, but instead staged them with quirky items such as a jar of seashells, a glitter dipped globe, and an old red typewriter. She clearly had a brilliant grasp of balance and symmetry, and I stepped closer to get a better view of some of her framed photos on the shelves.

  “I need you to decorate my house,” I said. “I’m kinda going with a moving boxes and lawn chair motif right now.” I inspected an eye-catching photo on the top shelf in front of me. “Venice, Italy. That was one of my favorite places when I used to tour.”

  She spoke quietly behind me. “My father took me there for my high school graduation.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, Paisley?” Phoebe asked.

  “Oh, and this photo here.” I tapped on the glass of a frame. “I love the angle in which you’ve captured the skirts of the Eiffel Tower. The lighting is incredible. Did you use a filter? Because—” My lips shut on the next words as I got a look at the picture beside it.

  Raven cleared her throat. “Why don’t we just sit down and talk for a minute?”

  “What is this?” I grabbed a photo of a couple embracing, the sun shining a halo of light around them. A man held Raven close, his lips parted in laughter, an unmistakable glow of love in Raven’s eyes. “This is you and Evan. When was this taken?”

  “A little over a year ago.” Raven wilted onto the love seat like a flower.

  “Raven, did you kill Sasha?” I really needed to work on my delivery, but the question tumbled out and demanded to be heard.

  Raven’s long, black hair swished as she shook her head. “No, I didn’t. And I’ve been afraid that someone would think I did.” She glanced at Phoebe, whose wide eyes were telling her to get on with it. “I’ve been withholding information that may be helpful to your case.”

  Phoebe gestured for me to join her on the couch. “Raven saw something the morning of Sasha’s murder.” She nudged her friend. “Tell her. Tell her what you told me.”

  Raven reached for the photo in my hand and studied it wistfully, as if wishing she could jump back into that moment. “You have to understand that Evan was mine. I dated him first. We met at a party a year and half ago to celebrate the hundredth birthday of the law school. We struck up a conversation at the punch bowl and somehow ended up talking all night. You can’t understand how captivating he was.”

  I’d hocked a two-carat engagement ring last year that said differently. “What is it with Evan seducing every female from Sugar Creek?”

  “What we had was real. It transcended anything Sasha thought she felt for him. He and I only dated for two months, and it may have been a very short time, but it was long enough to fall madly in love with one another. And then she came along.”

  “Sasha stole him from you?” I asked.

  “More like a ripped him from my arms.” The stoic Raven wiped away tears. “A group of us went out to eat one night—Evan and me, a few other couples, Sasha and whatever boy she was dating that week. Sasha flirted with all of the men there. She thrived on turning any guy’s head, on being the center of attention. I was pretty used to it. I even made the mistake of thinking Evan loved me too much for the extra attention he was giving her to mean anything. Two weeks later Evan broke up with me, telling me that he had deep feelings for Sasha and had to follow his heart.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Evan and his wandering heart line. When will women stop falling for his crap?” For a moment, I thought he deserved whatever fate his loan sharks would deal him. “You’re better off without him. Trust me.”

  “You don’t understand. We had a soul connection. We could talk for hours. Anything from classical music to the Constitution. He had nothing in common with Sasha, the girl who was supposed to be my friend. All she wanted was to be the arm candy of someone important. And he wanted a trophy wife. But I would’ve been more than that. We could have been a political power couple.”

  “But he chose her,” I said. “So you got angry, and you got revenge.”

  “No!” Phoebe said. “She did go off the deep end just a little bit—I’ll give her that. But Raven is not a killer. Tell her, Raven.”

  “I kind of stalked Sasha the last few weeks of her life,” Raven said. “I’m not proud of it, and I know it makes me look mentally unbalanced and a prime candidate for offing my ex-friend, but I didn’t do it. But I did see something that day you should probably know about.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I saw someone run into Enchanted Events that morning during the time Sasha had an appointment, then exit your business not five minutes later. Someone who would’ve had no reason being there unless it was to speak to Sasha.”

  “And who was that? Evan?”

  “No.” Raven set her photo on the coffee table. “Professor Fielding.”

  I straightened my spine, my every limb and cell alert with attention. “Was that why you mentioned him in the salon? Were they having an affair?”

  “They definitely had a relationship before,” Raven said, “and I don’t know what happened inside the building—but I do know he came out very upset.”

  “How do you know they had an affair?”

  “We both knew,” Phoebe said. “It was years ago, but she did very little to hide it. Forcing her way into his classes, spending time in his office, showing up at school events where he’d be. It was a strange game of cat and mouse to her. And I’m not sure she ever let go of that.”

  “Do you think they were still seeing each other?” I asked. “Maybe Professor Fielding went to end it or demand Sasha break up with Evan.”

  “I don’t know.” Disgust laced Raven’s voice. “She never would’ve broken her engagement to Evan. She thought she finally had it all, and that together they’d take on Washington and be the most glamorous couple to hit Pennsylvania Avenue. But whether she still felt anything for Fielding, I’m not sure. I got the impression he was more of a game she once played.”

