Ballantine’s toothpick snapped in two. “I seem to forget what it was.”
“Let me refresh your memory.” Matt glanced about, then stepped within whispering distance. “Paisley, we’d like to enlist your help on this case.”
Had my ears failed me? “Say that again?”
“These are special circumstances.” Ballantine practically growled. “The opportunity will never rise again.”
“We’re focusing on people who had access to the mansion,” Matt said. “Folks who would’ve been admitted or ignored by security. You know everyone involved and understand their world. Your insight could be invaluable. Don’t you think so, Ballantine?”
The detective merely grunted.
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of this. “What are you asking me to do?”
“Probably nothing you’re not doing already,” Ballantine snapped. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. See if you can get any of these folks to talk to you, musician to musician. Use your contacts to uncover anything suspicious. But that’s it. No funny business. You’re not a police officer and shouldn’t be acting like one.”
“Oh, you mean don’t solve the murder like I did on the last two homicides?”
Matt turned his head as he laughed. “We’re willing to keep you in the loop if you promise to do the same.”
“I think I can manage that.”
“By the way, has anyone mentioned missing any items from the mansion?” Matt asked.
“Not that I know of.”
Matt cast a quick look at Ballantine, secured a nod from the man, then pulled out his phone. He zoomed in on a photo of America. “See that necklace?”
I studied the photo of the singer on stage with Jaz at the house concert. “Yeah?”
“We need any info you happen to unobtrusively discover about it.”
I looked again, soaking up every detail of the picture. A pink-haired America sang in the microphone. The deep V of her dress provided ample space to display the large necklace around her neck. “Is that a letter A dangling from the chain?” The necklace was too grainy to see, so I zoomed in.
“Yep,” said Ballantine. “Thick gold chain, big initial hanging from it.”
“Is it missing?”
“We can’t say,” Ballantine snapped.
Matt smiled. “It’s missing.”
That chain was big enough to pull a boat. Who would want that? “Maybe America took it off during her break.”
“If she did, we should’ve found it in her room,” Ballantine said. “And we didn’t. Right now we’re looking at the very real possibility the murderer went back and took the necklace right off the body.”
Ew. That was not a good visual. “I could go search the room for you,” I offered ever so kindly. “Sometimes a new pair of eyes is just what a situation needs.”
“Stay away from the mansion,” Ballantine snapped.
“So far no one else had found anything taken from the mansion,” Matt said. “Maybe America’s missing jewelry means nothing. But maybe it meant something to the killer.”
“But you keep the necklace info to yourself, you got it? If that news gets out, it won’t go well for you.” He snarled at Officer Matt. “Or you either, Quincy.”
Matt didn’t look too scared. “You’re embedded with these folks, Paisley. You can see and hear more than we ever could.”
“I like this arrangement.” I also enjoyed the angry red splotches that had appeared on Ballantine’s neck. “Any word back on the fingerprints?”
“They weren’t the big reveal we were hoping for,” Matt said. “That’s why we’ve reached out to you. So if anything suspicious comes up, you call me.” He tossed up his hand in a parting wave. “We’ll be in touch.”
“See you around . . . partners.”
“We’re not partners!” Ballantine yelled as I walked away.
It was time to get back to work. Tonight if I didn’t pass out at the dinner table, I could nose around and see if I could come up with any dirt on Little Tee Pee, otherwise known as Toby Kawalski.
Had things between him and America been more than friendly?
And if so, had it made Jaz fix the situation—permanently?
Chapter Eleven
“What a cute place.”
My mom stood in my living room that evening and revolved slowly, an orbiting planet looking for the sun . . . and not finding it.
Cute.
Would everyone quit using that word around me? Jaz called my business cute. My mother thought my house was cute. Could these people minimize my life a bit more?
And yet once again, I remained silent. Because the best way to deal with Ellen Sutton was just to smile and ignore.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” I sounded like I was talking to a guest instead of my own mother.
