by Angie Fox
Famous last words. I knew that nothing I could say would convince Zoey otherwise, though. She’d learn about tangling with Virginia Wydell the hard way like I did. And if she was going to stick with Beau, a tangle was inevitable.
“How much have you and Beau talked about his past?” I asked, easing into yet another unpleasant topic. She needed to know the whole truth, at least about Beau and me.
“He tells me everything,” she said, with a wry smile.
Well, maybe not everything.
It wasn’t my business to get in the middle of it, but I didn’t see how I could avoid it. “You see—”
“I need you inside,” Lauralee called to Zoey. “Your stove knobs are sticking and the heat’s getting high.”
“Just a minute!” Zoey called back to her.
“Real quick,” she said to me, “I got permission from Maisie to build a fire pit out of some spare cinderblocks on her property, and I’d love it if you and Ellis could come and join me and Maisie and Beau for a cookout tonight.”
She must have seen the reluctance on my face, because she hastily added, “I’ll do the cooking. You guys just bring yourselves.” She paused. “Wait, your boyfriend’s got a brewery, right? So bring yourselves and some beer.”
That would not be the place to tell her my news, although I hoped Beau would have a talk with her once he knew she was planning an event like this.
“I—”
“Please,” she said as Lauralee called for her again.
“I will,” I said, lifting a finger between us to contain her squeal, “if you tell Beau he has to talk to you about how he and I met and…everything else.”
“Fine,” she said. “Everybody knows everybody, right?”
Not as well as I’d known her boyfriend.
I’d have to make sure Ellis was free. “I also can’t stay late,” I said as she rushed to join Lauralee. I absolutely had to be at the Adair mansion tonight.
“No worries there,” she promised, climbing into the back of the truck “If I go to bed later than ten o’ clock, I’m blasted the next day.” She waved at the smoke coming out of the rear doors. “Whew! Yeah. That stove is acting up. The food looks good, though.”
“Oh, I’d never burn a skewer,” Lauralee joked.
Lauralee sounded so happy.
And having Zoey around for company probably made a world of difference to Maisie, too.
Beau would be the better for knowing her as well.
Now if we could all just get along…
“Drop by tonight at seven,” Zoey said, leaning out the back of the truck. “This’ll be so much fun.”
“I hope so,” I told her.
At least the smoke had begun to clear from the back of the truck.
“Here,” she turned and came back with a plate of steaming chicken satay. My mouth watered at the aroma of garlic and curry powder as she tucked a lime wedge on the side.
“Made just like that place you loved on our weekend in Memphis,” Lauralee called from behind the stove.
Zoey beamed at me as she handed it to me. “On the house.” She winked. “Now relax and enjoy. You’ll see. Everything is going to be fine.”
Chapter 9
That evening, Ellis and I set out for Maisie’s, with Frankie in the backseat of Ellis’s police cruiser. The gangster appeared oddly comfortable behind the metal security screen. I supposed he’d seen enough of the back of squad cars.
“Sorry we have to drag you to the bonfire first, Frankie,” Ellis said, turning onto Rural Route 7. He couldn’t see or hear the ghost, but he liked to be polite.
The gangster merely scowled. “It’s better than hiding in a lake for eternity.”
I turned to Ellis. “Zoey promised me she was going to ask Beau about our past,” I told him, “so this could be a shorter party than we’re expecting.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe Beau didn’t tell her he was engaged once.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back in the seat. “He might have told her that, but he certainly didn’t tell her who the girl was.”
“And here I thought The Jerry Springer Show had been canceled,” he mused.
Meanwhile, Frankie hunched back against the seat, staring out the window at the violet sunset sky like it held some sort of answer.
“You should have brought Molly along tonight,” I said. To the bonfire at least. She always had a calming effect on him.
He brushed imaginary lint off his suit coat. “She visited me at the bottom of the pond this afternoon but got mad and went home early. She was asking too many questions.”
