Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “No, I mean get Creekside Inn’s Trés Leche cake. It’s the best in the South.”

  My doorbell rang and we both froze, Sylvie with her look of sheer delight, while I probably resembled an armadillo right before impact.

  My grandmother clasped my shoulders. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and though you’re a little flat chested, this Matt person is beyond lucky to be going out with you tonight. Paisley, shug, for some reason over the years you’ve tossed your confidence into the mosh pit, but it’s time to forget any ex-fiancés, ignore old wounds, and definitely shut out any voice that even remotely sounds like your mother. It’s time to take back your social life.” She lightly touched her finger to my nose and smiled. “And try not to have thoughts of Beau.”

  “What? I wouldn’t—”

  “Now, you finish getting ready, and I’m going to go open the door for your young man.”

  Instead of going into the bathroom to wrestle with my hair, I just stood where I was. I heard the door open, my grandmother’s loud greeting, and the smile in her voice. I heard Matt’s friendly rumble, followed by laughter. My grandmother would keep him entertained as long as I needed. I loved her for that.

  I walked into the bathroom, my stomach in need of a handful of antacids, and fixed my hair. I’d straightened my hair that morning in preparation for tonight, and now I took a curling wand, turning my locks into casual waves, as if that’s what God had blessed me with instead of riotous curls. I spritzed perfume behind my ear, then took one final check in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what Matt saw when he looked at me, but I was viewing a woman who’d learned to artfully apply makeup from her days on the stage, with contour, shading, and color. I couldn’t help but compare the image in the mirror to Haley Jo Madewell. It was a fool’s task, and something every women’s blog and magazine scolded me against, but something we all did—the comparison game, that thief of joy and confidence. I smiled at the reflection in the mirror, hoping to follow Sylvie’s instructions and give my neurotic, critical tendencies a rare night off.

  “Paisley! This boy isn’t getting any younger!” came my grandmother’s delicate voice from below.

  Another few minutes of prep and pep talk, and I made my way to the living room.

  “And that’s how Frannie and I saved Mexico City with a bottle of tequila, a can opener, and one U.S. diplomat’s undies,” I heard Sylvie say as I approached. “It was a close one, but not as close as the time—”

  “All right, enough story time.” My shoes thudded on the floor, and my heart thudded a bit beneath my dress. “Hello, Matt.”

  My date rose from his seat on the couch, wearing a smile that seemed to have a permanent home on his face. “Hi, Paisley.” He wore tan chinos and a sky-blue oxford with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, in deference to the heat. It was a perfect mix of hipster and country boy, and combined with that boyish grin, I was sure he’d been offered many a heart in his day. My mind flashed to my kiss with Beau, and I shooed the memory away. None of that now.

  “You look beautiful,” Matt said.

  “Thank you,” said Sylvie.

  Matt laughed. “Both of you look pretty tonight. You could be sisters.”

  My grandmother was duly charmed. “Cheap flattery—my favorite kind. Matt, I hear you’re taking my granddaughter to Creekside Inn.”

  “I have a reservation for us on the terrace,” he said to me. “We’ll have a table that overlooks the water. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Very romantic.” Sylvie winked at Matt, then headed toward the front door. “All right, young man, I expect you to be the consummate gentleman tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Have Paisley home by 4:00 a.m. and don’t make her do a walk of shame in front of the neighbors.” And with that Sylvie left, her sports car loudly humming as she drove away.

  My date pulled his eyes away from the window. “My grandma quilts and plays Bingo at the senior center.”

  I grabbed my clutch from the coffee table, “You are a lucky, lucky man.”

  21

  Matt’s black Jeep smelled of leather and man-on-a-date.

  While the colony of butterflies in my stomach multiplied as we drove, the cute cop and I made small talk about the storm chances in the forecast, the new high school opening in the fall, and the unexpected sale of the blueberry farm east of town. After spending years giving media interviews, I was pretty accomplished at casual banter, and Matt wasn’t so bad himself. He had an easy-going demeanor and a gentle voice that went some measure to calm my nerves.

