He chuckled and grabbed the water bottle from my hand, finishing it in one deep gulp. He tossed the bottle across the deck into a nearby trash can and grinned when it sailed in with a solid thunk. “Don’t look so freaked out, Glory. It was a long time ago.”
The panic slowly faded, and a thrum of disappointment took its place.
“Speaking of which, Hollis told me he located your ex-husband.”
My fingers gripped the railing. “He did. He found an address up in Virginia. Cobb was working nights as a chef in a dinner theater that performed magic shows. Imagine that.” My laugh came out more bitter and high-pitched than I intended it to.
“And?”
“And by the time my attorney got the papers up there, he had disappeared again.” I rocked back on my heels. “He was fantastic at that.”
“At what?” Ian asked, his voice kind and soft.
“At making things magical, then running away before anybody realized it was all an illusion.”
Ian dragged his finger, still damp from the water bottle, along my jawline, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
“I don’t expect to get back the money he stole,” I said, shame rising in my chest.
“What do you expect?”
I swallowed, and a long second stretched out before I trusted myself enough to respond. “The chance to confront him for breaking my heart.”
I thought about the look on Josie’s face when she saw Beau on the screen the first time. “That’s what we all want, isn’t it? The chance to find out why.”
Ian leaned against a weathered wooden picnic table and studied me before finally responding. “I remember a time not too long ago when I had the same question.”
His voice was gentle, and that gentleness was almost my undoing.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Ian.”
He stepped toward me slowly, and his head dipped as if he wanted to confess his sins. Or kiss me—I wasn’t sure which was worse.
But just as he leaned down, the back door slammed open with a loud bang. “Ian, we have an emergency.”
Ian blinked twice as if pulling himself out of a trance, then brushed past me.
“What is it?” I called out.
“It’s one of the girls from the television show,” the waiter replied. “She collapsed on the dance floor.”
We rushed back into the bar, and Ian pushed his way through the mob. Caroline, her arms and legs splayed out at awkward angles from beneath the knee-length hem of her floral dress, was lying in the middle of the room.
On her knees next to her sister, Lily sobbed, her eyes frantically searching the crowd. “Somebody help her. Help her, please.”
I squatted and put my hand on Lily’s back as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Music still throbbed in the background, but everything else around us swirled in slow motion.
The bouncer ushered the camera crew out the side door to the parking lot. “We’ve called 911,” he said. “No more photos.”
The click of shutters continued even as he slammed the door shut behind them.
Ian motioned for me to keep Lily out of the way as he crouched beside Caroline’s prone body. He put his face next to hers, his cheek right above her mouth, and ran his hand along her neck. Ian paused for a moment to stare at the ceiling.
“She’s breathing. Pulse is weak, but it’s there.” He focused on Lily. “How much did she have to drink?”
Lily shook her head, her eyes wild. “I don’t know. Maybe… maybe a glass or two of sangria?”
The crowd thinned when the paramedics arrived and evaluated Caroline’s vital signs with somber faces. Within minutes, she was loaded onto a stretcher and wheeled out the door, Lily right behind her.
Just before she walked out, she turned to Hazel. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Can you find a ride back to the motel?”
Rocco stepped out from the side of the crowd and pressed her sandals into Lily’s hand, his eyes filled with worry. “I’ve got her,” he whispered. “Take care of your sister.”
13
I stayed and helped Ian clean up after the paramedics left, although most of the patrons wandered off not long after. Apparently, fried shrimp and frozen margaritas didn’t sell well when people were confronted with their own mortality.
The camera crew followed Lily and Caroline to the hospital because nothing said good television better than an unconscious maid of honor being wheeled out of an ambulance with an IV drip, her weeping sister at her side.
Rocco and Hazel huddled in the corner, bottles of water in front of them, their faces still pinched and pale. Hazel’s fingers moved quickly across her phone, while Rocco stared at the wall.
I slumped into a vacant chair next to them. “It’s late, and I’m sure you’ve got an early call in the morning. There’s nothing left to do here. Why don’t you go back to the motel and get some rest?”
Rocco scrubbed his fingers across his jaw. “This is getting out of hand, and it needs to stop.”
A bitter chuckle rooted in the back of my throat. “This isn’t the first time a bachelorette party has gone off the rails. I’m sure Caroline will be fine after a good night’s sleep and some food.”
“She ruined my party,” Hazel said with a pout, dropping her phone on the table. She glanced up with red-rimmed eyes, dark streaks of mascara smeared across her cheeks. “Leave it to Lily to get all the attention. This will be all over the tabloids tomorrow.”
Rocco let out a jagged sigh. “This project was doomed from the start.”
I leaned forward, the table’s metal cold on my elbows. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t hear this from me,” he said, lowering his chin and casting a not-so-subtle glance around the room. “But Romance Revival didn’t get the green light at first. Nobody believed a reality show about a bunch of has-been social rejects could bring in the ratings to make it worth the investment.”
Hazel cringed. Not even a high-dollar concealer could repair her mottled face.
“No offense,” Rocco said with an indifferent shrug.
