“Yeah. I’m only getting started. Someone stabbed a threatening note into my tire last night, and Detective Oliver had to drive me home.”
“Oh my stars! Are you okay?”
“He helped me bake carrot cakes, and he drove me to get my car this morning.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
“He said I should call him Jack.”
A grin slid across her face. “And?”
“Miguel’s girlfriend is pregnant. She came to see me outside the store today. She says they had planned on leaving together. They were going to be a real family, but now she’s alone. I can’t imagine how she approached the woman accused of killing her boyfriend.”
Scarlet drained her glass of ice water. “That wasn’t what I meant by and.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in. Mr. Tater is distancing himself from me, but I’ve got appointments and orders coming out of my ears. Probably enough to make the lease payment, but I’ve got only two hands to work with and no money until the jobs are done. Mable Feller arranged the windfall of customers. Actually, I should contact Mr. Tater. Maybe everything that’s going on is enough for him to keep investing. Jack isn’t looking at me as a suspect anymore, and with Mable’s approval, my name is clear around here again.” I tugged my lip between my thumb and index finger. It would be tough—practically impossible—but maybe I could do it without Tater’s help. “I’ve still got twelve days before my lease payment is due.”
Scarlet straightened in her seat and nodded stiffly. “Okay. What can I do?”
I scanned the chaos tearing through her perfect green lawn and sighed. “You’ve got your hands full. I just needed to spill my thoughts so I could attempt to sort out the pieces.”
“I could reach out to Miguel’s girlfriend through the restaurant. Maybe she needs a friend who’s been in her position about four times.” She traced the bump of her upturned belly button.
“That would be amazing. I don’t know if she’ll be receptive, but it would be good to know we tried.”
“She’s the overly independent type? Those are the worst.”
I nudged her foot with mine. “The very worst.”
“What are you going to do about your mom and Margaret Hams?”
“I don’t know.” I imagined Mom’s face as I explained my reason for helping her archenemy with llama leg warmers. “She’ll see this as mutiny.”
“Undoubtedly. I suggest telling her before she gets wind of it from someone else.”
I stroked a tuft of windblown hair behind my ear. Scarlet was right, of course, but the whole thing was complicated and delicate. “That’s going to get ugly.”
“What isn’t?” Her creepy grin returned. “So you baked with Jack last night? How was it? Please tell me baked is a euphemism.”
“Stop,” I chided. “He was oddly at home in my kitchen, and I appreciated it. Also not a euphemism.”
Scarlet’s smile fell. “That’s too bad. Did you ask him about himself?”
“No.” I made a point of watching the children instead of asking the plethora of questions I had on the topic.
“You want to know why he seemed at home in the kitchen?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this before,” she hedged. “Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”
“The last time we talked about Jack, you also tried to set me up with Chase.”
She wasn’t listening. Whatever she had on her mind was consuming her. I’d seen the look a thousand times. “It was pretty interesting around here when his grandpa died. Women were throwing themselves at him.”
Good grief. I swiveled to give her my complete attention. “What women?” Presumably, Garden District women, but they wouldn’t look twice at a man making a detective’s salary, or even have reason to know he existed.
“His grandpa left him the family trust and his entire estate. Jack cried at the funeral. It was a free-for-all after that. He moved back into the district, and ladies lined up at his new doorstep with casseroles and ripe ovaries.”
“He cried?” He hadn’t struck me as a guy with emotions. Jack was more like a modern version of RoboCop, wheeling around town, chasing the wrong suspects with his big truck and serious face.
“Believe it. I guess his grandpa raised him, but we never saw Jack around the district because his grandpa’s interpretation of ‘raise’ was ‘send to exclusive boarding schools abroad.’”
“Shut the front door. He’s a Garden District kid? He went to boarding schools? What is happening? Why would he join the military? Kids here have every opportunity at their fingertips.”
“You mean like Ivy League medical schools?” She beamed. “Interested now, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Well, not like that, but yeah.” How did I not know he existed before? I smacked the table. “Did you know he takes his cat to my dad for her care? I couldn’t understand why he’d come all the way out here to see a vet. He lives here. That makes sense. Wait. Who was his grandpa? There aren’t any Olivers here.”
“That’s because Grandpa was his maternal grandpa, and his mother’s family name was Smacker.”
“No.” I dragged the word into several syllables. “Grandpa Smacker was Jack’s actual grandpa?”
“Yep.”
Jack inherited Grandpa Smacker’s Homemade Preserves.
Scarlet folded her hands over her round belly. “Jack has a cat?”
“Jezebel,” I deadpanned. “Oh!” I straightened in my seat. “Pete called again last night.”
“While Jack was there?” She leaned forward, mouth gaping. “What did he say?”
“He says I can have Penelope back. He said he’d bring her to me if I agreed to see him when he came.”
She blinked. Her mouth closed slowly. “I don’t trust him.” She reached out for me and laid a palm on my arm. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”
I gave her a little smile. “Are you my muscle now?”
“Always have been. Always will be.”
The patio doors behind us swung open with a flourish. “There you are,” a familiar voice boomed.
