I supposed that made sense. “Do either of you even know the songs?” Shouldn’t they be practicing instead of downing beers?
“We’re meeting with the band to run through the playlist two hours before showtime,” he said as he flipped through pages in the plastic box.
“Will that give you enough time to actually learn the songs?” I suddenly pictured lines of unhappy people demanding refunds after the show. “I mean, we can’t really risk winging tonight’s performance, because we don’t have the money on hand to issue more than a few refunds.”
He looked up at me and frowned as if surprised I would question him about it. “Don’t worry so much. It’ll all work out.”
Don’t worry? He was telling me not to worry? Sometimes that’s what I did best—worry. I’d learned from Grandmother Cristobel to expect and plan for the worst. Santa Claus was supposed to bring me a bicycle? Don’t count on it. That shiny new bike under the tree would go to Tina or Chrissie or one of my even younger siblings. Even if they didn’t ask for one, that’s what they’d get. While I got socks.
In Santa’s defense, they were warm socks.
Bixby touched my arm. “It will be fine,” he said softly. “I’ve done this before. I can step in and cover just about any song with just a bit of practice. And no matter what happens, the crowd will love it.”
“Will they?” I asked, still feeling unsure.
“Of course they will. Crowds always love me.”
And that was why he was the big star. Despite my efforts to fight it, despite knowing how he flirted with everyone he met, I—like everyone else in the world—was already half in love with him.
The tension in my shoulders eased as I gazed at his handsome face. “You’re right. Crowds do love you.”
“And the press will be thrilled to cover my ‘surprise’ appearance at tonight’s performance.”
“Your surprise performance?” I asked.
“Don’t put my name on the updated posters. We’ll just spring it on everyone. It’ll be fun. Promise me you’ll come and watch.”
“The surprise would add to the excitement and media coverage of the festival,” I admitted, staring down at my hand that was suddenly cradled in his hand. He drew tiny circles on my knuckles with his thumb. I blinked several times but didn’t pull away. “It …” I cleared my throat when my silly voice warbled. “It might even spur additional ticket sales for some of our smaller bands playing tomorrow night.”
Despite the giddy champagne-like bubbles bumping around in my head thanks to him, I had enough brain power to wonder if there was some other reason he didn’t want to publicize his appearance at tonight’s show. Had the exploding grill along with Candy’s appearance in Camellia Beach unnerved him?
Thinking of Candy and her obsession with Bixby reminded me of someone else’s obsession.
“Bubba,” I said. “What’s between you and Bertie? She was beside herself with worry when you went missing.”
“Bertie?” Bubba muttered as he continued to flip through the papers in his huge box. “She’s a bit like you, I suppose. Her heart is as big as the ocean out there. She worries after all the residents on Camellia Beach.”
“I suppose,” I said. But something felt off about how she was acting when it came to Bubba. “It’s not just that, though. She’s also swearing up and down to anyone who’ll listen that you’d never hurt a fly, much less kill Stan. She even ran off without telling anyone where she was going after hearing that you were the prime suspect for Stan’s murder. I presume she went looking for you.”
He smiled at that. “Glad to know at least a few people around here have my back.”
I’d started to ask him why he thought Bertie was one of his biggest cheerleaders when Gibbons came back through Bubba’s front door with two uniformed officers and Chief Hank Byrd in tow.
The officers, both in crisply pressed black uniforms, looked as if the summer heat hadn’t affected them in the least. Chief Hank Byrd, dressed in the same slightly wrinkled putty-colored uniform he’d worn earlier with a new coffee stain on the sleeve, was completely soggy. Gibbons, in the same gray suit he’d had on all day, looked slightly wilted as well. His tired gaze narrowed as he passed me. My first thought was that he’d returned to arrest Bubba for Stan’s murder.
Bubba must have thought the same thing. He abandoned his search for the score to “Camellia Nights” and scrambled to his feet.
