I snatched what was left of my coffee from his hand. “That’s my preference. I’ve always sung backup.”
“Is that all there is to it?”
“So maybe I have a little performance anxiety after being gone from the stage so long. Is it wrong to want to ease my way back in?”
Beau glanced over at the neighbor, Babs Honeydew, watering her hostas and watching the drama unfold on our porch. “Something doesn’t add up, and I don’t know what it is—”
“I don’t remember it ever being any of your business anyway.”
“But what I do know is that you have a life here in Sugar Creek—one you’re too afraid to live. If you stayed here, you could have your business. There’s no limit to what you and Henry could accomplish with Enchanted Events.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t want to stay in Arkansas? That I don’t want People magazine to do a ‘Where Are They Now’ series and see some tiny footnote about how I screwed up the music business so badly that I settled down in a tiny town in Arkansas!”
“You like this place.”
“And I like Los Angeles. The nightlife. The restaurants. The culture. The close proximity to everything I need for my music career. It’s where my life is. I have friends there. And as long as we’re playing front porch therapy here, what about you?” I pointed my cup at him. “You’re standing here telling me that I’m running away from the commitment of a business, when you can’t even kiss me without following it up with a disclaimer.”
Babs Honeydew dropped her garden hose with a clatter.
“I’ve never been anything but honest with you,” Beau said.
“Maybe, but have you ever been honest with yourself? Huh? If I’m running, let me assure you, I’m in good company. You, sir, are sprinting from a whole pack of issues. You won’t talk about your experience in Libya, and you’re still not over it.”
“I don’t have to be over it.”
“You do nothing to deal with it.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’ve seen a real counselor, Dr. None of Your Business, and I’m fully aware of my problem.”
“When’s the last time you saw this counselor? When’s the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?”
“Sure as heck not since you moved to town.”
“You work morning and night—”
“Because I have a business to run.”
“But you do it so you won’t have to stop and think—and feel. I don’t know what you saw that day, and I’ll never know that kind of emotional torture, but you are a hero, Beau Hudson. Those men didn’t die so that you could come back and live out the rest of your days in self-punishing misery.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I don’t, but neither do you. My future isn’t here, Beau. I love Sylvie and my family, and I’ve even learned to love that mess of a wedding business. But Enchanted Events could go under any day, and then what would I have? I’ve got too much time and talent invested in music to not go back and see that through. I can’t throw that away. Music is my life. Not Enchanted Events. Not Sugar Creek.” And not you.
I stomped off the porch, my heels teetering with every angry step. “The show’s over, Mrs. Honeydew!”
Shirley the Camry roared to life, as if she, too, were furious. I peeled out of the driveway, not even bothering to look back toward the porch.
Pulling over a half-mile later, I dialed a familiar number. “Rad?” I wiped away the falling tears. “Tell Riviera Cruises . . . I’m in.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Paisley, I thought you’d be happier about not being shipped to the Big House for murder.” Sylvie sipped her vanilla Dr Pepper, then popped a fry between her red lips.
“Me too.” Frannie accepted another glass of sweet tea from the waitress. “Yeah, Paisley, has something dimmed your happiness? Did Fielding’s arrest interfere with some plans to bedazzle a prison uniform?”
“No, of course I’m thrilled to be cleared.” Still, something nagged at me. Doubts of my own fate moving forward, I was sure. And a little sadness over departing soon. Not to mention, I definitely didn’t like how I’d left things with Beau. I’d spent the last few days alternating between ignoring him and listening for the slightest sounds of his existence next door. We’d yet to run into one another, yet to speak again.
“Want to tell us about your fight with Captain Cutie?” Sylvie asked.
I stabbed a piece of romaine from my Cobb salad. “I won’t bother asking how you know about that.” While I was still wrestling with the idea of going back to Los Angeles in a few weeks, I’d be grateful to leave small-town gossip far behind. “We got in a fight. End of story.”