  The Creekside Inn was quite the draw for our town. It attracted locals, folks from neighboring towns who had plenty of their own restaurants to choose from, as well as tourists in search of an eclectic menu of farm-to-table, locally sourced dishes. And the best lasagna you could buy without a plane ride to Italy. It was also the restaurant you took someone when you wanted to impress or make a romantic gesture, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Not that I wanted Matt to take me to the Taco Hut.

  Stringed music lightly played from hidden speakers as we entered the lobby, while Matt’s hand at my back guided me toward the hostess.

  “Reservations for Quincy, please.”

  The college-aged brunette blinked rapidly, as if concussed by Matt’s beach-ready physique and mama’s boy smile. “Um, sure. Right this way.”

  We followed her past the mahogany bar and had just rounded the gurgling fountain when I saw them.

  Beau—dining with Haley Jo. They occupied a corner booth, and her head was thrown back in a graceful arc as she laughed.

  I told myself to avert my eyes, but by the time my face obeyed, it was too late.

  He saw me.

  Beau’s gaze locked on mine. He held up a few fingers in greeting, then dropped his hand as he saw Matt.

  “Isn’t that Beau Hudson?” Matt asked.

  “Uh-huh.” I kept walking, wishing our hostess would pick up her leisurely pace.

  “Is that his girlfriend?”

  “Something like that.” I stepped outside, grateful for the breeze that washed over my heated face. That man had kissed me yesterday.

  My phone buzzed in my purse with a text before we even got to our table, and I assumed it was Beau. And didn’t care.

  The terrace was the crown jewel of the restaurant, with hard-to-come-by tables that overlooked the meandering creek. A sliver of the moon hung crookedly in the dimming sky, and birds rustled in nearby trees, as if calling it a day and readying themselves for bed.

  Matt pulled out my chair, and I felt a strange twinge of disappointment at his impeccable manners, realizing I was just looking for ways to mark him down. I guess I had some old wounds and a ridiculous preoccupation with my neighbor to thank for that. Once fractured, did a heart ever truly mend? I was fairly certain what remained in the cracks was just a weak epoxy of insecurity and doubts.

  My phone buzzed again, and I checked the display.

  Beau.

  Powering the device off, I dropped it in my purse.

  Matt took his seat across from me, accepting the menu from the hostess.

  “Everything okay?” Matt asked after the waitress left with our drink order.

  “Yes, fine.” I summoned a smile, knowing I needed to recalibrate and be a good dinner companion. “You’ve picked a beautiful spot.”

  “Sometimes I bring my mom here for brunch after church.”

  I mentally tallied the things in Matt’s favor and came up with an encouraging list. Had a good job, loved his mama, went to church, easy on the eyes, and seemed to have good dental hygiene.

  From my seat, if I squinted hard enough, I could make out the shapes of Beau and Haley Jo through the windows. Haley Jo was probably eating her fifth bite of lettuce and already full. Meanwhile, I was keenly aware that the waitress had failed to hand me a dessert menu. Maybe that came later.

  “I have to admit listening to a little Electric Femmes today in the car,” Matt said.

 
I scanned the menu, wanting everything on it. “We always get more radio play in the summer.”

  “Do you miss it—singing?”

  There was another crack in the general region of a pulmonary artery. “I really love what I’m doing at Enchanted Events. I feel very blessed to have this new direction.”

  “Your parents must be very proud of you,” Matt said as the waitress brought our drinks.

  I twisted the ring on my right hand and watched a fish leap in the distant stream. “Maybe they are. It’s complicated.”

  “Are you telling me your folks aren’t proud of their daughter?”

  I took a sip of my white wine. “If you’re referring to my younger sister, who’s a triple major at Yale, then, yes, they’re quite proud. And they also look for any opportunity to brag on my brother, who’s just about to graduate from Harvard law. And then there’s me. I think my parents are still trying to figure out why I’m the family anomaly.” Good heavens, was the wine and all this fresh air already going to my head? Why was I telling him this?

