Praline Murder

by Sandi Scott

  Ashley rubbed her head. "You're so silly, Dizzy girl! We'll go to the park later, and you can run all you want. Right now, we need to take care of business; Ryan will be at the house, waiting for us."

  The dog's ears perked up at Ryan's name, and she turned back toward their house and started tugging again. "Okay, okay—he'll still be there if we take an extra minute. Slow down a little!"

  Ryan pulled into the driveway just as Ashley and Dizzy walked up. "Woof!" Dizzy welcomed Ryan, looking back at Ashley as if to say, "What are you waiting for woman? Let's go—Ryan's here; he's here!" She danced excitedly at the end of the leash so Ashley reached down and unclipped the leash from the dog's collar.

  The couple exchanged a quick hug before Ryan reached back into the car to grab a bagful of take-out containers. Dizzy shoved between them, trying to give Ryan a welcoming lick or two.

  "Mmm, that smells amazing! You stopped at Smoke Daddy Lee's place, didn't you?" Ashley took a deep breath. "Hey, watch it, Dizzy! Get your nose out of that bag, you greedy thing! This is a people lunch." Laughing, Ryan lifted the bag over his head until Ashley got the dog out of the way so they could all get into the house.

  Grabbing plates, forks, and napkins while Ryan unpacked barbecued brisket sandwiches—along with extra-cheesy mac-and-cheese, potato salad, pinto beans, and creamy coleslaw—Ashley asked, "Did you invite an army to eat lunch with us today? There's enough food here for the whole town. How hungry are you, anyway?"

  "I told Smoke Daddy I was meeting you, and he started dishing up sides without asking. That other bag has a dozen hush puppies and desserts—peach hand pies, blackberry cobbler, and pecan pies. He said something about making up for spending time with Hollywood twig-eaters."

  They ate without talking for a few minutes, savoring the delicious food and washing it down with Southern-style sweet iced tea. Smoke Daddy made it the old-fashioned way by adding sugar into the hot tea until no more would dissolve.

  "Would you ever want to be famous?" Ashley suddenly asked Ryan, her expression thoughtful. She looked like she was far away, thinking about another place or time.

  "No way! It would make me crazy to never have any privacy. What brought up that question?"

  "I was thinking about something Lucy said on the set today. She got mad at Chance and Brent, and she said something about the show's reputation not being good for a teacher in a small town. It made me think about the good and bad of being famous. I mean, I'd like for Seagrass Sweets to be a little famous—only a little though. A few more tourists would be good, but I wouldn't want it to grow too much and lose that small-town feeling although I don't think I'd like it so much for myself."

  Ryan thought for a minute and said, "You know, I don't think I would like it, either. It sounds cool—having everyone know who you are and feeling important. But I think it would get old really fast, not being able to go anywhere without someone you've never met wanting to chat you up. I think I'd have fun with the whole ‘15 minutes of fame’ thing, but that would be enough for me."

  "What if you were, though? What would you do if you woke up tomorrow, and you were famous, maybe from developing some awesome IT system or from a TV show or by being a hero? Do you think it would change you?" Ashley smirked. "Would you act like 'I'm a celebrity, pamper me’?"

  "Pfft! I'd hope not! I'd like to think I'm a good guy and that a little attention wouldn't change me. I guess you can't really know until it happens, but it seems to me that being famous for something like TV shouldn't puff anyone up. I think I'd rather be famous for doing something to really help folks, but I also think that helping people isn't something you should do to get attention."

  Ashley reached across the table and ruffled Ryan's curly brown hair. "That's one of the things I've always admired about you. You care for other people, but you don't make a big deal about it. You just do what you can to help without caring if anyone else ever knows about it or not. And, when you help, you never make the other person feel bad about your advice."

  "Okay, thanks for that. What happened on the set today?" Ryan raised one eyebrow. "You're very philosophical suddenly."

  "Oh, Brent popped off about cameras adding pounds right after Lucy picked up a cookie. I mean, the lady is tiny, and it was a mini cookie, about the size of a half-dollar. The thing is, although he was a jerk about it, I don't think he was trying to be mean; in his mind, he was probably thinking he was being supportive and helpful. You never seem to suffer from that self-delusion."

