Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  Mishap? Someone had lost her life, and I’d nearly been sent up the river for the rest of my days. “It affected a lot of things, for sure.”

  “Right,” said Brian. “And it’s unfortunate that we have such a small snapshot of time for us to declare your time at Enchanted Events profitable or not. But in the last few weeks you’ve booked out future events having nothing to do with weddings, which was incredibly wise strategy on your part.”

  He said that as if we’d only done it to stay afloat for my sake. “Henry and the staff really want to explore event planning—and not just weddings.”

  “Sure you do,” Brian said. “When you combine that with the profits Enchanted Events was already maintaining before you arrived, it averages out to a bottom line that’s in the black. And get this”—he slapped his knee—“it’s by one dollar!”

  “So you’re free to sell the company and the property,” my attorney said.

  “Oh.” They were the words I’d hoped and prayed for since I’d stepped foot back in Sugar Creek. “That is good news.” Though the peace and relief I’d expected seemed tardy in its appearance. “Mr. Jeffcoat, I assume you brought the paperwork so I can sell—” My cell phone chimed on my desk, flashing Sylvie’s name. “So I can sell Enchanted Events to Henry Cole.”

  “I’ve reviewed his offer,” Mr. Jeffcoat said. “And it’s a fair one.”

  I silenced my ringer. I’d call Sylvie later. “Good. Let’s get the ball rolling and—”

  “But, Ms. Sutton, in the last week you’ve received two higher offers.” He slid a piece of paper to me with a lot of zeroes. “And I received this offer from an investor just last night.”

  Holy Mercedes-Benz. The dollar amount I was looking at would set me up for years in Los Angeles. All my sleepless nights, tossing and turning over how I’d pay the bills would be over. I hadn’t had that kind of security since I was a child under my parents’ roof.

  I startled as Henry’s office phone rang shrilly, but I ignored it, knowing one of the girls would get it.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer now,” the attorney said. “But the offer does expire in three days.” He tapped the paper. “I’ll leave that with you.”

  “Sounds like a no-brainer to me,” Brian Higgins said as he rose. “You’re one lucky lady.”

  I walked them to the door, only to have Alice follow me back to the office. “Your grandmother’s called five times.”

  “I’ll call her later.” I had way too much on my mind right now and needed some quiet.

  “She said she won’t give up ’til you answer.”

  “Okay.” I sighed and reached for my cell. “Thank you.” As Alice departed, I dialed Sylvie’s number. “There better be a good reason you’re blowing up my phone.”

  “Hugs and kisses to you, too, pumpkin,” Sylvie said. “Shug, we’ve overlooked something so simple.”

  “The fact that you’re not really retired from the CIA?” A few seconds of dead air followed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sylvie finally said. “But I looked at our photos of the yoga class sign-in sheet.”

  “Yes?”

  “We failed to compare Zoey’s signature on the day in question to her signature on any of the other days.”

  “I compared them. Looked the same to me.”

  “Not if you look closely. They’re different—just slightly. But I’m telling you the signature on the day of the murder is not the same as Zoey’s signature on the other days I photographed.”

  “So someone signed in for her?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “I can’t sit here any longer.” I gathered my purse. “If the police won’t call me back, then I’m going to talk to them in person.”

  I barreled through the lobby of Enchanted Events, gunning for the door.

  “Paisley, what’s wrong?” Henry blocked my path, his eyebrows rising in concern.

  “I can’t talk right now. I’ll be back.”

  He opened the door for me, and warm air blew in. “Can’t you at least tell me how the meeting with Higgins and Jeffcoat went?”

  “I will. Later, I promise.” Then I burst into tears, sidestepped Henry, and made an escape for my Camry. I took a drive with the windows down, aiming my car towards the Sugar Creek Police Station, my head aching from an overcrowding of worries. I couldn’t even think about the offers on Enchanted Events right now. Not when we might’ve locked up the wrong person for Sasha Chandler’s murder.