  “Yeah,” Phoebe said. “I think she genuinely liked the professor and pursued him years ago, and even though she told the story differently, our theory is the professor broke up with her and she never got over it. I’m not sure she’d ever been rejected by a man in her life.”

  Raven sighed, as if unfolding the details exhausted her. “Sasha would say weird things like, ‘I’m going to make him sorry.’ Or, ‘He’ll regret that he doesn’t have me in his life anymore.’ And then she would just laugh.”

  “I need to go to the police with this information,” I said. “Do you have any photos of the professor entering or leaving the building?”

  “I don’t,” Raven said.

  “You’re kind of a crappy stalker.”

  “I’ll go to the police myself,” Raven said. “I just thought you should hear this from me.” Phoebe cleared her throat again. “Okay, Phoebe thought you should hear this from me.”

  “I know you’ve put your detective hat on,” Phoebe said, “so I was hoping this would be useful for you.”

  “The P
rofessor Fielding angle is something I definitely need to pursue further. I think it’s time he and I had another chat.” As I stood, Raven continued to clutch her beloved photo. “I know you don’t believe me now, Raven, but you’re better off without Evan. He’s only interested in his own gain, and he’ll do anything and hurt anyone to get to the top. Somewhere out there is a good man, a man of integrity, and he’s gonna love you more than you ever loved Evan. And he’ll be worth the wait.”

  With trembling lips, a teary-eyed Raven nodded. “Thank you.”

  “By the way,” I said, “would either of you happen to know anything about an anonymous phone call to Mr. Chandler with a tip about Zoey and Sasha’s car accident?”

  The two looked at one another.

  “Mr. Chandler needed to know Zoey was innocent,” Raven said.

  Phoebe walked me to the door. “Thank you for coming. And thank you for not tearing into Raven for withholding that information.”

  “I gotta know what secret Sasha held over Raven’s head all these years.”

  “I barely recall.” Phoebe’s face was angelic innocence. “Might’ve been something about a paper-writing business at the university. Such a long time ago . . . Who can remember now?”

  I was pretty sure one Phoebe Chen did. “Well, I won’t keep the information about Professor Fielding to myself, but I don’t see any reason to pass anything else on.”

  “Be careful, Paisley. I don’t have a good feeling about Fielding, and I never have.”

  I waited until I was out of the neighborhood before I rang up Sylvie. “I have some news to share with you.”

  “Bring it to my house,” she said. “Frannie and I have some vital intel for you as well.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I stood on Sylvie’s front porch and had barely lifted a fist to knock when the door flew open.

  Frannie scanned the outside perimeter, then whisked me inside. “What took you so long?”

  “I got stuck behind traffic.” Which in this town meant either a school bus or J.C. Beazer’s cows crossing Lee Town Road for their twice-daily milking.

  Sylvie stepped into the foyer. “Pat her down.”

  Frannie immediately complied, her hands roaming like an overzealous TSA agent.

  I slapped her away. “Hey! Watch it!”

  “She’s clear.” Frannie stepped back. “Commence with the full body scan.”

  “Nobody is scanning this body. I’m leaving if—” But my grandmother whipped out a flashing gadget that whined with the exuberance of a dying bagpipe, tracing the air around my clothes.

  Sylvie stuffed the device in the pocket of her skinny capris. “Clear.”

  “Enough.” I threw up my hands. “All I wanted to do was talk to you. Can I just quickly share some information before I have to give you my bra size and a urine sample?”

  “Urine sample.” Sylvie looked at Frannie and laughed. “That’s so 2005.”

  “We’re checking you for any bugs or traces you might unknowingly be carrying,” Frannie said. “It’s befallen many an unsuspecting heroine.”

  “In Sugar Creek?”

  Sylvie lifted her spa-sculpted chin. “I think the events of the last month prove you cannot trust this seemingly quaint hamlet.”

  “The living room has been cleared for further discourse,” Frannie said. “Let us adjourn there.” She pressed her fingers to her lips in a silent shhh and motioned for us to follow.

  “Okay, now we can talk.” Sylvie closed the double doors behind us as we entered the sanctuary. “You may scoff at our security measures, but clearing your name and keeping you safe are priority one.”

  “I’m sorry.” I righted my rumpled shirt. “What is it you need to tell me?”

  “You first, shug.” Sylvie gracefully descended into a chair and picked up a tea glass sweating on a coaster. “Wha’cha got?”

  “I just came from Raven Arnett’s house and had quite the interesting conversation with her and Phoebe.” As Sylvie and Frannie listened with rapt attention, I filled them in on all I’d learned. “Why would the professor go talk to Sasha at Enchanted Events?”

  “We might be able to shed some light on that,” Sylvie said. “But first, Frannie called in a favor and got us a peek at Carson Fielding’s bank accounts.”

  I took a step back. “Is this one of those things where I wake up in the morning with no memory of having this information?”

