“Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“He's doing a week-long intensive with a tech group in Silicon Valley.” Mom’s lipstick was her signature color of shell pink. Not once had I ever seen it smudged or coloring her teeth. “I'll meet him next week in Aruba for our new series titled ‘Beach Scenes and Big Dreams.’ Your father has some new material, and it's absolutely fabulous. I’d really like you to consider joining us. You could think of it as a vacation.” She took that moment to scan me over once again, her eyes lingering on my skirt. “That outfit is… cute. I see form-fitting is in this season.“
My mom was the queen of backhanded compliments. As in every time she attempted to compliment, it felt like she smacked me with the back of her hand. I would just as soon she not attempt to say anything positive to me. Because every time she did, I walked away feeling like I needed to call my hairdresser, go on a diet, and completely revamp my closet and entire life.
“Paisley always looks great.” Emma held out a plate of cookies, and I took three. “You’re probably gonna need a few more.”
“I’ve already had ten,” Frannie mumbled.
Mom took a delicate sip from her water glass as she sat back at the island. “The ladies were about to tell me what they’re doing with themselves now that they’ve retired.”
“Just the usual retired things,” Sylvie said.
“Yep.” Frannie gave her Oprah Winfrey style wig a pat. “Gardening, volunteering, occasionally running from the law. The usual.”
“M.K. will be happy to hear you’re adjusting well to civilian life,” Mom said.
“Oh, yes. They’re adjusting, all right.” Last week at church, I caught Sylvie sticking a listening device on Mamie Arbuckle’s casserole dish. Sylvie swore the woman was selling more than warped Tupperware at the church garage sale.
Mom was Sylvie’s daughter-in-law, and she was as uptight as Sylvie was a loose cannon. The two had nothing in common, and that included kinship for each other. Sylvie used to say that she cried the entire day of my parents’ wedding and had always wanted Dad to marry Lisa Johnson, the girl he dated his freshman year of college, who became a nice teacher and rescued animals.
Mom reached across the counter and patted my cousin’s hand. “Emma, how was the wedding? Uncle M.K. and I were so sad to miss it.”
Here’s the deal. My parents miss everything. If it’s not work, they’re probably not gonna show. The entire time I was in the Electric Femmes, they went to two concerts. I don’t even think they stayed the whole time. And I can put money on the bet that my dad brought a laptop with him.
“The wedding was beautiful,” Emma said. “I'll have to show you some pictures so you can see the incredible job Paisley and Enchanted Events did. It was the talk of the town.”
My mother's lips curved into a smile. “I can't wait to hear what Paisley’s done with Aunt Zelda’s wedding shop. Sylvie tells me you’ve really expanded on that old ratty place.”
“We have.” I thought about explaining how we’d diversified from wedding consultation to full-scale event planning. How Henry had renovated the building and the business and taught me everything I knew. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell my mother that I loved my work, and we had more requests than we could ever take on.
But instead, I stayed silent.
Emma poured herself more iced tea. “Where are you staying, Aunt Ellen?”
Mom’s green eyes that looked just like mine searched my face. "I thought I'd stay with my daughter. We can catch up."
“Hooh, boy.” Frannie pulled a flask from her bra and added the liquid to her glass.
“I've got a rental house on McNair Street open for a few weeks.” Sylvie’s gaze darted to me. “Maybe you’d like to have your own space, Ellen. Stretch out a little. It’s an adorable Victorian and newly remodeled. Would you like to bunk there instead?”
"That sounds delightful," my mother said.
I gnawed on my chocolate chip cookie in relief.
“But I’ll be staying with Paisley."
I swallowed my bite and thought about asking Frannie for a nip of whatever she wasn’t so discretely imbibing.
“Is that okay with you, Paisley?” Mom’s face showed no signs of aging and every sign of hopefulness.
What else could I say? “Sure.”