I tapped my fingernail on the table, waiting for him to continue. A man like Rocco didn’t let the opportunity to gossip pass him by.
As expected, within moments, he settled back into the chair with his lips pursed as if he had just downed a bag of sour candy. “I don’t know the specifics, but Mimi comes from money. A lot of money.” He paused, his eyes wide. “And when she couldn’t get another backer, she begged Daddy. Word behind the scenes says he threw in the dough to cover production costs.”
I shook my head, trying to put the pieces together, but coming up short. I needed Beverlee here to Southern comfort him into spilling his guts. She had the kind of face that made people talk.
After checking over his shoulder, Rocco lifted one finger into the air like he was testing the wind. “But there was a stipulation.”
Bingo. I raised a brow and tried to hide my grin. Maybe my face wasn’t hopeless, after all.
“Her father took a colossal risk on this project. So Mimi has to get the ratings or her big dreams of becoming a Hollywood producer are over. If she fails, she’ll be blacklisted.”
My eyes widened, and I fought to remain calm. Scandal was one guaranteed way to entice viewers to a television show.
The other? Murder.
Ian walked me home after Trolls closed, and the sight of Josie’s dark apartment and the knowledge that a murderer was still out there kept me awake and fitful until almost dawn.
When my phone rang at eight o’clock the next morning, I ignored it. But after the third series of annoying chirps signaled I had a voicemail, I finally hefted myself up to peer at the screen.
I let out an impatient wheeze, both my brain and my vocal cords still wrapped in cobwebs from the night before. “Good morning, Beverlee. Can I call you back when normal people are awake? Say around noon?”
A loud thump hit my front door. “I’m outside, and I need to talk to you. Open up.”
&nb
sp; When pulling the covers up over my head didn’t stop the knocking, I closed my eyes and groaned into the phone.
“I have coffee,” she said in a sing-song voice.
One eye popped open.
“And a lemon blueberry muffin from the Grind and Go.”
I still didn’t move. Even Shirley’s famous muffins weren’t giving my enthusiasm a boost this morning.
“And a key.”
“Fine,” I said, the pulsing in my head starting to ease. “But you have five minutes, then I’m going back to bed like a civilized person who stayed up far too late last night.”
“Deal,” she agreed, disconnecting.
After throwing a ratty sweater over my pajamas, I looked out the peephole. Sure enough, Beverlee was standing on the other side waving a cardboard tray of drinks in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
I thumbed the lock and opened the door. Before I even acknowledged Beverlee, I grabbed the coffee and inhaled deeply.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said as she dangled the bag in front of her chest. She craned her neck to peek over my shoulder. “Rough night?”
“Yes, but not for the reason you’re hoping.” Beverlee always wished I would fall in love and get married, or at least have a late-night tryst with a stranger. Truthfully, she did it enough for both of us.
“I heard what happened at Trolls.”
I took a sip of coffee and pulled my head back with a hiss when I scalded my lip.
Beverlee shook her head. “Coffee is not a race, Glory. It’s a meditative experience. One that should be savored. Like fine wine. Or love.”
“No. Coffee is the trigger for my on-switch. And if you want me to care why you’re even here this early in the morning, you want me to have at least half a cup.” I braved the coffee again, this time savoring the burn as the fiery liquid slid down my throat. “Speaking of which, you’ve already used up three minutes.”
Beverlee elbowed past me and sat down in the living room. She drew a pair of muffins out of the bag, smoothing it neatly on the table in front of her. She folded a pair of white paper napkins and tucked one into my fisted hand. “We need to work on your manners, dear.”
I eyed the napkin. “Two minutes,” I warned and plopped down next to her, my cup cradled between my hands.
She lowered her cup, and the corners of her mouth crinkled into a pout. “Fine. I just came from the Grind and Go, where I ran into Hollis. He was at the hospital all night, poor man.”
“Caroline?”
“It was a little touchy in the beginning, but she’s going to be okay.”
I let out a deep breath. “Makes me want to never have sangria again, that’s for sure.”
“That’s the funny thing, though,” Beverlee said. “Hollis is planning to interview the witnesses today, but it sounds like Caroline didn’t drink very much last night. She was supposed to be the party’s designated driver.”
Thinking back to last night’s events, I remembered seeing Caroline with a glass of sangria in her hand, but aside from dancing and joking around with her sister, she hadn’t seemed intoxicated at all. At least until we had come in and found her crumpled up like a ball of used tin foil on the floor.
“What happened?”
“Hollis believes somebody tampered with her drink.”
“What? Like putting drugs in it?”
“They’re looking into it. They ran some tests last night, and they’ve got a crew over at Trolls gathering evidence.”
“Ian—”
“He knows. He came to the hospital to check on her last night.”
I exhaled slowly. “He must have gone over there after he walked me home. How is he?”
“Worried. And not just because one of his customers might have been poisoned, but also because you seem to be in the thick of it.”
I sputtered, sending a splash of piping hot coffee onto my wrist. “I’m sure he’s more concerned about the press this is going to give his restaurant.”
“Maybe, but he asked Hollis to help him look out for you, anyway.”
