by Libby Howard
“Well. That young man is very intense.” Olive shook her head, then patted her hair. “Don’t trust him to keep his word. He’s not a bad kid, he’s just…naughty. And he’ll take advantage of every opportunity that comes his way. He’s one of those ‘better to ask forgiveness then permission’ types, and I’m not sure he’ll even beg forgiveness when he’s done.”
“Sure you can’t just banish him?” I asked.
She laughed. “I think you can handle him just fine on your own, Kay. I’m gonna leave my mirror here, just in case there’s something he really needs to say to you. He knows how to use it, but it might not be all that easy for him to communicate with it when I’m not here.”
I watched as she pulled the mirror from her bag and set it on the table. “I’m not sure I want to use it if all I’m going to see is a bunch of profanity on a frosted surface.”
“That’s true. Just keep it in a drawer out of the way and only use it in emergencies.” Olive got up and looked around before stuffing the mirror in the silverware drawer of the sideboard.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” I told her. “What’s your fee? I really feel like I should be paying you for your time and effort.”
She waved her hand at me, then paused and scowled down at her chipped polish before answering. “No worries, girl. I’m glad Daisy introduced us. I’ve made a lot of new friends coming here to your happy hours and barbeques. Besides, it’s nice to do something that doesn’t involve auditing month-end reports and balance sheets. Someday I’ll need a favor. How about that?”
“Well, I’ll definitely owe you more than one favor. And we’re all thrilled to have you in our circle of friends.” I stood up as Olive gathered her things together. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at the theater, right?”
“I can’t wait,” she replied. “Suzanne and I are going to grab some dinner then head there. We’re both excited to see Luanne Trainor in person. I’m hoping we get a chance to actually speak to her at the meet-and-greet as well.”
I grimaced. “Well, don’t get too excited. I drove her in from the airport and she’s a real diva. She’s not the nicest person I’ve ever met in my life.”
Olive wrinkled her nose. “Really? That’s a darned shame. I still like her books, though. It’s a bucket list item for me to meet her. I guess if she says something mean to me, I can brag about it. Insulted by a famous person. How many people can lay claim to that?”
I laughed as we headed to the door, thinking how Olive was so good at finding the positive in all things. “That’s true. And after today, I can cross that one off my own bucket list.”
I waved Olive goodbye and watched as she got into the car and pulled out of my driveway, then I went back inside, scooped up Taco and headed downstairs. Judge Beck was sprawled across my sofa, watching old Law and Order reruns. He paused the show and went to fix us both a bowl of ice cream.
We shared the afghan that Eli’s mother had made us for our wedding. Taco curled up against my leg, snoozing. The only sounds were the clink of spoons in our bowls, the television, and Taco’s occasional soft rumbling purr. No ghosts. Just a quiet evening among the living.
Around midnight, we took our bowls upstairs and said our good nights. As I curled up in my cool sheets, Taco at the foot of my bed, I saw the faint shadow of a ghost materialize in the corner of my room.
“Don’t leave,” I told Eli. “Don’t leave me. I’m not ready for you to leave me.”
The shadow moved closer to the bed.
“I miss you. I’m happy, you know? I love having Judge Beck and the kids here, and I can’t imagine life without Taco. My friends are wonderful. My job just gets more and more interesting. I wish you were here to share it all with.”
The shadow shimmered, fading slightly.
“If that’s what you’re here for, then know I’ll be okay,” I whispered. “I love you. I’ll always love you, but I’ll be okay. I’ll be happy. I’ll have a good life. If you need to go, I’ll understand. I don’t want to force you to stay here when you’re ready to leave. But if you could stay just a little bit longer…” I took a deep breath and forced back the tears. “I still need you, Eli. I’ll always want and need you. I’m just not ready for you to go yet. Not yet.”
The shadow vanished, but as I closed my eyes, I caught a scent of citrus and spice that had been Eli’s favorite body wash. It lulled me to sleep, dreaming of him beside me, of his arms around me, dreaming of a time before the accident changed everything in both of our lives.