“Great. It’s nice to be back home.” Mom pushed my hair back from my face. “It’ll be just like old times.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
Chapter Ten
The Sugar Creek Inn was a small hotel built in the 1860s on land once owned by Widow Holcomb. The widow’s two-story home was long gone, but folklore said her ghost roamed the inn, searching for her husband who’d been lost in the Civil War. I hadn’t mentioned the ghost to Trina when she’d told me about her lodging choice. And between the festival and a murdered pop star, if Widow Holcomb did show up and want some attention, she’d just have to get in line.
I resituated a garment bag on my arm and knocked on Trina’s door that afternoon. “Delivery service,” I said when Trina poked out her head.
“Get on in here.” My former bandmate pulled me inside and gave me a welcoming hug. “What is this?”
“Your outfit for next Monday’s concert.”
“There’s still going to be a concert?”
I shrugged. “I wish I could say for certain. Reese Riggins dropped these off at Enchanted Events earlier. Said it was at the directive of Jaz.” Who had yet to pick up the phone.
“Can’t wait to see this.” Trina unzipped the bag as she settled into the small sitting area of the suite, one brow raised in unbridled judgment. “I see the underwear, but I don’t see any pants.”
Trina knew she was looking at the entire outfit, and I laughed. “Those are the shorts she picked out. You’re on your own for undies.”
She held up thigh-high boots that were nearly as tall as my entire body. “I am not twenty anymore. Is Jaz out of her mind?”
I had matching boots and could barely zip mine, let alone walk. “Jaz works out two hours a day and eats lots of green things. You know what overdosing on kale can do to a girl.”
“And what’s our queen wearing?”
“A miniskirt made of gold coins.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
“No. I guess we’re lucky we didn’t get prairie skirts made of pennies.”
“That girl. She’ll never change.”
I collapsed onto a small, stiff couch. “But we have, haven’t we?”
“And how.” Trina relaxed into the matching chair and picked up a nearby mug of tea. “What’s it like coming back home, starting over with a new career?”
I smiled at the rush of memories of my arrival in Sugar Creek. “It’s been eventful. But I think it’s just meant to be. It’s all lead to this, you know?”
“Are you happy?”
I only paused for a second, waiting for the familiar ache at that question. That feeling no longer banged its fist on the walls of my heart. “I am. How about you?”
Had I not been watching closely, I would’ve missed the slight slip of her smile before it returned. “Yes. I thought I’d be singing forever, like Madonna or Cher. But I guess it wasn’t in the cards.”
“But you have your television show.”
“Thank God. I’m grateful for Pop Sensation. It came at just the right time. The contracts had dried up, and I had no clue what I was going to do with my life. Music is all I’ve ever known. A few years ago, I assumed guardianship of my teenage sister, so not working wasn’t an option. Plus, I don’t like to be hungry.” With an elbow on the armrest, Trina planted her chin in her hand, her voice threaded with concern. “Do you miss singing?”
Years ago I’d had surgery on my vocal cords that hadn’t ended well. Even if I’d had some luck on the solo path, my career would’ve ended anyway. When my songbird left my shoulder, it was the final nail in the coffin of my career. My family knew about the operation, but Trina had been th
e only one in my LA circle I’d told back then. “I think about it every day. It’s not that I’d go back to the pop world even if I could, but I miss being able to harmonize in church, sing runs in the shower, or take a solo in the car. I miss the sound of my own voice.” I shrugged off the melancholy. “So I get to lip-sync with a track at our finale show.”
“Girl, there’s not a thing wrong with that. Musicians do it all the time.” With a squeeze of my hand, Trina shared her familiar comfort. “The fans just want to see us together.”
Still, a slight taste of regret lingered.
“And now that there’s been this horrible tragedy, people need some joy more than ever.” Trina's expression clouded. “I knew Jaz would be a nightmare, but I wasn’t thinking the horror movie variety.”
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but America’s death wasn’t an accident. They’ve ruled it a murder.”
Trina’s hand flew to her mouth. “No.”
