Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Indeed.”

  “I’m here to work today, Henry.” I handed him the bag of muffins I’d picked up at Bugle Boy Bagels. “We have about six weeks left to keep this thing afloat before I can turn it over to you and resume my life. I’ll probably screw up a few times before noon. We could have another bride cancel, and I realize right now I’m not exactly good for business. But I’m not leaving.”

  He held up a blueberry crisp muffin, approval reflecting in those eyes. “I hope you remembered the cream cheese.”

  “I’m not that amateur.” I tossed him another bag. “How about I find a preacher for the McKenzie wedding, shadow Layla while she’s designing backdrops, and let the Happy Strings Quartet know they need to lay off the hooch?”

  “Perfect. And while you’re at it, your cousin Emma has just requested a large bachelorette party a week from this Friday.”

  “That’s very short notice.”

  “Still gives you plenty of time to plan it.”

  “By myself?”

  “Yes. I’ll give you all the details I have this morning.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready—”

  “You are.” I wanted to snap a picture and frame the confidence in his face. “And with a schedule that packed, you shouldn’t have time to bother me with your little Henry Cole Manners Lessons.”

  I patted him on the shoulder as I sauntered by. “Never too busy for nagging you, boss.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was a long day of bridal shenanigans, and my feet throbbed in my heels. I’d tried to work behind the scenes as much as possible, but occasionally a task did require my appearance in the midst of all the clients. One bride chose not to speak to me, and one made the sign of the cross as I walked by, but most didn’t seem to mind my presence.

  Exhaustion weighed on my shoulders as I locked up Enchanted Events at seven o’clock and doggedly strolled the two blocks to the Bayonet. Bellying up to the bar, I ordered the evening special of a small sirloin and twice-baked potato. I didn’t know what the restaurant put in their potatoes, but I was pretty sure it was a mix of crack and magic.

  Five bites into my medium-well steak, my phone trilled. My new agent’s name lit up the screen, and I nearly dropped the phone with excitement.

  “Hey, Rad.” Did he hear me breathing hard? I attempted to modulate my voice so I sounded a little less desperate. “How are you?” The pub noise made it hard to hear, so my phone and I moved to the bathroom hallway.

  “Doing good, Pais.” Rad Jaxon dragged out the last letter like it was an endless Zzzzz. “And yourself?”

  “Very busy.” Ruining weddings, being accused of murder . . .You know, girl stuff. “Do you have any updates for me?”

  “Uh, yeah, not so much. But, I, um, did see something on the internet about you threatening to kill someone? S’at right?”

  “No.” The talking around me seemed to swell, so I pushed my way through the back exit and stepped into the alley. “Ignore the internet. Just a huge misunderstanding. How are the negotiations with the cruise ship going?”

  “Yeah, uh, the Blast From the Past cruise ship has got some really big names signed up.”

  “Yes, but am I going to be one of them?” It was galling to have an agent who was barely out of high school, and whose name was spelled in such a way he could easily become a rapper if he wanted to switch careers. Plus, I was pretty certain Rad’s name was actually Brad.

  “Still working on that detail. I’d like to get you in with my image consultant, but she needs a deposit to put you on her schedule. Fatima is super busy. She’s booked out for the next twelve months, but she’d do this favor for me and get you in.”

  I shooed away a fly. “And how much was that again?”

  “Five grand.”

  For a deposit. I didn’t even want to know how much the total package would set me back. “It’s going to take a few months. Can’t she just scribble my name on her calendar in good faith?”

  “No can do, Paizzz.”

  “Okay, how about we talk next week, and you get some info on the cruise for me?”

  “Right. Look, um, I gotta go. Lady Gaga’s fourth cousin just walked in the office, and I’ve got a mocha latte getting cold.”

  “Rad, wait. I think we need to talk about some jobs that—”

  Silence. Call over.

  Just like my career.

