by Amberlee Day
“I’m doing my best, Freddie.” Irritation dripped from her voice. Maybe he didn’t need to remind her how serious this trip was, but he couldn’t help it. His own career depended on it. But Brenda suddenly perked up. “So how is Harvest Ranch? Is it as beautiful as I write about?”
He hesitated, nodding with some resistance. “Yes ... yes, I’d say so. Probably. You’d like it.” That was honest, right?
“And the Cornucopia Inn? Is it as quaint and cute as on the website? You know I’m putting it in the next book.”
Freddie glanced up at the fountain and turned back to the glass doors. He could see the banana-peel coat rack from where he stood. Best to build it up, maybe get her to Virginia faster. “Oh, it’s quaint as heck.”
“Good! I can’t wait to see it,” she said with delight. At least somebody was happy.
“Do you think you can be here for the parade tomorrow morning, Brenda? That gives you twenty-four hours to find him and fly out.”
“I hope so. I’ll try.”
Freddie took a deep breath, his father’s face floating into his thoughts and a weight settling on his chest. “Try hard, Brenda. Try hard.”
***
Kate thought of ten ways to sabotage Freddie Prescott’s breakfast while he was out taking his phone call, beginning with pouring salt in his coffee and ending with constructing an old-fashioned donut to look like a bagel half with cream cheese on it, then watch the look of horror on his face when he took a bite. Then they’d see if he really was afraid of sugary, fatty, delicious donuts.
But she decided against it, since he was a guest and all. Plus, since when was she so mean-spirited? Maybe she was taking out her Steven frustrations on Freddie Prescott, pretty town boy. Deep breath, calm down, Kate.
Still, adrenaline shot through her veins when he strode back in, thinking that she could have sabotaged his breakfast, if she’d really wanted to.
His expression was dark.
“What’s the matter, somebody rain on your parade?”
He stopped, his frown deepening. Whoops. He really looked mad. “What?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, trying to wipe her sticky fingers on her napkin before making a quick escape. She left the table as he sat down, switched on her hostess role. “Is there anything that the Cornucopia Inn can do for you, Mr. Prescott?”
“Not unless you can work a magic trick,” he said darkly.
Oh dear. Not a happy guest. That wasn’t going to go well with Mom and Dad, even if they were planning on selling the place. She fake-saluted Freddie Prescott. “No magic tricks, sorry. I’ll let you know if we get any in stock. Bye.”
She hustled out without looking back. Vernon still sat at the desk, practically the picture of his brother, but with a different color vest and the notebook in his hands instead of fingers clacking on a laptop. Also, instead of trail mix, he had a container of carrots and celery with him.
“Hey, Vernon. How long will you be here?”
“I have to leave at one, but if you need someone, my sister can come.”
Katie slowed mid-stride to the office. “Sister? I didn’t know you and Virgil had a sister.” An image formed in her head of a woman looking exactly like the two middle-aged brothers, but with earrings and lipstick. “Is she ... Are you triplets?”
He glanced up at her, but just for a moment. “Younger sister.”
“Ah. And her name?”
“Vanna.”
“Right. Okay, I’ll think about if I’ll be needing someone this afternoon. Thanks, Virgil. I mean, Vernon.”
He didn’t respond, and she closed the office door behind her.
An hour later, she returned to the residence sporting a headache and a cloud of despair. She dug through the medicine cabinet until she had two pain tablets in her hand, which she sloshed down with a long drink of water. How had her parents let the place go so much? While she didn’t see proof that they intended to sell, their hearts definitely hadn’t been in the Cornucopia for some time, though she couldn’t think of when or why it had happened.
At the window, the bright autumn sun blinded her, not helping the headache. Still, she needed a walk to clear her head. Rummaging around in her purse, she grabbed her sunglasses and headed out the side door.
She intended to head into town, but the path leading out to the cabins called to her. Maybe a bittersweet walk down memory lane was just what she needed.