The children abandoned their inflatable pool and sandbox with a squeal and flew past us. I hadn’t heard that voice in a decade. It was ridiculous that I identified it so easily all these years later.
Scarlet hoisted her body from the seat beside me. “Chase! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my nieces and nephews.” He kissed Scarlet’s cheek and smiled. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
“Enormous. Thank you for asking.” She motioned me out of my chair. “You remember Lacy Crocker.”
I blew out a long breath before turning to face the district golden boy. “Hello.”
He whistled long and slow. “Lacy Crocker. It’s been a long time.”
“Yep.”
“What have you been up to the past ten years?” His deep-set green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Black Ray-Bans sat atop his cropped chestnut hair. He looked every bit the part of professional volleyball player. A measure of commonality linked us together. His mom went nearly mental when he dropped law school in lieu of shirtless days on sandy beaches.
“Not much.” I forced my attention back to his face.
“We were just about to have lunch.” Scarlet pulled up a third chair. “Why don’t you two catch up while I get something started in the kitchen?”
I shot her a dry expression.
She herded the kids inside. “Come on, y’all. Let’s get cleaned up. Who wants sliced peaches?”
Chase lowered his body onto the seat beside mine and rubbed the arms of his chair with mammoth palms. They looked like the perfect size to grip a volleyball.
Heat crawled up my neck and into my cheeks as the mental volleyball I’d conjured slowly became a number of other things unrelated to his sport. I snapped my gaze to his face.
His smile widened. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“What?” I’d tempora
rily forgotten I didn’t like Chase Hawthorne on principle. He was a shameless playboy. “No. I’m single and happy.”
“Playing the field, huh?” He waggled his brows.
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Lace. I’m just playing with you. You were always too uptight. Relax. Tell me all about Virginia.”
The patio door flung open, and the trio of mini-Hawthornes spilled out again. They marched single file to a kid-sized picnic table, complete with striped umbrella, and sat with their hands in their laps.
Scarlet brought up the rear. A tray of crust-free triangles, stacked four tall, teetered on her palm. A bowl of sliced peaches balanced precariously in the crook of her arm. She had bags of pretzels, paper plates, and napkins jammed between her fingertips. She looked at us. “Can you grab the fruit punch?”
Chase and I knocked into one another getting to the door.
“Sorry.” He steadied me with strong hands.
I blushed like an idiot and took a baby step back while he grabbed the punch. The zip of heat racing down my arm from his touch must obviously be thanks to a sunburn I hadn’t realized I had.
Chase delivered the punch to the kids and disappeared back into Scarlet’s kitchen. He reemerged with a similar feast for our table. “I think this is for us.” Croissant sandwiches lined a milk glass tray with chunked cheese and grapes in the center. Peaches filled a crystal serving bowl. “Almost done.” He made another quick trip and returned with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses. We split the duties setting the table while Scarlet served the kids.
“Nice.” Scarlet nodded in approval when she returned. “Teamwork. I like it.”
I shoved a grape between my lips and smiled. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Scarlet gave Chase the gory details of my life drama while I made faces and groaned appropriately.
Chase looked unnaturally at ease. “Man, it’s good to be home.” His ultrawhite shirt and teeth emphasized the extent of his hard-earned beach tan and illuminated his eyes.
I tore the corner of my croissant. “That’s what you got from all this? You’re glad to be home?”
“Yeah. This place is real. I missed it. The world of professional volleyball is a hot mess. Literally.”
“I guess I missed the District, too. I didn’t know it until I was home, but I did. Things were going predictably well until last week. Now my life is in upheaval.” I tossed the bit of buttery pastry into my mouth and checked the time on my phone. “Yikes. I’ve got to go.” I collected my plate to drop in the sink on my way out. “I need to get those llamas measured before four and it’s already after one.”
Scarlet followed me into her kitchen. “What happens at four?”
“Mom volunteered me for the parade committee.”
She laughed. “I can’t say I miss those days. Small groups with power scare me. You know,” she teased, “kids get you out of stuff like that. Husbands, too. Family always comes first. That’s the rule.”
I set my plate in the dishwasher and gasped as authentically as possible. “Are you suggesting I get married to avoid my civic duty? How dare you, ma’am.”
She smiled. “What about your duty to continue the Crocker family bloodline? You have zero siblings. Lots of pressure.”
Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. “I hear Hawthorne genes are impeccable. Above reproach, really.” He motioned a thumb over one shoulder toward the lawn where Scarlet’s kids were slinging cups of fruit punch at one another.
“Ugh.” Scarlet took off across the yard at a clip, threatening naps and showers.
“How about dinner sometime?” Chase asked.
“Sorry. I’m off men.”
He tented his brows. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Not like that. I’m not dating. I’m busy building a business and investigating a murder.”
“Not tonight then. Tomorrow at your place?”
I couldn’t stop the smile that popped onto my traitorous lips. “You’re insane. I have to go.”
He followed me to the front door and leaned out. “See you tomorrow night.”
I’m not going to lie—I ogled him a little as I drove away.
Chapter Twelve
Furry Godmother’s secret to a shiny coat: Avoid Llama Mama drama.