  Ten years ago, someone like Rad wouldn’t have been good enough to kiss my sparkly shoes, let alone be my agent. And now, here I was, begging for scraps from a man who was too busy shaking Lady Gaga’s family tree to even give me five minutes on the phone.

  The Arkansas humidity surrounded me like an unwelcome bear hug, and I let my perspiring head lean against the Bayonet’s brick wall.

  God, if you’re listening, I could use some help. I’ve got to find Sasha’s killer and fast. I won’t need Rad if I’m rotting in a prison cell. And do they still serve bologna sandwiches daily? You know how I feel about processed meats.

  “I said I’d have your money for you.”

  I ceased my desperate prayer at the intruding loud voice.

  “Yeah,” yelled a burly voice. “You said you’d have it two weeks ago. Now where is it?”

  My ears perked like a dog on point, and I inched closer to the wall to peer around the corner.

  And bit back a gasp.

  Evan Holbrook stood in the alley, eyes wide and face as pale as meringue. “Just give me a few more weeks, okay? My fiancée just died, for crying out loud. Don’t you have any heart?”

  “You said you’d have the money for us.” This from a man large enough to stuff Evan in his pocket and eat him for dinner. “Boss wants his cash right now.”

  “I don’t have it.” Evan held up his hands as if expecting a blow to that pretty face at any moment. “I’m sorry, I just don’t have it. But you know I’m good for it. Big Sal knows I’m good for it. I’ve been faithful to pay.”

  What in the world was going on? Should I call the police? If this giant killed Evan, with my luck I’d be photographed on the scene and charged with this murder too. I didn’t need that kind of stress. Reaching for my phone, I clicked the record button.

  “Yeah, you was pretty faithful to pay when your lady was alive to write you the checks, but you’re still behind. And while Big Sal sends his condolences, he don’t have much confidence in your ability to cough up the funds.”

  It was a shame Evan would be snuffed out by a man with such deplorable grammar.

  The enormous thug gave Evan a hearty shove, slamming him to the brick wall. “You have Big Sal’s money by the end of the month.”

  Evan’s head bobbed in a grateful nod. “Yes, I will. I absolutely will.”

  “And you add five percent.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Evan cried. “I couldn’t possibly find an extra—” Giant Thug shoved him again. “Yes, sir. I’ll have that for you. And five percent. Five percent will be fine.”

  “That’s what I thought. You let Big Sal down, and we’ll have another meeting. That one won’t end so well.” The man walked away in cinematic villain glory, disappearing into the alley.

  I stepped into the light of the street lamp. “What on earth, may I ask, was that?”

  Evan pivoted to face me, arms poised like he was ready for another strike. “Paisley! What are you doing here?” His chest beneath that starchy oxford shirt visibly rose and fell.

  “I’m listening to you and your best friend. Interesting boys’ night you’re having.”

  “It isn’t what it seemed.”

  I walked toward him. “It seemed like you owe this guy some money or he’s going to toss you like trout food to the bottom of Beaver Lake.”

  “He was just kidding.”

  “You always were the worst liar.” Like all the times he’d told me he loved me. “What’s going on, Evan?”

  He hung his head. “I owe some people some money.”

  “Who?”

  “They’re in
the loan business.”

  “Pretty sure the Sugar Creek Bank and Trust does not send out henchmen. At worst they dispatch Daisy Patton’s grandma from accounting who makes you look at photos of her cross-eyed Siamese cats.” While I didn’t want Evan to have his limbs rearranged, it was kind of nice to see the preppy, pretty boy sweating profusely. “Tell me what’s going on or I share the video footage I just took with our local press.”

  He ran a hand across his glistening brow. “I said I owe money.”

  “I got that. What I don’t get is why people need to send the brute squad to recoup it.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  I pushed a few buttons on my phone. “Pardon me while I take a sec and hit send.”