  “But you have Grammy awards. Your grandmother showed me pictures of them before you came downstairs. You’ve traveled the world in one of the most popular girl bands ever. How can they not think that’s amazing?” He took a roll from the basket centered on the table. “When you were sixteen, you topped the charts. When I was sixteen?” His knife slipped into the butter and slathered his roll. “I was working on my layup and mowing lawns to buy a new video game.”

  Going into the music business at sixteen, I had bypassed some of these normal teenage experiences. Though I didn’t regret the adventure, I still occasionally let my mind wander to what if.

  “I have a wonderful family.” I reached for the bread basket, suddenly needing the comfort of a squishy roll. “They’re just different.”

  My eyes widened as the approaching waitress stumbled over her feet, her hands high in the air as she balanced a tray of drinks. In slow motion, her body tipped forward, her tray spinning away from her like Captain America’s shield, and the drinks rained down like torpedoes.

  “No!” I heard her yell.

  But it was too late.

  A Coke crashed to the ground. A Shirley Temple splattered on the table beside us. Two chardonnays narrowly missed a senior citizen’s head.

  And a flute of red wine landed right in my lap.

  “Oh, ma’am!” The waitress became a flurry of apologies and hands, tossing napkins at me like it could magically soak up the spreading stain.

  “I’m fine.” I smiled as I stood, letting the merlot dribble off my legs. “No worries.”

  Matt pushed from his chair. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing, unless you have an extra dress in your car.” I laughed and reassured the waitress once again. “I’ll be right back.” Grabbing one of the napkins, I dabbed at my dripping dress as I went in search of the nearest bathroom.

  Five minutes, twenty paper towels, and one mess of a dress later, I exited the ladies’ room.

  And found Beau waiting outside the door.

  The spilled wine didn’t anger me, but this flamed my ire. “You know the men’s room is on the opposite end, right?”

  “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

  “Because texting on a date is rude. I’m sure Haley Jo would agree.” I squared my shoulders, but it was hard to appear dignified when you looked like you were bleeding out.

  “I’m not on a date,” he said.

  I couldn’t even dignify that with a response. “Let me pass. I smell like a vat of overripe grapes, and I’m not in the mood.”

  “What happened?” Beau stood in my way, glowering at my red stain.

  “What happened is you’ve shown up on my evening with Matt. Are you spying on us?”

  “No. Geez. How would I know you were going to be here?”

  It wasn’t impossible. The walls between our apartments were super thin. “So it’s a total coincidence that I’m out on my first date since landing in Sugar Creek and you’re here tonight at the same time with Haley Jo?”

  “Yes.”

  That’s it? That’s all he was going to say? “Well, I hope you enjoy your dinner.” I made an attempt to step by him.

  He held up a hand. “Rex Alderson’s working in the kitchen. Here, at the inn.”

  “And?”

  “He acted really spooked when I saw him.”

  “Were you stalking him outside the bathroom, too?”

  “Something’s off with that guy.”

  “If he’s working at the faire and at the restaurant, maybe he’s exhausted.”

  “But why’s he working here?”

  “To learn new recipes? I don’t know, Beau, this doesn’t sound relevant to me at all.”

  Beau did a quick glance over his shoulder. “Cam said Rex has been acting strange since the faire started.”

  “I’m not sure I have faith in Cam’s definition of strange.”

  “I’m also not willing to discount any detail of this case.” Beau hesitated, dropping his gaze to the carpeted floor, then pulling his attention back to me. “Are you sure you’re safe with this Matt dude?”

  “Seriously, Beau?”

  “There’s a killer on the loose, and for all we know, it’s Matt Quincy.”

  “Have you been drinking? Taking street drugs? Overpowered by Haley Jo’s French perfume and skinny wiles?”

  “Did you have Sylvie and Frannie run a background check on this guy?”

  “No, I didn’t. But I’m sure his boss did that when he was hired. You know, his boss—the chief of police?”

