Lethal Lifestyles (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 6) Read online

  “I’ll still be just fine in my jacket by next weekend,” he said. “Doc said I could ditch the sling on Wednesday. And the stitches will dissolve, hopefully before we get to the beach.”

  “Excellent.”

  Larry excused himself with something about loading photos onto his laptop, though I suspected his half-jog in the direction of the cabins had more to do with nicotine withdrawal than work.

  I steered Parker toward one of the big rockers on the front porch. “Your folks just got here. Right alongside Tony and Ashton.”

  His eyes fell shut. “Did you tell them about this?”

  “I kind of had to. Long story. But they know you’re okay, and Tony’s taken them on a tour of the property. Lunch is now closer to early dinner, not being served until almost three.”

  “You’re some sort of magician,” he said.

  “Hold that thought.” I sighed. “Ashton was pretty insistent that we talk to Melanie, and since you can’t very well hide that thing,” I waved to the sling, “it’s not like we can keep this from her. Maybe we should just tell her everything?”

  Parker nodded. “I suppose. Before we get to that, what say you tell me about my cousins and how much trouble they’ve caused?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I was sort of hoping you’d forgotten about that in all the injury and hospital commotion.”

  He snorted. “It’s going to sound horrible to say peeing out in the open in the middle of the day was probably the tamest thing I was prepared for. They’re—well. They’re something else.”

  “Fun.” I smiled over the word. Honestly, the Parker cousins weren’t even a blip on my radar. I could put a few unruly relatives in line. It was the dead guy and cryptic comments from half the people I’d met this weekend I wanted explanations for.

  “Sorry. My mom said I had to.” Parker grimaced.

  “It’s really no big deal. Bubba said he was smashed—from last night. I gave him the chef’s hair of the dog and some espresso, and he’s been asleep ever since. For what it’s worth, he seemed pretty embarrassed, and more than a little pissed off at his brothers.”

  “I’ll talk to them. The only thing worse than them making trouble is them fighting. Unless you’re okay with a full-scale redneck honky-tonk brawl at the rehearsal. Then I’ll leave them alone.” He winked.

  “Talk away,” I said. “Hey, speaking of talking—that was some scene, huh? What do you figure it was about?”

  Parker lifted his good shoulder. “I couldn’t tell.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “But you have Detective Nichelle face. What do you think it was about?”

  I laughed. “Well, the guy was on and on about Sammons being a snake. You’ve known him a long time.” I paused. Deep breath. Level stare. “Is he?”

  Parker sighed. “Not to me?”

  Definite question mark in his voice at the end of that. I tipped my head to one side, my eyebrows drawing down. “That’s a half-assed answer.”

  “I know.” Parker kicked off with one foot, sending the chair rocking back.

  “What’s the other half?”

  “I hear things. Things I don’t love. But Dale has been really good to me. I have a hard time believing he’s not the stand-up guy he makes out to be, Clarke.”

  “A man—” I stopped, looking around and lowering my voice as I leaned forward.

  “A man was found dead in his barn last night, Parker. Maybe it’s time to give that some thought?”

  “Yeah. But everyone knows what a prick Mitch Burke was. I mean, everyone. You couldn’t be in a room with that guy for ten minutes and not get that.”

  Ella Jane at the sheriff’s office flashed through my thoughts. Maybe not everyone. Or maybe some more than others.

  “I know you don’t want to answer this, but I want you to think about that whole ‘Nichelle is such an awesome friend’ thing you just said and trust me for a minute, okay?” I hauled in a deep breath as he nodded. “Would Sammons have had any reason—no matter how crazy you think it sounds—to be pissed at Burke?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I couldn’t think of much else while they were fixing up my shoulder, and—I mean—maybe.” He stared past me at the bright greens and splashes of color dotting the mountainside. “Maybe not. I guess it depends on who Sammons really is. The two of them worked closely enough together that if he really is sketchy, Burke would know it. Hell, Burke might be part of it. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  I tapped a finger on my lips. I hadn’t thought of that. What if Burke had been setting his boss up?