“No, thank you. I ate on the plane.”
First of all, that had been hours ago. Second, I’d make a crack about airline food, but my mom only flew first class, so she’d probably eaten better than the finest Sugar Creek restaurant could provide. “I’ll show you up to your room then.Unfortunately, I have to do some work.” I didn’t have one brain cell left to tackle a single task, but there were a hundred things I needed to cancel and fix regarding Jaz’s failed festival. With still no firm commitment or communication directly from Jaz, Enchanted Events couldn’t afford to assume the fest would continue.
My mother dropped her purse on the entry table. “Can’t we sit and talk?”
I paused near the staircase. I’d put in a sixteen-hour day, and all I wanted to do was soak in a hot tub, collapse in my bed, then binge-watch TV ’til I passed out. “Um . . .sure.”
We settled on the couch, one I’d purchased just last week. My first splurge since moving back to town was off-white, down-filled, and you could nap on it like a queen. Plus, it had a special stain guard, so any drool that landed on it was rendered invisible. Or so I’d heard.
“So . . .how’s Dad?” I asked.
“Fine,” Mother said. “He misses you.”
Did he? I hadn’t seen my dad in nearly two years, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t afford to visit. He just never made the time. He was caught up in the whirlwind that was Live Your Most Fabulous Life (patent pending, copyright M.K. and Ellen Sutton). Some days I wondered if the patent had long expired on our relationship.
“So you’re running this Enchanted Events.”
She already knew this. Was she expecting me to bail on my business? “Yes, you’ll have to stop by tomorrow and meet Henry.”
“That sounds lovely. Your father wants me to have lunch with the governor’s wife tomorrow, but I think I should be able to squeeze that in.”
“Or not.” I didn’t bother keeping the temper from my voice. “I thought you might want to see where I work and spend a little time with your daughter.” Wasn’t that why she was here?
“Well, of course, I do. Yes, sure, I do.” Mom patted my hand like a doting, distant auntie. “Tell me what else is new. New business and now a new boyfriend I hear?”
“Beau and I are dating.”
“Is it serious?”
It wasn’t supposed to be. “Not really.” Had Beau agreed to take it slowly because he truly just wanted a gentler pace? Or did he see red flags and danger signs whenever I was near?
“Do I know his parents?”
“No.”
“Is he a local?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then I’m sure I do,” Mom said. “I just can’t recall.”
“His sister Anna was my best friend? We hung out together all the time?”
“Anna. Of course. Wasn’t her brother your first kiss?”
A detail shared in the youthful days when I still confided in my mother. “That’s the one. Beau’s a great guy, and I think you’ll like him.”
“Where did he go to college?”
“He didn’t.”
Mom’s lips formed an O. “I see. Well, maybe a technical scho
ol or—”
“Beau was Special Forces in the Army. He hates talking about it, but he’s a decorated hero and runs an outdoor retreat center on the old Hudson property called Fox Falls. He offers fishing and hiking tours, archery events, miles of trails for ATVs, kayaking. Things like that.”
“That sounds nice.” She extended her hand and smoothed my wayward hair from my face. “You and I battle the frizzies, don’t we?”
That was her way of saying one of us had not put enough effort into the beauty routine today. “It’s been a long day.” I’d yet to tell my mother about the murder, but assumed she’d heard.
“Well,” she said, “I’m proud of the respectable life you’ve created for yourself. You’ve got a home, a business. You’re the very model of hard work and propriety.”
My moment of shocked pride was interrupted by a loud pounding at my door. Soon the overzealous knocking gave way to exuberant doorbell ringing.
“I’ll answer it.” My mother crossed to the foyer.
“Don’t get that!” I lunged over an ottoman, tripping on a People magazine and stubbed my toe on the coffee table. After the twenty-four hours we’d had, no good could come from a late-night visitor.
But it was too late.
Mom put on her most welcoming smile and opened the door. “Jazmine!”