Sylvie turned to me in the booth, her face way too close. “Babs Honeydew said you kids made out before you started all the yelling.”
Frannie nodded. “Said it got very PG-13.”
“We just want you to know we approve,” Sylvie remarked.
“Two thumbs up.” Frannie demonstrated.
“No,” I snapped. “Thumbs down. There was no making out. A little yelling, yes. But that’s it.”
“No kissy face?” Sylvie asked.
I glared at my grandmother until she returned her attention back to her cheeseburger.
“Okay, okay.” Sylvie exchanged a disappointed look with Frannie. “Did Beau say hurtful things to you? Do you need us to take care of him?”
Frannie grabbed a napkin. “I know a guy in Des Moines who, for a nominal charge, can make his drinking water taste like dog pee.”
The idea had some merit. “Beau heard me talking to my agent about the cruise gig. He said I didn’t really want to take the job, that I was just doing it out of fear.”
Sylvie bit into another fry. “Interesting.”
“Who is he to tell me I’m living my life wrong? That I’m the one scared of a new direction? He knows nothing about my past or what’s ahead for me.” I’d peaked young, but my star had dimmed quickly. Jaz got to be the celebrity, the giant musical success, while I got hit with a hurricane and was expected to form a life with the debris. I was rather proud of myself for joining the cruise tour. “The cruise isn’t my dream job, but it’s a full-time income and nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Nothing at all,” Sylvie said. “Especially if it’s what you want. Instinct rarely steers you wrong. Just promise me you’ll listen to your gut.”
“Mine’s a little hard to hear when I take so many antacids,” Frannie said. “But she’s right. Women like us have some serious intuition.”
“I’m doing the right thing. Tomorrow I meet with my attorney and accountant, so it’s not as if I’m not taking advisement from professionals.” I was certain the peace and happiness of my decision would hit me at any moment. I probably had some lingering anxiety symptoms from the whole murder thing.
Not that leaving was going to be easy. I’d miss Sylvie and my family. I’d miss this town, which resembled nothing of the Sugar Creek I’d left years ago. I’d even grown to—dare I say it?—love it a tiny bit. While I was sailing the choppy seas and popping Dramamine like Tic Tacs, I’d think of the day I walked into Enchanted Events, expecting to find a mothball-scented, run-down office, but instead discovered an alternate universe where a model-gorgeous black man stood in the place of my great-aunt Zelda and created confectionary dream weddings. I’d think of the ladies who worked for us, who kept me on my toes and pushed me to dive in with all I had, whether I’d wanted to or not. I’d think of their own aspirations and ideas, just waiting for someone to give them wings.
I’d miss the blue skies, the clean air, the deer tiptoeing through my backyard, the rustic landscape of hills and trees, the chirps of birds, the bluegrass I could sometimes hear from the square.
A place that asked me to call it home. Made me consider, if only for a moment, settling in and rerouting my life’s GPS for a brand-new path.
But I couldn’t.
Music had be
en my life since I was sixteen, and despite the odds, it somehow wasn’t through with me yet.
“We’ll miss you, shug, but you need to do what’s best for you.” Sylvie reached for my hand on the table. “I love you, and I’m so grateful for the time we’ve had together, even if it did involve murder and some drama.”
“Same here, babe,” Frannie said. “I love you like my own. Probably more than my own, but that’s the fault of my ex-husband’s DNA. Anyway, you brought me and Sylvie the greatest gift.”
I sniffed and dabbed at my eyes with a napkin. “What’s that?”
“Shenanigans.” Frannie joined her hand with ours. “We love our shenanigans.”
“We’ve been so bored, and then you showed up.” Sylvie rested her cheek against mine. “Thank you for finding a dead body.”
“Amen.” Frannie lifted a praise hand. “Thank you, Lord.”
Good heavens, I would miss these two. “I love you guys too. So much.” I hugged Sylvie and held onto Frannie.