Chapter 6
The brunch was at noon, but I got going early to pick up the programs at the printer. I showed up at the B&B at ten, just to make sure Luanne had everything she needed and was hopefully out of bed. Nancy had texted me over the list of the author’s dietary requirements, so as a peace offering, I’d picked up a large organic free-trade green tea with a splash of almond milk.
“She’s still in bed,” Paula Billingsly told me as I entered the dining area. She had a crisp white apron over her lavender floral-print dress. Her silver hair was held neatly back with an ornate clip. The slight tint of pink on her lips was the only makeup she wore. No nail polish or rings decorated her fingers. No jewelry adorned her neck. Only the smallest of diamond studs pierced her earlobes. Paula always looked like she should be the hostess of a cooking show, whipping up complicated meringues and custards all while appearing as fresh and as clean as a daisy in spring.
As I watched, she nudged the silverware on the huge table prepared for the brunch, ensuring each was the exact distance from the table edge and plate—whatever that distance might be. She looked…haggard, which wasn’t like Paula at all.
“How’d last night go?” I asked, fearing the worst.
“Oh, let’s see…had to change her sheets because the thread count was sub-par. Which was kind of funny because the ones I ended up putting on her bed were the exact same thread count as the ones that were originally on it. Then the almond cookies I sent up as a bed-time treat weren’t acceptable, even though I made gluten free ones specifically for her because Nancy told me she had some special diet.” Tears sparked in Paula’s eyes. “I made them special. Tried three different recipes last week to make sure I’d found a good one. Had to order the nut flours off the internet and have them overnighted in because I couldn’t find anywhere in Milford that sold them.”
I suddenly felt the urge to stab Luanne Trainor through her nasty little heart. “Do you still have some?” I held up the coffee I’d gotten when I’d picked up Luanne’s tea. “I could use a little something to go with my dark roast here.”
She sniffed and motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen. All the ingredients were neatly arranged for her to begin cooking the brunch—eggs, chopped vegetables, skillets, and a tray of sliced ham covered with plastic wrap.
Paula slid a plate over toward me. The cookies were perfectly shaped hearts—the edges sharp and clean. In the middle of each was a dab of what looked like white icing in an intricate design.
“It’s Roman’s sigil.” She pointed at the white. “Do you know how hard it is to make royal icing without regular sugar or milk? And I’ve got quinoa pancakes and agave syrup and chicken sausage from that special organic free-range farm down on the shore…”
Yep. I wanted to stab that nasty woman through her nasty heart. I enjoyed baking, and people seemed to really like what came out of my kitchen, but Paula was a culinary artist. Where my cakes might be a little uneven, a few of my scones with more currants than others, Paula was exact. Everything she made was absolutely perfect. If I counted the blueberries in her muffins, I had no doubt there would be the exact same number in each. That attention to detail, that driving need to get everything exactly right, was why I was sure this cookie I was about to put in my mouth would be divine.
It was. Buttery, even though I was sure there wasn’t a hint of dairy in it. Crumbly without being dry. Bursting with the flavor of real toasted almonds instead of the astringent artificial-flavo
r taste of the grocery store cookies.
“This is really good,” I muttered with my mouth full. “I can’t even tell it’s not real flour. Or real butter.”
The tears retreated and Paula gave me a wobbly smile. “So they’re not bad? She said they were horrible, that they were absolutely inedible.”
I doubted that anything Paula made was even remotely inedible. “No, they’re awesome. Keep this recipe.”
She sighed. “Good. I was beginning to doubt my skills, Kay. I don’t know how you’re managing to make your icebox cake with all the dietary restrictions this woman has.”
I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth and grabbed another off the plate. “I’m not. That recipe has enough butter and sugar to drop Luanne Trainor dead on the spot. The guests can eat it. I already told Nancy to make sure Luanne knows it’s not in line with her dietary needs.”
Paula wrinkled her nose. “She’ll complain. Loudly. I get the feeling she thinks everyone else should deny themselves flour and dairy and sugar because she can’t have them. It’s funny because she clearly doesn’t have any problem with alcohol. Downed half that bottle of the port we put in the guest rooms.”
