His forehead wrinkled as he stared at me in silence. Finally, he raised a single eyebrow.
“Okay, fine,” I huffed. “It might get me in a bit of trouble.”
Just then, Scoots opened the office door with a loud smack, juggling a plate of chicken wings and a thick stack of mail. She studied us with narrowed eyes before sitting down at her desk. She pointed at the chicken, dripping with spicy sauce and a thick swirl of ranch dressing. “I had too much champagne last night. I needed sustenance.”
I hid a smile behind my hand. “So, Scoots, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
Ian cleared his throat. “Don’t do it, Scoots. She’s trying to swindle an old lady into doing something that is probably illegal.”
Scoots shoved her chair back with such force that it bounced against the wall behind her and rose to her full five-foot height. Although she was much shorter than Ian, when she puffed out like a rooster, she didn’t seem so diminutive. “Watch your tone, son. Despite all of your bluster and those impressive biceps, I won’t take attitude from the same kid who borrowed my Cadillac to try to get lucky at his first prom.”
She took a bite of her chicken and pointed at him, then me, with the half-eaten bone. “Or his second.”
I fought a flush as I remembered that night with Ian. It was the first time I had worn a fancy dress. The first time I had felt beautiful. Beverlee had spent the day fussing over me and pouring me into an emerald green satin shift with a slit up to my throat. When Ian saw me, his eyes had gone dark.
Kind of like they were right now.
Scoots dropped the chicken and smirked. “And if I remember correctly, you were supposed to work off that little dent in my fender. You still owe me.”
“What can I say?” Ian lifted his shoulder. “My date got handsy, and I didn’t have the Caddy in park. If it wasn’t for that telephone pole, I might have gotten lucky that night.”
I glanced around for a quick escape from Ian’s intense stare.
When the pawnshop’s bell announced a new arrival, I released a whoosh of breath and leaned toward the hallway to see a middle-aged man in a suit unstrapping his watch at the front counter.
Scoots sat back down in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her cleavage rising almost to her chin. “Make it up to me, Ian. Go take care of my customer so I can help Glory break the law.”
Ian contemplated the request for a moment before finally surrendering. He headed out front with the confident air of a man who still knew how to handle the job, even though it had been more than ten years since he’d worked behind the counter.
I felt certain he’d still know how to handle me, too.
Scoots kicked the door to the front of the shop closed and turned to me with a grin. “What illicit activity have you brought to my doorstep this morning?”
“Can I borrow your lock-picking kit?”
Without missing a beat, she shook her head. “No way.”
“Why not?” I asked. “Surely there’s a YouTube video I can watch to learn how to use it.”
She shut me down with a glare. “If you need my kit, you need my skills. What are we breaking into today?”
“I need to get my hands on that footage.”
“What footage?” Ian said from behind me. “Do I even want to know?”
I bit down on my lip. “You probably should. It has to do with your restaurant and what happened there.”
“You mean besides a woman almost dying in my bar?” His fists opened and closed, and his nostrils flared. “Then, yes, I want to know.”
I leaned back against the desk. “There was a film crew there that night, and there may be proof of somebody slipping drugs into Caroline’s drink. But Mimi is being sketchy about the files.”
“That seems like information the police would be interested in, doesn’t it?”
“It does, but Hollis said they’ve hit a dead end,” I replied. “I also think Mimi’s hiding something.”
“Like what?” Ian asked.
“Like the fact that her stylist, who is secretly in love with the bride-to-be, could have slipped a mickey into Caroline’s drink, maybe to get her out of the way.”
“Are you talking about that hairy Italian guy?”
I bobbed my head.
“He was stone-cold sober all night long. I thought he was security until somebody told me he was with the glamour squad. He never even came near the bar.”
“Not that you saw,” I suggested. “Maybe it happened while we were… outside.”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “You think I was so caught up in you I didn’t notice a killer in my bar?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Scoots snickered from behind him before pivoting toward me with a wide grin. “Breaking into the producer’s office sounds like a horrible idea. What time will you pick me up?”
We waited until the sun started its descent into the water, the parking lot emptied, and the roving security guard made his rounds before we entered the warehouse. Mimi had given me a key card for the outer door so I could work overtime getting the set ready when they weren’t shooting, so that at least gave us the illusion of not being criminal.
“Remember, if anybody asks, we’re here to double-check the measurements for the stage,” I whispered, holding out a measuring tape to back up my story.
Scoots nodded and adjusted her black T-shirt. She flashed me a thumbs-up like a geriatric pixie with a 40DDD bra and an attitude to match.
We had just taken the turn toward Mimi’s office when disco music blared from the cell phone tucked inside Scoots’s cleavage. She held up a finger in apology and reached down to silence the call.
After a few more steps, a text notification came in. First to her phone, then to mine.
I know you’re in there. I see your car.
Scoots gaped at me with wide eyes. “I forgot to call Beverlee this afternoon.”
I groaned and shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Go let her in,” I said.
“No way. You do it. You’re bigger than me. She’d have a harder time taking you down.”
I grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the warehouse entrance. “Fine. We’ll do it together. She can’t kill both of us at once.”