  “No! No, don’t do that.” He loosened his tie as if it were a noose. “Political campaigns are very, very expensive. And winning is even more expensive. And when one campaign is over, fund-raising begins immediately for the next term. It’s endless! I didn’t exactly have a steady stream of contributions coming in for this last election, so I took out a loan or two. And Sasha helped me out. A lot.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Should I send the video to the Sugar Creek Gazette or just the whole internet universe?”

  “Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  I nearly dropped my phone.

  “I was already behind on payments to my, um, lender, but now that Sasha’s gone”—he mustered the energy to scowl as if it was my fault—“the financial aid obviously stopped. Big Sal assumes I don’t have the means to pay now.”

  “Do you?”

  “My bank account could be healthier.”

  I guessed that crossed Evan off the suspect list. No way would he get rid of the woman floating his campaign. “Where was Sasha getting that kind of cash?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I slapped at a mosquito who’d nibbled on my cheek. “You didn’t question where she was getting the huge amounts of money to give you?”

  “Her dad’s rich.”

  “And bankrupt.”

  Evan paused, as if surprised I knew that. “His company is. He’s probably socked cash away like a squirrel.”

  “But not to give his stepdaughter to throw into the wind.”

  “My political career is not wasted money. I work tirelessly for the good people of these United States of—”

  “Can it, Evan.” Even in this moment, caught with his metaphorical pants down, he was trying to secure a vote. “Did you honestly never think about where those funds came from?”

  “I’m telling you, her stepdad.”

  I doubted it. “He couldn’t give her that kind of money without a serious paper trail.” Which I would get file-cracking Frannie to dig into. “And does a man who’s declaring bankruptcy want to risk moving defunct business funds into family members’ accounts?” Totally ignoring Evan, I continued to talk out these plot twists. “Or maybe Mr. Chandler found out how Sasha used the funds, and he was so furious, he killed her. Or his financial officer did. Or your loan shark did, so he could—”

  “Do I need to be present for the rest of this conversation?”

  Sure, sass from the man not facing a murder charge. “What else are you not telling me about Sasha?”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed to journal our lives for you.”

  This phone would fit so nicely up that arrogant nose. “You’re a politician, so naturally you have enemies. Would anyone go so far as to kill your fiancée to hurt you?”

  He spent some time considering this. “I don’t think so. I’m still pretty new to the game to have ticked off too many people.”

  I doubted that.

  “What about this Big Sal? Maybe he got tired of your debt.”

  “Not an option. He knew Sasha was funding most of my payment plan.”

  “Evan, you know I’m not an option either. I didn’t kill Sasha.”

  He sat down on a bench someone had crafted out of plywood and milk crates. “I mostly believe that.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Fine, I completely believe that,” he said. “But you were the last to see her alive. The last to talk to her.”

  “Except for the killer,” I reminded him.

  “You were the one who brought in that stupid champagne bottle.”

  “I certainly never thought it would be used as a weapon.” I stepped over a coffee can of cigarette butts and sat down beside him. “Did Sasha act strange in the days leading up the murder?”

  “I dunno. Maybe.” He swiped at some sweat near his hairline. “She was kind of quiet, now that I think about it. But she was really stressed about wedding planning.”

  Why? It had all appeared to be done. “What about her enemies?”

  “She was a dear, sweet, loving angel—”

  “Never mind.” Gag. “But if you think of anything, you call me. Got it? No detail too small.”

  “What about that video? Are you going to erase it?”

  “I don’t think so.” I patted my jacket pocket where I’d slipped my phone. “I kind of like watching you squirm.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I can do this.” I patted Henry’s impressively contoured shoulder. “So you can stop watching me like I’m going to pull a remote out of my pocket and detonate this wedding at any second.”

  Tuesday evening at six was a weird time to have an outdoor ceremony. I mean, Tuesday? Didn’t most brides want a Friday or Saturday? I’d have to research this. And six o’clock in Arkansas . . . well, it was still hot enough to melt your high heels and make demands your deodorant couldn’t meet. Yet here we were hours before the event, scurrying around like ants at a church picnic at Shadow Ranch, owned by Mitchell Crawford, for the wedding of one of his employees.