“Nobody’s coming after me, Beverlee,” I said. “I’m just the wedding planner.”
“Nevertheless, you need to keep your eyes open.”
Beverlee tucked her napkin and the muffin wrapper back into the bakery bag and slowly folded it closed. “I have more news. Josie’s due in court on Monday morning.”
“But don’t they see it couldn’t have been her? Somebody else is behind this.”
“Hollis thinks they’re two separate incidents. Josie’s revenge on her ex and the Hollywood-gone-wild drug culture, brought here by the Romance Revival cast.”
“He’s wrong,” I said, the muffin lodging in my stomach with the weight of a boulder.
She patted me on the knee. “We both know that, Glory, but Hollis is bull-headed and focused on following the rules. He’ll figure it out, eventually.”
“But when? After Josie’s in jail for real?”
I tore off a piece of napkin and balled it up between my fingers. “But none of this makes sense. First, somebody murdered Beau. And then somebody tried to kill Caroline. And so far, Josie is the only suspect. But she couldn’t have slipped something into Caroline’s drink. You can’t do that from jail.”
“Then we need to come up with enough evidence so Hollis can’t argue with it anymore, and he lets Josie go.”
“How are we going to get evid—” I stood up with a jerk, a flash of dizziness colliding with the sudden realization that Beverlee was sporting her let’s-commit-a-crime face. “Oh.”
Beverlee gave a smug smile. “And there she is, ladies and gentlemen.”
“As far as I can tell, the only thing those crimes had in common is Lily Page,” I said, digging through the laundry basket that had taken up permanent residence next to the sofa to find something that could pass for work attire. “We need to get our hands on the footage from last night’s bachelorette party.”
“Absolutely not.” Mimi crossed her arms in front of her on the desk when I stopped by her office later that day. “You can’t have the footage.”
“Why not?” I asked. “The police are going to come looking for it, anyway. We might as well see what’s on it and get ahead of them if there’s something on there you don’t want be released to the press.”
She hesitated, the pointed toe of her patent flat suddenly stopping its staccato beat.
“No.” Her brows slashed toward the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. “I’m successful at my job because I can keep secrets. Reality television is all about secrets—how to uncover them and how to share them when the time is right.”
“If there is any footage,” she continued. “And I’m not confirming it either way… I assure you it has no bearing on the investigation.”
“But—”
Mimi squinted toward me as if she were examining a stain on the rug. “Why are you so interested? You’re here to do one job, and one job only. I need you to focus on the wedding.”
I tamped down the desperation that was clawing its way up my spine. I needed this business. But I also needed to protect my friend. And unless I could figure out what happened to Caroline at the party, I wouldn’t be able to do either.
I sank into the chair across from her. “You’ve never lived in a small town, have you?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Small towns make me… twitchy.”
“And they should. They’re filled with nosy people convinced they’re entitled to know everything about you. If there’s nothing to know, they’ll make something up. If you ever do anything wrong, they won’t let you forget it.”
“That’s why they make me uncomfortable,” she admitted.
I held up a finger. “But they look out for you when you need it. And somebody we care about is sitting in jail for a murder she didn’t commit.”
Mimi waved me away. “I heard about that. I imagine it’s hard enough to deal with being on house arrest. Then to be faced with the man you l
oved finding happiness on national television? Scandalous.”
I studied Mimi’s expression as she spoke, my heartbeat drumming in my chest with increasing intensity. But it wasn’t just her flippant reply that made my pulse quicken. It was the flare of her pupils when I mentioned Josie. The memory of her smug grin as she had watched the ambulance lift Caroline onto the stretcher. The way she gravitated toward drama like she was steering toward a five-car pileup on the bridge to the mainland.
She wasn’t a bystander to all the chaos; she was controlling it.
That’s why she moved filming to the rinky-dink North Carolina coast instead of staying in California. Why she picked Carolina Weddings over Maggie’s better-known company.
She knew.
She knew Josie was here in Flat Falls and that we were friends.
She knew there would be a confrontation because she planned it from the beginning.
But did she know there was going to be a murder?
14
Hollis let me see Josie that afternoon, but when I elbowed the door to the visitation room and found her sitting in the corner, shoulders slumped, I had to turn away before she witnessed the alarm on my face.
Once I’d composed myself, I dropped into the chair next to her and pointed at the khaki jumpsuit hanging loosely over her body. “I almost missed you,” I said, gesturing around the drab room. “You blend in.”
With its biscuit-colored walls and eclectic collection of flat pine chairs and discolored laminate tables, the meeting area reminded me of a decades-old fifth-grade classroom. A bulletin board gathered dust in the center of the windowless wall, a ripped poster stapled to it listing rules for spending time with prisoners.
“I would have dressed up for you, but it clearly says we’re not allowed to accessorize.” I nodded toward the poster. “Do they think you’ll escape out the window if I slip you a scarf?”
“It’s worth a try,” she replied, the corners of her mouth turning up in a half-hearted smile before falling again in defeat. “But you shouldn’t have come.”
Tying the Knot (A Wedding Crashers Mystery Book 2) Page 12