Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “He’s not my Beau.” I swatted each of them on the tush. “I need to get going.”

  Sylvie rushed to stand in the doorway. “Do not go see the professor by yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Freedom was so close, I wanted to sing. “I plan on inviting the police.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It was a great day to catch a killer.

  Shirley the Camry shimmied as I pulled into the parking lot of the Arkansas A&M art gallery. It had been easy to get Carson Fielding’s location, after sixty seconds of talking with the grad student who manned the phones in the departmental office.

  My cell trilled with an unidentified number as I reached for the door handle. “Hello?”

  “Paisley? This is Carol at Sugar Creek Formals.”

  “Hey, Carol.” This was a horrible time to talk. “Can I call you back later?”

  “I have a dress coming in that I’d like you to look at. I think it’s a pretty good match to Emma’s first pick.”

  “Yeah, sure. When should I stop by?”

  “It should be here by Friday morning.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I think you’re going to love it!”

  My goodness. Everything was looking up. “Great. See you then.”

  I grabbed my purse, which contained some pepper spray and a random screwdriver, then waited for the familiar beep as I locked my car. After living in LA, locking my car was just a mindless habit—so I was almost certain Shirley had been broken into the day Emma’s dress had been stolen. It had to be related to the investigation, but why would the professor steal a wedding dress?

  Following the cracked sidewalk, I walked up the geranium-lined path to the gallery. I pulled on the double doors and paused as I stepped inside. The grad student had said I’d find the professor inside setting up new displays, so I continued past the small lobby. The gallery provided a chilly contrast to the sweltering heat outside. It was eerily quiet, save for the click-clomp of my heels on the floor, and the air carried the scent of paint and glue. I breezed past a white canvas with a red dot in the center. The placard stated that it was a famous piece on loan from the Met. It looked more like an accidental drip from a paintbrush. Some of the work I passed put my stick-figure drawing to shame, but other items looked like the results of a drunken trip to the craft store.

  Rounding a corner, the hall led me to a well-lit wing of paintings and enlarged photos. I stopped and took a quick peek.

  “That’s a Japanese internment camp in southeastern Arkansas.”

  Startled, I trained my features before turning. And found Professor Fielding before me.

  “What you’re looking at here is a senior project by Tyler, one of my students. I’m really proud of it.” He nodded to one of the paintings, done mostly in black, white, and gray. “The photos are of the location now, juxtaposed with paintings that capture recollections of Tyler’s great-grandfather, who was imprisoned there.”

  It was hard to focus on the art when I was most likely standing next to a cold-blooded killer. “I vaguely remember learning about this place in school.”

  “It’s not talked about much, and isn’t a part of history the state’s proud of, but the camp was open for a solid three years. I think he’s captured so much here—the pain of losing your home and all your belongings, of being herded up like criminals, and even some of the beauty as they worked to stay together as a family.”

  “I definitely understand people labeling you, thinking you’re someone you’re not.” I ventured to another set, stalling for time. The police had to be en route soon. “Tyler’s work is brilliant.” I took a detailed inspection of the paintings and photography. Chief O’Hara had warned me to stay away from Fielding when Sylvie and I had tracked the sleeping policeman down at midnight last night. He’d been none too happy to see us on his doorstep, but thanks to whatever strings Sylvie pulled with the judge and the information she forked over, an arrest warrant had been issued within the last hour. According to my grandmother’s last text, the arresting cavalry were on their way.

  “This is the kind of art I enjoy. The red dot back there?” I jerked my head toward the entrance. “Totally beyond me.”

  “The beautiful thing about art is there’s something for everyone.” Fielding dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “And that painting from the Met baffles most of us.” He straightened a painting of a Japanese woman standing in front of a barrack, her red ribbon the only color in the piece. “But I don’t think you’re here to get a tour of the summer school projects, are you?”

  My pulse stuttered, and I glanced at the phone in my palm. With one push of a button, I’d have 911. “No, I didn’t drop by to peruse some art, beautiful though it may be. I’m sure your wife mentioned I stopped by your house to talk to you.”

  He looked genuinely puzzled. Fielding was very good at this. “No, she didn’t.”

  “I had some questions about Sasha Chandler suspiciously taking some of your art classes, and Anna Grace was able to shed a little light.”

  “Was she? And what exactly did she tell you?”

  “That you allowed Sasha into your classes because you were a broke teacher, and she paid you—or purchased your artwork as a gift of her . . . appreciation.”

  “I’m not really comfortable commenting on that.”

  “Your wife assured me it was strictly platonic between you and Sasha.” I watched the professor’s mouth tighten. “But it wasn’t, was it?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You don’t want to talk about that? Okay, how about we discuss something else? Like how you were in Sugar Creek at the time of Sasha’s death.” It was satisfying to watch his arrogant face pale.

  “Again, I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Did you forget you were at Enchanted Events?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “I have a witness who can place you at my shop minutes before Sasha keeled over.”

  “I didn’t kill her,” he said. “Why would I kill her?”

  “Because she was blackmailing you. I know you broke into my house and destroyed Sasha’s iPad.”

