Royally In Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “What I’m not doing is sharing this information so you can use it to energize your Nancy Drew games.”

  That was a tad bit insulting. “I prefer Miss Marple, as long as we’re sticking labels on my skills.”

  “My point is I need you to stand down on your investigation.”

  “Okay.” I took another sip. “You got it.”

  He blew out a frustrated breath and rolled those azure eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  “Like a line from a sonnet, but I shall resist the poetic pull. Now what else did Ballantine have to say?”

  “He said he’s got an eye on you.”

  “Nice and creepy. What else?”

  Beau sat up, planting his elbows on his thighs. “He mentioned a poker party in Trace’s cabin the night before the murder.”

  Now I was waking up. “I’m listening.”

  “Asked me if I’d been out at Fox Falls that night, if I’d happened to have overheard an argument that busted up the poker game.”

  “Who was at this poker party?”

  “Trace, Nathan, Cam, and Rex.”

  Fascinating. What else did the police know that we didn’t? “Who was the disagreement between?”

  “Trace and Rex.”

  “Over what?”

  “Not sure.” His hand lowered onto mine, holding it in place on the armrest until Beau had sufficiently stared at me with his Special Forces Look of Intimidation. “And you’re not going to dig around and find out.”

  “Okie dokie.”

  Beau eloquently swore. “I’m serious, Paisley.” He used that hand to pull me toward him until we sat there, our faces an inch apart. “I’ll tell Ballantine to crank up his surveillance of you if I see you putting yourself in danger.”

  Technically I wasn’t putting myself in danger. I was putting myself, Frannie, Sylvie, and Emma in danger. We were a four-pack.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you hearing me?”

  I was hearing him, but my mind seemed to be short-circuiting on all the words when Beau’s lips were this close to mine. “Uh-huh.”

  The air stilled around us, and the birds ceased their song as Beau held my hand in his, his thumb dragging across my skin. Thoughts of police and jail cells drifted away on butterfly wings as visions of Beau kissing me returned. Did he think of it? Did he picture it right now?

  I leaned one centimeter.

  He leaned in two.

  “Good morning!”

  A newspaper crashed onto the porch with the force of a dirty bomb, sending Beau and me to our separate corners. Joey Marshall, pitcher for the Sugar Creek High School baseball team waved his game-winning arm as he pedaled his bike past the house.

  I’d almost kissed Beau.

  Beau, who was dating PhD Haley Jo.

  A minute ticked by without either one of us filling it with conversation. I was pretty sure I could hear the vessels in my cheeks open wide, letting the blood flow in as my face turned crimson. While Beau looked completely nonplussed. Of course.

  He set down his novel and ran a hand over cheeks that hadn’t seen a razor in days. “You know, before Trace came back to Sugar Creek with the faire, I hadn’t thought about him in years.”

  I took another drink of coffee, pushing aside my disappointment at the change in topic. “You’ve had other things on your mind besides an absentee uncle.”

  “It’s funny how memories can be stirred up after decades, come out of nowhere.”

  I handed Beau back his mug. Seems he needed caffeine more than I did. “Care to share any of those moments?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” he said.

  I should’ve known when it came to walking down memory lane, Beau would leap off the road, veer onto the interstate, and race toward the next exit.

  “But when he showed up in my lobby, all I saw was red. I was angry enough to hurt him—I just wanted to smash his face in and keep punching.”

  “But you didn’t. You didn’t act on those feelings.”

  “Yet for a moment . . . I was fully aware of how capable I was of tearing him apart. And how much I wanted to.” Beau rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “A few months ago you said some things to me, some things about dealing with my military days.” He took a few breaths as if reluctant to release the words. “My reaction to Trace that day—it bothered me. So… I found another counselor, you know, someone to talk to.”

  I let go of his hand, sensing he might need the space. “I think that’s a very brave, courageous thing.”

  I wondered if he’d discussed these things with Haley Jo. The smallest version of me, the one who drank an odd cocktail of jealousy and envy, hoped he’d only confided in me. Maybe I was the one who needed a therapist.