Despite being at the edge of town, the Cornucopia property had always felt like a quiet forest that happened to have cabins under the trees. No Christmassy evergreens, though; these were all deciduous—bright maples, dogwoods, beeches, one giant willow tree, and of course the hickories. She loved them all, and passing them now, she smiled remembering how she’d assigned personalities to many of them when she was about eight. She patted a crooked maple that she had named Hinky.
Peace settled on her as she walked the familiar paths. She loved it here, so much. The Cornucopia was home. How could she let her parents sell the place without trying to do something to save it? A plan began to form in her head, and by the time she’d reached the farthest corner of the property, she realized she had to try.
Turning the corner between cabins fifteen and sixteen, her nerves spiked with adrenaline when she practically ran into a man with a ferocious beast.
“Woof,” Pumpkin the labradoodle said in what was probably actually a bored bark. Her companion, Freddie Prescott, looked just as pathetic.
She didn’t think this right away, though. Seeing them snapped her out of her reverie and made her jump like a startled spider. Very uncool, but she tried to cover it up with a casual pose. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to get Pumpkin to do her duty,” Freddie said. He had rude New York annoyance down.
“I hope you have a bag for—oh.” He pulled a black bag from his pocket and waved it before she could finish. “Good.”
“Yeah. Something about this place has her stopped up. Can’t think what.”
Had he really just suggested that the Cornucopia had somehow constipated his dog? And was that an eye roll? “Funny, fruits and vegetables usually have the opposite effect,” Kate offered back sweetly.
He smirked, like they were sharing a joke or something. Funny, but something tickled inside her when he did that, deep in the pit of her belly. Maybe not so strange, considering how cute he was. He was probably used to having that effect on women. She sniffed and shifted to shake it off, but a shadow of the feeling remained.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked like he was bored and talking to her was his only option. “Seems like the manager would have more to do than just walking around on a workday.”
She gave him a hard look. “I’ll have you know I ...” Nope. She had nothing. She swallowed her pride, which wasn’t hard considering her despair. “You’re right. I probably should be doing something, just haven’t decided what yet.”
Freddie only gave her an understanding grunt, which she actually appreciated.
“What about you?” she asked. “I can’t imagine that walking a dog—” Pumpkin grunted at her too. “—is the only thing on your agenda. When does your big, important, famous writer show up?”
She meant it in a teasing way, but his face darkened. She must have pushed another nerve. “Not sure, but it had better be soon.”
Pumpkin started to pull on the leash, and Freddie went with her. Curious, Kate fell into step beside him. “The Harvest Festival starts tomorrow. McGee said—I mean, isn’t she supposed to be the big name to kick off everything?”
“Yes, she is,” Freddie said, though she couldn’t decide if he was just being patient with her or if he had a little despair cloud of his own hanging above. She’d guess the cloud, but it could maybe be both.
“Don’t tell me she’s not coming?”
His dark, sexy eyes flicked at her. Yeah, he looked like a displeased Cary Grant. Quite sexy. “I didn’t say that. I mean, I have her dog. Why would her dog be here if she isn�
�t coming?”
“Right,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief she hadn’t known she was holding.
“Right.” Was he trying to convince himself?
But a thought had begun to weave its way through her own synapses. “Because really, having a celebrity here is a good thing for the inn,” she said, trying to piece together the implications.
“I’d think it would be, but then, I’m not a hotel manager.” He was making fun of her again, but she ignored that.
They were passing the log cabins, all empty the previous night. It pierced her heart to think they’d be sitting empty, especially right before festival. “Maybe a celebrity is just what we need here to spark things up again,” she said, more to herself than him. “Really make a big deal about it, get the public interested.”
“What?”
“It’s not too late, you know, to get the word out. The festival’s still small-town enough that we get lots of last-minute visitors showing up. How long is Brenda Lee Mitford supposed to be here?”
“A week ... but wait a minute, what do you mean, get the word out?”
