“I’m really sorry,” he said, glancing up at me.
Now that I had the chance to really look at him, I could see that he was young, younger than me. Maybe 21, his facial hair was wispy and uneven at best, and he was thin to the point of being scrawny.
“I was so nervous driving all this stuff back. I swerved to miss a pothole. I didn’t even see you there.” He extended his hand. “I’m Daniel Essex, by the way. In case you didn’t recognize me with all this frosting on my suit.”
* * *
Recognize him? Should I recognize him?
“Hey, Daniel. I’m Rita Cl- Rita Redoux,” I said. “Nice to meet you, though I wish it was under different circumstances.”
“You’re telling me,” Daniel answered. “My fiancé is absolutely going to murder me.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” I answered, trying to plaster on my best comforting smile.
“She’s not exactly the forgiving type,” he said, chuckling nervously. “She’s more of a ‘long glare that stretches out into the rest of eternity’ sort of person.”
“Well, I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together.” I nodded, wondering why someone would marry a person who obviously scared them in this way.
“I’m painting a bad picture, I know,” he stammered. “She’s not really like that. Regardless of what the magazines tell you, Chloe is a kind and good woman.” He shrugged. “She just happens to like things a certain way.”
“And I imagine that way doesn’t include her wedding cake being strewn across Highway 25,” I added, quirking my mouth to the side. “It’s a pity,” I added, looking at the frosting flowers as they melted in the afternoon sun. “Looks like it was beautiful.”
“It should have been,” Daniel answered, taking his jacket off and laying it across the hood of his ruined SUV. “It took the poor bakery seven times to satisfy her. It’s why I was transporting it today. They quit on us, said she was too much of a diva and that they didn’t want her business no matter how much publicity it got them.” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know what we’re going to do now. I suppose we could postpone the wedding, but the magazines would have a field day with that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking around. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned magazines. Is there a reason you or your fiancé might be featured in something.”
“Wow,” Daniel said, looking me up and down. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?” He extended his hand again. “I’m Daniel Essex. My fiancé is Chlo—”
“Chloe Covington!” Aiden chimed in, hanging up the phone and marching back toward us with a big smile on his face. “I knew you looked familiar. You’re marrying Chloe Covington. I had no idea that was happening down here.”
“Yeah,” Daniel nodded, moving his hand over for Aiden to shake, which he did most vigorously. “Her dad was insistent that we have it at his country club. He said three generations of Covington women were married there and they all had long happy marriages.” He bit his lip. “Except for the ones who didn’t. In any event, he’s paying since the network decided not to televise the ceremony. So I’m in no position to complain.”
“Network?” I asked, looking from a star struck Aiden to a cream covered Daniel. “Will someone tell me what’s going on here?”
“He’s marrying Chloe Covington,” Aiden said, as though that explained everything. “She’s one of the Real Southern Debutantes.” He stared at me. “You know, from the TV show.”
“I have no idea what that is,” I answered, narrowing my brow.
“Seriously?” he asked. “It’s one of the biggest reality shows in the nation. It’s practically all Peggy watches. Where have you been the last couple years?”
You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.
“I didn’t realize I had run head on into such a big fan,” Daniel said, grinning. “That either makes it much better or much worse. I can’t decide.”
“So long as everyone is okay; that’s all that matters,” I answered, still not seeing what the big whoop was. “Did you call Darrin?” I asked, looking over at Aiden.
“Who?” he asked, his eyes still plastered on Daniel.
“Darrin,” I repeated. “The sheriff. Your best friend, Darrin.”
“Oh right,” he answered, pulling out his phone and posing for a selfie with a smiling Daniel. “He’s sending someone.”
“Sending someone?” I asked, curiously deflated. I wasn’t sure why the idea of not seeing Darrin struck me as a negative thing. He’d have just found a way to agitate me. Still, I found myself a little miffed at his proposed absence. “You mean he’s not coming himself?”
“Guess not,” Aiden answered, surveying the pictures and choosing the one he liked best. “Peggy is just going to flip.”
“I could say the same thing for Chloe, though I doubt it’ll be in the same way,” Daniel bemused. “I messed up so bad. We’re five days out of the ceremony with no cake, no accompaniments, and a bakery that won’t even take our calls, let alone work with us to help fix the situation.” He shook his head and slid down the body of the wrecked SUV until he was once again sitting on the pavement. “Even if they would, I doubt they’d be able to do anything in time. I mean, a bakery would literally have to drop everything and work solely on this to even have a chance of making the deadline, not to mention dealing with Chloe’s perfectionist attitude and whatever paparazzi might show up at the wedding.”
A smile slid across my face as he looked up at me and asked the next question. “Where on earth am I going to find a bakery that’ll do all that?”
“You know,” I said, kneeling down next to him. “I think I just might be able to help you.”
3
“I can’t believe this!” Peggy exclaimed, eyes wide as baking tins as we rolled up the driveway of the Harbor Heights Country Club.
At this point in the drive, a full ninety minutes away from Second Springs, I pretty much knew the way she was feeling since she had said that at least twenty times.