  Beau took a drag from the coffee cup. “Enough about all that. I think the lack of sleep is affecting my normally brilliant conversation skills.” He gave me the side eye. “How’s the Renaissance faire? I’ve noticed a grisly murder didn’t slow down the good citizens from attending.”

  “Quite the opposite,” I said. “The event’s not without its problems, but we’re making it.”

  “I just don’t get that stuff. Why do people want to dress up and pretend to be in the 1500s? They didn’t even have electricity or ESPN.”

  “Minus one horrific event, the faire is surprisingly fun. It’s like stepping into another world, another time. Sometimes people need an escape from who they are and the realities of their own life.”

  We both watched Mr. Smith from across the street step out of his house in his bathrobe and walk to the end of the drive to get his yellow wrapped paper, his skinny legs pasty white and in need of a little Ozark sun.

  Beau yawned and stretched his arm out wide. “Anyway, this Matt guy…”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. “Are we seriously back to that?”

  “I’m just looking out for you. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

  “Is that what it is?” I tilted my head and studied the strong angle of Beau’s jaw.

  He said nothing but he turned in his seat, his body angled toward mine, those blue eyes dropping to my mouth for one beat of a heartbreak. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  It would be too easy to close the distance and simply kiss the man. I needed to remind myself of all the reasons he and I would be a romantic catastrophe. He likes camping. He likes camping. “Well, as long as we’re butting into each other’s lives, I don’t see you with Haley Jo.”

  “Her staying at Fox Falls doesn’t mean we’re in a relationship.”

  “I think you need to tell Haley Jo that. I’m not sure she’s received the message. In fact, sometimes I wonder if you’re purposely leading her on.”

  Beau drew away. “I don’t play games. You know me better than that.”

  “I think you date her because it’s easy.”

  “You think dating Haley Jo would be easy? Last October she gave me a three page alphabetized list of Christmas gift ideas.”

  “But that’s predictable for her, isn’t it? And I think you like that. No surprises. No real challenge in it. I’m not saying she’s not a lovely girl.” I also wasn’t saying she’d win a Miss Congeniality contest. Personally, I thought she was a high-maintenance snob who would make someone an accomplished trophy wife. “I think you don’t risk your heart if you’re with someone like her. She’s shallow, and she wants to keep things shallow.”

  “She certainly doesn’t make me do girl talk on porches.”

  “You need someone who challenges you, who makes your pulse skitter. A girl who makes you smile when she reaches for your hand. Somebody who infuriates you—in all the good ways.”

  His slow grin could heat the syrup on a pancake. “Are you applying for the job, Paisley Sutton?”

  When Beau’s eyes lit on mine—questioning, challenging—it was all I could do to remember my own name. “I’m seeing Matt,” I heard myself say.

  Beau picked up my hand, sliding his fingers across my
wrist. “Does he make your pulse skitter?”

  Something sure was.

  I slipped my arm from his gentle grip, regret filling the space between us. “Don’t start something your girlfriend doesn’t intend you to finish.” Standing, I waited for my wobbly knees to comply. “I need to get to work.”

  “Paisley, wait.”

  Wait for what? Wait for Beau to kick Haley Jo out of her cabin? Wait for him to skywrite some pure and believable intentions in the clouds above the town square? I walked to my car, my long skirt swooshing against my legs, then stopped as I reached my Camry, finding him three steps behind me, that ever-present limp even more pronounced.

  “You and I are not a good combination,” I said. Beau crossed his arms over his chest and raised that arrogant eyebrow. “We’re not. You don’t have your head on straight over Haley—”

  “Pretty sure there’s no confusion over—”

  “And I’m seeing someone.” I gave him mere seconds to argue with that, which he wisely did not. “We’re both building our careers, work insane hours, and I’m not your type.”

  “And what is my type, Paisley?”

