Fanatically in Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Who was at this meeting?”

  “My usual group, but later it occurred to me that since I’ve been dating Tee Pee, I’d shared most of my work plans with him.”

  I spread a soft blanket over my legs and willed my eyes to stay open. “Was your assistant there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe she’s your leak.” Was this even relevant?

  “Reese would never pass on trade secrets. She owes me too much.”

  My mother placed her tea on the coffee table. “We once had an assistant we trusted implicitly. She ended up stealing two million and plagiarizing one of my husband’s books.”

  “How long has Reese been with you?” I asked.

  “About ten months.” Jaz said this with the kind of pride reserved for Oscar acceptance speeches. “This may be hard for you to believe, but before Reese, I had trouble keeping an assistant.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Seriously. So when number thirty-three left, I decided I needed a strategy to acquire an assistant who was completely loyal.”

  I let my head fall against the chair. “As in you started being kind and considerate?”

  “No, as in I picked an applicant with some serious debt, so I could pay off her loan.” Jaz pulled the teabag from her cup and rested it on the saucer. “Reese had a lot of college debt, so our deal was that she’d sign a contract with me for three years, and in addition to her salary, I’d pay off her loans. If she leaves before the time’s up, then she owes me the full amount plus twice the current interest rate.”

  So Reese was trapped with Jaz. That could cause anyone to murder. But if Reese wanted out of her contract, wouldn’t she have killed Jaz instead of just weakly implicating her?

  “Look, I have no idea who would want America dead, but it wasn’t me.” Jaz took a sip of her tea then scrunched her nose like it didn’t meet her approval. “My assistant can’t make a proper cup of tea either. Girl drinks nothing but water and has no clue how to properly steep.” She took another sip anyway. “Surely I wasn’t the only one America had annoyed, right?” With an indelicate sniffle, Jaz reached into the pocket of her designer hoodie. “They’re gonna lock me up, Paisley. Don’t let them take me! Help me. Please, help me.” She leaped from the couch, grabbed my hands, and dissolved into a blubbery puddle at my feet. “I like champagne and green juices squeezed by one of my maids whose names I can’t keep straight.” She glanced at my mom. “It’s either Wilhelmina or Ernestina. Too similar. I can’t keep them straight, and they act offended when I call them names of my own choosing.”

  “I totally understand,” Mom said.

  Jaz got back to the business of begging. “I’m used to the finer things, Paisley. I wasn’t born to do without or live the discount, middle-class life like you. If I go to prison, I’ll never survive.”

  I wasn’t sure I was going to survive the melodrama. “I’m certain your attorneys will—”

  “I don’t want to be someone’s cellmate sweetheart!”

  “You poor girl.” My mother was minutes away from making Jaz some chicken soup and reading her a bedtime story.

  “You’ve got to clear my name,” Jaz pleaded.

  “I’m not a detective.” Though I did wish my phone was within arm’s length so I could photograph this moment of her groveling. “If you didn’t do it, then the truth will be all the defense you need.”

  “You know that’s not true.” She wiped away a tear with a long nail that looked like a piece of Rembrandt art. “That cute cop told me you didn’t just sit on your laurels and let the truth set you free when you were a murder suspect.”

  “We don’t really like to talk about that dark period in our family history,” Mom said. “Being a prime suspect did not make for good content in the family Christmas letter.”

  “Will you help me?” Jaz asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “I’ll double my payment for the festival.”

  “There is no festival.”

  “Sure there is,” Jaz said. “We’re not stopping now. I’ve been ordered to stay in town, and I wouldn’t want to leave until this was settled anyway. The killer is here, and we’re gonna figure out who did it.”

  If life came with ominous gong accompaniment, one would’ve sounded right then. “If I help you, there’s no we here. And I’ll need you to triple that payment.” On top of those bonuses and the building repairs, my Camry was on its last leg. I’d had my eye on a cute sports car . . .

  “I’d be of great assistance,” Jaz said. “I’m very good at finding dirt on people.”