  “What?” His voice rose above the hush of the gallery. “How would I know you had her iPad, or know where you live, or . . . Why on earth would I even want her iPad?”

  “It’s where she stored the photos of the two of you together. The very photos she used to extort a lot of money.”

  He combed his fingers through his shoulder-length hair and huffed a breath. “Okay, I went to see her. I followed her that morning and knew when she went into Enchanted Events. I finally had my opportunity to get her attention, to get her to listen to me. Over the last few weeks she’d refused my calls, avoided all of my attempts to see her in person. I went there knowing I’d stand in the middle of your store and shout out my message if I had to. But when I found her in that little room, it was perfect. Just the two of us.”

  “Yeah, perfect for distracting her with an argument, then bashing her over the head with a champagne bottle.”

  “I don’t recall a bottle in there. I don’t recall anything on the table.”

  “And what did you tell Sasha?”

  “I told her I was done giving her money, that she could go to the public with the photos for all I cared. I’d been so stupid. I kept meeting her outrageous demands, and I realized way too late that she’d never go public with those photos after she got engaged to Evan Holbrook. She wouldn’t want to sully her image as a politician’s wife. So I confronted her and called her bluff. I’d spent two years paying that witch off, and I was through. It felt good to say the words. And yes, it felt good to see her squirm. But I didn’t kill her. I’m not a murderer. I’m an artist and a simple professor.”

  “A professor who has affairs with students.”

  His eyes flashed. “I’m not proud of that.”

  “If this got out, you’d most likely lose your job here.”

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p; “I make a killing with my paintings. And if I wasn’t handing Sasha over a monthly wad of cash, I wouldn’t even have to work here.”

  “How much did you pay her?”

  “Thirty grand a month.”

  Geez. I’m not sure I made that much after my first gold record. “That’s a significant amount of money over a couple of years. Lots of debt you had to take on. It probably took a toll on your marriage, your personal life. Naturally that would make you angry and bitter. Wanting a little revenge.”

  “Yes, Sasha drained me of a lot of cash. But I decided I didn’t care anymore.”

  “How convenient.” My ears perked at the sound of wailing sirens. “Then you made everyone think I killed her. Let’s stick it to the new girl in town, right? The one who already had a reputation of being unbalanced.”

  “What? No.”

  “You came into Enchanted Events that morning and killed Sasha, knowing whoever had served her would take the fall.”

  The professor’s face flushed red, and he’d lost all of that schmoozing charm. “I went to talk to her. That’s all. She was certainly alive when I left.”

  “Then when you realized I was digging around to clear my name, you tried to scare me off.”

  “I’m telling you, I had no motive to kill Sasha.”

  The sirens grew closer, louder. “I guess you can tell that to the police.”

  As Professor Fielding’s visible panic grew, my own anxiety ebbed. There was something morbidly satisfying about watching the man who would’ve let me go to jail for life get his just desserts. He’d stalked me, invaded my home, and given me nightmares about orange jumpsuits and iron bars.

  When the police escorted him out, I knew I’d sleep well for the first night since Sasha’s death.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I awoke Monday morning with a song in my spirit and a skip in my step. It was one of those times you wanted a movie soundtrack to highlight your life because it would be glorious, it would be snappy, and it would involve doing spritely leaps across the entire yard until you spun, arms outstretched, like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.

  I was free!

  Thanks to the good Lord, gun-toting grannies, and one spurned ex-girlfriend of Evan’s, I was free.

  Up earlier than usual, I couldn’t wait to get to Enchanted Events and start finalizing Emma’s wedding. After showering in speedy fashion, I made quick work of getting ready. Letting my curls go as free as I felt, I piled them on top of my head and slipped into a hot pink pencil skirt, a tank, and a fuchsia blazer with giant onyx buttons. I’d worn the piece when the Electric Femmes had played Madison Square Garden ten years ago. It was a little tight, but who cared? I wasn’t going to jail!

  Stepping onto the porch at six a.m., purse hanging from my shoulder and coffee in hand, I stopped and inhaled the fresh-cut grass and the roses that skirted the porch. Was it just me, or was the sun brighter than usual? Were the birds singing more melodiously than ever? Were those clouds extra puffy and white?

  The door beside mine opened, and out spilled Beau wearing boots, faded jeans, a Razorback ball cap, and a sleepy grin. “Mornin’.”

  My heart floated toward the sky. “Good morning. This is kind of late for you.”

  “And early for you.” Like old times, he reached for my coffee, sealed his lips to the lid, and took a long sip. “I hear they arrested Professor Fielding this weekend.”

  “You won’t have visit me in prison with a pocketful of nail files.”

  He eyed me over the cup. “Saves me from getting a new neighbor.”

  “Your enthusiastic compassion will be the air I breathe all day.”

  His grin deepened, dimpling his left cheek. “Congratulations, Paisley. I know you’re relieved.” He slipped his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. “We all are.”

  My hands automatically went around his waist, as if that’s where they naturally belonged. I lifted my face, only to find Beau’s lips hovering—

  Ring! Ring!

  He took a step back and another drink of my coffee. “You should probably get that.”

