Sucker Punch (8 page)

After scanning the orders briefly for special requests, I handed them back to Liberty. She crossed to the area we’d designated as control central and began sorting the slips into piles. “I heard you were at the theater last night. Are you thinking of auditioning after all?”

Word always travels fast in Paradise, but sometimes the speed of our grapevine still surprises me. “Where did you hear that?”

Liberty shrugged and plunked another sheet into place. “A friend of mine was there to audition. She said she saw you.” Grinning over her shoulder as if she’d caught me trying to hide something, Liberty said, “I guess Vonetta got to you, huh?”

Her smile made me edgy, but only because I’d been trying so hard not to think about last night’s excitement. “I’m not auditioning,” I said, sounding like a broken record. I wasn’t even sure which of us I was trying hardest to convince. “I ran into Richie Bellieu and Dylan Wagstaff on their way to a meeting and decided to tag along to see how things were going.”

Liberty shrugged and turned back to work. “Hey, if you want to be in the play, I say go for it.”

“With all of these orders waiting to be filled?” I shook my head and climbed back onto the stool to search for the flavor oil. “It’s not going to happen.”

“If you say so. I heard that somebody stole some music from Laurence Nichols. Is that true?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if it was stolen, but it was missing.”

“My friend said he was really pissed.
And
she said that Vonetta’s daughter called him an idiot.”

“He was upset,” I said as I moved from one shelf to the next. “But Serena didn’t actually call him an idiot. She was just trying to figure out whether or not he had copies of the missing music. It was no big deal, and it was all over in a second.” Not entirely true, but I saw no reason to mention the argument between Vonetta and Laurence.

Liberty’s eager expression turned into disappointment. “Really? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said. “Sorry.”

She might have pushed harder, but the bell over the front door jangled to signal another customer. Karen was busy with a couple of middle-aged women, so Liberty set the orders aside and scurried into the showroom.

I pulled the first row of bottles out of the cupboard and dug through some that had been buried in the back. It seemed unlikely that I’d put the cinnamon back there, but stranger things had happened.

“Abby? Do you have a minute?”

Startled, I dropped a bottle and almost lost my balance on the step stool. I glanced over my shoulder and found Paisley standing at the counter, looking at me over the half wall that separates the kitchen from the showroom. Her burgundy hair gleamed an odd shade of purple in the sunlight, and her curls corkscrewed away from her head in every direction.

I couldn’t imagine why she needed me, but I nodded and abandoned the search again. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I know you’re busy,” she said with an apologetic smile, “and I hate to interrupt. It’s just . . . well, I’m worried about Vonetta, and I wonder if you know what’s going on with her.”

“With Vonetta?” I shook my head. “I don’t know anything. Sorry.” Maybe I should have let that be the end of it. After all, Paisley does love to talk, and I didn’t want to encourage her to spread rumors. But it would have been rude to turn her away, and besides, Vonetta’s a friend. If there was something wrong, I should care enough to find out what it was.

I motioned Paisley toward the seating area where we could talk without being overheard, and carried two cups of coffee to the table with me. “What are you worried about?” I asked as I put one in front of her.

Paisley wrapped her hands around the warm cup with a grateful sigh. “
You
were at the theater last night,” she said after a moment. “You saw what happened.”

I opened two sugar packets and dumped the contents into my cup. “I was there, but I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“The missing music?” Paisley said, incredulous at my slow-witted response. “The way Serena talked to Laurence? Don’t tell me you didn’t hear
that
.”

I added a touch of cream to my coffee. Okay, a dollop. I deserved at least that much. “I heard all that,” I agreed, “but I didn’t think it was a big deal. The missing music didn’t seem to bother Laurence.”

“Oh, it bothered him all right.” Paisley waved away the offer of cream and sugar and sipped her coffee black. “His manager came in this morning demanding that Vonetta ban Serena from the theater until the production is over.”

I almost choked on my coffee. Considering the argument I’d witnessed between Laurence and Vonetta last night, the demand came across like a declaration of war. “What did Vonetta say?”

“She said that Serena’s part of the company, and she’ll be at the theater whenever Vonetta needs her there.” Agitated, Paisley moved a paper heart out of her way and went on. “And
then
she told him that Laurence is free to stay away if that’s what he wants, but he’ll be in breach of contract if he does.”

Obviously, Paisley knew way more about what was going on than I did, but I didn’t say so. Instead I asked, “What did Manwaring say to that?”

Paisley glanced around the shop, then leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t think you want me to repeat it here.”

“Probably not. But emotions are running high. I’m not sure there’s anything we really need to worry about.”