Guess the woman had to have some vices, although being a nasty piece of work was more than enough of a vice for anyone.
“I’ll leave you to the cooking and wait in the other room,” I told Paula. “She’s got to get out of bed soon or she’ll be late to her own brunch.”
I headed into the living room with the quickly cooling drinks and sat Luanne’s on the end table. Should I go wake her? That really shouldn’t be my job and I didn’t relish the idea of seeing Luanne in bed or catching her half-naked, but perhaps she’d overslept her alarm. I’d just picked up the tea and was about to head up the stairs when a woman breezed through the front door of the B&B. She was tall and lean. Dark hair was piled up on her head in a messy bun of thick curls. She had on a black pencil skirt and a figure-hugging, lightweight, sleeveless turtleneck. Her makeup was cover-model worthy. In one hand she held a go-cup. The other was wrapped around a tablet. A huge leather bag slung over her shoulder, held tight to her waist with her elbow.
“Is she up yet?” the woman asked, her voice breathless and edging toward irritated. She glanced up the stairs as if she were an ill-prepared knight about to embark on a hopeless quest.
“Luanne? No, she’s not. At least not that I can tell. I was just about to go up and brave the dragon’s den.” I advanced with my hand outstretched. “I’m Kay Carrera.”
“Eva Zinovi.” The woman stuffed the tablet in her bag and shook my hand with a firm grip. “And dragon’s den is about right. Hope you brought a sword.”
Zinovi. I searched my memory and recalled that Nancy had told me that was the agent’s name. I’d never been so relieved. It seems the cavalry had arrived to save me from the dragon.
“I was hoping you brought the sword.” I pushed the drink cup into her hand. “Hopefully an offering will do the job instead. Green tea. Organic free trade stuff with a splash of almond milk.”
Eva looked at the name on the cup and grimaced. “She’ll complain it’s not from her usual shop, but she’ll drink it. I’m going up. Call the police if I’m not back in ten minutes. Actually, call the coroner if I’m not back in ten minutes.”
I chuckled and watched her ascend the stairs, wondering how she managed to keep her humor in the face of such a difficult client. I’m sure the paycheck helped. From what I’d read, an agency got fifteen percent of their client’s earnings. When it came to Luanne Trainor, that had to be quite a chunk of change. Add in the probably true rumors of a film deal and Eva would have ample reason to put up with the author’s bristly personality.
I sat back down to my coffee, grimacing as I heard thumps and raised voices from upstairs. An hour later, the enticing aroma of sausage and ham lured me into the kitchen where I eyed the breakfast preparations and swiped the plate of almond cookies to take back into the living room with me. I’d just pulled the second book in the Fanged Darkness series from my bag and was settling in for some cookies and a read when Eva came down the stairs.
“Well, she’s up at least.” The woman rolled her eyes. “I hate to bother our hostess, but do you think she has any coffee? For me, of course. Luanne won’t touch the stuff.”
I pointed to a carafe on top of a tall hunt table and watched as the agent refilled her go-cup, pouring a generous helping of whole cream in and giving it all a stir.
“Think there’s anything I can grab from the kitchen to take up to her?” Eva looked at the ceiling. “She’s complaining that dinner last night was inedible and that they tried to appease her with stale, cardboard cookies.”
“I think Paula has some fruit cut up.” I hesitated for a second, then held out the plate. “Here. Have one of the stale, cardboard cookies.”
“Fruit might do. Can’t imagine what she’d find to complain about cantaloupe and strawberries, although I’m sure she’ll think of something.” Eva took a bite of the cookie and stared down at it with raised brows. “Wow. This is really good.”
“I know. Paula is working her butt off in there for this brunch. She’s gone out of her way to meet Luanne’s dietary requirements, even having special flours overnighted in for these cookies. Is there anything you can do? The poor woman was in tears this morning from how mean and ungrateful Luanne has been to her.”