  Sweat dotted Henry’s forehead. “I don’t think you’re going to ruin this. I know you’ll do fine.”

  He didn’t sound convinced. “Then why don’t you give me a job besides unloading the truck?”

  “Unloading the truck is very important.”

  “We could hire teenage kids to do that.”

  “Paisley, not all parts of this job are glamorous. There’s a lot of grunt work. And we used to hire some boys from the high school, but if you want to know the truth, it’s not in our budget right now. So if I ask you to unload a box it’s because I need you to unload a box.”

  Heat that had nothing to do with the ninety-degree temps burned my cheeks. “Okay. Sure.”

  I stormed off toward the Enchanted Events truck, an old moving van that had been repainted white and emblazoned with our logo. It held every possible supply that could be needed for our part of the wedding, from props to lighting to food to stationery. And in this case, custom-printed handheld fans and cases of chilled water bottles. To stave off a heatstroke or cardiac arrest.

  “Consider Henry’s snippiness a compliment,” Alice said as she met me at the truck. “He’s rude to all of us from time to time. It’s his love language. You learn to ignore it.”

  “You shouldn’t be ignoring it. He should treat his employees as nicely as he treats his clients.”

  “He gets really wound up right before the wedding. If he gets through tonight without yelling at us, then we’ll call the event a success.”

  I stepped into the back of the truck and grabbed the nearest box. “After last week, it’s like he doesn’t trust me with anything more than the most basic of tasks. Today he had me stuffing envelopes and refilling the staplers.”

  “He meant what he said, Paisley.” Alice reached for a box marked votives. “Right now there are no small jobs here. With all the cancellations we’ve had, we’re lucky he hasn’t made any cutbacks. Could he be nicer to me? Yeah. But do I care right now? No. I can’t afford to.”

  A weight heavier than anything in my box settled over my heart. The success of Enchanted Events wasn’t just about my life. Alice and the others were depending on it too. Everyone need
ed their jobs, their paychecks. They needed Enchanted Events to not only succeed, but flourish. The sooner I cleared my name, the better for my neck and the business.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as we walked together to the rented stage, which a construction team had covered with bleached barn wood. “I know you’re probably nervous about the stability of Enchanted Events.”

  “It’s not just where I punch a time clock. I love working here.” Alice glanced around, as if seeking out eavesdroppers. “I have ideas, you know? Event planning ideas. But Henry won’t hear them, especially now that the company is struggling. So I know this gig is just a hoop you have to jump through to sell and get out, but to me, Enchanted Events is my livelihood, it’s what feeds my kids, and it’s possibly my ticket to a better life.”

  I had no idea Alice wanted to be more involved in the business. “When’s the last time you talked to Henry about this?”

  “Last week.” She shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to make waves and get tossed overboard.”

  “He wouldn’t fire you.”

  Alice set her box down on the stage. “He would if he didn’t have a choice.” She walked back toward the truck, her black flats coughing up tiny plumes of dust.

  Many sweltering hours later, I stood beside a headset-wearing Layla and watched the bride and groom say I do. The two were both bodybuilding enthusiasts and had met at the local gym. As the groom dipped his wife and planted a kiss on her lips, the love between them glowed like the sun hovering through the trees. But how did a person know it would last? I’d thought what I had with Evan was the real thing, but what a sham it had been.

  I let my eyes wander over the ceremony, surprised to feel a surge of pride over this Enchanted Events accomplishment. Everything had come together so nicely, from the timing of the bride arriving on her favorite horse to the harmonious rendition of “At Last” by a local bluegrass band Layla had found, to the backdrop of flowers where the couple stood and the fairy lights in the trees. The bride wiped away tears throughout the service, and I was happy that her special day, though blazing hot, had gone so beautifully. Henry and his team made dreams happen. And for this small window of time, I got to be a part of it.