  “I’m quite familiar with him.” He said it almost like I was collaborating with the enemy. “If you need anything tonight, you call me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I don’t trust your date.”

  “Because he’s part of the investigation?”

  “No.” Beau shot a sour look in the direction of the terrace. “Because I don’t have a good feeling about him.”

  “It’s probably a tiny bit of indigestion and a whole lot of delusion.”

  “What do you even know about the guy?” he asked.

  Did Beau truly want me to debrief him right now? “I’m not sure what this is about, but I need to get back to Matt—and you probably need to get back to your date.”

  “She’s not—”

  “Whatever, Hudson.”

  “Paisley,” Beau called as I walked past him.

  I turned, my dress sticking to my legs. “What?”

  He raked his fingers through hair that he normally hid beneath a cap. “You, um.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his Southern accent rolled off his tongue. “You look very pretty tonight. Even with the”—he gestured toward the inkblots of crimson—“even with the stuff there.”

  I took a long hard look at that face, the scruff on his cheeks, the grim set of his lips, the hyper-focused look in his eyes I couldn’t define. My mind flashed back to our kiss at the bank, his hands cradling my face, his lips making my every nerve zing.

  I blinked hard, dislodging the vision. “Thank you.”

  “I brought Haley Jo here tonight . . .so I could see Rex. He was the only one I meant to stalk. Just so we’re clear.”

  Clear as pond sludge. “I’m so glad she could assist you.”

  “Be careful,” he said.

  “Goodnight, Beau.” I walked back to my table, wondering what had just happened.

  Beau Hudson had me in a tug-of-war with logic and heart, and I needed to let go.

  Before I got pulled across a line—for a game I’d never win.

  22

  Matt stood as I returned to the table, as chivalrous as any lord in King Henry’s court. “Are you okay?”

  “Absolutely.” My underwear probably smelled like merlot, but I was going to enjoy the rest of this date. I poured a swirl of dressing on the salad that had appeared.

  “The waitress stopped by to apologize at least ten t
imes.”

  “I’m just glad it wasn’t coffee.” I took a bite of salad, a cherry tomato bursting on my tongue. “How’s the Trace Hudson case coming along?”

  Matt coughed around his own bite before responding. “I can’t really talk about that.”

  “I don’t want to brag, but I’m kind of good at digging up information.” And I had two super sleuths for family members. “We could help each other.”

  “I don’t think that’s how this works.” Matt’s smile never wavered, and I figured I probably had more bad moods in a week than he’d had in his entire life.

  “I’m the very definition of discretion,” I said.

  “I’ll tell the chief to keep that in mind.”

  I propped my elbows on the table and leaned closer so my voice would be for Matt’s ears only. “There’s nothing you can share? Not one single tidbit?” Matt said nothing, but it wasn’t a straight-up no, was it?

  “I guess I can tell you that fingerprints weren’t as helpful as we’d like.”

  “Whose did you find?”

  Matt glanced about, his hesitation palpable. “Probably everyone who’s ever worked or stepped foot in Sarge’s pawn shop. A few of your friends from the dinner theater cast. Most likely the killer wore gloves.”

  The idea percolated in my head for a bit, but it felt like a dead end. “Besides Beau, who’s your leading suspect?”

  “Who says Beau’s a prime suspect?”

  “Pretty much everyone in town knows this. I think it’s already hit the church prayer lists.”

  He took a drink with those curved lips. “Let’s hear your theories.”

  “Theory number one is point of fact—Beau is innocent.”

  Matt’s laughing eyes dimmed. “You can prove Hudson’s innocence?”

  “No, but I know him. I’ve known Beau my whole life.”

  “People change. Especially people who’ve seen traumatic things in the military.”

  “Not Beau.”

  “You’ve been back in town less than six months. When was the last time you saw him before this summer?”

  “Not since high school, but—”

  “You’re assuming who he was at seventeen or eighteen is who the man still is. I’m definitely not the same person I was as a teenager. You have no idea what dark things he’s walked through.”