  I didn’t doubt that. “The only help I’d need from you is to be present for this fan fest. If we continue.”

  “Of course we’re gonna continue. My fans are here, paparazzi are here. And I know you don’t want to let this little town down.”

  I rubbed the pain pressing at my temple. “You really need to work on your adjectives.”

  Jaz pulled herself off the floor, graceful as a ballerina. “I didn’t kill that girl, and I’m not letting this ruin my week. Now we need to work harder than ever to bolster my reputation.” Her plumped brow nearly furrowed as she contemplated. “Are there some orphanages here I can visit?”

  “We’re fresh out.”

  “Some old folks I can help cross the street?”

  Jaz never did have a brilliant grasp on matters involving common sense. “One of the country’s top pop stars was just murdered, a woman you previously pushed in front of a bus then threatened in the presence of witnesses. Maybe now’s not the time to hunker down in Sugar Creek and celebrate with hundreds of fans.”

  “I get the optics are bad, but canceling it might be interpreted as an admission of guilt,” Jaz said. “You’re the event planner. Think of a way to spin this so we can still carry on. Maybe we dedicate the final concert in America’s honor?”

  I now had even more things to add to my to-do list. “Let me discuss it with my team tonight.” They were used to being on call, but multiple nights in a row of phone meetings were probably a tad wearing. “I think we need to adjust our tone of the fest for the next few days. Alter some of the activities, so we’re respectful of America, but still carrying on with many of the events.”

  “I knew you could do this,” Jaz said. “You always were the organized one among us.” She stretched her arms wide as she yawned. “Boy, am I tired.”

  “Where are you staying?” my mom asked.

  Jaz shrugged as her face took on all the sadness of an abandoned puppy. “Little Tee Pee found us a rental outside of town. But we’re not getting along, and I refuse to stay with him and fight another night. Plus, what if he killed America?”

  “Do you have reason to think he might?” I asked.

  “Nah.” She shrugged that off with a dismissive flop of her hand. “But right now, I trust no one. Except you.”

  She was laying it on extra-thick tonight.

  “My attorney suggested I stay with people I felt safe with, but I guess I could go to a hotel.” Jaz all but pressed a hand to her weary brow. “Rent a suite—if they even have any cancellations, which is doubtful.”

  “The Sugar Creek Inn has a great breakfast,” I suggested. “All you can eat waffles.”

  Jaz returned to her seat next to my mother and rested her head on Mom’s shoulder. “It’s times like these, I miss my mama, you know?” Her mother was alive and well in Los Angeles, and could not only afford to buy a first-class ticket to Sugar Creek but could darn well afford her own plane. “I could sure use family around me right now.”

  “Then how absolutely providential that I’m here.” My mom circled Jaz’s shoulders with one arm. “I insist you stay with us.”

  What? Oh, come on! “That’s a nice idea, but wouldn’t you know it, I only have the one spare bedroom.”

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. “You have
two.”

  “One’s my office.” I smiled through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll take it,” Jaz said. “If I can sleep on a tour bus, I can sleep anywhere.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Mom said.

  My mother clapped her hands in glee. “How fun will this be?”

  “Mom, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

  She ignored this. “We can stay up late watching movies, I can make my world-famous lasagna, and we can do nails! I know this thrilling new card game, and we could even binge watch that Scottish romance series on TV.”

  “It sounds perfect, Mrs. Sutton,” Jaz said.

  Perfect?

  What it sounded like was a nightmare.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Throwing a fan fest together in a week was a Mt. Everest of a feat to accomplish. Adjusting the event after a murder was like racing up Everest on a tricycle while wearing flip-flops soaked in hot oil.

  “The memorial was a good idea.” Henry straightened one onyx cufflink at his wrist as he stood beside me on the newly mowed acreage at Fox Falls. The Ozark mountains stood sentry in the far distance while the rolling hills lined the perimeter. I said a prayer of thanks for the cool morning and clear skies above while Pastor Smith of the Sugar Creek Community Church read from Ecclesiastes.

