Fanatically in Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

Chapter Twenty

  Sarge McShane ran his pawnshop out in the middle of nowhere in Sugar Creek. He sold military supplies, weapons, and any item a doomsday prepper could ever dream of, from rice bags the size of dump trucks to solar clocks that reminded you to floss and turn your compost. He was the leading expert on conspiracy theories— mainly because he created most of them. He believed the Russians were listening, melting ice caps would uncover mermaids, and politicians were actually cyborgs controlled by some bored kid in the Pacific Northwest. If you wanted ten years of beans or some good gossip, Sarge’s Pawn and More was the place to go. And it was to our advantage that Sarge had a landfill-sized crush on Frannie.

  We walked through the store, passing by a thin man sitting at a table next to the shovels and the generators. Three stacks of books surrounded the guy, and a small placard declared him an author. “Hello, I’m Juan Sabores. Would you like a signed book?” Round glasses that overwhelmed his face slid down a sloped nose as Juan shoved a copy toward Sylvie.

  She had no choice but to accept the offering and read the cover. “Are Your Cheese Curls Trying to Send You a Message?”

  “Yeah.” Mr. Sabores sniffed and tried in vain to straighten his glasses. “The government’s using processed food to carry out brain control.”

  “But we get cheese doodles in return, so it’s still a win.” Handing back the book, Sylvie wished the author a nice day, and we made our way to the front counter where Sarge predictably sat.

  A row of TVs hung behind him, all tuned to different news networks, including some I didn’t recognize. He wore a t-shirt bearing Willie Nelson’s face that said “Can’t Wait to Get on the Anarchy Road Again,” and polished a knife from the case beneath his cash register.

  “Hello, Sarge,” Sylvie said.

  “Top of the imminent-global-warming-disaster morning to you, ladies. What brings you into my fine establishment today?”

  I inspected the new EMF shields to my left before smiling at Sarge. “So now you’re hosting author visits?”

  “I’m a Renaissance man.” His grin revealed perfectly white teeth. Sarge might believe in subterranean shelters, but he also upheld the principles of good dental hygiene. “I appreciate good literature. Plus, I get a fifty-percent commission.”

  He inclined his chin toward the back wall. “Running a two-for-one special on nuclear-fallout raincoats. What are you, Sylvie, an extra small?”

  That compliment seemed to fit Sylvie just fine. “I’ll take two.”

  “We’d like some information,” I said before Sarge had my grandmother decked out in a new post-apocalyptic wardrobe.

  He held up the knife for a final evaluation before returning it to its case with its gruesome brothers. “Just like my pizza that can last for a decade, it don’t come cheap.”

  Sylvie leaned her elbows on the counter. “You have a direct line to the underbelly of Sugar Creek and beyond, you little extortionist, and we need help.”

  “I might know a thing or two,” Sarge said. “Would you like to learn what really happened to Marilyn Monroe or why there’s a man in Kissimmee, Florida who bears Elvis’s exact fingerprints and DNA?”

  “I want to know if you’ve heard anything related to the murder of America.”

  At Sylvie’s question, Sarge’s eyes flashed fire, and a beefy hand smacked down on the glass. “I been telling you people America was poised on the guillotine for decades! We’ve bled her dry with our special interest groups, lobbyists, Big Pharma, and refusal to appreciate Mother Earth. We give politicians free rein, allow anything on television, let the internet brainwash our children, eat too many avocados, and ignore the reality of life on other planets. But once again, does anyone listen to me?”

  “She means the singer,” I said. “America Valdez.”

  “Oh.” He glanced at a TV scrolling with Spanish subtitles before giving a lazy shrug. “How bad do you want to know?”

  Sylvie stepped closer. “How much are you charging?”

  “You know my fee.”

  My grandmother drummed her hot pink nails on the glass display. “We’ve already established I can’t force Frannie on a date with you. How am I to know you won’t duplicate her DNA and send back a body double?”

  Sarge’s face lit with the idea. “I am dabbling in robotics and artificial intelligence. . .”