Gibbons only glanced in Bubba’s direction. Instead, he stopped and faced Bixby.
“Mr. Lewis,” he said, sounding gravely serious. “We have the results on the grill explosion.” He held up a staying hand in front of my face before any words (like “I knew it!”) could burst out of my mouth. “Ms. Penn was apparently onto something this morning. The grill at the beach house Bubba and The Embers rented had indeed been rigged to explode.”
I knew it!
Chapter 17
Even though I’d promised Bixby I’d be there to watch the crowd gasp with thrilled surprise when he and Bubba emerged from backstage to sing in Stan’s place, I didn’t make it to the concert that evening.
According to Althea, Ocean Waves band members, while somewhat somber, were thankful to be able to perform one last concert in Stan’s honor. They were also excited to play their songs with Bixby Lewis singing lead. The ticket-holders were thrilled with Bixby’s performance. Althea gushed about how Bixby had sounded as if he’d been singing the Ocean Waves’ beach music his entire life.
She also told me how the police had provided a heavy presence both on and around the pier. While the officers had all been given copies of Candy’s latest mug shot, they remained alert for any odd activities. Three people were caught in their net and arrested for illegal possession of narcotics. Other than that, the night turned out to be blissfully uneventful.
I wish the same could be said for the night I had.
I had returned to the Chocolate Box a few minutes before five o’clock. I was exhausted from the long, emotional day. Even though I’d known all along that the grill hadn’t simply exploded, hearing Gibbons confirm my suspicions had done quite a job on my already frayed nerves.
Bixby could have been killed.
Candy was still out there, watching, with murder on her mind.
As I eased out of my car and walked toward the shop, I scanned the surrounding area. A man on the deck of the house next door, surrounded by several boisterous boys, stood wearing nothing but board shorts as he grilled steaks and hot dogs. I fought an urge to shout a warning to the man and his children.
Gas grills can explode.
I wondered if I would ever feel comfortable using one again.
The building on the other side of the Chocolate Box was a small real estate office that mainly managed vacation rentals. One of the agents was locking up for the night. She saw me and waved. I gave a stiff wave back.
My attention swiftly returned to the surrounding shadowy wooded area across the street and to the darkness underneath the parked cars. Candy could be out there. Waiting. Plotting.
She’d warned me to stay away from Bixby. Had she followed me to Bubba’s house? Had she seen Bixby caressing my hand?
By the time I’d reached the shop’s locked front door, my heart was jumping around in my chest as if I’d just run a marathon. My hand shook as I stuck the key into the lock.
“Penn!” a familiar voice shouted.
A pair of arms grabbed me from behind.
I whirled around and swung like a boxer.
My fist hit … nothing.
The attacker had apparently anticipated my swing and had ducked out of the way. I stared down at the figure crouched on the shop’s front porch and smiled.
“Tina!” I shouldn’t have been surprised to see my half sister. The last thing she’d said to me that morning was that she was getting on the next plane heading south. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. I almost crowned you!”
That last bit wasn’t exactly true. She’d taken n
early as many self-defense classes as I had. And, after she dated one of the instructors, her skills at avoidance and escape had become something all the other students envied.
“Is that how you greet your family?” she complained from the porch floorboards.
“Lately it is,” I said dryly. I offered my hand to help her get back on her feet. “Just wait until you meet the maternal side of my family. They’re a friendly bunch.”
“I hope you told them that their nasty behavior only makes you feel at home.” Tina had always been Grandmother Cristobel’s golden child. According to Cristobel, Tina was everything I was not. She was petite, brunette, and had a talent for mastering any task she attempted.
Cristobel’s attempts to put a wedge between me and Tina had backfired, though. Her constant doting on Tina and disparaging of me had only worked to push Tina away from the powerful head of the Penn Empire.