  I rose on tippy-toe, not even getting close to Beau’s ear. “Thanks for letting us use Fox Falls.”

  His eyes held mine as he wrapped an arm around my back, his fingers settling at my waist. “Glad to help.”

  Attending a memorial with your boyfriend. Was that a mark of a serious relationship? Sure, it was on his property, so maybe Beau was just here as the owner. Or perhaps he wanted to see some celebrities.

  Or maybe he just appreciated a cheap date.

  The preacher gazed into the crowd of over five hundred attendees. “For everything there is a season . . .”

  I was hoping for a season of sleep. I’d stayed up most of last night, revising events for the next few days. Finally dozing off at four-thirty, I’d nearly cried when I heard my mother singing show tunes and rattling pans in the kitchen at five. Jaz had slept in, but my mother had made oatmeal for all of us. I’d had to take mine to go.

  “I don’t see anyone who looks like a crazy killer,” my aunt Frannie said to my left. “But you know he or she is here.”

  Did we? “What if the killer was just someone who somehow got through security at the house?” I whispered. “What if it was an isolated, random act of homicide with no motivation? Maybe America didn’t even know her perp.”

  Henry stretched his neck and shushed us. “The man is discussing America’s immortal soul. Could you all please analyze your cops and robbers stuff later?”

  I’d been on the phone with Henry for a good portion of last night, so he was no doubt pretty grouchy too. Of course, he was always grouchy, so it’s not like we saw a huge difference on days that didn’t involve murder fallout and sleepless nights.

  There were forty rows of white chairs on the lawn, filled with Jaz’s fans. The other few hundred stood behind them, many with their phones in the air trying to capture a picture of the star. Wearing a chic veiled hat, the diva herself sat in a section to the side with her entourage, flanked by a grim-faced security team.

  “Who’s that guy supposed to be?” My cousin Emma jerked her chin toward the dreadlocked man to Jaz’s right.

  “Little Tee Pee,” I said. “Jaz’s boyfriend.”

  “More like boy toy,” Sylvie corrected. “He’s ten years younger.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” Frannie tilted her head, the giant flower on her fascinator poking Sylvie in the eye. “But what’s he supposed to be?” She took off her large sunglasses to get a better look at Little Tee Pee’s tuxedo jacket, shorts that went to his calves, and high-top sneakers.

  “He’s a rapper,” I whispered.

  “Sure, he is.” Frannie chuckled. “If you want to find secrets in this investigation, there’s probably some hiding in those droopy pants.”

  At the pastor’s nod, Jaz took to the portable stage, along with a pianist. The sound wasn’t perfect as she sang first a hymn, then America’s last number one song, but given what we’d had to work with, it was good enough. And I was grateful she’d agreed to my idea of her singing. Johnny Pikes sat in her section, and according to the text he’d sent me this morning, he’d thought this was a brilliant idea, both for the sake of America’s memory and for good publicity.

  When Jaz finished, the crowd stood in a lengthy round of applause. Jaz cried prettily, and I wondered how much of that was sincere.

  “Do you think she killed America?” Beau quietly asked.

  “Doubtful.” But the last two murders had certainly taught me no one was innocent enough to be crossed off the list. We never really knew people and what they were capable of.

  Jaz waited ’til the gathering quieted before speaking, her voice meek and reverent. “I’d like to say a few words about my friend America. . .”

  “That Little Pee Wee’s crying.” Sylvie nodded toward Jaz’s boyfriend.

  “Little Tee Pee,” I corrected. “Maybe he knew America well.” But sure enough, the quirky guy’s head bowed, and he held a hand over his eyes as his shoulders shook with a sob. “How interesting.” What if Jaz was right about there being something between Tee Pee and America?

  “Maybe he’s one of those sensitive types,” Frannie said. “We should talk to him later. Perhaps I can get him to autograph a body part.”

  “What a waste of ink.” Sylvie scoffed. “Just something to scrub off later.”