  “Tune in here, Sargent End Times,” Sylvie said. “Have you seen or heard anything strange in this town?”

  He gave a curt nod. “There’s a new store that sells dog clothes. My instincts tell me they’re really a front for grassroots communists trying to stage a coup.”

  Sylvie sighed with exasperation. “Fine. I’ll sweet talk Frannie into delivering a dozen of her cupcakes just for you.”

  “With sprinkles.”

  “Tons of them.”

  Sarge grabbed a worn wooden stool and sat down, the legs creaking beneath his weight. “My former brother-in-law Shorty has a cousin who works in Los Angeles.”

  Sylvie held up a hand to halt. “Is this going somewhere or just another rant on your ex-wife?”

  The pawnshop owner turned to me. “Some days, I fill pages of my journal with the hurt I endure over your grandmother’s lack of faith.”

  “My apologies,” Sylvie said. “Please continue.”

  Sarge took a moment to consider her apology before continuing. “So get this. Shorty’s cousin in LA has a daughter Bitsy, right? And Bitsy interned for that Johnny Pikes guy. She said back in the spring she overheard America in Johnny’s office. Lots of yelling went down. She found it odd that a week later, it was announced that America would be opening for Jaz on tour.”

  “Did Bitsy hear anything specific?” I asked.

  “A lot of it was muffled, but she’s pretty sure America demanded that Johnny cut Jaz from his clientele. Bitsy couldn’t believe a new artist was making such crazy demands.”

  “Jaz had suspected that,” I said. “Johnny wasn’t subtle in trying to push her out. America seemed to have secrets on everyone.”

  “Maybe her secret was that she knows Los Angeles is a portal for the fifth dimension.” Sarge looked between the two of us. “I think it would be beneficial to your case to at least keep that option in mind.”

  Sylvie pushed away from the counter with a huff. “Aside from some discount potted meat and my new raincoat, this wasn’t your usual goldmine of intel, Sarge. I’ll have those cupcakes delivered, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to withhold the sprinkles.”

  “Don’t get stingy yet,” Sarge said. “I’ve got one more thing to offer.”

  “I saw the waterproof undies in the clearance bin,” Sylvie said. “Not interested.”

  Sarge leaned closer, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “Bitsy heard Johnny offer America a judging job on that singing competition.”

  “Pop Sensation?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t watch that show. They discriminate against old guys, and it comes on at the same time as the Bachelor.”

  “That’s the one Trina judges,” Sylvie said.

  “Apparently not for long.” Sarge straightened up a display of turquoise-studded cigarette lighters. “A few weeks ago this Pikes guy and the executive producer of the show were in a meeting. Bitsy walks in to bring them coffee, and who shows up?”

  “We already know America did some guest shots on the show,” I said.

  “You’re kinda ruining my build-up here.”

  “Sorry.”

  “America was about to do more than guest star. According to Bitsy, the producer wanted to hire America as a judge.” Sarge’s bushy brows rose toward his forehead. “Because they’d just fired Trina Sparkles.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was nearly dark as I made the bumpy, dusty trek to Fox Falls. My back pinched, my head hurt from overthinking, and lunch had been nothing more than three bites of a disappointing frozen dinner. We’d done giveaways of Jaz promo items all week, and I had a box full of gifts to leave for winners staying in Beau
’s cabins.

  Carrying a giant basket of tumblers and t-shirts, I opened the lobby door and walked myself right into Beau’s office.

  Finding him at his desk, I paused in the doorway and just took a moment to appreciate the sight. There were so many things of beauty at Fox Falls—the rolling hills, a tributary of Sugar Creek, and trees as far as the eye could see. But God’s best handiwork was right in front of me—his fingers poised over a keyboard, lip caught between his teeth, frowning at a computer screen.

  “Do you need me to help you turn it on again?”

  Beau looked up, his tense face relaxing into a grin. “Shouting at it makes it work better, right?”

  “That and regular runs through the dishwasher.”

