Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  The rest of the meeting was spent finalizing details for the afternoon’s Booked for a Wedding events. Today’s scheduled highlight was a cake display and tasting. Apparently Ms. Lambert and the Southern Belles Bridal people were able to secure over twenty local and statewide bakers to participate in today’s showing. Of course, one of the bakers who had hoped his cake would make an impression on soon-to-be-brides instead had an impression of a dead man’s face smushed into his buttercream creation. I couldn’t help but wonder how that bit of news had been broken to, and taken by, the shopkeeper.

  “Cakes have such a terrible habit of turning out bad just when you especially want them to be good.”

  “What?” Franklin asked as several heads turned to me.

  “Oh, sorry. I was just recalling a verse—”

  “From one of Lucy Montgomery’s Anne books, isn’t it?” Flora interrupted, her eyes alight at the familiarity of the quote from the famous children’s book author.

  “Yes, actually.” I nodded. “Anne of Green Gables.”

  Bentley stared at me over the top of her glasses. “Well, thank you for that tidbit of literary history, Lila; now let’s get back to the present, shall we?”

  I nodded and quickly informed them that everything was set for Lynn’s reading from her debut, Wed ’til Dead, later today. Bentley gave a curt nod and proceeded to her final orders for our troupe. I sat back with a sigh; well, at least I hoped, with everything going on, Lynn would still be up to the task. I made a note to meet with her for a practice run prior to her big event. One destroyed cake could be replaced, but the confidence of a new author could be tough enough to shore up, even without all the additional trauma surrounding this event.

  After the meeting, I spent the next couple of hours at my desk, reading the proposals that had piled up in my inbox. With the added events of the week and only working half days in the office, I knew I’d fall behind on this task, but I hated to make expectant authors wait. I could just imagine them checking their inboxes, hoping to hear back from me. I let out a long sigh and nestled in for some solid reading.

  *

  A LITTLE BEFORE eleven thirty, I made my way out to the back lot, where Mama picked me up for our lunch at Machiavelli’s. She was unusually quiet on the way to the restaurant. Probably all the activity and her new responsibility as the Babylonian Fortune-Teller wearing her down. I certainly hoped this wasn’t going to be too much for her.

  “Looks like we’ve beat the lunch crowd,” I commented as we scooted into the corner booth at Machiavelli’s. I rubbed my hand across the red and white checkered tablecloth and then fingered the layers of colored wax dripping down the side of an old Italian wine bottle being used as a candle holder. I looked over at my mother. “Are you okay, Mama?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  I eyed her from across the table and shrugged. “You seem quiet. You needed to discuss something with me?”

  “I did?”

  This was turning out to be a strange conversation. “That’s what you said this morning when you dropped me off at work. That there was something you wanted to tell me at lunch.”

  “Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” She glanced around, nervously it seemed, before leaning across the table. Just as she began, the waitress arrived with the menus and a pitcher of ice water. “Hi, Althea. How are you today?” she asked, filling our glasses.

  “Uh … fine, Anna. This is my daughter, Lila. Lila, Anna Maria.”

  Anna’s eyes lit up. “Your daughter! Then you must be Trey’s mother.” She placed the pitcher on the table and swiped her hand across her apron before holding it out to me. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Anna Maria Belmonte.”

  I took her hand, immediately recognizing her last name and finding it hard to believe that such a cute, young girl could be related in any way to the big buffoon I’d met the day before. “So you must know Trey from school?” I asked, wondering if Trey and this girl had been classmates.

  “From school?” She cast a strange look Mama’s way. “Why, no, Ms. Wilkins. Trey and I met here. At the restaurant. My grandfather owns this place.”

  “I think I’ll have the spaghetti and meatball special and a Coke,” Mama said.

  Caught off guard, I reached for the menu, but with Anna waiting with notepad and pen in hand, I felt rushed. I ordered the first item my eyes landed on, manicotti with a tomato basil sauce.