“Afraid so.” Welcome to my world, girl.
“I thought that detective’s questions were a bit over the top. Now I understand why. Do you think we’re safe here?”
Her guess was as good as mine. “The Sugar Creek police will up their patrol. They’ll have their people working overtime to watch out for us and stay on the case. They’ve had a little bit of experience with this sort of thing.”
Trina didn’t look too appeased. “Who would want to kill America?” She sat up straighter, her eyes wide. “What if it’s a serial killer—someone who offs musicians? What if America was just the beginning?” She leaped up and threw the deadbolt on the door. “Did I mention I still sleep with a nightlight? I can’t die in this town. I have a sister to take care of and a hair appointment next Wednesday.”
“Trina, I keep replaying Sunday night in my head,” I said. “Did you see or hear anything strange that day?”
“No, but I didn’t have much of a chance to. I showed up at the mansion maybe an hour before the show.” She sat back down and stared blankly at a spot on the floor like she was walking through the day again. “I caught the soundcheck. I saw people running around like ants—workers for the event and some of Jaz’s folk. Then I ran into you and your handsome partner.” Her brown eyes lit with a memory. “Wait. I do recall Jaz and her boyfriend got into an argument.”
Okay, this was helpful. “About what?”
“After my arrival, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and they were in there going at it. She was yelling at him something fierce. She accused him of flirting with America. I heard her say, ‘This isn’t happening again.’ Jaz is always neck-deep in drama, so I didn’t think much about it. I worked with her ex on my last album, and boy did that guy have stories.”
“What did Tee Pee say?”
“He denied it. Assured Jaz she was his one and only. Then he said he was leaving and stormed out. They didn’t even know I was there.”
“Were America and Tee Pee once an item?” Though Trina was no longer a starter in the game of pop music, she was still a benchwarmer and had her ear to the goings-on.
“Sounds like it, but I’d never heard that.” She threw her hands up in the air. “What is it about that guy? How does that little weaselly looking thing get the ladies?”
If America and Tee Pee had a relationship, this fit with Jaz’s song. “There must be more to him than meets the eye.”
Her grin widened. “Well, if there is, it’s certainly not any more IQ points.”
My friend always called it like she saw it. “So help me out with the timeline. You arrived in Sugar Creek, and then you went directly to the house or did you stop at the inn?”
Trina's head bobbed with attitude. “Paisley Sutton, do you consider me a suspect?”
“I’m trying to get everyone’s location. I’m sure Detective Ballantine asked you the same thing last night.”
“I drove straight from my event in Kansas City and went directly to the mansion. Reese Riggins intercepted me, then I had a quick chat with Johnny Pikes, and saw you. After that, I freshened up, changed clothes, and took my uninvited tour of the house. Did you know there’s a bowling alley in the basement?”
“Did anyone go with you?”
“No.” She bit her bottom lip. “I wished they had. A woman dies in the home, and who was roaming around without an invitation or escort? Me.”
“Did you make it to the third floor?”
She nodded. “After I talked to you and your partner, I resumed my tour. I didn’t go into any of the bedrooms on the third floor, but I walked by them. What else did I have to do with my time?”
“Did you see anyone skulking about?”
“Like I was?” Chuckling to herself, Trina mulled it over. “I don’t think so.”
I wondered if there were security cameras in the house, and if so, how I could get my hands on them. “How well did you know America?”
She ran a manicured nail over her jeans. “Not well. We certainly moved in different circles. About three years ago, before America was America, she auditioned for Pop Sensation. Didn’t make it through, but clearly that didn’t keep her from success.”
“Did she have any enemies?”
“Besides Jaz? No idea. I didn’t know her that well.”
I let my body slouch into the couch as a heavy wave of fatigue settled over me. What I wouldn’t give for a nap. “Why would anyone want to kill her?” I pondered aloud.
“Jealousy?”
“Surely you don’t think Jaz did it.”