  He laughed as he crossed the room. Taking the basket from my hands, he moved in for a kiss. “I thought you were on your way hours ago.”

  “I had about twenty fires to put out.”

  “Only twenty?”

  “It’s a slow day.” I sat down in a chair by his desk, my feet already thanking me. “How’s the fishing, hiking, mosquito-swatting business?”

  Beau eased into the chair beside me. He leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees like I was the only thing he wanted to look at. “We took a group of business execs on a pontoon tour of Beaver Lake, and one guy got sick.”

  “We’ve both endured some disgusting work hazards this week.”

  “Any updates on the case?”

  I let my body slump into the chair, resting my head against a cushion. “Do you want the quick version or the one with lots and lots of words?”

  He brushed his fingers across my cheek. “You look tired. Gimme the highlights.”

  It was hard to think when Beau was this near. Sharing tidbits about dead people seemed a bit of a waste.

  “Today I learned Trina was let go from Pop Sensation,” I said.

  “Is that relevant?”

  “It is if the new replacement was America.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. And Trina still seems really angry over Jaz and our old history. But then again, maybe it’s just because this is her first opportunity to tell her off. I gotta admit, totally unloading on Jaz does hold some appeal.”

  “Do you think Trina’s a contender?”

  I reached for his hand and studied the scars and scratches on his skin. “I’m not sure. America had something over Tee Pee, and his dad’s a doctor. What if that gave him easy access to the drug? And Jaz says he’s gone a lot.”

  “What’s his alibi for the day of the murder?”

  “Jaz says he was in and out of the house. There’s a lot of time unaccounted for. We also found out that Reese had the security cameras in the mansion removed before their arrival.”

  “You seem to have collected a lot of information. You aren’t by chance investigating America’s murder, are you?”

  “The police have asked for my help.”

  “Paisley—”

  “I’m spending every day with the folks most likely to have killed America. There’s no harm in keeping my eyes and ears open.”

  “You could get hurt.”

  “I won’t.” And I wanted the topic dropped. I rubbed my hand over my weary face, without a care for what was left of my makeup.

  “What else is going on in there besides sticking your nose into things you shouldn’t?” Beau gently tapped my temple.

  “My mom doesn’t think I’m good enough, Jaz has turned my house into her own personal spa, I need a solid eight hours of sleep, and I’m sick of seeing Jaz’s face on people’s shirts. Other than that, everything’s swell.”

  Beau stood and pulled me with him. Linking our fingers, he walked towards the back door of his office. Beyond that door was a pebbled trail that led to a patch of wildflowers and a trickling brook.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  He turned and leaned against the door, his gaze hot on mine. “Luring you into a dark night to do some stargazing.”

  “I’m in the middle of an existential meltdown if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but I think my Guidebook to Ladies mentions chocolate and making out as possible antidotes.”

  “What chapter is that in?”

  “The one with lots of highlighting.”

  I had so much waiting for me back at home. “Can I take a rain check?”

  Beau stepped closer, threaded his fingers into my hair, and held my gaze. “The deal expires at midnight, so you probably want to cash in while you can.” His lips lightly brushed across mine once . . .twice. “Come outside with me, Paisley.”

  Outside. While I considered it a container for bugs and things that slithered, to Beau, the great outdoors was his favorite place in the world, the backdrop to what he held dear.

  “Okay. Have it your way.” I stepped closer. “But my hygiene is questionable, and my mood is even worse.”

  He kissed my forehead. “If this is your attempt at sexy talk, I’ll take it.”

  “You got any snacks?”

  “In the fridge.”

  I reluctantly left Beau’s arms and opened his mini-fridge, and the contents made my heart lift. Inside were cans of the flavored mineral waters I’d taken to recently. In a basket on top of the fridge was a collection of some of my favorites, from candy to a specialty granola sold by a shop downtown. I held up a diet soda, something I’d recently quit. “This is some first-rate enabling right here, Beauregard.”

  His laugh was a song I wanted to play on repeat. “In case of emergencies. You never know when you’re gonna need the hard stuff.”