She looked back at him. “Tell people she’s staying here. Put out a sign—I think we still have that sandwich board, probably in the shed.” She bit her nail, thinking. “I could let McGee know. He’s been asking anyway.”
“McGee?”
“I’ll show him where the best place to stay in town is,” she murmured.
“Hold on a second.” Freddie Prescott, super cute pretty boy even without his jacket and pocket square, stopped her with a large but appropriately gentle hand on her arm, right above her left wrist. Despite her plottings, she felt the stirrings of a swoon.
“Yes?” she asked, swallowing down the sudden breathless feeling he gave her.
“While those sound like good things—for your inn, and probably for Brenda Lee—could you hold off on it for a bit?”
“Why?” Realization dawned on her. She might make a good amateur detective yet. She pointed a finger at Freddie, both excited and horrified that she was right. “Brenda Lee’s not coming, is she?”
His dark eyes widened. “What?”
“That’s why you’re walking around all grumpy with her dog. She’s changed her mind and isn’t coming.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You kind of did.”
His brow furrowed—and he still looked good. “I didn’t. Not even close.”
“Then why can’t I let people know she’s coming here?”
His mouth moved like he was waiting for the right words to land on them, but he finally spat out, “Invasion of privacy.”
“Invasion of privacy?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were all about publicity. What kind of agent are you?” She had him there, but this time he pointed a finger at her.
“Listen. When someone checks into your hotel, legally you aren’t allowed to go around advertising it, even if it is a celebrity. Just try putting out your hokey-bakokey sandwich board or telling it all to McGoo or whoever it is you’re talking about, and you’ll find out pretty quickly just who has the rights on this. Come on, Pumpkin.”
He yanked the leash and stormed away with the dog. They both looked uppity from this view, and irritation billowed up in Kate’s chest. “Just hold on a minute—”
But her first step was a wrong one. While she and Freddie had been talking, Pumpkin’s constipation had resolved, and now the evidence oozed up from the bottom of Kate’s favorite Converse.
“Ah, dang it! Hey, come back here! Your dog made a mess!” But her only audience was another guest leaving her cabin pulling a suitcase behind her, giving Kate a look that didn’t say she’d be coming back to the Cornucopia soon.
Chapter 5
Freddie paced back and forth in his cabin living room, making circles around the harvest-gold-colored couch. Pumpkin sat on the similarly hued floral side chair, watching.
“There’s got to be a way to spin this,” he said to nobody—unless the dog was listening, which he suspected she was. And that wasn’t bad, since there was no one else to talk to. “I could just say she’s been delayed. I don’t have to say why, right? Sidestep direct questions, slap a smile on it, and no one will be the wiser. Nobody’s going to go digging up where she really is and find out about Lester.”
Pumpkin whined.
“And I have you, right? We could make the rounds, do some photo ops for the series’s social media sites, let some locals take their pictures with you.”
Pumpkin sat up straighter, and he could swear she was smiling.
“Yeah, that could work. As long as she gets here in time for the parade tomorrow morning, we could still make things go our way. As long as—” His phone buzzed on the table, and he practically pulled a muscle lunging for it. “Hello?”
Brenda Lee’s sigh over the speakerphone told him this wasn’t good news. “Freddie, I’m sorry. I think we’re just going to have to tell the Harvest Festival people we have to cancel.”
The hairs on the back of his head stood on end. A humble, apologetic Brenda was as natural as a pig in a boardroom. Boardroom ... Prescott Agency ... Freddie shook the image of his father’s glare out of his head. “We can’t do that, Brenda. What’s happening there? Talk to me.”
“Oh, you know. I’m just wandering around Vegas, looking for my husband,” she said with her strong Southern accent, her irritation rising. That was more like it, anyway. “Busy dodging inappropriate pictures and offers left and right.”
“You’re not wearing your wig or author getup, though, right?” Freddie asked, hearing how callous that sounded too late.
“No, we talked about this. Remember? You have all my dress-up doodads there in Harvest Ranch. Obviously, I’m not advertising my presence here. I’m not stupid.”