  “I would have liked more time to look over the menu,” I said as soon as Anna retreated to the kitchen with our orders.

  “Don’t worry. Everything here is delicious. They only hire the best cooks.”

  I raised a brow, first wondering how she knew this, then remembering Belmonte’s comment yesterday about knowing Mama. “I must be the last person to try this place. You’ve obviously been here a few times.” Trey, too, guessing from the waitress’s comment. I felt a pang of jealousy. Mama and Trey must have come here together before he left to go back to school. Wonder why they didn’t ask me to go with them? “Speaking of Trey. Have you talked to him lately? I’ve called his dorm several times but haven’t been able to reach him.”

  Mama nodded and took a quick gulp of water, some splashing over the edge as she placed the glass back on the table. She quickly unrolled her silverware and used the red cloth napkin to dab up the spill. “No need to worry. He’s doin’ just fine.”

  Aw, so she’d been able to reach him. Figured. Mama and Trey were like two peas in a pod. Truthfully, their tight relationship cut a little close to my heart sometimes. As a single mom, I’d been busy being trying to fulfill both parental roles all these years, which meant while I was busy making sure homework was done, enforcing curfews, and doling out consequences, Mama had stepped in to become the “fun parent.” Not that I begrudged her the role, and heaven knows I could never have raised Trey without her, but still there were times I envied the easy way she had with Trey. “Did you ask him how his classes were going? He was worried about his math class this semester. Calculus, I think. I’ll probably call and tell him to get a tutor. I’d hate to see his grade point average suffer.” As I spoke, I kept a lookout for Oscar. I was hoping to get a better sense of what type of person he really was. Ultimately, I needed to figure out if there was a connection between him and Chuck Richards.

  “You miss him, don’t ya, sugar?”

  Mama’s question brought my focus back to the table. “Of course I do. We had such a nice Christmas, don’t you think?” My mind floated back to Christmas Day. It was the first time Sean had spent an entire holiday with us and it was wonderful, almost magical actually. I remember feeling blessed that he and Trey got along so well. Sean was going to be an excellent stepdad. “It was sure hard seeing him go back to school, though. Hasn’t he grown up this past year? Do you remember some of those stunts he pulled in high school?” I placed my hand on my cheek and shook my head. “I’ll never forget the time he and those other boys got busted for tearing up the football field with the car. Then there was that time he—”

  “Honey, I gotta tell ya something. It’s important.”

  I reached for my glass of water. “Sure. What is it, Mama?”

  She drew in her breath. “It’s about Trey. He wasn’t happy at school.”

  “Not happy at school? He’s doing so well.” What was she saying? And why did she say it in the past tense?

  The kitchen door swung open and Anna emerged carrying a tray with our drinks and what I hoped was a bread basket. I was starved. But suddenly her foot caught on something and she pitched forward, the tray flying from her hands.

  “Lawdy!” Mama cried as we both sprang from the booth and scurried to help her.

  “Anna! Are you okay?” I sidestepped shards of broken glass and squatted next to her on the floor. “Are you cut?”

  Behind me, the kitchen door swung open. Then, to my utter astonishment, I heard a familiar voice. Trey’s voice. “Anna!”

  He joined me in helping her to her feet, his hands restin
g on her arms as he checked her over. “Are you hurt?” he asked, turning her hands over and looking for glass cuts.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. Really. I’ll go get a broom and get this cleaned up before the lunch crowd starts arriving.”

  “Trey?” My voice came out as barely a whisper.

  Slowly he turned to face me, his dark brown eyes anxious. “Hi, Mom.”

  “‘Hi, Mom’? Is that all you have to say for yourself? ‘Hi, Mom’?” I looked over the stained apron he was wearing. “You’re working here? Why aren’t you at school?” My voice turned shrill. Over Trey’s shoulder, I could see Anna hovering about, broom in hand, afraid to approach us.

  “Take it easy, Mom.” He glanced around the room and sent a pleading look toward my mother.