“She’d be welcome,” I said, not that Frankie ever waited for an invite from me. “In fact, if you want, we can go back and—”
“No,” Frankie snapped. “I don’t want her around another murder investigation.”
Ellis turned onto the highway, and we sped toward the east side of town, my hair blowing in the wind from the open window, Frankie’s hairdo frozen in place for eternity.
“Frankie,” I began. I hated to see him struggle with Molly.
“Don’t you see?” he shot back. “I can’t take her. You saw what that mansion was like.”
“You take her to speakeasies.” I left off the part about the one in Ellis’s attic.
Frankie scowled. “I trust the bootleg gin swillers. The swells are a different story, especially with a killer on the loose.”
That made absolutely zero sense. “She hangs around killers all the time. You, Suds, the rest of the South Town Gang, you’re all—”
“Hey!” Frankie sounded terribly affronted. “That’s completely different! We’re not psychopaths. You heard what the inspector said.”
Put that way, I could see where he was coming from. “And now she’s mad at you,” I said sympathetically.
“Mad. Sad. Disappointed. And I didn’t even lie to her. You’d think I’d get some kinda points for that.” He glared down at the floor. “This is why I never got into a relationship before. It’s too hard to stay on top. You pull a job, and you either win or lose, no in between. But being with Molly, sometimes I feel like there’s nothing but in between.”
Aww…I felt sorry for the crusty gangster. “You want what’s best for her. She’ll understand that.”
“From your lips to God’s ear, sweetheart.” He shut down after that, and when I glanced over at Ellis, he was looking at me with a bemused expression on his face.
“What?” I asked, bracing a hand on the windowsill as we began to bounce over the dirt road leading to Maisie’s property.
“I’m trying to figure out your conversation from context,” Ellis said, steering. A thick forest rose up on both sides of the road. “It’s an interesting challenge.”
“Tell him he’s as useful as a trapdoor on a canoe,” Frankie drawled.
I started to laugh, then faked a sneeze to try to cover it. The gangster rarely showed his Southern side.
Ellis shot a look over his shoulder toward the backseat. “He just insulted me, didn’t he?”
Frankie spread his arms out over the back of the seat. “This is why you make the big bucks, copper.”
Moments later, we arrived at Maisie’s house. Maisie had been living by herself out on this remote, wooded property ever since her good-for-nothing husband died almost fifty years ago. Her blue jalopy truck sat on a patch of gravel in front of her small weather-beaten home. Tonight it was joined by two other cars: Beau’s silver BMW coupe and Zoey’s red and orange painted food truck, still looking bright even in the dying light.
Off to the left about a hundred feet, only partially visible through the trees and brush, was a tan RV with the word Moonbeam painted along its side in glow-in-the-dark paint. A canopy extended from the top of it to shelter a little sitting area, which was bathed in the warm glow of firelight.
“Hey.” Frankie brightened. “I forgot about the old lady’s backyard.”
Beyond Maisie’s house stood a stretch of haunted woods. I’d braved
them on a previous adventure and barely made it out.
That didn’t seem to matter to Frankie. He vanished into the night, quick as a ghost.
Ellis and I left the car, him with a six-pack in hand. He’d brought his newest beer, a dark, caramelly stout brewed in bourbon barrels. He’d tested it on me the last time I’d visited his place, and wow, was it ever delicious. I could only handle about half of one before it went to my head, so I’d be abstaining tonight. But his brews were going to be a hit. Maybe Beau would drink three and confess everything.
It’ll be okay, I reminded myself as I held my hand out to Ellis. We were going to enjoy a lovely evening with my ex, his current flame, my man, and Maisie, who had absolutely no filter.
Hopefully, Maisie would be too busy talking about baby bunnies to talk about me.
“You look nice,” I said, leaning into Ellis as we made our way to the fire pit. He wore a dark blue T-shirt that clung just enough to his biceps to make it hard to look away.
“Verity!” Zoey caught sight of us and waved both arms above her head like she was bringing a plane in to land. “Over here!”
