PJ turned to watch as the paramedics loaded Colin into the truck. Boone stood in the sweep of red lights, looking grim. He shot her a glance, his gaze flickering to Jeremy and back to PJ. Then he turned away.
“Wonder if he’ll pull through,” PJ said, nearly under her breath.
“It wasn’t much more than a flesh wound,” Jeremy said, but she wasn’t exactly thinking of Colin. “You did a good thing here, PJ. If it weren’t for you and your nosiness, Jack would be in prison, Trudi would be broke, and Ethan and Maxine would still be living a lie with a price on their heads.” Jeremy directed her gaze to Maxine and Ethan with Trudi and the twins.
Yeah, well, it wasn’t all her. In fact, maybe it wasn’t her at all. But, like Peter, it was just being the person God made her, letting Him do amazing things as she . . . surrendered.
Surrendered her reputation. Her future. Boone.
She glanced back at Boone. As much as she missed him, she wasn’t sure she could be with Boone and love God at the same time.
Boone must have felt her gaze on him for he met her eyes. She lifted her hand in a wave. His mouth tipped, just a little.
“So, I’m wondering if you want a job.”
Huh? PJ looked at Jeremy. “As a pizza delivery girl?”
“No, as my assistant.” He pulled out a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. Kane Investigations.
She flicked it between her fingers. “I don’t know; I was kinda looking forward to free pizza.”
“I’ll write it into your benefits package.” His eyes laughed, clear of anything dark and mysterious. “That is, if you’re sticking around town. Boone says you do this run thing.”
She glanced over his shoulder at Boone folding himself into his cruiser. “There’s more to that story.”
Jeremy followed her gaze. “He says you’re nothing but trouble,” he said, more in his voice than she was prepared to address.
“He’s probably right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dear Constance Sukharov,
It’s come to our attention that while under the supervision of your sister, PJ Sugar, your son, David Morton, was expelled from Fellows Academy. We’re pleased to inform you that the circumstances under which he was expelled have been rectified. Accordingly, we’d like to reoffer a position for David at Fellows Academy. Our deepest apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused you. Thank you for your desire to give David the best educational experience available to him.
Regards,
Priscilla Nicholson
Director, Fellows Early Education Academy
LOCAL WOMAN SAVES LIVES, CAPTURES INTERNATIONAL ASSASSIN
by Macey Harrison
PJ Sugar, of the Kellogg Sugars, helped apprehend an international assassin Monday morning at the home of Ethan and Maxine Hudson, 138 Lion Drive. The assassin entered the Hudson home shortly after 9 a.m., holding the family at gunpoint. Sugar, who had previously alerted officials, was at the residence and assisted in the assailant’s capture. Jeremy Kane, a private investigator employed by Trudi and Jack Wilkes, who had been indicted for the murder of Ernie Hoffman, also assisted in the apprehension.
“Although evidence pointed to Jack’s involvement in Hoffman’s murder, evidence surfaced by Sugar and Kane proved to clear Wilkes of all charges,” Lt. Daniel Buckam of the Kellogg Police Department stated in a press conference early Tuesday morning.
Following a confession, the suspect, Colin Butcher, has been charged with one count of first degree murder of Ernie Hoffman and seven counts of attempted murder, including an attempt made on Jeremy Kane at Kellogg City Park. The suspect’s employer, a French smuggler known as Rembrandt, has also been charged with accessory to murder.
Butcher lived in the Kellogg community for six months, posing as a mailman. He gained access to the postal service through a stolen identity, the postal service confirmed in a statement.
Sugar left town ten years ago after being suspected of setting fire to the Kellogg Country Club.
“I only returned to Kellogg to watch my nephew while my sister went on her honeymoon,” Sugar said. “But when my friend’s husband was arrested, I knew that there was more to the story.”
She has recently been cleared of arson charges, and her membership to the club restored.
“I’m just hoping to start over,” Sugar said. “This time with a clean slate. But I know how it feels to be falsely accused. I didn’t want Jack and Trudi to live with that stigma.”
In a related event, Sugar led a search of Ernie Hoffman’s home. “As a teenager, I plastered my walls with cute teen stars. So when I saw the picture of the Hoffman family hanging in Tucker’s room, I knew it had to be hiding something. No teenage boy is going to put up an oil painting of his family in his room.”
Behind the picture, Kellogg Police and Scotland Yard’s art squad discovered a stash of first-century Nero coins, whose worth is estimated at $1.5 million. Officials suspect that Hoffman, a registered numismatist, had been tracking down the coins in hopes of receiving the international reward posted by the insurer. A check was issued to Tucker and Denise Hoffman, beneficiaries of Hoffman’s estate. Jack and Trudi Wilkes also received an undisclosed amount for the recovery of the lost coins.
PUBLIC NOTICE:
I, Daniel “Boone” Buckam, declare, in the matter of the incident at the Kellogg Country Club on prom night ten years ago, that PJ Sugar is innocent of all involvement in the accidental fire that consumed the KCC kitchen facilities.
PJ folded the paper, set it on the sand next to her, and leaned back onto her hands, lifting her face, her eyes closed. The sun boiled her bare shoulders; the sand, moistened by the occasional motorboat-riled wave, cooled her feet as she tunneled her toes into it. She counted the blue sky as God’s reward for having helped her mother box the rest of her possessions this week since Connie’s return.
For now, she’d negotiated space in the garage. Next to her father’s golf clubs.
Behind her, Connie and Elizabeth argued over the condition of the steaks on the hibachi, the smell of garlic and fat dripping on coals carving into her hunger. Davy and Sergei threw a Frisbee in the grass beyond the picnic tables, overlorded by Vera, who shouted what sounded like military commands in Russian.