  I shut the refrigerator door, my gaze catching on the trashcan below. An official-looking invitation hovered near the top, resting nonchalantly on a takeout bag and a day-old newspaper.

  A less intrusive woman would’ve ignored it. But I was not that gal. “The state’s presenting you with an award?”

  Beau’s eyes dipped to the trash, as he processed my change in topic. “Um . . . yeah. It’s nothing.”

  I retrieved the invitation and held it like it was a smoking gun. “The Arkansas Award for Bravery and Heroism?” I read the invitation again. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

  “I probably would’ve,” he said. “Hey, if we don’t get outside soon, the clouds are gonna cover up the moon.”

  “The moon can wait. What is this?”

  Beau shrugged. “It’s a little ceremony. No big deal.”

  I knew he was humble, but this felt like something more. The award was the highest in the state, rarely handed out, and was an acknowledgment of Beau’s life-saving actions in the Army. “Were you going to tell me about it?”

  His entire body stilled, and his gaze wandered to a stack of papers near his laptop.

  “You weren’t.” Hurt slid like a razor blade as I read the embossed words. The state seal at the top and the governor’s signature at the bottom made it all official. I guess we weren’t much of a couple if he couldn’t even share this. This went beyond slowing things down.

  “It’s months away,” Beau said. “It wasn’t that I didn’t intend to tell you. I just hadn’t had time. And it’s not like we’ve had a lot of time to ourselves to discuss it.”

  The natural sleuth in me wanted to rummage through the trash, find the envelope, and see what the mail date was.

  Since I’d returned to Sugar Creek, we’d become confidants and friends. Was I wrong to be hurt by Beau keeping this news?

  “You’re going to the ceremony, aren’t you?” The invitation said it would be a black-tie affair held at the capitol in early November.

  “Probably,” he said.

  My eyebrows rose with a silent scolding.

  “Yes,” he said with little enthusiasm. “I’m going.”

  I wanted to ask him if he’d kept it a secret so I wouldn’t assume he’d take me with him to Little Rock. Perhaps he’d invited his sister. Or his best friend Noah.

  Or anyone who wasn’t the woman he was dating.


  I placed the card on his desk. “You should keep this as a memento. If you’d like me to work up a press release for news outlets, it would be great PR for you and Fox Falls.” Hitching my purse strap on my shoulder, I squared my shoulders and attempted a serene expression. “I think I’ll take that rain check after all. I need to get back home and tackle my to-do list. I’ve probably got twenty voicemails from Jaz alone.”

  “Paisley, wait.”

  “I’m really tired.” His cheek felt cold as I kissed it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Paisley—”

  I ignored Beau’s calls, walked out of his office, and brushed away hot tears as I got in my car.

  We said we were going to slow things down. We’d agreed.

  I thought I could keep things casual.

  But my heart clearly had other ideas.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I yawned as I descended the stairs the next morning and headed toward the kitchen. The blissful aroma of coffee greeted me and beckoned me to follow its heavenly trail. I’d lain awake most of the night. When I wasn’t reviewing alibis for America’s murder, I was reliving yesterday’s conversation with Beau. I would’ve counted sheep, but I was afraid they’d tell me they needed space too.

  “Good morning, sweetie.” Mom sat at the table in my breakfast nook, the newspaper propped up with one hand and a steaming mug in the other. “Are you feeling ill?”

  My sigh reverberated through every bone holding me upright. “I feel fine. And good morning to you too.”

  She kissed my cheek. “I’ve got some wonderful new concealer in my bag if you’d like to try it.”

  You could build an adobe house from all the spackle I’d slathered beneath my eyes this morning. “Maybe I’ll get some later.”

  “Coffee?” She leaped from her seat and walked to the counter, a study in elegance and graceful form. Mom took in a steady diet of vegetables and Pilates, claiming it was part of her job to look good. Whatever she was doing, it worked for her. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worked out. Running your own business didn’t allow for much time off, and my waistband was starting to complain. Something I was certain my mother had noticed.