Sylvie kissed my temple, and I breathed in the scent that was my beloved grandma. “As for Beau, sometimes it’s easier to stay in your own pit and tell others how to get out of their foxholes,” she said.
“What?”
Sylvie patted my leg. “I mean, sometimes we can’t see how to get out of our own trouble, but we can clearly see how others can avoid it. It’s quite possible he wants the best for you, that he cares about you enough to want you to have it all. Who knows?” She went back to her burger. “Maybe he’s even right.”
An alarm dinged on my phone, saving Sylvie from my blistering retort. “He’s not right.” I slipped my phone back into my purse. “I need to head over to Sugar Creek Formals. Carol’s got that dress she wants to show me.”
“I hope it’s a match for Emma’s,” Frannie said.
“Me too.” Sylvie stood to let me out of the booth. “Let me know if I can chip in.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but I can handle it by myself.”
“I know you can.” Sylvie clasped my shoulders. “But that’s the beauty of home and family—you don’t have to handle anything alone.”
My throat thickened and I didn’t trust myself to speak. So I hugged my grandmother again and slipped outside, scattering pieces of my heart behind me as I left.
* * *
“Now this dress is a size ten, but you get the idea. I tracked this one down in Conway, but it’s the only one they had. Looking at the picture of Emma’s dress, I think it’s darn near close.”
I stood in the pink chiffon pouf ball that was Sugar Creek Formals while “Chapel of Love” serenaded us from speakers in the ceiling. “It’s beautiful, Carol.” The gown was nearly a duplicate, save for a subtle pattern difference in the beading.
Carol held a strapless A-line gown with lace appliqués, covered in thousands of beads and sequins in a floral design. She whished her hand over the skirt. “It has that blush color she wanted.”
“And with the rose gold that’s been so hard to find. How much is it?”
Carol sucked in her bottom lip, a sure sign of imminent bad news. “We could do a payment plan.”
“How much?”
“It’s a Gustav Renaldi, I’m afraid. I tried to find something cheaper, but nothing came as close to Emma’s dress.”
“How much?”
“Six thousand.” She caught my grimace. “Her original cost at least that.”
Emma had purchased another dress only last weekend, but when she’d shown it to me, she hadn’t been able to cover her lack of enthusiasm for her last-minute selection.
“You say the word go, and I can have this altered to her measurements within a day,” Carol said. “But you’re running out of time.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Maybe we should tell Emma. Give her the option of buying it.”
“No.” I gave the gown one last look. “I’ll let you know by this afternoon.”
“And the wedding’s in two days? That’s really pushing it,” Carol said. “Don’t sit on this too long, Paisley, or your opportunity will be gone.”
I let that thought roll around in my brain. “Thanks for finding it.”
“Sure thing, hon.” Carol smacked a wad of gum. “Oh, wait.” She motioned me back, her eyes darting about for eavesdroppers. “We still have Sasha Chandler’s wedding dress here. I’ve called her mother a few times, but she’s yet to pick it up. What do you think I should do?”
“You mean it’s here for alterations?”
“No, we hadn’t gotten to that point yet.”
Now I was confused. “The dress her sister Zoey made for her?”
She shook her head. “The custom Zalinza gown she ordered from London.” Her voice dropped to a faint whisper. “The price tag makes our dress for Emma look like a garage sale find.”
“You’re saying Sasha intended to wear this Zalinza dress?”
“Come take a look.”
I followed Carol past rows of gowns, back into a hallway where the air-conditioning rattled with chilly exuberance. We came to a storage area that surrounded us with racks and racks of dresses and suits. It seemed like a giant mess to me, but Carol walked right to a section and pulled out a bagged dress as if she had the key to this organization system.
“Over here.” She gently rested the bag on a table, unzipped it, and held up its contents.
It was a gown fit for a queen. It shimmered. It sparkled. It was an ivory mix of bling and antique lace, with dainty cap sleeves and a train that would make a chapel aisle sigh with its caress.