We made it to the door, and I threw it open to find Beverlee standing outside, arms crossed and high-heeled foot tapping on the gravel. “Please tell me you’re not snooping.”
“Snooping?” I asked. “Without you?”
Beverlee glanced at Scoots and let out a hoarse laugh. “Might want to tell Darth Vader over there to go easy on the head-to-toe black next time. It makes her appear suspicious.”
Scoots stepped forward, her eyes clenched into narrow slits. “This coming from the woman that wears a spandex unitard to buy peaches?”
“Fine,” I said, shoving my way between the two women. “We’re snooping. And you’re going to get us caught. Get in here before somebody sees you.”
Beverlee grinned and marched into the warehouse. “You’re forgiven. What are we hunting for?”
I pointed toward Mimi’s office. “We’re trying to find the footage from Trolls the other night. Let’s check the office first. If we don’t locate it there, we’ll hit the editing room.”
“Do you even know what you’re looking for?”
I shrugged. “No idea.”
“And what will we do with it once we find it?”
“We’ll figure out who is trying to kill people so we can get Josie off the hook, and I can finish planning this wedding in peace,” I said.
Beverlee nodded once and led the way down the hall. “We need to hurry, then.”
We stopped outside Mimi’s office, and I extended my hand to Scoots like a surgeon getting ready to open up a chest cavity.
Scoots shook her head and pulled the lock-picking kit out of her hoodie’s front pocket. “Not a chance. We all have our skills, and this is mine.”
“Who are you kidding?” asked Beve
rlee. “You bought a DVD off a late-night infomercial on Court TV. It’s not like you went to burglar school.”
She huffed and reached for the doorknob. It turned in her hand. “Huh,” she said. “That takes the fun out of things.”
We walked into Mimi’s office. A shiny chrome and glass desk stood in the corner in stark contrast to the cheap accordion-fold plastic walls that created the space.
A tall vase of purple irises balanced on the desk next to a stack of papers and Mimi’s clipboard. Her headset was charging on a table beside the small film-covered window.
Her laptop sat in the center of the desk, clamshell lid wide open, practically begging me to check it out.
My heartbeat whooshed in my ears, and as I strolled through toward the computer, dizziness swirled through my head. I steadied myself on the credenza.
“You need to carb up next time,” Scoots said from behind me. She nudged me out of the way and swiped her finger across the track pad.
The screen came to life. No password required.
“Well, look at that,” Scoots said with a grin. “It just turned right on. Nothing illegal about that.”
I let out the breath I had been holding and dropped into Mimi’s leather executive chair. Her computer screen was lit up with a still frame of Jason and Hazel embracing on the beach. When I pressed the space bar, the footage started to play.
My heart thumped again as I paged through the different folders, all named and labeled in descending order from the date the video was shot, and I said a silent prayer of thanks when Mimi’s laptop was as organized as her ever-present clipboard.
I scrolled through the folders until I found the party at Trolls. “Bingo,” I whispered. “The footage wasn’t lost, after all.”
Beverlee circled the desk and leaned down toward the computer. “Why would she lie about that?”
Suddenly, she lurched forward and hit pause. “Aha! I knew it.”
My hand flew to my chest as I studied the screen. “What did you see?”
“You and Ian seem cozy,” she said with a knowing smirk.
I groaned, tapping the play button again. “Not the time, Beverlee.”
“What?” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m just saying there’s enough heat flying off the two of you for all of us to enjoy a few s’mores.”
I was about to tell her to go wait for us in the car when the camera shifted away from Ian and back to the bar. “Stop. We need to rewind.”
We went back a few frames, and the three of us squinted at the screen. “Did you see something?” Scoots asked. The playback showed the group of us walking toward the bar and Ian setting out several drinks. The cameras followed us as we strolled into the room. The shot was smooth, as if the cameraman had stepped behind the bar himself.
“Ian won’t let anybody behind that bar,” I noted. “So how did the guy with the camera get back there?”
Scoots snickered. “Maybe our friendly neighborhood bartender was too distracted to notice somebody else in his airspace.”
My flush turned to alarm when I heard Mimi’s high-pitched voice coming down the hall.
“Get a grip, sunshine. The thing with Beau was unexpected, but it will benefit you in the end. Sympathy brings in the ratings.”
“But I’m not sure I even want to go through with it anymore,” a second voice said. “I can’t relive the humiliation again and again.”
Lily.
The voices stopped right outside Mimi’s door, and panic shot through my chest. I quickly assessed the room for somewhere the three of us could hide. The window was too high to escape through, and I doubted we had that much time, anyway.
I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders as I flung open the door and made a show of speaking over my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, ladies. I must have taken too long at dinner, but that tiramisu was worth the delay. I was hoping Mimi would still be here because I know you wanted to meet—”
I barreled out into the hallway and ran straight into Mimi, who was standing in the dead center of the hall, Lily frozen in place at her side.
“Oh, you’re here,” I said, my voice a full octave higher than normal. Fake enthusiasm was hard on the vocal cords.
Mimi’s glare bounced between me and her door. “What were you doing in my office?”
“We were waiting for you. I wanted to hold back until the cast and crew had left for the day before I brought them in. You know,” I whispered, peering down the hallway behind her. “Because of confidentiality.”