  “Mr. Fielding has a few accounts, but he has one in his name only at the Ozark National Bank.” Sylvie arched a brow. “Mr. Down on His Luck gets a bimonthly deposit from the Sugar Creek Gallery in very large amounts.”

  “Like five-figure deposits,” Frannie said. “I called a friend at the gallery who confirmed the man’s paintings still sell like he’s Picasso.”

  “So he’s not flat broke,” I said. “I wonder if his wife knows that.”

  “Let’s move on to our biggest news. Frannie was able to salvage Sasha’s iPad carcass.” Sylvie cleared a spot on the coffee table. “You’re not going to believe our good fortune. Frannie, show her the goods.”

  “The iPad itself is a loss, but I was able to resurrect her hard drive.” Frannie lifted the hem of her floral shirt, exposing a pink tank and a laptop secured to her tummy with giant straps of Velcro. “I transferred the data to my own computer, but I had to make a quick run to the Dixie Dairy for half-price shakes. I wanted to keep this thing safe.” She undid the first strap. “Though it might be a tad sweaty.”

  “Ew.”

  “Be grateful,” Frannie said. “Sylvie wanted to stuff it down my britches, but I told her no. Obviously that’s where I keep my burner cell phone and switchblade.” She rested the laptop on top of a magazine with Oprah’s smiling face. “Sasha’s hard drive wasn’t in the worst shape, but the girl did have a brain and managed to hide some pretty important files she’d deleted.”

  “But Frannie here found them,” Sylvie said. “Get a load of these pictures.”

  High-def images popped onto the screen. “Whoa!” I shielded my eyes. “Too much skin! Make it go away!”

  “Sorry.” Frannie’s fingers flew over the keys. “Those are my dating profile pics for Sexy Single Seniors. Moving on!”

  “Good heavens,” Sylvie said. “Will you stay focused? And I told you that was too much cleavage. Now, Paisley, allow us to present your next plot twist.”

  The file opened, and Frannie supersized one photo, then another.

  Photos of Sasha lip-locked with a man.

  “Professor Fielding.” I moved in closer for a better look as she scrolled through snapshots of the duo embracing and kissing at various locations, a handful in Sugar Creek, a few even on campus. “They were clearly in a relationship.”

  “And not a professional one,” Sylvie said.

  I pointed to a photo of some serious canoodling. “One that could totally tank a career.”

  “Or provide fuel for a good blackmail scheme,” Frannie said. “These were taken over two years ago.”

  “Someone was blackmailing Sasha?” I asked.

  Frannie opened her mouth to respond, only to be interrupted. “No,” Sylvie said. “Let Paisley think about this.”

  The two women watched me expectantly, as if it was the final round of Jeopardy! and I’d just been handed the easy topic of Things That Meow. “So if you don’t think someone was blackmailing Sasha, then . . . oh.” The light bulb finally sparked. “You think Sasha was blackmailing the professor.”

  Sylvie sniffed indelicately. “Frannie, I do believe she’s one of us.”

  Her best friend blinked her misty eyes. “So proud.”

  “It certainly makes a twisted sort of sense.” I clicked through more photos. “The professor should’ve been making a killing selling his art, but instead he lives like he’s fallen on hard times. It would explain where Sasha got the large sums of money she’d been giving Evan. And also how she funded a wedding big enough to rival any British monarch’s. I know the professor abused his
authority, and his behavior is deplorable, but the photos don’t paint her in a flattering light either. Why would she risk her own reputation?”

  “Classic narcissistic personality,” Sylvie said. “From what we’ve learned of her, she was manipulative enough to have played the victim if the photos were released. But in Sasha’s brain, I’m sure she thrived on the control and never thought her plan wouldn’t work. Failure wasn’t a consideration.”

  “Everything else had certainly worked for her in life,” I said. “Every single scheme Sasha concocted. She’d had a lifetime of people bowing to her pressure and bidding.”

  Frannie tapped a photo on the screen. “Until the good professor snapped.”

  “Tell Paisley the rest of it, Frannie.”

  “Photos weren’t the only things I discovered.” Frannie’s hot pink nails clacked on the keyboard. “I might’ve hacked into Sasha’s web-based email account.”

  “How?” This sounded shady.

  “I found a document she’d saved with all her passwords on it,” Frannie said.

  Sylvie’s eyes rolled skyward. “Oh, the young, foolish, and digitally naïve.”

  “I did a history search using the name of the photo files, and voilà!” Frannie opened a series of documents. “Sasha didn’t even bother using a dummy account to send her blackmail messages. Just her own email. She’d trashed them, but they were no match for my recovery skills.” She pushed up her bifocals. “Also in her email I found a Groupon for half-off pole dancing classes—so, Sylvie, get your spandex ready.”

  “Send all those files to me,” I said.

  “You want in on the discount?” Frannie asked. “I can get you a referral code. Gets me another five percent off.”

  I hugged my aunt. “You two are the best. It’s quite possible you’ve just saved my life.”

  Sylvie stepped in and joined the huddle. “So that’s a yes on the classes?”

  “No.”

  “Might help things along with your Beau,” Frannie said.