He pointed toward the floor, where Rusty was happily licking the now-empty sleeve of crackers. “I was wondering if you had my dog.”
I glared at Rusty. “I said I’d share my dinner, not that you could eat it all. You’re a cracker hog.”
Ian chuckled. “He’s also a bed hog.”
“I wouldn’t know. These days, he only uses me for my food.”
Ian raked a slow gaze over me. “Then he’s doing it wrong.”
My cheeks burned. The boy who once held my heart had turned into a man capable of making my stomach flip around like it was in the middle of a Category 5 hurricane.
Ian snapped his fingers, and Rusty jumped to attention. He pointed toward the door. “Out. You’re grounded, remember?”
Rusty made a show of dropping his pouty face to the floor at Ian’s feet.
I bent down and rubbed his soft, floppy ear. “Oh, no. What did you do this time?”
Ian glared at the dog, but the corner of his mouth curved up in a smile, so I knew Rusty wasn’t in that much trouble. “He brought me a present earlier.”
I scratched Rusty under the chin. “Who’s a good boy?” I asked.
“Not him,” Ian replied with a quick shake of his head. “It was a dead fish, and he left it on top of me. In my bed.”
“Now that you mention it, your new cologne is hard to miss,” I said, waving my hand in front of my nose. Although he didn’t smell like fish guts, I enjoyed the old pattern of teasing him and watching the dimple flash in his cheek.
“You grew up here, same as me. Can’t be the first time somebody fish-flopped you.” I slid the living room curtain aside and studied the early evening sun as it faded over the water. “And what were you doing in bed, anyway? It’s not even dark outside.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I had a late night yesterday and was trying to catch a bit of sleep before heading back into the bar.”
“What kind of late night?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but I wasn’t ready to hear about Ian’s love life.
“Bigwigs from some reality show are in town. They said the time change hadn’t hit them yet, so they were still raring to go when I shoved them out the door at three this morning. Can’t complain, though. You wouldn’t believe the cash they dropped on appetizers and drinks, even while they were arguing about how small their budget is. It seems like Hollywood’s pockets run deeper than its common sense.”
“They’re going to need some money to get out of this mess,” I said, my heart pounding at the thought of losing my inaugural client. “They can’t continue filming with a deceased star.”
Ian rocked back on his heels and regarded me with amusement. “Why are you always the first one to know about dead guys?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m sort of working with the show now.”
“The reality show?” he asked.
I nodded. “But my brush with fame might be short-lived, because without their star, there is no Romance Revival.”
After Ian and Rusty left, I opened another sleeve of crackers and fell asleep on the sofa watching Food Network reruns, only to be awakened an hour later by the sound of heavy footsteps on the metal stairs outside.
I brushed the crumbs off my shirt and tugged open the door to find the Romance Revival crew reprising their roles as Josie’s tormenters.
Mimi stepped forward in a black pantsuit, the satin lapels reflecting the light from a portable softbox angled toward her from the top of the stairs. Her short bob was slicked back, and she fiddled with a brooch that resembled a gemstone-encrusted serpent. “Good evening, Ms. Walton.”
“It’s Wells,” I replied, inclining my head toward the camera. “Seems late to be recording, don’t you think?”
Mimi turned in slow motion, an indulgent smile spreading across her face. “A terrible tragedy has befallen one of our own tonight,” she began, her voice low and measured like she was voicing a movie trailer. “Beau Lyons was once an upstanding member of North Carolina society. And he made a mistake.” She gave a dramatic pause. “One that ultimately cost him his life.”
I snorted and leaned against the doorframe. “He was a criminal, that part is correct. But he didn’t die getting shivved in prison. He died because he got hit in the head by a light fixture.” I shrugged. “Accidents happen.”
“Yes, accidents do happen, Ms. Wells,” she said with a pointed glare. “But we just uncovered shocking new information regarding Beau’s past.” Another long pause. “Information that could change the course of the investigation.”
“Investigation?” I asked, my voice rising. “What are you talking about?”
Mimi ignored me as she prowled toward the camera.
“We recently introduced you to Beau’s ex-wife, Josie Lyons, a woman with a history of abusive behavior,” Mimi said. “And today, Beau Lyons is dead. We’re here to uncover the truth about what actually happened to the star of Romance Revival. Did his wife Josie play a role in his untimely death?”
I held a finger in the air. “First, she was his ex-wife. A fact I’m sure you already grasped, or this would be a completely different television show. And second, Josie has been…”
Fate kept my fist from landing on Mimi’s left cheek when Josie’s door banged open, and she stepped out onto the porch. Her gaze bounced back and forth between me and Mimi in confusion. “Glory?” she asked, blinking rapidly. “What’s going on?”
She was dressed in short cutoff jeans and a tank top, her curls gathered into a messy topknot, feathery tendrils sticking out in every direction. Streaks of paint covered her skin. A bright red stripe ran down the side of her face and down toward her collarbone. It appeared an awful lot like blood. She slouched against the doorframe, a pose she often adopted when she was in the zone painting and hadn’t stopped for a break in hours but which I’m sure seemed to the rest of the world like a particularly vibrant shade of crazy.