Oh boy. She clearly had no clue what had happened between her boyfriend and me.
Darn it, Beau.
He was going to make me tell her.
We joined the three of them. Zoey looked adorable in a zigzag-patterned black and white romper, while Beau could have stepped out of the pages of a golfing magazine. He hadn’t quite gotten the whole “outdoor casual” thing yet, although I was pleased to see him in sneakers. That showed effort.
Maisie sat on a log in front of the fire. She stood as fast as a woman half her age, her wild auburn hair flying around her head like a halo as she wrapped me in a bear hug.
My ribs creaked at the force of it.
“Verity,” she drew back, “I hope you’re ready to eat. That one—” she pointed at Zoey, who winked back “—has been working on this meal all afternoon.”
“Maisie let me raid her herb garden,” Zoey said as if it were the greatest treasure in the world. And for a foodie, perhaps it was. She busied herself turning a half-dozen skewers of meat roasting over the fire pit’s flames. “She also let me steal her fondue forks. I didn’t even know people ate fondue anymore.”
Maisie shrugged one skinny shoulder. “How should I know? I got them as a wedding present and used ’em to break up the soil in my garden for years. What have you brought there, Ellis?”
“Beer,” he said, handing the six-pack to his brother before coming over to greet her himself. “How’s the rabbit hutch holding up?”
“Nobody’s escaped from it yet,” she said. “I can’t ask for better than that. You said you brought beer?”
“Strong beer,” I cautioned.
“Nine percent alcohol by volume,” Beau noted, turning over a bottle in his hands. “That’ll knock you out for the night.”
“Good thing I live close,” Maisie joked. “Crack one open for me.”
Beau took care of it while Ellis and Zoey said their hellos. Beau passed a beer to me to give to Maisie, then asked, “One for you too?”
“Oh, no, thanks.” I shook my head. “I’ve got to work after this.”
He waggled the bottle at me. “Are you sure? I don’t think the ghosts care if you have just one.”
“I care,” I said. I wasn’t about to go to the Adair mansion tonight at less than one hundred percent.
He didn’t press any further, which was new. Beau had never exactly pressured me to drink when we were together, but it used to be that when he did something, he automatically assumed that other people wanted to join in, whether it was drinking, skinny-dipping, or cow tipping. I hadn’t been there for the cow tipping myself, but there were pictures. It was one of the few bad decisions Beau had made that he’d allowed to be documented.
Someone had carried Maisie’s rickety red leatherette chairs out to sit on. The plates were paper, and the air smelled pungent, almost musky. Cottonwood didn’t make for a pleasant fire unless it was totally dry, which these logs apparently weren’t. But dinner ended up being lovely. Zoey talked a lot about her first day with the food truck and exchanged heart eyes with Beau, who didn’t pick a fight with Ellis—a minor miracle all on its own. She asked questions about Southern Spirits, too, including the specials menu, which Ellis was using to try new dishes.
I mostly sat back with Maisie and let her take me through the rabbit photos she’d whipped out of her pocket. They were old-fashioned Polaroids, thick and stiff. I didn’t even know you could find film for those cameras anymore.
“They’re growing so fast,” I said as she held out what had to be the thirtieth picture of her bunnies in their new hutch, courtesy of an afternoon of Ellis’s time. Well, more like a full weekend. Ellis wasn’t a born handyman, but he’d learned so he could help Maisie and others in town who needed an extra hand.
It almost made me forget about what lay in store tonight with Beau. Almost.
All too soon Maisie went to bed—after declaring she had to “check on her lil’ darlings” first. Ellis, because he was a gentleman, escorted her back to her house while Zoey packed away the leftover food and Beau tossed another log onto the fire. He seemed antsy, ready to jump out of his skin.
I walked over to him. “You didn’t tell her about us.”
He shot me a nervous half-grin. “She doesn’t need to know everything about me.”
Maybe not, but this was a big one. “If you’re going to date her, you have to be honest.” I took a drink of water. “If you don’t tell her tonight, I will.”