  My inner Lois Lane paced, wanting to take off after all my proverbial geese. It wasn’t even about the story. Not all of it, anyway. I mostly wanted some sanity and order restored to this situation.

  I dropped my head into my hands.

  “What’s up?” Parker asked.

  I kept my eyes on the floor. “It’s…too much. I’m trying to focus on the most important thing, but there are like ten life-and-death matters vying for my attention at the moment, and I don’t have enough hands to juggle them all.”

  He chuckled. “It’s kind of nice to see you like this.”

  “Half out of my mind with frustration?” I raised my head and rolled my eyes. “So glad I can amuse you.”

  “No, I mean, you always seem to have it all together. You’ve got all the answers, you always get the story, you’re the first friend to jump in and help everyone out. Your whole thing,” he waved his good hand, “is being polished and perfect. It’s nice to see a human.”

  I snorted, forgetting to keep my jaw shut as I stared at his earnest expression.

  “You’re serious? You can’t be serious. All the answers? Polished and perfect? Have you met me? Or are you mixing me up with you?”

  He smiled, shaking his head. “Just telling you how everyone sees it.”

  “Everyone sees wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  “If you say so.”

  The crunch of tires on gravel drew my eyes to the parking lot before I could ask him anything else. “There’s Mel. You ready to do this?”

  “Let me get to her first,” he said, standing.

  “Lead on.”

  12.

  The truth in the lie

  Melanie wasn’t mad.

  She hugged me and fussed over Parker like Florence Nightingale in glasses and flip flops, settling him with his head resting in her lap on the cream satin chaise in their cabin’s elegant Victorian living room.

  She didn’t interrupt as I offered the nutshell version of events, her fingers trailing through Parker’s hair on repeat while I talked. My nutshell didn’t include the parts about Parker being a possible suspect or Sammons being up to no good. Nothing but stress lay down that path, and keeping stress away from the bride is the maid of honor’s most important job.

  “And you really think we should go ahead with our plans?” Mel asked, her eyes skipping from me to Parker. “We’re not in the way?”

  “I can double check that with the sheriff if it’ll make you feel better, but they should’ve cleared the scene last night, and what happened this morning is the textbook definition of open and shut. We even had cops on hand as witnesses.”

  She nodded. “Just want to be sure.” Her eyes dropped to Parker’s. “I can’t believe I wasn’t here when you were hurt. Some fiancée I am.”

  He laid his good hand on her face. “Stop that. Like you could’ve known this would happen before you left. And if you could’ve, put those powers to work on the lottery and let’s retire to the beach the day after the wedding.”

  She laughed. “You’re a nut.”

  “I like to make you laugh.”

  I cleared my throat, grinning. “Still sitting here, y’all.”

  “Sorry.” Mel winked. She was not.

  I stood. “Take your moment—I have eleventy billion other things to do.”

  “If you see my folks, send them over?” Parker asked.

  “On it.”

  I bounced down the step
s outside wondering why Sammons didn’t run a bed and breakfast with all these gorgeous cabins. He’d make a bloody fortune. Another one.

  Pausing, I rested my hands on my hips and scanned the property. A Sunkist-colored butterfly worried around a trumpet vine that was eating its way up a pine tree near Bob’s cabin.

  Sheriff Rutledge would be back on the Mitch Burke case before too long, since Leroy pulled the trigger in front of God and everybody.

  But why? What could a wealthy guy like Dale Sammons have stolen from a little country farmer? And the thing about Mr. Sammons, senior—that was interesting too. How had Sammons been so much more successful than his father in such a short time?

  So many questions. I knew I didn’t have a prayer of actually getting to talk to Leroy anytime soon, and the sheriff was buried under more work than he probably usually saw in six months.

  Which brought me back to Jinkerson.

  I turned for the lodge, stepping into the lobby to find Bubba awake and much clearer eyed, chatting with Celia, who had her own cup of coffee and wore the kind of forced-wider smile that said she was trying a bit too hard.

  Bubba turned to me, one eye closing as he sized me up. “You were the other young lady from before,” he said.