“The crew was just leaving,” I said, motioning for her to head back inside.
“We were hoping to talk to you about what happened today.” Mimi swiveled toward the camera and lowered her chin. “And to give you a chance to go on record about your tragic life with Beau Lyons, a story of what happens when the right love goes wrong.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” I moved to stand in front of Josie, whose glazed eyes were focused, wide and unblinking, on Mimi. “They aren’t married anymore. That’s why she’s called an ex. There’s no story here.”
She shoved the microphone toward Josie. “Anything you’d like to say about your assault on the deceased? Was it a crime of passion?”
Josie pressed a fluttery palm against her chest. “I… I don’t…”
“No comment,” I responded, glowering at the producer.
We all stood on the porch in awkward silence until Mimi gave a decisive jerk of her head to the cameraman, who flipped off the camera before they all trekked down the steps in creepy harmony.
At the last minute, I called out to her. “See you at work tomorrow.”
Mimi never looked back.
As I ushered Josie into her apartment, I spotted a lone figure in the shadow of the dumpster behind the pawnshop. I squinted and could barely make out the shock of gray hair. “Hollis, what are you doing hiding in the dark?” I motioned for him to come up.
He took the steps slowly, his eyes never leaving Josie. When he reached the landing, he stopped to ensure the video team had driven away before he finally spoke. “You handled that well, but it’s a circus down at the warehouse. The show is taking full advantage of the publicity. There are news vans filled with attention-starved jackals dying to start rumors.”
He motioned for both of us to go into Josie’s apartment. “Can we talk where there aren’t any unwanted ears?”
That seemed to jar Josie out of her stupor. She shook her head as if she were trying to clear her thoughts, then closed the door. “What’s going on, Chief?”
“Those people will do anything to sniff out a story,” he sa
id, hitching his pants legs up before sitting down on the sofa. “Unfortunately, that means you two need to stay on your toes.”
“What does this have to do with us?” I asked.
Hollis tilted forward, his forearms on his knees. “What happened at the warehouse this evening wasn’t an accident. The evidence suggests foul play.”
“Foul play?” Josie’s eyes went round, and she slumped against the wall. “What does that even mean?”
Hollis tented his fingers together. “Ladies, Beau Lyons was murdered.”
5
The next morning, I stood in front of my closet trying to find something that was work-appropriate for the day after a murder.
I settled on sleek charcoal cigarette pants and a pale pink silk t-shirt, then tugged on a matching cardigan.
At five minutes before nine, I knocked on the warehouse door. When nobody answered, I stalked around the exterior of the building to peek in the windows.
The glass was dark, like someone had taped dark trash bags to the inside of the panes. It was an effective way to keep out prying paparazzi. Or hide a murder.
When I turned to check another window, I stepped into a hard wall of muscled chest. A shaggy-haired security guard dressed in a black shirt and olive cargo pants reached out to steady me as I stumbled backward.
“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his Southern drawl almost as thick as the humidity-drenched morning air. “This is private property. And it doesn’t matter how cute you are, I will remove you if you don’t leave on your own.”
His wide shoulders, salon-worthy highlights, and loose stance blended in well in a town full of beach bums and bikini babes, but the jagged scar that slashed through his left eyebrow and arched toward icy blue eyes had me scanning the area for a quick escape.
“You can’t have me removed,” I replied, skirting him and calculating how quickly I could make it to the door. “I work here.”
He mirrored my pace as I hastened around the building. “I don’t think so. I’ve never seen you on the set before.”
“I’m the wedding planner,” I said, increasing my speed. “And I’m here trying to… plan a wedding.”
My breaths came quickly, and a sheen of sweat was collecting on my forehead. I added a gym membership to my mental shopping list.
The guard took two long strides and swung around to block my path.
I stopped short to avoid running into him again. “But nobody answered the door.”
“That’s because we were having an all-hands meeting in the back.” He crossed his arms, tanned muscles flexing under his thin cotton shirt. “Which you would have known if you were actually an employee and not a reporter trying to sniff out a story where there isn’t one.”
I straightened my spine and tried to step around him, but his hand snaked out and tightened around my upper arm. His fingers pressed into my flesh just hard enough to transfer the threat without saying a word.
Common sense and the need for a paying job won out over my annoyance. I took a deep breath. “I’m a contractor. You can call—”
“Jimbo, let her go.” Mimi stalked toward us and dismissed him with a flick of her wrist, then faced me. “It’s about time you showed up.”
I flashed the guard a smug grin. “Good morning, Mimi. I got here a few minutes ago, but the—”
She ignored me and spun back to the building. “Never mind. Just follow me. We have to do damage control before the wedding.”
I rushed to catch up with her. After a quick scan to confirm there was nobody else nearby, I whispered, “What about the thing that happened?”
Mimi whirled and pinned me with a flat stare. “Dead men don’t get to be grooms. We’re already working on a Plan B.”
“You mean the wedding is still on?”
She let out an impatient hiss and glanced at her watch. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Am I only planning a ceremony for one couple, then?”
She shoved open the warehouse door, glancing over her shoulder with an annoyed frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t have a show if we don’t have two couples vying for the opportunity to have the wedding of their dreams.”