She said it a few days ago, when I told her about my little run in and the job offer that sprang from it. She said it about ten times when I told her exactly whose wedding we would be catering, and she said it once every ten minutes until we were ushered through the gates of the country club (where she said it again).
“I know,” I answered, climbing a hill and gasping as the club was revealed to us. It was a mammoth three-story building with arching points and high ceilings. Covered in white brick that stuck out in intentionally uneven manner, giving it a cobblestone look that made it seem all the fancier somehow.
Bay windows dotted across most of the space and marble columns marked the huge French door entrance. The grounds stretched out in pristinely kept rolling green, and the brick bordered driveway forked into two paths; one for the staff and one for guests.
We took a left, as per the signs, and pulled around the back of the club.
I shook my head. The fact that something like this; so grand, so elegant, existed this close to Second Springs seemed unreal to me.
“What sort of people do you think actually go to a place like this?” Peggy asked as I pulled the white van marked ‘Pie Ladies’ Paradise’ (since my dusty red pickup wasn’t the sort of thing you to take to a country club) into the space.
“The same sort of people that own it,” I answered, reminding Peggy that our client’s family actually held the deed this huge property.
“The Covingtons are old Southern money,” Peggy explained, her voice darting up into that excited lilt it took anytime she talked about anything pertaining to that stupid reality show. “Their family stretches back to those Gone with the Wind plantations that you see in paintings. So romantic.”
“I guess that depends on your idea of romance,” I answered, turning off the engine and hopping out of the car.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Peggy asked, following me around to the back of the van.
“Nothing,” I shru
gged. “It’s just… look at this place.”
“This place is literally breathtaking,” Peggy answered, opening the van’s back door. “I am-at this moment- having trouble breathing because of how beautiful this place is.” She nodded. “So yeah.”
“True,” I told her, grabbing at one of the many dollies strewn across the business end of this building and stacking our equipment on it.
There was no point in denying how amazing this place was, but that wasn’t exactly what I was getting at.
“This place is insanely amazing,” I answered. “But is it really the sort of place you’d want to get married at, even if your parents did own it?” I quirked my mouth to the side. “It just seems like the sort of venue that would strip away any personal touches. How could you be you in a place like this?”
“What if being you meant you were in a place like this?” Peggy asked, tilting her head at me as she pulled at cake pans. “You’re not a fan of the show, so I totally forgive you for not knowing this, but the Real Southern Debutantes are all about excess.” She motioned toward the massive country club. “They all grew up in places like this.”
“But what about Daniel?” I asked, shuffling my feet. “I mean, I don’t really know the guy. But, in the interactions I had with him, he didn’t come across as the ‘all about excess’ type. Doesn’t what he want count for something?”
Peggy just shrugged. “Guess not.”
Peggy was ten times more star struck when she walked into the country club. As impressive as the place was on the outside, it was even more brilliant from within.
It was laden with granite counter tops, immaculate black and white tile, and ceilings so high, I had to stretch my neck just to see the tops.
And that was just in the kitchen.
“Oh my goodness!” Peggy exclaimed. “This is where Priscilla screamed at Chloe that time she thought she was spreading lies about her!”
“Okay,” I answered indifferently. Peggy and I had been best friends throughout two lifetimes now (at least for me. Still, there were some things about her that I didn’t understand. I guess I could count her love for trash reality television among them.
She pointed to the far corner. “And this is where Barbara slammed her against the wall when she thought Chloe was making out with her husband!”
“She sounds like a horrible person,” I said, but Peggy wasn’t listening. She was way too invested in all of this.
“You know,” I said, wheeling the dolly into position and starting to set up the equipment, “I’m a little surprised that this is the kind of stuff you’re into.”
“Why’s that?” Peggy asked, helping me stack up cake tins on the granite counter.
“I just don’t see how a girl who spent the entire seventh-grade reading and rereading Hamlet could get enthralled in the domestic drama of spoiled Southern women. Even if they are on television.”
“How did you know about Hamlet?” Peggy asked, narrowing her eyebrows and continuing to stack the tins.
Oh no. I was really bad at this whole ‘reincarnation’ thing.
“Just a guess?” I offered.
“Nice try,” Peggy said. “I know what’s going on here.”
I doubt that seriously, but okay. Let’s give it a go.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“Aiden’s been talking. Hasn’t he? People keep asking him what they should get me for an engagement present, or a wedding shower gift. He told you about my brief Shakespearean phase, didn’t he?” She shook her head. “He must be running low on suggestions.”
“Yep,” I answered, relieved. “That’s exactly what happened. Though, don’t mention it to him. He swore me to secrecy and all.”
“Sounds just like him,” Peggy beamed. “That’s sweet of you, but you really don’t have to get me anything. We barely know each other.”
I bristled as those words poured out of her mouth. Barely knew each other? I knew everything- and I do mean everything- there was to know about that woman. She was into Shakespeare in 7th grade, not because she thought it was intellectually stimulating (like she told everybody) but because she had a massive crush on Xander Davis who only went for brainy girls.