Chapter Twelve
My mom shooed her hand at the three rogue photographers outside then pulled Jaz into the house by her slender hand. “What on earth are you doing here?” She hugged my old bandmate like she was the daughter she hadn’t seen in two summers. “Paisley, would you take a look at who I found on your doorstep? Can you even believe it?”
I watched Jaz sashay inside, wearing that ridiculous blonde wig again. “Where have you been?” I asked. “I’ve only called you a hundred times.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, my life’s fallen apart. Keeps a girl busy.” Jaz glanced about, her eyes assessing my home. If the word cute came out of her mouth, I would be the one arrested for murder.
“I can’t even believe my eyes,” Mom said. “Why are you in Sugar Creek of all places?”
“Paisley’s helping me with a fan festival,” Jaz said.
“The festival’s canceled.” Wasn’t it? “Right, Jaz?”
“Are you kidding?” She tossed her jacket at me like I was a human coat tree. “My fans need it now more than ever. Paisley, the police think I did it.”
“Did what?” Mother asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
“They think I killed America.”
“Is this some right-wing, left-wing thing?” Mom scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You know how people feel about celebrities using their platform to advance political ideas. They get so ridiculously prickly about that.”
I explained to my mother who America was. “She passed away last night.”
My mother gave a small gasp. “That poor dear. And so young!”
“What about me?” Jaz stood and paced. “The police want to pin it on me. Even in death, that girl’s out to get me!”
“It was murder?” My mom clutched the strands of pearls at her throat.
“What if America killed herself just to get back at me?” Jaz pointed a finger my way. “She took it right from my song so I’d get the blame.”
“She probably didn’t come all the way to Sugar Creek, Arkansas, to end her life, Jaz.” I guess it wasn’t helpful to shut down any ideas, but this one ranked pretty high on the Lame List. Though a good, old fashion frame job wasn’t out of the question.
“You come in and sit down.” Mom tugged Jaz by the hand, with no thought to the fact that we could be chit-chatting with a murderer. “Paisley will get you a calming cup of hot tea. Won’t you, dear?”
“Can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.” Like collapse into bed and sleep a full night? Preposterous. I scoff at the idea of rest!
Ten minutes later, still in my work clothes and wishing I could unbutton the waistband on my skirt, I returned to the living room in my bare feet, bearing a tray of tea and snacks. My mom and Jaz sat on my new, beautiful couch not worthy of Jaz’s snooty, gym-sculpted butt, while my mother consoled our teary guest.
“Of course, you had nothing to do with it,” Mom soothed. “How about we talk about something else? Tell me, what have you been up to lately?”
“Not much.” Jaz pulled her toned legs beneath her. “I started a new world tour. I released another movie, and my first book comes out next week.”
Mom beamed like a proud parent. “Paisley, isn’t that wonderful? Now that’s a way to operate a music career.”
“Just fabulous.” Regretfully I didn’t have any liquor in the house. But somewhere I’d hidden a stash of chocolate. In a misguided, stronger moment, I’d clearly hidden it much too well because now that I needed it, darned if I knew where it was.
“I’ve been living my dream,” Jaz said, taking her mug of tea. “Until I came to Sugar Creek.” She blew into her cup. “Paisley, you gotta help me. The nice cop I talked to today said you’d solved two murders all by yourself.”
Mom did a stage-worthy double-take. “Is that true?”
“No.” I sat in an adjacent chair. “Sylvie, Frannie, and Emma helped me.”
“They think I did it.” Jaz’s voice lost all of its haughty authority.
“But why?” Mom looked my way for answers. “What exactly is going on?”
It didn’t surprise me she hadn’t heard the news yet. Mom didn’t spend much time on the internet or watching television and was often blissfully unaware of current events and pop culture. “Jaz found America dead after last night’s house concert. She died of fentanyl poisoning, and the scene was staged to mimic one of Jaz’s songs.”