  Ryan snickered, and asked, "What about us? Do you think we'd survive a reality show together? I've heard you talk about how the relationship between Brent and Lucy seems to have changed since filming started. Would our relationship hold up?"

  Ashley couldn’t tell how serious he was about the question; his voice was serious, but there seemed to be a twinkle lurking in his eyes. "Honestly? I don't know. I mean, we've been friends for a long time, and, after everything we’ve shared during that time, I think our relationship would hold up to anything some show could throw at us. The dating thing, though—that's pretty new, and it might be a little fragile for the kind of intrusion that comes with a reality show." Ashley slid a sideways glance at Ryan. "After all, I don't know whether your ego could stand it if I had more fan mail than you!"

  Ryan snorted, "Yeah, I'm pretty insecure that way! How about we save that test for a while and just go on being normal and not famous—and certainly not infamous, which I suspect is where Chance Fortune and his Haunted Houses reality show is heading."

  “Oh, and guess what I found out?” Ashley said, laughing. “Our very own Patty LaFontaine is a secret believer in the paranormal and supernatural. She's totally enthralled with the idea that the house is haunted!”

  “No kidding?” Ryan asked. “No nonsense, doesn't-suffer-fools Patty? I didn't see that one coming!”

  They chatted a little longer as they finished up their sandwiches and stashed the leftovers in the refrigerator. Giving Dizzy a small taste of sausage and a good belly rub, they both headed out: Ryan going back to his home office to make a few more of his IT and marketing clients happy, and Ashley going back to the mansion for the late filming session, via a stopover at Seagrass Sweets.

  Ashley parked in front of the mansion and stepped out of the car, stopping to admire the fiery red, orange, and yellow rays as the sun seemed to dip into the Gulf. Of all the world's sights I've seen, I think the sunsets here are still the most beautiful; they still take my breath away every time, she thought. She took an extra minute to enjoy the peace of early dusk, and headed into the house.

  "Hey, girl! I thought I'd missed you," Patty said. She pushed her pale blond hair back from her face as she gathered up the empty serving dishes from lunch and got ready to leave. "I just set up the supper sandwich buffet and refilled the desserts from the stash you left earlier. There should be enough food until the first disaster makes them take another break."

  "Yeah, they haven't gotten through a scene in less than five takes yet so I probably ought to get some different sweet choices out pretty fast. Probably won't be that long before the crew wants to snack again. Tempers get hot pretty fast, and I can only imagine how working this late will add to that." Ashley sighed as she set her treat boxes on the kitchen island.

  "Speaking of hot, you have to admit that Chance is even better looking in real life than he seemed on his other shows, and he looked pretty good on those. Of course, a cedar post would look sexy next to Brent. That man is teddy-bear cute, but he's way too klutzy to be hot." Patty shook her head in mock astonishment.

  Rolling her eyes, Ashley replied, "You'd think so, but did you see that #BlunderingBrent thing on that women's website—what's the name of it? They found some outtakes where he knocked something over, or ran into a wall, or tripped over his own feet. The article is all about how sweet and 'super sexy' he is, and how they can't get enough. I don't get it, but our tubby Brent is apparently an Internet hottie, too. I suppose 'there's no accounting for taste' is a cliché
for a reason."

  "I bet Chance just loves that," Patty smirked. "This show's script is definitely slanted to make Chance look good. I doubt he's thrilled to share the spotlight. Speaking of scripted, can you believe how much of the show is planned? From what I've seen, there's not much ‘real’ about this reality television thing. How do they get away with that?"

  "People will believe what they want to believe, and they don't question it,” Ashley replied. “If the title says ‘reality,’ the audience buys that it is real—that everything is spontaneous and unrehearsed. They'd be amazed to learn that nothing on this show happens unless it's written down first—except Brent breaking things or hurting himself. Too many people are much too gullible."

  “That reminds me—something weird happened while you were away,” Patty reported. “The crew was filming upstairs in one of the bedrooms when some type of knocking was heard coming from inside one of the walls. It wasn't in the script, and Chance went ballistic when no one would admit to being a rogue and rigging the sound as a stunt. I think it was Ethel, trying to scare them away from here. If that bunch bugs us when we aren't in the same room with them that much, think how irritated the ghost must be to have to listen to all their spats and squabbles!”