Tina set her suitcase, which had toppled over in the scuffle, back on its wheels. It was a small bag, the kind that could easily fit in the airplane’s overhead bin. My sister rarely traveled light, which had to mean she wasn’t planning to stay long.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to visit with her. I loved spending time with her. I simply didn’t want to have to worry about my sister getting hurt by one of Bixby’s crazy fans. Tina and Bixby’s affair had dominated entertainment news headlines during their brief time together. Most of the headlines had started with something like “America’s Most Desirable Bachelor and Top Chicago Fashion Designer …” And they usually ended with something silly like “Ate Lunch at Uno Pizzeria.” “Were Spotted Strolling Along Lakefront Trail.”
To an avid fan like Candy who had delusions that she was dating Bixby, these headlines must have felt like daggers to her heart. I shuddered to think what she might do if she believed Tina was back in Bixby’s life.
Tina’s royal blue silk skirt swished around her legs as I ushered her inside. Her skirt, which she’d paired with a matching silk tank top and simple opal pendant hanging from a chunky gold cord, reminded me of the clothes Althea liked to wear. She’d pulled her long hair into a simple bun. It was a hairstyle she favored when she worked in her atelier.
As always, she looked perfect.
“Why doesn’t anyone call for an airport pickup anymore?” I asked as I quickly locked the door behind us and peered out the window, searching for danger.
“Paranoid as ever, I see,” she said.
“Not paranoid. Just careful. There’s a crazy woman on the loose who warned me to stay away from Bixby or else. I ignored her and was talking with Bixby just a few minutes ago. She might have seen me.”
Tina rolled her eyes. “You don’t mean Candy Graves, do you?”
“You’ve heard of her?” That surprised me.
“Of course I’ve heard of her. She’s been stalking our boy Bixby for years now. Do you remember how I followed him on tour for a few weeks when we first started dating? One night I walked into our hotel room to find Crazy Candy standing over the bed with a carving knife. She’d spread out all my clothes and was in the process of slicing them to shreds.”
“That’s horrible,” I gasped.
She shrugged. “They were off-the-rack outfits. So it was okay.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you. And Bixby isn’t dead. That’s good news, big sis, isn’t it?”
“I should have called to tell you that he was okay.” I pulled a cloth and a spray bottle of cleaner out from under the counter. “I’m glad you already heard the news for yourself.”
She nodded as she wandered around the shop. “Bixby texted this morning after he’d talked with you. He figured you’d have called me all panicked about having found him in the bonfire.”
I squirted the cleaner on the glass display case and wiped off a few fingerprints. “If you knew he was alive, why did you still get on a plane and come?”
“I’m here because I didn’t think you could handle it alone.” She smirked as she watched me carry my spray bottle to the closest café table.
“Handle what?” I scrubbed the tabletop as if trying to wipe off its varnish. “Keeping Bixby safe? Not my job. Now that they’ve finally realized someone is trying to kill him, the local police and sheriff’s department are both providing him with top-notch protection.” Actually, that wasn’t exactly the truth. While I hated to lie to my sister, I also didn’t want her to know how determined I was to do everything in my power to make sure that Candy (or whoever) was trying to hurt Bixby wouldn’t succeed. Stan had already died. No one else would die. Not during my music festival. Not under my watch. “There’s nothing you need to help me with, not unless you want to learn how to make bonbons.”
“No, silly bean.” She grabbed the cloth from my hand before I could move to the next table. “Your love life. I sent Bixby here as a gift to you. Perhaps not a gift. That sounds vulgar. Change that to a nudge. The two of you are perfect for each other.”
“No, we’re not.” I tried to get the cloth back, but she danced away with it. “And I’m not looking for a relationship. It wasn’t that long ago that I got rid of the Cheese King, remember?”
She blew a raspberry. “Momentary bad judgment caused by a man’s pretty face. We’ve all been there.” She stopped in the middle of the shop and looked around. “Wow, sis. This place is cute. I love the seating area and all the adorable vintage teacups on the shelves. Please tell me you use them.”