  I nodded. “Nice to see you feeling better.”

  “Whatever you gave me to drink seems to be a miracle cure.” He looked at Celia. “Maybe that’s what you folks ought to be bottling.”

  She laughed. “We’ll sell you the wine, then the hangover cure. Sounds like something my uncle could get on board with.”

  Her uncle? This place was like its own little Mayberry.

  I covered the surprise with a smile, hoping my voice didn’t sound too desperate when I asked if she’d seen Jinkerson.

  “I actually haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. He was coming back up from the barns.”

  He what?

  Hulk’s low stressed voice filtered up from the night before. Had Jinkerson said he was down there at any point?

  Nope.

  Keeping the smile frozen in place, I nodded to Celia. “I just wanted to ask him a quick question. Could you tell him I’ll be in the hall helping set up for the luncheon if you happen to see him?”

  “Sure.” She nodded and turned back to Bubba. “The shop isn’t open because of the event, so I’ll be in to help you in just a little while.”

  “Take your time,” I said. A giddy young woman who was half-thinking about Parker’s cute cowboy cousin would be more likely to be chatty. And I didn’t even need my inner Lois Lane to tell me that Celia knew something, even if she wasn’t aware of it. So chatty was exactly how I wanted her.

  Twenty minutes of digging through closets for lilac tablecloths I knew good and well had been delivered on Tuesday later, my patience looked like it might pay off.

  Celia found the linens and helped me shake them out over the round tables for eight. We had five scattered around the room.

  “We’ve done weddings out here for five years now, but this is the biggest rehearsal I’ve ever seen.”

  “Most of their friends and family live in driving distance, which is one of the reasons they liked this location,” I explained. “Since Mel’s parents were really the only part of their inner circle who had to travel far and Mr. Sammons was so nice to offer the place for the weekend, they just invited everyone.”

  She surveyed the room. “I guess when you’re Grant Parker, your inner circle is a little wider than most people’s. I don’t know that I have forty people who would show up for a party. Let alone so many who might be hurt if they missed it.”

  “I bet your uncle does.”

  She snorted. “Only because they want the free food and booze.”

  I dropped my eyes to the table, fussing with a crease in the cloth as I lined it up with the white satin underskirt. Let her talk.

  “You don’t get where he is without screwing a few people over,” she said. “When you’re the kind of person who can do that without really caring, you don’t tend to have many friends. Not these kind of friends, anyway. People seemed pretty upset that Mr. Parker was hurt earlier.”

  I blinked. I thought she’d disappeared in the middle of all that. “Grant is a good guy.” I kept a light inviting tone. “No one wants to see him hurt or unhappy.”

  “Maybe it runs in the family. His cousin is very charming.”

  “And you were ready to string him from one of the trees just a couple hours ago.” I winked.

  “Anyone would’ve been more than a little shocked.” She laughed. “But his backside is…a pretty nice one. And it seems like he’s more embarrassed about the whole thing than I’d even think about being.”

  “Speaking of embarrassed, I’m sure your uncle is feeling his share of it this weekend.” I smiled. “I hope he knows how much Parker and Mel appreciate him hosting their wedding.”

  “How much they did before everything went crazy here, anyway.”

  “How is that his fault?” I let the words float out, not wanting them to drop like the loaded question they were.

  “He should’ve left old man Fulton alone.” The words no sooner hit the air than she pinched her lips together, turning to a wheeled cart and lifting a short vase stuffed with rosebuds in three shades of purple and setting it in the center of the table before she dipped her hand into a bowl of silver confetti and scattered it around the vase.

  I pulled plates from a cabinet in the small hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, breathing deep to steady my hands when the china rattled in them. Celia wouldn’t look at me, hiding her face behind a curtain of rich red hair as she pretended to fidget with the flowers.

  I’d wheedled enough information out of people to know she thought she’d said too much, even though I had no idea why. Clearly, Parker got hurt because Fulton had a beef with her uncle. Everyone in the county had to know that by now. But fishing for elaboration wouldn’t get me anywhere except alone setting up for this party.