“And half a million dollars,” I muttered.
Mimi shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt.”
“You can’t bring Beau back from the morgue.” Images of a Weekend at Bernie’s-style wedding where the dead groom was propped up like a puppet and moved between locations made my stomach flip. “Can you?”
I sucked in a deep breath and steeled myself for Mimi’s response.
She stared at me for a moment, then amusement spread across her face. “Now you’re thinking the way I need you to think.”
I backed up a few steps. “Mimi, that’s not—”
She chuckled, holding out her hand in front of her. “Relax. Legal said it was out of the question. And besides, there’d be too much press if we tried to leave the building for location shoots with a corpse.”
I swallowed and bobbed my head. “People get a little put out when there’s a dead guy on display.”
“Exactly. Which is why we’re shifting gears.”
She motioned for me to follow her to the back of the warehouse, which was filled with large black prop bags and hard rolling containers. “Our new groom will be here this afternoon,” she said. “And I’d like you to meet with him and Lily together so we can get fresh footage.”
I kept nodding, wondering if I had landed in an alternate universe where a television crew was filming me for some sort of prank show. Unfortunately, either Mimi was a terrific actress, or this was all entirely too real. “Have any of the specs changed for the ceremony, given the new circumstances?”
“The only thing that has changed is the location. Instead of a beach wedding like we originally discussed, I’m going to need you to transform this space into a wedding wonderland.” She swept her hand in front of her as if she were a talk show hostess presenting me with the ultimate jackpot.
Unfortunately, the prize in this case was a dark, dusty warehouse filled with cobwebs and rat droppings, and mere feet from where Beau Lyons took his last haunted breaths.
When I arrived home after lunch, I found Gage leaving Josie’s apartment. “Did you finally ask her out?” I asked.
His shoulders slumped. “This wasn’t a social call, I’m afraid.”
I assessed Josie’s closed door. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“You might want to ask her that. She could probably use a friend.”
I shoved my way past Gage and knocked on Josie’s door. When she didn’t answer, I twisted the knob and nudged it open. “Josie?” I called. “Josie, it’s me, Glory. Where are you?”
Still no response.
I passed her bedroom. The curtains were drawn, and the room was cloaked in darkness. I knew she had to be in there, so I rapped my knuckles on the open door a few times, then stepped in, flipping the light switch.
Her neatly made bed featured a bohemian-style embroidered coverlet in a sunny peacock blue with bright swirls of yellow and red stitching. I rounded the footboard and found Josie sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back to the mattress. With her eyes closed and her fingers resting upward on her knees, she seemed peaceful. Or like she was trying to levitate. I was never sure when it came to Josie.
I sat down on the edge, the mattress sinking under my weight. Josie still didn’t open her eyes. “Hey,” I said softly. “What’s going on?”
“I’m hiding,” she replied.
“I can see that, but I don’t understand why. Did you and Gage have a fight?” If the solid hour of giggling afterward was any indication, she usually loved his visits. And although she had always denied it, it was clear their attraction was mutual.
She shook her head once. I had never seen Josie cry, but when she opened her eyes, a single tear slid down her cheek.
I hopped off the bed to retrieve the tissues from her dresser. I lifted it in the air a few times, trying to figure out what she
had in there besides tissues, before extending it to her. “Are these things industrial strength? Because this box is heavy.”
Josie yanked out the entire wad of tissues and dropped all except one onto the floor in front of her. After she dabbed her eyes, she reached in and produced a hunting knife, its handle swirled with a delicate turquoise inlay.
She unsheathed the blade from its tan leather cover, holding it up to the light.
I took several steps back until my calves hit her nightstand, the lamp wobbling at the sudden impact. “Geez, Josie. Warn a girl before you pull a weapon on her.”
“I almost forgot that was in there,” she said with a loud sniff. “I’m not allowed to have a gun, but I tucked a few knives around when I moved in. It turns out you can hide them just about anywhere, then they’re ready if you need to…”
“Stab someone?” I asked, eyeballing the exit.
She put the knife on the carpet. “When I first got here, I had never lived alone before. I kept thinking every noise was somebody trying to break in to strangle me in my sleep. I almost wet myself each time the garbage truck came.”
“And you thought a knife would protect you?”
“Probably not. But I didn’t want anyone catching me off-guard again,” she said, her brief chuckle turning into deep sobs that wracked her shoulders.
I retrieved a handful of tissues and pushed them toward her.
“This is all because of those cookies,” Josie said. “The walnut ones.”
“You want me to get you one?” I asked. Sugar was Josie’s weakness, so if anything could draw her out of this funk, cookies were at the top of the list.
I tried to stand up, but she put her hand over my forearm. “No. I don’t think I can ever eat them again,” she said, then started sobbing again.
“That’s crazy talk. A life without cookies would be like living in a monastery.”
“Or a prison,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to go to prison, Glory.”
“They’re just cookies, Jo. Nobody will arrest you for cookies,” I said, then angled toward her. “Unless you did something weird to them. Did you do something weird to them?”
Tying the Knot (A Wedding Crashers Mystery Book 2) Page 5