Boris lay ten feet away, sunbathing. At least here he could get away with his Speedo.
PJ avoided looking in his general direction.
The only family member missing from their Saturday afternoon picnic was Dora, safely anchored in the backyard a secure chewing distance from the hostas. Who would have guessed that he’d become part of the family? Or that Sergei had asked his parents to buy Davy the same type of pet he’d had growing up?
“Did you invite Boone?” Elizabeth came padding over, flicking sand out of her white sandals. She’d recovered from her stint out into society as a real person and had resumed her tailored Sugar persona, pearls included.
She peered at PJ through dark glasses.
It was probably a good thing PJ couldn’t read her eyes.
“No.” PJ turned to see Boone swaggering across the beach. Off duty, or perhaps on duty, depending on his job description. He took off his sunglasses and grinned at her.
Perhaps he’d had a sort of aneurysm, forgotten that he’d arrested her a week ago and left her to freeze to death in a cell the temperature of Siberia. Or he thought the ad he’d put in the paper bought him grace.
She got up and brushed off her legs, feigning nonchalance.
“Be careful,” her mother muttered. She ignored Boone as she passed him.
“Did you feel that arctic blast?”
“You’re still standing. Be grateful.”
He twirled his sunglasses between his fingers. “Thought I’d find you here on such a beautiful day. Looks like you’re having a barbecue.”
“A welcome-home bash.”
“For you?”
That was sweet. “For Connie and Sergei.” And, yes, maybe her. Because so far, she
still had an address in Kellogg. “Saw the ad. Thanks.”
The smile he gave her resonated with chagrin. “I owed you. Still do, probably.”
“Yep.” But she added a wink. “I’ll let you know when I need to collect.”
“How about now?” Before she could react, maybe step away, he touched her shoulder. “I like that you still have the tattoo.”
Of course he did. “It should read Trouble.”
He dropped his hand. “Not ready yet, huh?”
She didn’t know how to answer. Mostly because she didn’t have an answer yet.
They stood there on the beach, the hot sand seeping into her feet, the sun’s eyes on her, burning. Her mother made no attempt to hide her scrutiny of their conversation, one hand holding a spatula, the other on her hip.
“Jeremy says you’re going to work for him.”
“Yeah.”
A job. A real job with real money. She’d been churning that over in her brain for a week now. Finally decided to hop on and see where the ride took her.
She wasn’t making anyone any promises. Especially herself. However, the yes she’d given Jeremy resonated in her like a victory cry, bathed her in something that she could only name as hope.
“I don’t know if I like the idea of you working for him. Going undercover, causing havoc.” But in Boone’s pretty blue eyes she saw something unfamiliar that, together with the hard edge of his jaw as he looked away . . .
“Are you jealous?”
“Of what? Is there something to be jealous of?” He put on his glasses, hiding those eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t get into trouble.”
He gave a huff that sounded so old Boone, so arrogantly challenging, that she half expected him to follow it up with “PJ, you’re nothing but trouble.”
Instead he just shook his head. But the smile stayed. “We’ll see.”
She gave him her best look of indignation. However, in the wake of his laughter, she’d already become a liar. Because over his shoulder, in the lot behind him next to his shiny red Mustang, a motorcycle pulled up, a red and yellow Harley.
The biker stopped at the curb and lifted his glasses. His gaze ranged from her to Boone, then back.
“Hey, Princess. Want to go for a ride?” Jeremy chased his request with a wide, white, reckless grin.
Oh, boy.
PJ, what have you done?
Author’s Note
Sometimes, do you feel like you just don’t fit in? You look around you and think that if anyone knew how difficult it was just to put yourself together, to smile when you feel completely overwhelmed, to even figure out what you were making for supper, they’d know what a mess you were. Maybe you totally relate to those words in 1 Peter—“God’s elect, strangers in the world.” Do you feel like when you look in the rearview mirror, all you see are your mistakes?
Maybe not. But if so, then PJ is your gal. I wanted to write a story about the person in so many of us who just wants to get it right . . . but can’t seem to stay out of trouble. My friend and I have what we call the “stupid mouth” club . . . and we report our weekly foibles (usually on Monday, after Sunday church!). PJ is our charter member. She’s the girl that changes her mind, always hopes for the best, is always discovering that she is just a little different from everyone else. PJ is us.
And that’s good news. Because God loves PJ. He loves her messiness and her impulsiveness, her heart bent toward others, the hope that fuels her actions. And He has a plan for PJ—one that includes her weaknesses as well as her strengths.
Yep, I need to hear that—need to hear that I don’t have to be perfect for God to love me, use me, sing over me. Need to hear that although I don’t fit in, I’m not supposed to. . . . In fact, I’m supposed to be a little . . . alien.
So, to all the PJs out there—and anyone who knows a PJ—this book is for you. Thank you for reading PJ’s adventures—I hope you come back for her continuing craziness with Boone and Jeremy and her PI dreams in the next book: Double Trouble. And meanwhile, may you live with joy on the outside the unique and delightful person God has created on the inside.
IN HIS GRACE,
Susan May Warren
About the Author
Susan May Warren is a former missionary to Russia, the mother of four children, and the wife of a guy who wooed her onto the back of his motorcycle for the adventure of a lifetime. The award-winning author of over twenty books, Susan loves to write and teach writing. She speaks at women’s events around the country about God’s amazing grace in our lives. Susan is active in her church and small community and makes her home on the north shore of Minnesota where her husband runs a hotel.
Visit her Web site at www.susanmaywarren.com.
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