  Smart, educated, someone who had it together. Someone who hadn’t taken his sister to her first keg party when she was seventeen or come back home to Sugar Creek broke and completely out of options.

  Beau opened my car door, the heat escaping in a rush. “You keep nagging me to see a shrink over my war wounds, but you’ve got some battle scars yourself. I think this Matt guy is just an excuse to avoid what you really want.”

  “Oh, Matt’s an excuse all right.” I slipped into the driver’s seat, tossing my bags with zeal. “He’s a smoking hot excuse for a handsome and kind—”

  “You say you’re seeing this cop, but I don’t see him over here. One date is all you’ve got to show for your time?” Beau’s eyes darkened as they held mine captive. “If I were dating you, the whole town would know it. They’d be sick of seeing us together, we’d be the talk of the diner. People wouldn’t have to wonder if we were just casual acquaintances or merely friends. I’d kiss you right in front of the picture window at Easley’s Hardware and make the old men drop their coffee cups and stare. I’d sit next to you in a booth at Battalion Burgers and even share my fries. I’d take you on one of those ridiculous evening carriage rides downtown and wrap my arm around you and pull you close even though it’s a hundred degrees outside and I don’t like horses. Your Friday nights would be occupied with dates with me, and if you had to work, then I’d just see you the next day or the next. But I sure wouldn’t let you settle for one measly dinner at the Creekside Inn and a handful of texts and let you call that dating.” Beau handed me his coffee mug. “Here, you look like you could use a drink. Have a good day at work now.” With a departing slow wink, he turned back toward the house. “Be sure and tell your boyfriend hello.”

  I watched him saunter inside the house.

  Cranked up the air to max.

  And melted into the seat of the car.

  27

  “Doom! Doom!”

  With a plume of dust at my feet, I walked by the fortune teller, already in character at seven a.m. “Hello, Mary Lynn. Have you seen Rex Alderson?”

  The woman waved her hands over her crystal ball, regarding me with blatant disdain. “Did I not warn ye of a cloud of doom?”

  “Sure enough. What a soothsayer you are. Now have you seen Rex?”

  “You’ll regret your mockery!” She consulted her orb. “But my sources say he has not arrived.”

  Shoot. “What about Cam—have you seen him?”

  “Skinny lad who talks to himself?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Dastardly despair dogs his every step!”

  “And where would I find him and his dastardly despair?”

  “Look to the east!”

  I wanted to remind her I’d purchased that crystal ball from a Halloween supply store at the mall. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

  Her closed eyelids sagged with black liner as she hummed and swayed. “The spirits say Cam assists at the knife toss.”

  The thought of Cam using a knife to kill Trace crept through my thoughts again. “I appreciate the help, Mary Lynn.”

  “More doom shall follow!” she bellowed. “Mark my words!”

  I waved goodbye and hurried down the dirt trail. The oak trees swayed with the reluctant breeze and birds sang happy tunes as they swooped overhead. Today’s outfit of choice was a turquoise off-the-shoulder top I’d picked up at a thrift store paired with a long, gauzy skirt I’d worn for our band’s third album cover titled Boyz Bring Me Joyz. The sun warmed my bare shoulders, promising another scorcher of a day.

  Minutes later, I heard my grandmother before I saw her.

  “Quit shaking! You act like you don’t trust me!”

  Rounding the corner at the archery field, my eyes widened as I came upon the scene.

  My beloved grandmother held a throwing knife in each hand, ready to lob the first at her target.

  “Sylvie, drop your weapon.” I stepped into view.

  “But Cam and I were just reenacting my 1992 near-death skirmish with a Ukrainian spy.”

  Cam, limbs shackled to a giant wheel, spit out the apple in his mouth as he rotated in a clockwise motion. “She said her aim was ninety-nine percent accurate.”

  I ran to the upside-down helper, untying his wrists. “Yeah, but you don’t want to know what became of that other one percent.”

  When I’d released his feet, Cam tumbled to the grass, looking rightfully scared of Sylvie. “You could’ve maimed me.”