Eva sighed. “I’ll talk to her. She’s always been a bit difficult, but this isn’t really like her to be so horrible with fans and the general public. It’s this film deal. And there were some other things in the last few months that have really stressed her out.”
“That’s no excuse for being mean to someone who has gone out of their way to please you. And these cookies? Come on, there’s no way anyone should be complaining about these cookies!”
The agent shook her head. “Be grateful you only have to deal with her for a few days. I get this twenty-four-seven.” She straightened her shoulders and shot me a bracing smile. “But that’s why I make the big bucks, right? Put up with the diva and broker the deals.”
I led Eva into the kitchen where she apologized profusely to Paula, being so gracious and charming that the other woman was actually smiling by the time we left with the plate of fruit.
“I’ll go hurry her along,” the agent told me. “Is there anything else I need to wrangle her into doing before the brunch guests get here?”
“Can you swap her out with a nicer, more pleasant doppelgänger?” I asked. “The only worry on my mind right now is that she’ll be horrible either to or in front of the guests. They paid a lot of money for this.”
Eva set her jaw and glared up the stairway. “I’ll do what I can. This isn’t really her thing, you know. She never agrees to small-venue appearances like this. I was shocked out of my mind when she told me we were coming here. Especially with everything that’s going on right now. The timing is so…problematic.”
I looked at her in surprise. “I thought the publisher scheduled this. Milford isn’t exactly a metropolis. We were shocked as well, and it all was very last minute. I figured something big canceled and the publisher was just looking to fill a slot.”
“No, this was all her idea.” Eva looked up the stairs. “Her really bad idea. But it’s done. My job now is to make sure she gets through the next two days without alienating half her fan base.”
“Good luck with that,” I muttered as I watched the agent climb the stairs. Then, grateful to leave Luanne Trainor in her hands, I sat down to finish off the cookies and read. Nancy arrived twenty minutes early to put out the place cards and the gift baskets. A few minutes before noon, the guests began to arrive.
Tonight’s presentation would be held in the theater a few blocks away and those tickets had sold to over three hundred guests. The meet-and-greet was a VIP option for the first one hundred who registered, but this brunch was far pricier. Eleven people had paid big for the privilege of sitting down at a table with Luanne Trainor to
share a meal and ask her whatever questions came to mind. Nancy had coordinated via e-mail with Eva to put together some general questions to get things started, and to help direct the flow of conversation, but the brunch was supposed to be pretty informal and would be a bit of a free-for-all.
I couldn’t believe that Luanne had agreed to this sort of thing. She didn’t strike me as the sort of person who enjoyed something so unstructured, and the ride from the airport had shown me she didn’t have much in the way of small-talk or informal conversation skills. I was more nervous than Nancy, foreseeing an absolute disaster and eleven upset fans who would either want their money back or be burning their library of Luanne Trainor books after the event. Most likely both.
Unsurprisingly, the attendees were eleven women. I had no doubt that Luanne had male readers, but the ones who’d ponied up for this brunch were all women—and they were of all ages. Three seemed to be about my age or slightly older. Three looked like they’d just come from dropping their kids off at soccer practice. One seemed as if she were about to give birth before the sun set. Three were so young that I wondered if their parents knew they were reading these novels, and one sported a burping cloth over one shoulder. I motioned to it, and she yanked it off with an embarrassed wince, shoving it into a purse that looked big enough to carry a small vehicle. Every guest had at least one book clasped tightly in their hands, no doubt for an autograph.
Nancy milled about the crowd, greeting everyone while I went up to check on Luanne. Eva was there, holding the plate of fruit in one hand and a bottle of what looked to be expensive water in the other. Luanne had foregone the animal-print leggings today and had on a bright red leather miniskirt and a striped tank top that barely contained her bosom. Her shoes were not the red ones from yesterday, but were equally tall, and equally pointy as those ones. As I walked in, a blast of hairspray nearly shellacked my face.
“That’s enough, Luanne. You’re single-handedly destroying the ozone layer.” Eva looked over at me and rolled her eyes. I grimaced in sympathy.