Let’s see if Aiden could tell you that!
But I wasn’t that person anymore, and if I was going to have a relationship with Peggy, it would mean I was going to have to start from scratch. That meant forgetting about Xander Davis, Hamlet, and twenty odd years of other things that-when piled up- meant the entire world to me.
“I guess you’re right,” I answered, my tone sadder than I wanted to betray. “But you were nice enough to make me one of your bridesmaids, so I want to get you something regardless. I promise it won’t be Shakespeare.” I grinned.
“We work together, and besides, I feel comfortable around you.” She shrugged. “Can’t really explain it. Plus, it didn’t hurt that you basically got me an invitation to the social event of the year.”
“Lucky us,” I groaned, rolling my eyes.
“Hey, do you think you can finish setting up while I go find the wedding planner and go over some last minute details?”
“Of course,” I answered. “Take your time,” I added, noticing the way her eyes wandered around this place like she was walking through the Promised Land.
“You’re the best!” She patted my shoulder. “If Aiden gets here before I get back, would you tell him that he and Darrin can set the tables up in the left corner of the dining room?”
“I …sure,” I muttered. “Aiden and Darrin? So, both of them are going to be here, then?”
“Yep,” she chirped. “To help set up the tables.” She tilted her head at me again. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I’m just- I guess I’m finally feeling the excitement about all of this.”
“Isn’t it great?” Peggy nearly jumped a foot off the ground. “And think about it, Rita. If this goes well, maybe people start talking. Maybe we do another celebrity wedding, and then another. Who knows? By this time next year, we could be the wedding dessert option in the Southeast!” She scooped me up into a familiar hug. “And it’s all because of you.” She smiled. “I’m so glad you nearly choked to death in my pie shop that night!”
“Me, too,” I answered softly. “Me, too.”
I was almost finished with the initial setup when I heard the door open. I was bent over the stove, checking the knobs and temperatures with my butt up in the air. Which almost certainly meant that both Darrin and Aiden had just entered the room.
Why was it that guys always came barging in when you were in the most unflattering positions?
“Oh, um, Peggy said to put the tables in the dining ar—”
Instead of hearing a chuckle, or even an answer, I heard a loud crash.
My head popped up just in time to see a little kid with dirty hands dart out the door. He had knocked a pile of cake tins over and was making his getaway with a dozen of our eggs.
Eggs that would no doubt soon end up splattered across various parts of the estate. And who would get the blame for that? Some rich guy’s kid or the small town bakers hired at the last minute who were too unprofessional to safeguard their property? I didn’t need two guesses to figure that one out.
I watched all of Peggy’s dreams get carried away in dirty, grubby hands, and I couldn’t stand for it.
“Get back here!” I yelled and ran out behind him.
Pushing through the doors of the kitchen, I found myself in the center of what was absolutely the most upscale common area I had ever seen.
Thankfully, rich people never liked to show up early for things. So, when I rushed all sweaty and frantic into a crowd of people, it turned out to mercifully mostly be staff.
“Have you seen a kid?” I asked, grabbing onto a guy in a server’s coat with one of those twirled up villain mustaches.
“Children are not permitted inside the Harbor Heights Country Club without the accompaniment of a parent or approved guardi
an,” he answered drolly. “Also, the kitchen staff is not permitted in the main area without the express consent of the club owner.” He looked me up and down. “Something I doubt you have.”
“What are the chances that your name is Jeeves?” I asked, letting go of him.
“Niles,” he answered flatly.
“That might be worse,” I admitted.
“Please return to your designated station,” he ordered me, pointing to the door I just barreled through.
“Not without those eggs, bud,” I answered, and rushed off through the room.
The interior of the club was unlike anything I had ever seen. If this was what Peggy saw on television, then her obsession was starting to make sense to me.
Shining hardwood floors, marble statues, and the most gorgeous paintings I had ever seen, made up the first room I ran through. The second was even better; a library so jammed packed full of books that you actually needed one of those rolling ladders to get to them all.
I finally found the kid in the third room; a bedroom with the curtains pulled and a lamp on.
He stood by an open door with eggs in hand, grinning at me.
“You give those eggs to me, Buster!” I yelled.
“My name’s not Buster!” He laughed and stuck his tongue out.
“Just give them to me!” I dove toward him.
He whaled and tossed the carton through the open door. “If you want them, then run for them!”
“You are one spoiled brat,” I screamed, gave him the stink eye and started down the stairwell on the other end of the door.
It was dark, and I had a thing with stairs (obviously). So I was more than a little cautious as I started to descend.
“You sure you don’t want to know my name?” The kid asked, staring down at me from the other room.
“Not interested,” I said, fumbling for a light switch and coming up empty.
“Too bad. It would have cleared up a lot of things,” he answered. “Honeybean.”
“Charlie?” I asked, narrowing my brows. The otherworldly spirit guide who came to guide me at sporadic times since my reincarnation sure did like to take varied shapes.
Twice Layered Murder Page 2