  As my phone continued its untimely, rude intrusion, I watched the fire in Beau’s eyes cooling. “Right. Good idea.” I cleared my throat as I read the display. My agent. “Hello?”

  “Great news, Paizzzz!”

  “Hey, Rad.”

  “Guess who had a terrific phone call with Riviera Cruises last night? Me! And you know what? They’ve finally offered you a gig with the Blast From the Past tour and agreed to bring you on with no expectations of you singing any solos. You can sing harmony all day long. Isn’t that fab? Didn’t I tell ya I’d take care of you? Didn’t I swear I’d get you back on track?”

  I wasn’t sure singing in a venue that was basically a floating buffet was “back on track.” “Thanks, Rad.”

  “What? That’s all I get? No tears of joy? No squeals of delight?”

  “I’m . . . I’m really pleased. When would I start?”

  “You sail out of New Orleans in six weeks.”

  “Nice.” I waited for the elation and relief to hit. I had a job in the entertainment field, and I should be happy.

  “Now about that image consultant I’ve talked to you about. You really need to let her and her people get a hold of you before you embark on this next phase of your career. It’s not just a hair trim and some makeup we’re talking about here. She does brand management, a Hollywood level makeover, and for an additional $199.99, she’ll throw in her patented colon cleanse.”

  I didn’t even want to know.

  “You just need to get me a check for five big ones pronto.”

  I had that much saved up finally.

  “I’m telling you, Paizzz, Fatima is a miracle worker. Do you remember that child actress Darita Boles? She had that triumphant burst back into movies, right? Guess who gave her a total image face-lift?”

  “Fatima?”

  “Totes. And Billy McGee, the kid who had two number-one hits ten years ago when he was sixteen? The guy who’s now sitting at the top of the Billboard chart and just signed a modeling deal with Ralph Lauren? He was a nobody ’til Fatima got a hold of him. Five grand may seem like a large deposit, but it’ll be a drop in the bucket to the eventual windfall.” His guffaws bellowed in my ear. “After I take my twenty percent, that is.”

  “I think you mean fifteen.”

  He continued his off-key chortles. “Right, Paiz. Right.”

  “Okay, Rad.” I locked eyes with Beau, who stood there with one eyebrow lifted and apparently no intention of giving me some privacy. “Thanks for the update. I’ll get back with you.”

  “Wait, I need a verbal commitment from you. What do I tell Riviera Cruises?”

  Tell them they’re the direction I never want to sail to. “Tell them I’m checking my schedule.”

  I ended the call and leaned against a porch post, grateful for the light breeze that slid over my skin.

  “Is that the call you’ve been waiting for?” Beau asked. “The agent?”

  “Yeah.” I stuffed the phone in my jacket pocket. “The cruise line finally met my terms and offered me a job.”

  “Good.” He watched me a little too closely. “I’m sure that makes you really happy.”

  A duo of robins sang from a nearby oak tree. “Yes.”

  “So I guess you’ll be selling Enchanted Events.”

  “I have to meet with the attorney next week, but if it’s back in the black, then . . . that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Of course it is. The cruise is a humble restart, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

  “Is it?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re leaving this town, your family, your friends, and a career you’ve grown to love to go sing on a cruise ship.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my new job.”

  “No, not if that’s what you really want to do.”
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br />   “It is.”

  “I watched your face the entire phone call. Between your expression and your dismal tone, I assumed he’d given you bad news.”

  “So because I didn’t break out into cartwheels, you think I don’t want to leave Sugar Creek? Excuse me for being sleep-deprived from working in a business I have no experience with and trying to keep myself out of jail in my precious off-hours.”

  “Your lack of enthusiasm for the cruise job has nothing to do with any of that.”

  “Oh, and what does it have to do with?”

  “You—you’re scared to take a chance on a new life.”

  “What did you just say?” I advanced on the man like I was going to take him to the floor. “I am not scared. I may be scared of sleeping in a house that’s been broken into, but I think I’m owed that one. Scared of the security system my grandmother installed malfunctioning and deploying missile launchers in the middle of the night? Absolutely. But scared of the opportunity my agent brought me? That would be a big fat no.”

  “Did you catch the part where I said you were unwilling to take a chance?”

  “Too ridiculous to even acknowledge.”

  “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘spot on.’ You have a good thing going here in Sugar Creek, and you’re too chicken to stay and see it through. This bridal planning thing may not have been your first pick of careers, but you’re doing it, Paisley, and you’re doing it well.”

  “I’ve nearly taken the business under. I don’t call that doing it well.”

  “That has everything to do with Sasha’s murder and nothing to do with your ability. You have great ideas, your staff loves you, and you work your butt off. Why would you want to leave that?”

  “Because weddings are not what I want to do with my life.” Didn’t anyone understand? “All I know is the music business. I didn’t go to college, I didn’t learn some trade. I didn’t even marry well. Ten years invested in the music business is all I have. And I want to go back and start again. I can rebuild and rebrand.”

  “Not if you won’t even sing solo on that cruise.” He gestured to my phone. “I could hear everything your agent said.”