  My heeled sandals beat a hasty rhythm as I sprinted up the sidewalk and through the doors. The department didn’t see a lot of action beyond speeding tickets and the occasional disorderly conduct, so every uniformed person in the building turned my way as I flew in like a 747 ready to crash land.

  “I want to see Chief Mark O’Hara,” I loudly proclaimed. “And I want to see him now.”

  “Are you wearing explosives?” A receptionist stood. “I went to a training on crisis demands, and I can help you.”

  “No.” I walked toward her and watched her retreat. “I’m Paisley Sutton, and I have information Chief O’Hara needs.”

  “Is this about the Girl Scout cookies?”

  “Can I just talk to the man?”

  “He’s busy right now. If you leave your name and number—”

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “He’s working on some time-sensitive stuff right now,” the wirehaired woman said. “A skunk broke into his ex-wife’s house last night, and he’s reviewing the procedure for bestowing a town medal of honor.”

  “To his ex-wife?”

  “No, the skunk.”

  I so did not have time for this. “My grandmother is Sylvie Sutton. If you don’t get me into Chief’s office in two minutes, I’ll have her take down the city’s power grid and go to Facebook with the neighborhood watch file she calls ‘Naughty Secrets that Would Ruin Many Lives.’”

  The receptionist blanched. “Let’s get to stepping.”

  I followed her down the linoleum-tiled hallway to the office of the man in charge.

  “Ms. Sutton.” Chief Mark O’Hara lowered his phone and glared at his employee. “What an unscheduled pleasure.”

  “I’ve called you repeatedly.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “I have information that’s relevant to the Sasha Chandler murder.”

  “We have our man, Ms. Sutton.” O’Hara twirled a pencil between his stubby fingers as he sat at his file-stacked desk. “We even have you to thank for that.”

  “Please, just let me talk to Detective Ballantine.”

  “Detective Ballantine doesn’t work out of this office on the daily. He’s only here when there’s a murder. Or when you come to town. Are you planning on leaving soon, by the way? You don’t do good things for our crime rates.”

  “I’ve left five messages for him, and he’s yet to call me.”

  “Because he’s done with this case. Probably on his way to Gulf Shores for his yearly beach vacation.”

  “Chief O’Hara, I was convinced Carson Fielding murdered Sasha, and evidence definitely looks condemning, but it’s certainly not conclusive.”

  “His own wife says he went to Enchanted Events and got in a fight with Sasha Chandler. Between that, the pictures, the copied hard drive Frannie gave us, and the blackmail letters, I’d say this case is wrapped up.”

  “I think we have the wrong person behind bars.”

  He leaned back in his chair, hands bracketed behind his head. “And who would you like to swap out for Fielding?”

  “Zoey Chandler—Sasha’s stepsister.”

  “Impossible.”

  “It’s not.”

  I sat down in a cracked-vinyl chair and shared all I’d discovered—except the detail about Sylvie and me breaking into the yoga studio office. Why incriminate ourselves with that?

  “So you think because Carol overheard a tussle over a wedding dress, Sasha’s sister killed her?”

  It
sounded so stupid. “Yes.”

  O’Hara scratched the skin behind his ear. “Would a dress really drive a woman to kill?”

  Had he not heard a word I’d said? “It’s not just the dress. The dress was just the tipping point. I’m not sitting here saying I know without a doubt Zoey killed Sasha. What I am saying is that there are things at play you and Detective Ballantine need to consider. Zoey has motive and—”

  “She also has an alibi. She said she was at yoga, and as far as the instructor recalled, she was.”

  “Someone could have easily signed in for her. I think you should check the sign-in on the date of the murder and compare it with previous days.” My eyes bore into his with a fierce intensity. “Please.”

  “Okay . . .”

  I knew he was only agreeing to get me out of the office. “I think you need to look at the evidence again, Chief O’Hara.”

  “And we will. In a court of law.”

  “I’m talking about the evidence against Zoey. Maybe she was an accomplice.”