“That’s not the dress Zoey designed.” I touched the crystals on the waistline.
“Far from it.” Carol eased the gown back inside its protective cocoon. “And when Zoey found out her sister wasn’t wearing her creation, she was as mad as a cat in a bubble bath.”
“I’m not following. I saw Sasha’s bridal book, the binder where she kept all her plans and ideas. She clearly had a photo of Zoey’s dress. And Zoey told me herself her sister was wearing it.” At the cost of Zoey’s DUI. “She went to great lengths to get her sister to agree.”
“Sasha had me handle the ordering of her Zalinza gown,” Carol said. “We were to receive it and do the alterations. She came in almost daily, and we all dreaded the diva’s frequent appearances. About a week before her death, Sasha did one of her drop-ins to see if the dress had arrived. It just so happened that UPS had delivered it that morning. I had no more taken it out of the bag than Zoey walked into my shop, searching for her sister. Zoey put two and two together, and the sisters had a giant row right next to the push-up bras and girdles. I had to grab that Zalinza dress and take it to safety because I wasn’t paying for that thing if it got mangled.”
“Are you certain you have this right? Some brides wear two dresses—one for the ceremony and one for the reception. Maybe that was Sasha’s plan?”
“Nope. She looked her sister in the eye and bold as brass told her she had zero intention of wearing Zoey’s dress. Sasha said the dress hadn’t met her expectations, and it was her sister’s own fault. The look on Zoey’s face about broke my heart, the poor girl.”
So Zoey knew her sister hadn’t intended to wear her design.
Unease walked spiky fingers up my spine.
Sylvie had said to go with my instinct.
And right now that instinct said something was quite amiss.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Mr. Jeffcoat and Mr. Higgins are here for your nine o’clock,” Layla said from the doorway of my office the next morning.
I held up a finger and finished my voicemail message. “So if you could call me back, Detective Ballantine, that would be great. It’s imperative I talk to you.” Ending the call, I sighed. I’d only called the man half a dozen times since yesterday. “Send them in, please.”
She hesitated as she neared my desk. “These men are here to talk about selling Enchanted Events, aren’t they?”
I felt like I was breakin
g up with everyone. “Yes. My two months is nearly up, and they’re here to give me a status update and point me to the next step.”
“I want you to know that yesterday Henry bought my kid a birthday present.”
I blinked in confusion. “Okay.”
“And last week when you were at an event, he had lunch delivered for everyone. And he promised Alice an hour of his undivided attention Monday to hear her ideas.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I stood and smoothed my black faux-snakeskin pants. “Henry’s a brilliant businessman, and I’m convinced there’s a softy in there.”
“You don’t understand,” Layla said. “He never acted like this ’til you came along. Paisley, you’ve changed him. I mean, sure he snapped at me this morning for parking in his spot and ordering invitations in the color of lemon cream when he requested lemon tart, and most people would still think he’s this gorgeous, grouchy blowhard, but to us—he’s changed. All thanks to you.”
I would not cry in the office today. “Thank you, Layla. You guys have been so wonderful to me, and I know Enchanted Events has bigger and better things ahead. I’m incredibly grateful for all you’ve done for me.” My eyes stung as I hugged my employee and friend. “Don’t take any crap from Henry after I’m gone, okay?”
She gave a watery nod. “Sure thing, boss. And I’m sorry I thought you were a murderer.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad I could prove you wrong.”
“That makes two of us. Though I did lose the betting pool we had going at the VFW.”
A moment later, Layla escorted my attorney and accountant in.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” I shook both their hands. “Please, take a seat.”
“We have good news for you today,” Brian Higgins said. I’d gone to school with Higgins, and it was hard to believe this boy who’d offered the home base for wild parties in high school was now deacon of his church, father of two, and my accountant. “Enchanted Events took quite a tumble in profit after the little murder mishap.”
Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1) Page 25