“Right, sorry. I’m just looking out for you, Brenda Lee.”
“I know you are. How’s Pumpkin doing?”
Freddie looked at the smiling, panting pooch. “Great. Fine. I think she misses you.”
“I’m sure she’s fine. She has a crush on you, you know, just like all single women.” Freddie rolled his eyes, but she continued in that almost threatening voice, “Just watch her system.”
“Her system?”
“Yes, I told you. Her doings. Sometimes travel makes her irregular.”
Freddie chuckled. While he hadn’t turned around to check this morning, he’d heard Kate the manager yelling for him to stop and clean up a dog mess. He’d been too wound up to go back—not his shining hour, but now it seemed funny. “I’ll keep an eye out. But I’m not canceling.”
“Okay, but one thing I almost certainly won’t be on time for is that parade tomorrow.”
Freddie dropped down on the couch, his voice quieter than his mood. “Brenda. You can’t not be there. You’re the grand marshal, kicking off this big festival of theirs. Coming in last minute is one thing, but how do I explain that?”
“You’ll think of something,” she said lightly. He could almost see her attention turning back to scanning the crowd for Lester, the schmuck. “Maybe have Pumpkin stand in for me. But if she does, make sure you—”
“Watch her system, got it.” Freddie sighed with a wry look at Pumpkin. “We’re both aware of our duties.”
***
Considering that she had some time on her hands, Kate decided it was time for action. When Vernon left and it was still too early for their new check-ins—all thirteen of them, not even close to the inn’s capacity—she turned her creative eye on the Cornucopia foyer.
Most of the decorations cluttering up the walls had been there as long as she could remember. For some of them, it was long past time to go. Case in point, the big autumn wreath. It might have been nice at one time, but the fake leaves were faded to a puny yellow and the mini Styrofoam pumpkins were chipped. She wrangled it off the wall and gave it an apologetic look. “Sorry, wreath, but you’re not pulling your weight around here. No one likes you anymore.”
And into the donation bin it went.
She continued on like that until two-thirty, when Dora came sauntering in. Sostenes followed close behind. Today they were both wearing teal work uniforms, and Kate wondered if Dora had her assistant on a daily color schedule. Kate had to bite her lip not to smile.
“Cleaning up in here, are you?” Dora asked like she wasn’t sure she approved.
“A little redecorating, that’s all.”
Dora shrugged, a hint of a smile lifting her pale lips. “Probably not a bad idea. This place hasn’t been remodeled since you were in diapers—which I helped change, baby cousin.”
Kate put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. Classic Dora, exaggerating and acting like she was the boss of Kate. “You never changed my diapers.”
“I did too. I remember the smell.” She laughed, and Sostenes copied her.
“You were nine. You may have been in the room, but I seriously doubt my parents left the diapering to you.”
Dora sniffed. “Well, I do remember the smell.”
Kate laughed. “Far be it for me to take away your memories, Dora. How are the cabins coming?”
Not one to stay miffed, Dora turned her attention on shifting items in one of Kate’s discard boxes. “Finished those and the linens hours ago. Ooh, can I have this?” She held up a life-sized wooden apple wall hanging.
“Go for it.”
Tucking it in a pocket, Dora continued her rifling. “Anyway, with the extra time on our hands, we’ve been washing curtains. Gone through three cabins already. Not much to do when occupancy is this low.”
Worry bristled at Kate, but she pushed it away. “Well, rest up. Harvest Festival starts tomorrow, and we’ll be at almost fifty percent tonight.”
Dora snorted, an endearing feature if not her best. “Well, la-dee-da! Fifty percent during the busiest month of the year. Did you hear that, Sostenes? Maybe we should hire another cleaner.”
Sostenes mumbled something that might have been Spanish. It didn’t sound positive to Kate, but then she didn’t speak the language. Come to think of it, Kate was pretty sure that Dora didn’t, either.