  “And maybe she’s just a young lady who got treated like Cinderella when daddy remarried.”

  “Which provides motive.”

  “I’ll take this all into consideration.” He smiled and gestured to the door. “Get on outta here. It’s a beautiful day, and I hear you have our mayor’s wedding to prepare for. My son’s doing the photos for the event, so it better be good.”

  Something niggled at the outer edges of my thoughts. An idea that was so close, but it had yet to fully materialize. “Please have Detective Ballantine call me. Tell him it’s urgent.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll pass that along.”

  All eyes were on me as I walked through the lobby of the police department. I knew they thought I was taking this sleuthing thing a little too far.

  And maybe I was.

  But if I was right, there was still a killer running free in our town.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Sugar Creek Chapel sat like a beacon on a hill, the light from within radiating through the glass walls like a prism in the night. A place where decades of love had seeped into the steel, board, and mortar, where hope hung from every shingle. It was a beautiful setting to begin a marriage and a new life.

  The acoustics were also fabulous for singing.

  Or so Alice told me.

  “Come on!” Her phone played a catchy Timberlake song, and she shook her groove thang as she fused tulle to burlap with a hot glue gun on the last pew decoration. “Sing with me, Paisley!”

  “Too busy!” I climbed down from the ladder, satisfied with the fabric we’d draped from the ceiling. Alice and I had been at the chapel since three, and with the assistance of some hired help, we’d transformed an already gorgeous setting into a pastel fantasy.

  “Come on,” Alice said. “Let’s hear that golden voice.”

  It was more of a rusty, tarnished voice these days. “Can you help me with these candelabra?”

  “Sure thing. I—” She stilled as her phone pinged, then grabbed it from the floor. “Crap. Sick kid. I gotta go.”

  It was nearly nine. “No, not yet. Give me thirty more minutes, and we’ll finish together.” I didn’t want to admit to her that I was afraid to be in the chapel alone.

  “Paisley, Levi just barfed all over my living room. I can’t stay.” She gathered her event notes and shoved them in her purse. “If I can get him settled, I’ll have the neighbor sit with him. Otherwise, I’ll call Layla to take my place.”

  “Okay.” So far Detective Ballantine had yet to call me back. I’d phoned him another four times and popped into the station again on my way to the chapel. They were satisfied with their arrest of Professor Fielding. But I still wasn’t.

  “It looks like we’re almost done. Relax, okay? I’ll leave you with my cherished glue gun and bag of tools. This wedding’s going to be phenomenal. Girl, look at this place.” With her hands on my arms, Alice forced me to do a slow turn. “Huh? Is this stunning or what?”

  I’d been working nonstop, one hyperfocused task at a time. Now that I surveyed the chapel as a whole, it really was something. “We did pretty good.”

  “Pretty good?” Alice laughed. “We did amazing. You did amazing. You’re a natural at this, Paisley. You took Emma’s plans and supersized them. How can you look at this and not be proud of yourself?” She pulled me in for a warm side hug. “Let me hear you say you’re proud of yourself.”

  I shooed her toward the door. “Go home to your sick boy.”

  But Alice wasn’t relenting. “Say it.”

  Such a simple thing, but why was it so hard? “I am . . .” The girl who never felt good enough. The one who couldn’t compete. The one who wanted to make her parents proud, but rarely did. The one who thought she’d finally, finally arrived when the record deals came. Only to lose that too.

  Then along came a little wedding planning business. Falling into my lap like manna from the sky.

  Here I was, a former pop star, running a business so well I’d received multiple offers on the sale. “I am . . . proud. I’m proud!” Now I was laughing, delirious giggles of wonderment. “I had no idea how this wedding stuff worked, and I’d wanted no part in running Enchanted Events. But it came together. I’d stuck with it, and everything was working out—including Emma’s wedding.”

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Alice moved toward the large double doors. “How about you give staying in Sugar Creek some thought?”

  “Let’s not go too far with this. I’m glad it was a job well done, but my life is in California.”