  I lowered my voice. “Just exactly when did you get back?” I hissed. “And when were you planning on letting me know?” Then something occurred to me. I whipped around and faced my mother. “And you knew about this?”

  She shooed Trey back toward the kitchen, but he didn’t go. Instead he walked over to Anna and took the broom from her hands. “Go get them some more bread and drinks. I’ll clean this up.”

  “I don’t want more drinks or bread. I want answers. Now.” That stopped everyone cold as my blood ran hot from being so flagrantly lied to. Arms crossed, I stepped toward this now pale-faced boy of mine, when my toe started to catch the edge of something. I looked down, afraid of stepping on glass, and noticed several protruding floor tiles. That must have been what Anna tripped over, I thought.

  “Careful.” Anna held out a hand to me. She looked up at Trey, back at the floor, and then at Trey again. “You’re not going to tell Grandpapa, are you, Trey? He’s stressed about this already. You saw how he was the other day.”

  Trey shook his head. “Did I ever! I thought he was going to kill that guy.”

  Then, looking around some more, I noticed the whole floor was uneven, some of the tiles cracked and coming loose. Suddenly a light went off in my mind, temporarily eclipsing my anger. “What do you mean, Trey? What guy?”

  “Some handyman he hired to do a bunch of stuff around here. I can’t remember his name.”

  Anna spoke up, “I think it was Chuck something.”

  “Chuck Richards?” I asked.

  Her eyes registered recognition. “Yeah! That’s it. Don’t ever have him do any work for you. He’s a terrible contractor.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “There’s absolutely no chance that anyone will be hiring Chuck for any more jobs.”

  Chapter 8

  “Yoo-hoo, Ms. Wilkins!”

  I stopped short, squeezing my eyes shut for a second before turning around to face Trudy Lambert. “Yes, Ms. Lambert. Is there something I can do for you?” She was the last person I needed to see, especially after everything that had happened today.

  “Perhaps you can be of some assistance, especially since Ms. Duke seems preoccupied with other things. We have a slight problem.”

  It took all of my self-control to keep from rolling my eyes. She didn’t have to tell me about problems—I was up to my eyebrows in problems: my client accused of murder, my son leaving school and not even telling me … I shook it off and put on my professional face. “I’d be glad to help, if I can.”

  “It’s about your author, Pam Fox.”

  “Pam? Yes, what is it?”

  She lowered her chin and tucked a strand of platinum blond hair behind her ear. “It seems Pam has some sort of fortune-teller at her booth.”

  “Oh? Is that a problem?”

  “Not necessarily. It’s just that the line for fortunes is blocking the other booths. I’ve received several complaints from the vendors in that area.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  She sent me a sappy smile to match her sugary tone. “Soon, I hope.”

  I had been on my way to find Lynn in order to do a couple of practice runs on her presentation, but I guessed I could take a few minutes to stop by Pam’s booth. “Sure,” I sighed. “I’ll head over there now.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Lila.” She stepped to the side, opening up the path toward Pam’s booth. “I wouldn’t think of keeping you another second.”

  As soon as I was out of earshot, I mumbled a few choice words under my breath. It was easy to see why Bentley butted heads with this woman. Ms. Lambert and my boss were complete antitheses. While both were equally demanding, Bentley dished out directives and orders like a drill sergeant, while Ms. Lambert coated them in sugar and handed them over on a doily-covered platter. I preferred the drill sergeant tactic.

  Then again, as I neared the area of Pam’s booth, I realized the line, more of a clump actually, really was blocking several other booths. The good news was that Pam was busy on her end of the table, signing books like crazy. Flora’s idea of using the Babylonian Fortune-Teller was paying off big-time, but I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of Mama behind the starry-eyed and giggling ladies vying to be next. One woman, heading the opposite direction, clogged traffic all the more as she excitedly whispered to others waiting, showing her palm to them, as if it held some secret treasure. I sighed; no doubt this one had just left the Amazing Althea with “good signs,” as Mama would say.