  If I let her be, I could go back to her later: Family loyalty is strong, but human decency will usually trump it, given enough time. I needed her conscience to work on her for a few hours.

  I pulled out my phone and clicked Kenny Chesney up on my playlist, laying napkins and silver alongside delicate white Royal Daulton as Kenny crooned about lying to women he wanted to pick up in bars.

  Everyone lied. Every day. I myself had told (outright or by omission) at least a half-dozen since I woke up. It was separating the white lies from the more serious ones that could be tricky when you were looking for secrets—and the more I learned about Calais Vineyards, the surer I became that secrets were there for the finding.

  But how deep were they buried, and who would kill to keep them that way?

  13.

  Paté and Poison

  The luncheon was the first thing to go off without a hitch.

  Parker got a few oohs and ahhs over his injury, but he handled it like a champ, laughing off the “way to be a hero”s and turning everyone’s attention back to Melanie with a toast that had half the room misty eyed by the end of the first sentence.

  “I’m going to need stock in Maybelline if I go through any more mascara today,” I muttered to Shelby as Parker bent to kiss Mel, who was also weepy.

  Shelby shook her head, returning her attention to her salad. “You ever wonder what’s wrong with us?”

  “Us, who?”

  “Us, you and me.” She stuffed a forkful of chicken, bleu cheese, and some kind of magical house vinaigrette into her mouth, looking at me expectantly as she chewed.

  “I have a moderately expensive shoe habit and a phobia about dark parking lots,” I said. “I once had someone tell me I’m too nice, but I disagree.” I wasn’t going into my list of what was wrong with Shelby. A short year into our truce was too soon for that conversation, especially when she’d been tolerable for months now.

  She rolled her eyes toward her spiky black hair and laid her fork down. “I mean, why
is everyone else paired off, and here we are skating around thirty, no closer to finding Mr. Right than we were five or ten years ago? What’s wrong with us?”

  Ah. I knew from hours of long-distance analysis via Emily that my psychologist friend thought I had commitment issues thanks to having never met my father. She said I was afraid to open up to a guy completely, because I was sure I’d get hurt.

  Maybe she was right. As happy as I was with Joey, there was still a wall there. I just couldn’t tell how thick it was. Or how to scale it.

  I smiled over my introspection. “I work too much for romance. Who am I going to meet? A cop? A lawyer? Another reporter?”

  “There’s that hottie at the ATF you have all the history with,” she said. “I even heard he was interested in picking things up with you. Why aren’t you with him?”

  “Work and love don’t mix well.” Brisk, because my friendship with Kyle was starting to feel comfortable, and I wasn’t up for “what if” road with Shelby Taylor as the tour guide.

  She ignored the drop-it tone, nodding toward Parker and Mel, back in their seats and laughing at something Tony was saying. “All evidence to the contrary.”

  “Yeah, well—neither of them tries to get killed for a living on any kind of regular basis.” I paused. It wasn’t like Joey had a desk job.

  But he was on the other side of Kyle’s justice line. He didn’t have to play by the rules. Terrible, of course. But true.

  Before Shelby could get another word out, Parker’s dad stepped to the mic, welcoming Mel to their family and thanking everyone for joining the celebration.

  “I know we’ve had some delays today, and we’re so glad you’re all still here,” he said. I tried not to snort my water, thinking about our Rifleman wannabe and poor Mitch Burke. I was glad everyone was still here too.

  Parker’s dad informed the crowd that we’d moved the ceremony rehearsal back to seven, since there would still be plenty of light, and that dinner would be served buffet style instead of plated since lunch was late (Ashton’s brilliant idea—she had some party-planning chops, that lady).

  “The bars are both stocked with Calais wines, including the Riesling that will soon be this year’s Governor’s Reserve,” a voice boomed from the far end of the room. I turned to see Dale Sammons, who raised a highball glass half-full of amber liquid. “And plenty of top-shelf Kentucky bourbon. To Grant and Melanie, many happy returns.”