  Patty finished gathering her things. "I've got to go, Cherie; Smoke Daddy is waiting for me. This is date night, and he promised me something other than barbecue for dinner so I need to doll up a bit while I have an excuse. I will see you tomorrow." She waved and headed out the back door to get ready to meet her suitor.

  The next hours passed slowly as Ashley watched Chance, Lucy, and Brent react to the "hauntings" for the finale. She noticed all the fakery that she'd tuned out before, starting with the door creaks that supposedly came from the attic; instead, she saw Trina turning on a recorder to play back previously recorded screeches.

  "What are you doing, Ted?" Chance barked. "You're supposed to shake those chains out of sight of the camera; no one's going to believe some ghost is rattling them in the basement if they see them in the shot. Get on your spot and stay there. Let's try it again everyone. And, Lucy, could you please try to look at least a little worried if you can't look scared?"

  Lucy shot him a quick glare, but she didn't say anything. Clearly, Lucy was not getting into the fun of filming. She looked like she'd rather be just about anywhere else. The latent hostility between Lucy and Chance was palpable. On the other hand, Brent was clearly having a blast and seemed completely unaware of the tension; he acted startled every time something spooky happened. In fact, a couple of times, he looked like he might be having a heart attack, and he ate up the compliments Chance kept tossing his way.

  "Okay, let's take it from just before the door opens by itself and the chair moves across the floor. Ted, are the lines set up?" After a murmured affirmative, he called to the camera operator, "Joe, can you see the monofilament lines through the camera? I know we can edit them out later, but I'd rather keep them from showing up in the first place." Hearing that everything was ready, Chance waved everyone into their places and signaled Joe to start filming.

  "We've entered the bedroom where Ethel last spoke with her lover, Bertha. Visitors have seen her sitting at the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror, and putting finishing touches on her hair. Let's see if we can make contact with her," Chance, in his role as host, intoned. "If there are any spirits listening, we're looking for Ethel Samuel, who died in this house. Ethel, can you hear us? Can you give us a sign if you are with us?"

  Could he be any more over-the-top with the faked dramatics? Ashley thought, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. What an ego he must have to believe anyone's buying that voice.

  For a second or two, everything was quiet, then the front of the armoire opposite the hallway door slowly creaked opened even though no one was standing nearby. Brent gasped and pressed his hand to his chest as Chance called, "Is that you, Ethel? Are you here? Let us know for sure that you're here."

  Standing next to Ashley, just off-camera, Lucy rolled her eyes. She whispered, "Even if they weren't pulling the door open with fishing line, who couldn't figure out that the door of an old piece of furniture—sitting on a floor that probably hasn't been level for 100 years—can swing open just because someone walks into the room and shakes the floor? I can’t believe how hokey this stuff is."

  Ashley bit her lower lip to keep from giggling and shook her head. Thereupon, a small chair moved from in front of the vanity to bump into the bedstead, apparently without human help. For a moment, Ashley felt her heart speed up until she shook her head and scolded herself for being so gullible—of course there were not real ghosts there.

  "It's Ethel–she's here! Lucy, Ethel Samuel is here! Come over here, so we can talk to her," Brent exclaimed. "Maybe we can help her move on; she's bound to be tired of haunting this place after so long."

  “Cut!” the director yelled again. “Ted, what is going on with you today? First, you step into the chain scene, and now you move the wrong danged chair!”

  “No way, man,” the crew member mumbled. “I didn't move that chair. All I did was open the door on that big closet thing. Someone else must have shifted the chair. Maybe there really is a ghost or something.”

  Shaking her head with evident disgust, Lucy stayed where she was as filming resumed. Brent waved at her, beckoning her, but she stood her ground. Suddenly, a crew member just out of camera range tripped over the line attached to the original chair, causing it to jerk suddenly and fall over and crash loudly to the floor.