Trina shrugged a reluctant shoulder. “We’re both living proof that woman will do anything to get to the top—and stay there. She had no qualms to not only drop us but embarrass us on national television.”
“There’s a big difference in tactlessly ruining our careers on TV and killing her competition.”
“If Jaz was reckless back then, how much more would she be now that she’s the queen of pop music and desperate to keep that title? Think about all that was closing in on her. She and America are forced to tour together, they share the same label and the same manager, and then her boyfriend is making goo-goo eyes at America? Jaz just got divorced from a cheating scumbag, so maybe it’s all getting to her.”
“Apollo had an affair?”
“Have you lived under a rock this past year?”
“No, just debt. It’s even more confining. Who’d he have an affair with?” Jaz’s ex-husband, Apollo Fox, was a titan of a producer. He was fifteen years older than Jaz and as handsome as he was successful. He’d always been a total lady magnet, and though I’d lost track, I was pretty sure Jaz had been his fourth wife.
“It was somehow kept top secret,” Trina said. “What if it was America?”
I’d have to talk to Jaz about that and see if this element matched up with the song as well.
“Look,” Trina said, “I’m not saying Jaz killed America. But I am saying she sure has an abundance of motive.”
And Jaz also didn’t have the most balanced temperament. “What do you know about Little Tee Pee?”
“He has terrible taste in stage names?”
I smiled. “Who is he really?”
“Toby Kawalski. Twenty-three. Hails from New York and is probably dating Jaz with the hope she’ll get him a career.”
“Has she?”
“He’s had two songs on the charts in the last four months. Only one cracked the top forty, but there nonetheless. And how long has he been dating Jaz? A little over four months. Pretty sure that’s no coincidence.”
“Is their relationship rumored to be volatile? Have you heard any buzz on that?”
“All I hear is that he’s her puppet. She says jump, and he says how high and can I bring you a bonbon.”
“That could get pretty wearing. Maybe he saw a greener pasture in America.”
“I’m not sure. America was no fluff-brained dummy. I can’t imagine her being interested in a guy like Tee Pee. Besides, who would want to face the wrath of Jaz?” She glanced at the time on her
phone. “I better go. I promised the Sugar Creek Library I’d stop by and autograph some memorabilia for a charity raffle.”
I stood, my brain categorizing and filing the information away. “Trina . . . why’d you agree to the fan fest?”
“Why not?” She grabbed her purse from the bed. “Pop Sensation let me have some time off, and I wanted to see you and Jaz. It’s a beautiful part of Arkansas, and I get to sightsee in that new car Jaz bought. Plus, so many of Jaz’s fans are our fans. And honestly, I think I needed the closure.”
I certainly understood that. “I’m glad you agreed to it. I’ve missed you.” I hugged my friend, briefly marveling at the way time raced at jet speed. We were no longer kids in a band, but adult women with bills, new jobs, and little semblance of our old lives to be found.
We rode down the elevator together, reminiscing and laughing at old memories. Trina recalled the time we snuck onto the back of the Maroon 5 bus, while I rehashed the concert we gave in Cincinnati, where none other than Madonna had sat in the front row.
Landing on the bottom floor, the elevator doors parted and emptied us into the lobby. With a wave, Trina went left toward the parking garage, while I went right.
And nearly ran into Detective Ballantine and Matt Quincy.
Ballantine’s scowl could beat even Henry’s darkest expression. “Ms. Sutton,” Ballantine said, pulling a toothpick from his lips. “I hope you’re merely visiting an old bandmate and not carelessly sticking your nose into my investigation.”
“Good afternoon to you as well, detective. A visit with my friend is indeed all I’m doing. Are you here to speak with Trina?”
He glanced in the direction she’d taken. “Maybe.” He wore his usual khakis and a button-down shirt—always long sleeves, no matter the season.
“Don’t you have something you’d like to ask Paisley?” Matt bit his top lip, stifling a grin.
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