  “I didn’t want him to sign my body part,” Frannie said. “I meant one of yours.”

  Half an hour later, after the Sugar Creek Community Church choir sang “I’ll Fly Away” and the pastor spoke a few more encouraging words, the service ended.

  “That was something,” Beau said. “But I have to get back to work.”

  “We’ll make sure everything’s cleaned up.” I gave his hand a squeeze, reluctant to step away. But I had a thousand things on my agenda as well.

  “Are we still on for dinner Friday night?”

  My heart sobbed like Little Tee Pee. “Beau, I don’t see how I can. Not with all this.”

  He rubbed a hand over my cheek. “It’s fine. You need to get some rest anyway.”

  Was it fine? While I appreciated his concern for my well-being, I wanted to see his face fall in disappointment! I wanted to see pain behind those beautiful blue eyes! “Thanks for being so . . . understanding.”

  He was doing a fabulous job reining it in. I, on the other hand, was about to explode with repressed Beau fever.

  “Be careful out there.” Forgoing a kiss, Beau sent me a wink. “See you back at the house.”

  I watched him walk away, looking more than fine in dark jeans and a work shirt. “Beau just winked at me. Should I read into that?”

  Henry lifted his gaze from his phone. “After a short time of dating you, he’s probably developed a nervous tic.”

  “But should he have kissed me? Would that have been normal? More on track with the stage of our relationship? He looked like he wanted to, but then maybe I was wrong.”

  “Everything about this conversation is wrong. Now, at noon, Jaz takes center stage downtown.” Henry watched the legion of fans file out while I tried to shove thoughts of Beau aside. “She’ll officially kick off the fest, then they’ll break for lunch. Did you get a replacement activity for the ice cream dance party?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Her choreographer will hold a restorative yoga session on the lawn with a focus on releasing grief.”

  He shook his heads. “This is weirder than the UFO convention.”

  “I’m grateful she could fill in at the last minute. It was either her or Mr. Bamboozle, the magician who smells like onions.”

  Emma squinted against the sun and watched Henry walk away. “Who are you ladies going to interrogate first?”

  “I don
’t even know where to start,” I said.

  Frannie dug into her purse and reapplied her lipstick. “I wish we could get into the mansion. We can’t trust Ballantine and his team to do a thorough inspection.”

  Sylvie and Frannie knew about America’s missing necklace and weren’t convinced Ballantine and his crew hadn’t simply overlooked it. Yes, I’d given my word to keep my mouth shut, but my family and I were a team. We shared all information and worked as one. Given the fact that we’d previously solved two murder cases, it seemed to be an effective strategy.

  “Maybe we could go check on the progress.” I kept my eye across the way where Little Tee Pee tried to console Jaz, but she only shrugged out of his embrace. “See if anyone’s there who might want to talk.”

  “Ix-nay on the alky-tay, girls.” Sylvie’s face bloomed into a polite smile as a woman from our book club approached. “Ida! Look at that gorgeous tan.”

  Ida Ellis, a rosy-cheeked woman who was never stingy with a grin and a saucy joke, stepped into our unofficial meeting. “Is it tacky to say that was the best funeral I’ve ever been to?” She tapped the phone in her hand. “My daughter in Reno’s never going to believe all the celebrities I’ve seen today.”

  “How’s retirement treating you?” Sylvie asked.

  Mrs. Ellis’s other daughter had hired Enchanted Events to throw her mother a retirement party only last month. Ida had taught kindergarten for forty-five years at Sugar Creek Elementary. She’d loved her job so much, Ida’s husband practically had to push her out the school door on her final day.

  “It’s going better than I thought.” She fluffed her shorter, sassier gray hair. “I’m adapting to leisure and fun with expert skill. Yesterday I slept in late. Six-thirty, can you believe that?”

  “Good for you,” I said.

  “And I’ve started watching television. Instead of doing school work at night, I can watch a show, do a crossword, and surf the internet—all at one time.”