  She frowned in my direction. “Thanks for ruining my fun.”

  I brushed some dust from Cam’s shoulders. “Hey, Cam, you didn’t mention a poker game in Trace’s cabin the night before his murder.”

  Sylvie holstered her knives, ceased her pouting, and joined us. “I smell intrigue.”

  “I think that’s my sweaty armpits.” Cam sat down on a hay bale, his navy tunic a sharp contrast to his blood red tights. “It was the greatest thing ever. I finally got invited to the annual pre-opening poker night. I was one of the guys, you know?” He listed off the attending members, his awe building with every name. “I sat right by Trace. I think he was finally warming up to me. Of course he also wanted me to keep his drink glass filled and his snack plate ever ready. That man could sure put down the bean dip.”

  “Did you happen to witness an argument?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Trace got mad at Rex. Accused him of cheating.”

  Sylvie pulled an apple from the pocket of her voluminous skirt and took a noisy bite. “And then what?”

  “Then Nathan told them to take it outside.”

  I ignored my grandmother’s enthusiastic crunching. “Did it get physical?”

  “No.” Cam frowned at the memory. “Trace had a poet’s heart. He wouldn’t throw a punch. But Rex acted like he wouldn’t have minded a round of fisticuffs.”

  “Over a poker game?” Sylvie asked.

  “Once they took it to the yard, Rex threw out all sorts of accusations. Claimed Trace had sabotaged his business.”

  “His catering business?” I asked.

  “I suppose,” said Cam. “Something about some bad health department inspections. Citations in the concession trailers and kiosks.”

  Oh, geez. I’d only eaten Rex and Ida’s food for the last two weekends. “Rex accused Trace of being responsible?”

  Cam nodded. “Said Trace had planted the violations.”

  Sylvie tapped a red nail against her chin. “It’s weak, but it does provide motive.”

  “You think Rex killed Trace?” Cam shoved his hat on his sweating head.

  “We’re not accusing anyone.” I thought about Rex’s second job at the restaurant. To lose his catering business would be devastating.

  “But Rex is really nice,” he said. “He gives me free cookies. And he always brings us food during intermission—even me.
Well, except for the night of the murder, but other than that, he never fails.”

  Sylvie and I shared a look over Cam’s head. “What do you mean except for the night of the murder?” Sylvie asked.

  “I dunno. He just didn’t show up with dinner. It’s okay though. My mom always packs my tunic pockets with a pbj and juice box.”

  “But he was seen backstage,” I said. “We have a witness who saw him carrying his tray of meals for the cast.”

  He shrugged a bony shoulder. “I dunno. I guess he got distracted, but none of us ate.”

  Minutes later Cam walked away, singing a limerick and ready to take his shift at the falconer’s show.

  “Well, if that don’t stink like a rotten trout.” Sylvie’s eyes were alight with the promise of a new lead. “Cam just shot a big cannon through Rex Alderson’s alibi.”

  “Let’s get Frannie to work her research magic,” I said. “If she can track down those health code violations, we can see what we’re dealing with.”

  “I’ll run over to her cupcake trailer right now. Though I may take a detour and get myself a turkey leg for my second breakfast. Want one?”

  “I’m going to pass. Are you up for a visit with the Aldersons tonight?”

  “You betcha. Should we enter through a hole in the roof or bust through the windows?”

  “I was thinking we’d just knock on their door and ask them to chat.”

  “A more understated approach. Not my first choice, but I can follow your lead.” My grandmother patted her knife holster. “But I’ll bring these babies just in case.”

  * * *

  The daily afternoon parade consisted of a merry crew of cast and playtrons who strolled through the faux village waving to attendees, tossing candy to children, and calling out invitations to upcoming events. According to Nathan, the playtrons were attendees not in the cast who were patrons, yet played along, interacting with this created world in character.

  A band led the procession for all, their happy tunes echoing through the valley, with the royals waving to their subjects and bringing up the rear.