“That jerk Detective Ballantine is ready to put the cuffs on me,” Jaz said. “I can tell.”
“Did you kill her?” I watched for signs of guilt or shame, which were otherwise foreign feelings for Jaz.
“Of course not. Do you think I could murder someone?”
“You haven’t made it a secret you despise America,” I said. “And you did threaten her.”
“I didn’t mean I’d kill her. I just meant I wouldn’t tolerate her messing up the show.” Jaz leaned toward my mom. “For the record, she was super pitchy.”
I sighed and rested my head against the chair. It was going to be another long night. “Maybe you should tell me everything you shared with Ballantine.”
Ten minutes later, I didn’t know much more than when Jaz began. “So you’re saying America showed up, and aside from the soundcheck, you had no interaction with her?”
“Right. I saw her when she arrived, suffered through her presence at soundcheck, then of course, endured her during part of the concert. That’s it.”
“You didn’t visit her room? No fight, no argument in the hallway? No scream fest in the kitchen?”
“Nope. I’m telling you, if you look up the definition of innocent, you’ll see my face. Preferably photoshopped to reduce some of these fine lines, but there it will be.”
“Why did she agree to do the show?” I asked.
“She said it was to bolster her image, but I think it was something more.”
My mother lifted her tea from the coaster. “Like what?”
“I’m not sure,” Jaz said. “But if she wanted to bolster her image, she could’ve stayed in LA and worked a soup kitchen in front of some photographers.”
As crass as it sounded, Jaz had a point. “Did you happen to notice anything missing from your room at the mansion?”
“I wasn’t allowed to go back in my room. None of us were.”
“But maybe before America’s death?”
“No. But if one thing of mine is gone, the homeowner will be hearing from my attorneys.”
I watched Jaz’s face closely. “Trina said she heard an argument between you and Little Tee Pee. Did you accuse him of cheating on you with America?”
Mom frowned into her tea. “Little Who?”
“Tee Pee and I argue every day.” Jaz lifted her chin a few arrogant inches. “I don’t recall what yesterday’s spat would’ve been about, but that accusation does not ring a bell.”
Someone was lying here. Was it Trina or Jaz? “Do you think he was cheating on your with America?”
Jaz gave a noncommittal shrug. “I don’t know.”
“But you think there’s a chance?” I didn’t think these questions were too hard.
“Since my divorce from that womanizing Apollo, I seem to have trust issues,” Jaz said. “Tee Pee talked to America a lot, and sometimes they’d get quiet when I came near. I thought there might be something brewing, but Tee Pee denies it. I also think he could be my leak.”
“Your leak?” I asked.
“In the last six months, it’s like America was reading my mind and copying everything I’d planned and accomplishing it first. She willed half her estate to her local library and a foster home. I’d just changed my will with the exact type of charities. We had a press release ready to go next week. Even in death, she beats me!”
I didn’t miss Jaz’s garden of drama that she watered and fertilized on a regular basis. “I doubt that was her goal.”
“Five months ago my team discussed finding a song to feature country singer Vincent Marks. Next thing I know, out of the blue, America drops the tune, “I Got Skilz That Thrillz.”
“Catchy.”
“Guess who’s featured on that song?”
“Vincent Marks.”
“Totes. Then I had a day scheduled to visit an animal shelter and donate a large check. We’re on our way out the door when E! News reports from the Friends of Strays Shelter in LA where America’s volunteering and taking all the photo ops that should’ve been mine. Then next month would’ve kicked off a nationwide contest for one lucky winner to be mentored by me for a week in my studio, but—”
“But America beat you to it.”
“Paisley, there’s a crack in my camp. A hole in my homies. A snake in my super posse.”
“You have an informant.”
“I thought it was Johnny, but then I held a meeting with my team and made up an event, a performance at the children’s hospital for this December. Johnny ended up not making it to our planning sesh, but someone there clearly told America because by that next week she showed up at that very same hospital.”
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