  "Cut! Take 10, people," Chance roared. "Lucy, c'mon—we're all tired, but we have to get this scene done before we can break for the night. I get that you don't believe in ghosts—by now, we all know that—but be a good sport and play along so we can all get some sleep tonight. You agreed to do this because you want a house, but you're going to lose out if we can't finish this project.” Instantly, they heard a loud pop, and sparks flew from one of the overhead light fixtures. Ashley thought about the other problems with the lights and wondered briefly if the electrical system in the house was really safe. Patty would probably say it was Ethel reacting to Chance yelling at Lucy.

  Lucy's shoulders dropped as the director shouted at her. Ashley could see the tears shimmering in Lucy's eyes, and she wanted to shake Chance until his teeth rattled. She stepped forward to give him a piece of her mind, but she felt Lucy's hand on her arm. She looked over at the other woman, who shook her head slightly. "It's not worth it," Lucy whispered. “He'll never understand any of what you'd say. As far as he's concerned, anything he says or does is okay as long as it boosts the show and, by extension, his star power.”

  Gathering herself together, she continued in a whisper, "I'm sorry, Chance. I forgot what I was supposed to say, and I got nervous. I'll get it right next time, I promise."

  Chance sighed, nodded, and took Brent by the arm. "Let's grab a drink, bud. You've earned it tonight."

  Brent beamed. "I have done pretty good tonight, haven't I? Not one vase or lamp broken, no tables turned over, no tripped lines—even that chair was totally not my fault "

  "Yeah, you better watch out, buddy; if you keep this up, you'll pass me in popularity, and I'll have to do something to stop you," Chance laughed as they reached the sweets table. He snagged a cupcake, headed over to talk to one of the crew members, and walked through the kitchen, apparently headed out for his trailer office. Ashley noticed the nasty glare Chance's assistant lasered towards Brent and watched as Trina walked over to where Brent was adding creamer to a cup of coffee. As he raised the cup to take a drink, she elbowed him in the back, exclaiming, "Oh, Brent! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there! Are you okay?” She smirked with what Ashley could only describe as evil glee.

  Scowling, Brent set the cup on the table and grabbed a napkin. "Yeah, I'm fine, but look—I spilled coffee all over my lucky shirt. I'll have to change; I can't show up on film looking like this." He started toward the kitchen, pausing at the door to call his wife, "Lucy, I've go
tta change shirts; wanna head to our trailer for a few minutes?"

  Ashley wondered what Trina was doing; obviously, the director's assistant had deliberately caused Brent to spill his coffee. She considered how many of the other "accidents" on set might have actually been Trina trying to sabotage Brent. Why would she do something like that? Ashley wondered.

  A few minutes later, Ashley heard loud, angry voices coming from outside the kitchen. It sounded like another argument between Chance, Brent, and Lucy—and, this time, it sounded like Lucy was giving as good as she got. “I'm done,” she shouted. “I will not take any more of your put-downs and yelling, Chance Fortune.” It sounded like her husband was trying to calm her. “No, Brent, I mean it. This man is a loud-mouthed, obnoxious bully. He makes fun of you, and you don't even realize it. He's downright nasty to me, and I'm not going to put up with it anymore. I will walk away in a heartbeat, and where will you be with the network then, Mr. Reality TV Director?”

  Ashley heard a low rumble before Chance's words became clear, “The network loves my work. Do you think they're going to worry about what some small-town math nerd has to say about their newest star?”

  There was a snort, then Ashley heard Lucy say, “Star? Really–that's the story you want to go with? Everyone here knows your secret, Chance; the rumor has already made the rounds—the one about the overheard phone call, when some network exec told you they were seriously considering a cancellation of the series even before this episode hits the airways. You're not such a shoo-in with them, after all.”

  At that moment, the trio stepped into the kitchen and noticed Ashley standing there, able to hear their argument. Trying to cover up the disagreement, Chance asked, “Why did you change clothes, man? That's gonna mess with the continuity.”

  “Erm . . . the other shirt had a coffee spill on it,” Brent said, not mentioning Trina's role in the so-called accident. “I couldn't go on film looking like a slob, now could I?” He laughed tentatively, throwing a sidelong look at Chance, obviously hoping to avoid another tantrum from the director.