Mimi continued to stare at me.
“Mimi Upchurch, I’d like to introduce you to your biggest fan. This is my aunt Beverlee and her friend, Scoots Gillsepie.”
Beverlee’s eyes widened momentarily, then she turned to Scoots with a big smile. “Oh, my. Isn’t this wonderful?”
Scoots snapped her lips closed and mumbled a quick burst of profanity under her breath. “It’s a dream come true.”
“Beverlee is a huge fan,” I said with a wide grin. “In fact, she has started a Romance Revival fan club,” I said.
“I’m the president,” Beverlee eagerly added.
Mimi narrowed her gaze and focused on Scoots, whose shoulders were trembling with repressed laughter. “What’s your job, then?”
Scoots pulled a ballpoint pen out of her front pocket and clicked it several times. “Secretary,” she replied.
Beverlee rushed forward and swept Mimi into a full-body hug, and when she danced backward, there were tears in her eyes. “It is such an honor to meet you, Ms. Upchurch. The work you’re doing? It’s so important.”
Mimi seemed stunned. “It is?”
“Oh, yes,” Beverlee gushed, grabbing her by the hand. “You’re giving a voice to people who have made mistakes. You’re the champion to those of us who think we don’t deserve a second chance at love.”
Beverlee turned to Lily, whose mouth had dropped wide open. “And you, dear,” she said. “I do hope you’ll be able to find happiness. You’ve been through so much. How’s your sister?”
Lily’s lower lip quivered before she manufactured a smile. “She’s going to be okay, thank goodness.”
“That’s good. She had us scared there for a little while.”
“I’m not sure my father will ever let her out of his sight again,” she said with a terse laugh. “In fact, he’s probably babysitting her back at the hotel as we speak, so I should—”
“Are they any closer to figuring out who did it?” Scoots asked.
Lily’s smile dropped, and she stared at the floor. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I hope they figure it out soon so you can focus on your wedding,” Beverlee said, reaching out to wrap her arm around Lily’s shoulder.
“No bride should have to worry about a murderer on her special day,” I said.
Mimi cleared her throat. “We don’t talk about murder when we have guests,” she said with a glance that shot pointed beams of fire in my direction. “And it goes against the nondisclosure agreement you signed. But given the circumstances, and your aunt’s obvious enthusiasm, I’m sure it was a simple oversight.”
She turned to Beverlee. “Would you enjoy a tour of the studio?”
Beverlee beamed. “That would be wonderful if you have the time,” she said, her Southern accent so thick she made it sound like wun-duh-fuhl. As she tugged Scoots down the hallway, she whooped and not-so-quietly whispered, “She is every bit as fabulous as I imagined.”
The first genuine smile I had ever seen appeared on Mimi’s face. “I’ll do anything for my fan club.”
16
As soon as I walked into the studio later the next morning, I knew making it out of the building unscathed the previous night didn’t mean my luck would continue. Instead of showing up at the warehouse with my portfolio and a long list of ideas, I should have called in sick and stayed in my pajamas with a takeout order of blueberry waffles and an extra-large latte.
The sharp clang of metal on metal echoed through the buil
ding, followed by a head-splitting, high-pitched screech.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to the cameraman as he scurried by with his chin down.
With a thin film of sweat on his forehead and terror flashing in his eyes, he glanced over his shoulder. “Mimi’s on a rampage. Get out while you can.”
I wrapped my arms around the stack of fabric samples I was carrying and turned back toward the entrance, but I didn’t make it ten feet before I heard a loud thunk behind me.
Regretting that I hadn’t been faster in my escape, I pivoted in slow motion.
Mimi stood with her palm against the wall, her eyes wild and tinged with red. Papers from her clipboard had rained over her shiny black pumps. “You.” She pointed toward my chest. “Come with me.”
After a quick glance around to make sure she was talking to me, I forced a smile. “Good morning, Mimi. Is everything okay?”
Her fingers curled over the doorframe. “Does it look like everything is okay?”
I made a gurgling sound.
She whirled to go back down the hall. “I need your help.” She motioned toward all the pages scattered on the floor. “And pick those up.”
I debated leaving her to her tantrum and the muddled pile of color-coordinated papers.
Publicity, I thought, inhaling to the count of ten. You can’t punch the woman who’s going to give your company national exposure.
“Of course.” I scooped up the papers, hiding a satisfied grin as I shuffled them like a stack of cards, then shoved the clipboard under my armpit and hurried down the hall behind her.
We made it to the back of the warehouse to find Lily and Hazel seated in the hair and makeup area, barefaced and wrapped in white terrycloth robes.
“I need you to handle this.” Mimi gestured toward the brides.
“I’m not sure what you—”
“Hair, Ms. Wells,” she said with a glare. “Makeup. I need them camera-ready in less than an hour.”
“Me? You want me to do that?” I hadn’t washed my own hair in two days. I threw tinted moisturizer on my face on the way out the door that morning, and that was only because I was trying to hide a pimple caused by too much chocolate and too little sleep.
Tying the Knot (A Wedding Crashers Mystery Book 2) Page 14