Measuring llamas for leg warmers turned out to be easier than I’d imagined. The animals were beautiful and mostly docile, except one who liked to spit and gave me the evil eye. The drive was lovely, and Mrs. Hams’s plantation was nothing short of spectacular. She gave me a tour of the grounds and estate, then plied me with enough sweet tea to send me into one of my Civil War–era fantasies. My punishment came later, in the form of traffic.
According to the dashboard clock, I was late for my first committee meeting. Mom was guaranteed to hear about it. She’d want to know why I was late making a ten-minute trip through the District to Commander’s Palace, and I’d have to tell her I’d been halfway to Baton Rouge visiting the Hamses’ plantation. Then she’d kill me, and the llamas would never get their leg warmers.
I tapped my thumbs against the steering wheel and waited for the light to change. Cabbies and tourists crept, bumper to bumper, along streets most locals knew to avoid. I, meanwhile, had no other route options.
I left my car with the restaurant valet and hastened inside, ready to beg forgiveness for my tardiness and to promise free pawlines to anyone who appeared dissatisfied.
To my great relief, the committee hadn’t yet come to order. They were lollygagging and gossiping around a large table in a private room, sipping mint juleps and munching nuts and fruit.
I slipped into an empty chair and helped myself to a glass of ice water on the table. I’d nearly forgotten how much fun the proper ladies were after a few afternoon cocktails. District committees weren’t like the stringent events in Arlington, where everyone was in a hurry and the judgment never ceased. These gatherings were more social than business.
Seven women in pearls and fancy dresses chatted animatedly about their neighbors, family, and friends, utterly unconcerned with the time. In minutes, I learned someone was having a dinner party, someone else’s daughter was running for local office, and someone had bought the home on Seventh Street. Not much had changed in the last decade.
I shook my glass and readjusted the ice. No one had noticed my tardiness. It was a good day.
“The Crocker girl was arrested for murder.”
Hey! I snapped into the moment and cleared my throat. The table went still.
“Oh, dear.” Fanny Hesson pressed a hand to her throat. Fanny owned a riverboat, a sugar farm, and half the orange groves in Florida. Her abundant resources and no-nonsense disposition made her a natural leader. Her quick wit and shrewd mind had made her rich. “I didn’t believe your mother when she said you were coming.”
A rush of soft giggles coursed around the table.
I cocked my head and smiled as authentically as possible. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for inviting me. And I wasn’t arrested,” I pointed out. “I was questioned after I called to report an intruder. No one knows why that man was in my store after hours. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything?”
Fanny scanned the table. “Anyone?”
The committee stared wide-eyed. No one knew anything, but everyone wanted to get wind of any scoop.
Presley Masterson shifted in her seat, drawing the group’s attention. She fiddled with her pearls and leaned in my direction. “What can you tell us? You know, about the murder?”
The others fell silent, their rapt attention locked on me.
“Well.” This was my chance to make a public statement. A golden opportunity. Anything I said here would be texted and e-mailed across the District in minutes. “Not much. When I ran away, he was alive. When I came back, he was dead.”
Fanny shook her head. “The whole thing is tragic. Pearl Neidermeyer said that man was a heel.”
I hated t
o speak ill of the dead. “He wasn’t pleasant.”
Presley raised her drawn-on eyebrows for dramatic effect. “I heard he was a jewel thief.”
Fanny adjusted the cuffs of her blouse, feigning nonchalance. “My granddaughter knew him, and she said he was trouble. Bad news from up north.”
“Noooo,” the ladies responded in near unison. A few faces turned my way. I had just come from up north.
I wiggled a finger at a passing waitress. “I’ll have what they’re having.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She spun and disappeared through the nearest archway.
“Is that true?” Fanny’s voice ratcheted an octave.
“What?” I startled.
“The man attacked you? You hit him with a gun?”
“No. Of course not. He came at me, and I sprayed him with my glitter gun. I’ve never hit anyone.” Outside of the self-defense courses I’d taken in Virginia.
She pursed her deeply creased lips. Fifty years of smoking had made an impact even plastic surgery couldn’t wholly erase.
“Glitter!” Another round of quiet laughter swept over the table.
I turned in my seat, hoping the waitress would return soon with that drink.
A petite blonde in a baby-doll sundress and Chanel sunglasses breezed past me to say hello to Fanny, kissing her cheeks.
The waitress followed her as far as my chair. “Your mint julep.”
“Thank you.”
I kept an eye on the blonde. She was young to be at a meeting like this one. Every woman at the table had at least two decades on me, and I was thirty. The girl chitchatting with Fanny wasn’t more than twenty-five and could probably pass for high school with less makeup. Could she be the granddaughter who knew Miguel?
Fanny brought the meeting to order and passed a stack of floral folders around the table clockwise. Matching pens clung to the covers.
I opened my folder and stole another look at the girl beside Fanny.
“We’ll begin by introducing our newest committee member, Lacy Crocker.” Fanny motioned for me to stand. “Lacy owns Furry Godmother. I’m certain you’ve all heard of it.”
To my utter shock, the group nodded.
None of these women had ever stepped foot in my boutique.
Cat Got Your Diamonds Page 12