  “Excuse me,” a man’s voice called out. “Would y’all mind moving over, please?” I glanced over the heads in the crowd to see a hand waving through the air. “Excuse me, ladies,” the deep voice continued, a little more agitated this time. “You’re blocking my booth.”

  Oh, boy. This is a recipe for disaster. I quickly pulled out my phone and called Zach, asking if he wouldn’t mind bringing some stanchions to the area. I’d seen some earlier in a storage closet off the main hall.

  As I spoke, the voice continued growing more irritated. Pushing through the crowd, I made my way toward the waving hand, finding it attached to a now angry-looking young man. His skin was flushed the same color red as his hair. “Hi,” I greeted, with my cheeriest voice, hoping to defuse his anger before he exploded.

  His expression softened as he regarded me as a possible customer. “Are you looking for information about my photography services?” The banner on his booth said Rufus Manning Photography. A little more excitement crept into his voice as he continued, “I can provide you with a total package from engagement photos all the way through the reception. Perhaps you’d like to look at my portfolio.”

  “Are you Rufus?” He nodded. I shook his hand and introduced myself. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to get this problem taken care of quickly.” I explained about bringing in stanchions to cordon off a waiting line for the Babylonian Fortune-Teller.

  “Thank you,” he replied. “I haven’t had a single visitor so far. I don’t think anyone can even see my booth.” I felt the crowd pressing against my backside as a group of ladies pushed forward to catch a glimpse of Mama in action. I swear, she’d turned into a fortune-telling rock star overnight.

  “Well, I’m glad I made it through,” I commented, admiring a collection of his work displayed behind the booth on a large black partition. There was something about his photographs, something that couldn’t quite be put into words. It was as if he’d captured all the unseen moments that happen at a wedding: the prick of a tear in a father’s eye, the devilish look on a flower girl’s face, the bride’s veil dancing in the wind as she embraced her groom under the widespread branches of a live oak. He’d not only captured beautiful images of his subjects, but also absorbed their emotions, archived them for all time. “Your work. It’s exquisite.”

  His eyes followed mine as I studied his work. “Funny you should say that. I’m never quite satisfied with my work. There’s always the shot I missed. The one that got away, so to say.”

  A burst of giggles drew my attention back to the ladies in front of Mama’s table. She was looking up at a young blonde and saying, “This card here tells me you’re in for smooth sailin’ ahea
d. Maybe you just fixed some problem, or got rid of somethin’ agitatin’ you.”

  The blonde tipped her head back and laughed. “I just told my mother-in-law to go jump in a lake. Does that count?”

  Another round of laughter ensued as the crowd continued pressing in tighter. I shuffled sideways, trying to open up a little breathing space between me and the edge of Rufus’s booth. Where is Zach with those stanchions?

  Rufus shoved a large album my way. “Here, take a look and tell me what you think of these.”

  I flipped through the pages, each photo more stunning than the last, until my eye stopped on a photo that looked like the same close-up I’d seen earlier in Makayla’s shop. My finger traced the outer edge of the couple’s entwined hands, pausing on the engagement ring. It was the same. There was no mistaking the unique setting …

  The sound of rusty tires rolled closer and screeched to a halt somewhere on the other side of the spectators. Then Zach astonished the crowd into silence as he cried out, “Zach to the rescue!”

  I gave Rufus an apologetic look and excused myself. Then I weaved back through the bystanders to help Zach unload the full cart of stanchions. It took a while, but we were able to erect a dozen posts and organize the line in front of Pam’s table. When we finished, we’d opened up access to all the adjacent booths.

  “Much better,” I said to Zach, thanking him for his assistance.

  “No problem.” Then, leaning in closer, he asked with a mischievous glint, “Found the murderer yet?”

  I hesitated, wondering if he was serious.

  “No, huh? Well, no worries.” He hitched both his thumbs to his chest. “Zach’s on the case. And I guarantee I can crack it before you.” He held out his hand. “Wanna bet on it?”