  “Is it?” She gave a pointed look, opened a door, and stepped out. “Don’t work too late, boss.”

  I spent the next ten minutes straightening pew decorations, climbing up the ladder once more for a final adjustment, and setting up the candelabra. Wanting to dust the backdrop free of sawdust before I called it a night, I pulled a microfiber cloth from Alice’s Enchanted Events bag of tricks and gently cleaned, humming the song stuck in my head.

  “Hello, Paisley.”

  My heart leapt at that familiar voice, and I turned, nearly falling from my place on the altar platform. “Zoey. Hi.” Why hadn’t I locked the doors? “What are you doing here?”

  With her hair in a pink ball cap, Zoey wore black yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, despite the heat. “I just came from the police station.”

  It took a Herculean effort to keep my face neutral. “You did?”

  “I went to pick up a few of my sister’s effects, now that the investigation is over. They said you’d solved the case.” She smiled and walked the aisle to me. “When I drove through town and saw your car here, I thought I’d stop in and thank you myself.”

  No matter where Zoey had been headed, this chapel would not have been on her path. “No thanks needed.” I dusted my hands against my pants. “I obviously had selfish motives for finding the real killer.”

  “The police said they were now in possession of Sasha’s old iPad.”

  “Yeah, funny thing. I found it in that collection of books you gave me.” I watched her face for a reaction, but found none. “It got pretty bashed up when my house got broken into.” Did she know about that? Was Zoey the culprit?

  She roamed her fingers over the material at the end of a pew. “Amazing that you were able to recover any data on the thing.”

  “I have two family members who are former CIA. They’re pretty handy. Annoying, but mostly handy.” I was rambling. Confronting a possible murderess did that to a girl.

  “I should get home,” Zoey said. “But on behalf of the Chandler family, thank you. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  She turned to go, the echo of her shoes like a ticking clock. It would be so easy to let this go—to close the chapter and get on with my life.

  “We were able to do a thorough inspection of the hard drive.” The words flew out of my mouth, and I desperately wanted to grab them back.

  Zoey’s steps faltered and she stopped. “Oh?”


  “Yes,” I said. “It’s interesting what you can find on someone’s device, isn’t it? So personal.” I was pretty sure I had not worn enough deodorant for this task, but when one dove into the deep end, one had to keep swimming. “Did you know Sasha had blackmailed Professor Fielding?”

  Zoey didn’t so much as blink. “No, but I guess I’m not surprised.”

  “It all fit so perfectly. Sasha blackmails her former fling, and he kills her to shut her up.”

  She gave a tight-lipped smile. “The answer was right under our noses the whole time.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Almost so close we couldn’t see it.”

  “Well, nice to see you again.” Zoey glanced toward the door. “Max and I have a party to go to.”

  Let her go, Paisley. Do not handle this alone! “Remember when I delivered Sasha’s bridal book to you?” My brain and my mouth were in a battle for control, and my mouth was definitely overruling.

  Zoey’s lip curled. “You mean the one she stole from me?”

  “Yes,” I said. “It was so impressive. So detailed. I’d never seen anything quite like it.”

  Zoey’s face looked mildly impatient.

  “I especially enjoyed the photos you had in there. The ones of the dress Sasha would wear, the venues you’d liked, your creative décor choices. Your photography skills are really something. I can barely work my iPhone camera, so I admire that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But I noticed something on the photos.” Zoey stilled, and I knew I was on to something. That little detail that had finally clicked into place. “A small watermark in the bottom right corner. So faint, it would be easy to miss.”

  “It’s from my editing program. Something I put on there so people don’t rip them off from social media without giving me credit.”

  “Very smart. You can’t trust anyone these days. But you know where else I saw that watermark?”

  “No.”

  “On Sasha’s blackmail photos.”

  Her gaze never wavered. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “Bottom right-hand corner—your little symbol. A heart with your initials in it, I think? Almost invisible. I’m guessing the program you run your photos through is set to watermark by default, am I right?”