“You’re bluffing,” he shot back, not sounding at all sure of himself anymore.
“You know I’m not.”
“The thing is—” he began.
“Miss me?” Zoey breezed past me to snuggle up to Beau.
He caught my gaze from over her shoulder and gave a small smirk. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said, nuzzling her hair.
Yes, well, Zoey derailing the conversation didn’t mean he was off the hook.
Perhaps he hadn’t changed so much after all.
A moment later, Ellis joined us. “It’s getting late,” he announced. “Verity and I need to head out soon.”
Beau gave a sharp nod as if deciding something. “Before you go, there’s something I need to say.” He pulled up a log to form a small grouping.
Zoey held his hand.
“All right.” This had to be it. I took a seat next to Ellis, facing Beau and Zoey.
When we’d all settled in, Beau took a deep breath.
He planted his bottle on the ground, leaned his elbows forward onto his knees, and looked at me. “I have something to say.”
He should be addressing Zoey, but okay. “Let’s hear it.”
Ellis swirled the last of his beer and shared a glance with me.
“As you both know, I’ve done some soul-searching over the past year and a half since Verity dumped me.”
Zoey’s face fell. “You dated Verity?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Beau patted her on the leg. “We were engaged.”
Zoey’s features tightened. She tried to twist a brave smile out of a tight-lipped frown, but she looked more like she was about to cry.
“I’m sorry,” I said, quashing the urge to hug her. She might not even accept that from me right now. “I wanted to tell you, but it seemed like something you needed to hear directly from Beau. I didn’t want to get in the middle of you two.”
“And I didn’t realize you’d run into her so fast,” Beau said, his tone purposely light as if that would diffuse Zoey’s hurt. “Hey, what can I say? This is Sugarland!”
“You’re an ass,” Ellis said.
“You were engaged to Verity,” Zoey repeated, her voice taking on a hard edge, her attention moving to me as if I’d planned the whole thing.
“It wasn’t my place to say anything,” I said, feeling awful and guilty and wrong. I should have found a way to tell her. But I didn’t kn
ow she’d find out like this.
Beau, for his part, appeared as if a weight had been lifted. The jerk.
“Anyway—” Beau shrugged off the discomfort he’d caused “—I’ve been doing some soul-searching, and I’ve come to a decision. You’re the first people I’m telling apart from Zoey.”
“Who obviously isn’t in on everything,” she interjected, taking a hearty swig of beer.
Beau ignored her. “I thought it was important to start with the one who opened my eyes.” He looked straight at me when he said the last part. Zoey noticed too, and I wanted to punch him. He hung his head, then brought it back up again. “I’ve found my true calling in life.” He said it like a man going to war, come hell or high water. “I’m going to be an eclectic folk artist!”
None of us spoke for a long moment.
“Well?” Beau prodded as if expecting applause.
Ellis was the one to finally break the silence. “I’m not sure what that is,” he confessed.
Thank heavens he said it first. I had no idea either.
Beau stood. “It’s surrealist self-expression through found-object meta-construction, imbued with local Southern flavor,” he said, his fingers brushing Zoey’s shoulder as he stood.
Maybe that impressed her, but I had no idea what it meant.
Fortunately, Beau had pictures on his phone. He passed it over to us. “Take a look!”
I scrolled through slowly, taking in the self-expressive meta-objects. They looked a lot like Beau had scavenged some cheap wood scraps and twisted branches, nailed bits of metal or cloth to them, fixed them to poles like the world’s most avant-garde scarecrows, and gone to town with some spray paint. Blindfolded. Possibly while drunk.
No wonder Virginia had been alarmed. I was starting to see her point.
“I rented a barn to use as a studio,” Beau continued excitedly. “It’s why I’ve been taking some time from the firm lately.” He took a drink of beer. “I have to work in natural light, there’s no way to get the colors to blend so perfectly otherwise.”
“He is talented,” Zoey reluctantly agreed, cooler than she had been before. Beau would be lucky if his relationship recovered.