“Of course we use them,” I said with a big grin. Adding mismatched teacups and displaying them on the shelves was something I’d brought to the shop. It was one of the few changes I’d made since inheriting it. “I shop flea markets and garage sales every chance I get to add to the collection. The customer gets to pick out which cup to use.”
“What if I wanted a drink to go?” She picked up a delicate teacup with hand-painted cornflowers.
“We have disposable cups as well.”
With a nod, she carefully placed the cup back on the shelf and then walked over to the display case. “It’s empty. Where’s the chocolate?”
“We keep it in the cooler at night. Actually, we completely sold out today. We’ve been working like crazy to refill our stock. Bertie and Althea might still be in the kitchen. I mean, if you’d like to meet them?”
“Of course I would.” She threw an arm over my shoulder. My muscles instantly tensed as if my body expected a blow.
Although she’d always been the friendliest of any of my siblings, it was only recently that she’d completely broken with family ranks and admitted that she loved and worried about me. Her expressions of familial affection felt too new, too dangerous. In the back of my mind, I kept waiting for her to tell me that she’d only been joking, that she agreed with the rest of my family when they told me again and again how I was an embarrassment to the illustrious Penn name.
“Come on, silly bean, show me the way to the kitchen. You know I’m dying to see where the magic happens.”
“It’s not magic,” I said. “There’s nothing magical about the chocolate-making process. We’re following a process that has been used since the late 1800s.”
She snorted. “It’s just a figure of speech. I know how you feel about magic.”
“Which doesn’t exist,” I said quickly.
“Of course it doesn’t,” she agreed.
Unfortunately, the kitchen was quiet and empty. “Bertie and Althea must have left for the night.”
I reached for the light switches so I could show Tina the workspace. But when I flipped them on, nothing happened.
“That’s strange,” I said. “A breaker must have been tripped.”
Tina followed me to the office where the fuse box was located. Nothing looked wrong.
“Maybe the power is out in the entire town?” Tina offered.
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Maybe,” I said, but I didn’t believe it. Not for a minute. This had to be Candy’s doing.
I jogged to the back door. It was still locked, t
hank goodness.
She couldn’t get in.
The sun wouldn’t set until close to nine o’clock that evening, which meant we weren’t sitting in the dark.
I pulled out my phone to call Gibbons. As I dialed, I said to Tina, “You have to taste the chocolates we made today. They’re in the cooler in the next room. Come on.”
Before the detective’s phone had even started to ring, the sound of shattering glass tore through the building.
I jumped.
Tina screamed.
Then there was silence.
We both held our breaths (and each other), listening.
“Hello? Hello?” someone said.
I glanced down at the phone I was clutching with a death grip.
“Hello?” the voice was coming from the phone.
I pressed it to my ear. “Gibbons, someone just broke into the shop,” I whispered, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. “I’m in the back hallway with my sister. The front window must have been smashed … again.”
“Again?” Tina whispered in alarm.
“Get out of the building if you can safely manage it,” Gibbons told me, sounding equally calm. “Otherwise, lock yourself into the nearest room. I’ll send some officers to come get you.”
He disconnected the call.
“We need to see what’s going on out there,” Tina said.
I grabbed her arm before she could put herself in even more danger and dragged her into the office.
“We need to stay here.” I pushed the door closed. The knob didn’t have a lock, so I tried to wedge a chair underneath it. None of the chairs were tall enough to do the trick.
“We need to get out of here,” I whispered. “The back door is just a few steps down the hall. Give me a head start so I can get the door unlocked, okay?”
Tina, her eyes wide with excitement or fear or perhaps a mixture of both, nodded.
I counted to three, tossed open the door, and ran toward the back. It seemed as if my trembling fingers were going to fight with the lock forever. Tina, who hadn’t waited but had followed immediately behind me, pressed her hands to my back.
Playing with Bonbon Fire Page 11