Paisley scowled at me—hard. “Well, I
am
worried, and I thought maybe you knew something I don’t.”

“I’m afraid not,” I said with a thin smile.

“But you talked to Serena, right?”

How did Paisley know that? “I talked to her for a minute,” I admitted, “but she didn’t really say anything.”

“How did she seem to you?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Doesn’t she seem different? I think she’s quieter than she used to be. I thought for sure
you’d
notice.”

“She was always quiet,” I said, although that wasn’t exactly true. Around her mother, she’d always been quiet and reserved. Away from Vonetta, Serena had been much more gregarious. “Neither of us have seen her in twenty years. People
can
change.”

Paisley frowned thoughtfully for a second, then gave her head another firm shake. “It’s not like that. She’s . . . well, she’s almost secretive. She never talks about all the years she lived away.”

“That’s not a crime,” I pointed out. “Maybe she’s just trying to move on with her life.”

“Maybe.” The look on Paisley’s face made it clear that she didn’t think so.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

Her eyes flew to mine and she shook her head. “No, not really. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but something weird is going on around the theater. You could feel it last night, couldn’t you?”

“There was some tension,” I admitted. “But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I’m sure Vonetta has everything well under control.”

The picture of dejection, Paisley propped her chin in one hand and picked at the lacy edges of a heart with the other. “I wish I could agree with you, but I can see the front of the Playhouse from the window of the salon.”

“Are you saying you saw something?”

“I saw Laurence Nichols and Richie going at it about an hour ago. Arguing, I mean.”

“Laurence and Richie?” Okay,
that
was odd. “They were fighting?”

“Not throwing punches, but they were definitely arguing. And it looked like things were getting pretty heated.”

It would be hard to find someone less confrontational than Richie, which made me place the blame squarely on Laurence’s broad shoulders. “What did he do? Freak out because Richie asked for an autograph?”

Paisley shook her head. “I have no idea, but it seemed like something bigger than that. I mean, Richie was . . . well, for a minute I thought he might deck Laurence.”

“You’re talking about
our
Richie? From the Silver River Inn?”

“Yep.”

“Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“No, I was too far away. And inside.” Paisley pushed the heart away and brushed bits of lacy edging into her hand. “But I do know that Richie has been making a pest of himself, hanging around the theater and whatnot. He’s been underfoot almost constantly since he found out Laurence was coming to town. Vonetta doesn’t need that on top of everything else she’s dealing with.”

I doubted it was that bad. Richie had a business to run, after all, and I couldn’t imagine Dylan just taking on everything that needed to be done without a complaint. “I’m sure the novelty of having a celebrity around will wear off in a few days and Richie will calm down again,” I said.

Paisley glanced around for someplace to throw away the garbage, gave up, and put the lacy bits on her napkin. “That’s the trouble, Abby. I’m afraid that might be too long to wait.”

Paisley was starting to freak me out a little with her predictions of doom and gloom. “What do you mean, that might be too long to wait? What do you think will happen?”

“I don’t know! I only know that something’s wrong, and I’m worried.”

“You know how emotional those creative types can be.”

“Okay, then, how do you explain this? Last night, after they thought everyone was gone, I heard Serena and Vonetta arguing.”

“They’re family. Families argue.”

“Not like this they don’t,” Paisley insisted. “It was late. Everyone else was gone. I should have been gone, too, but I forgot my scarf and had to go back in to get it. They had no idea I was there.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “What did you hear?”

“I heard Vonetta telling Serena that she didn’t know if she could ever forgive her. Does
that
sound normal to you?”

She had me there. “Are you sure she was talking to Serena?”

“I’m positive,” Paisley said with a stiff bob of her head. “I’m telling you, Abby, something’s wrong.”

Let me be perfectly clear about this: I’d hate for someone to dig into my personal life and listen in to my arguments with family members. I certainly didn’t want to disrespect Vonetta by sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong. But like I said, curiosity has always been my weakness. “What else did you hear?”

“Serena begged Vonetta not to make trouble, but Vonetta said it was far too late for that. See what I mean? That doesn’t sound like Vonetta at all.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I rolled my head on my neck, trying to work out the kinks that had suddenly appeared.

“Will you do me a favor?” Paisley asked.

“If I can.”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear or see anything I should know about, tell me?”

I ignored a rush of guilt and nodded. “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” Paisley reached across the table and squeezed my hand, looking as grateful as if I’d just agreed to let her cut and style my hair.

Which wasn’t going to happen—but then, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to hear anything that Paisley
needed
to know, either. At least not until pigs flew over Paradise—and maybe not even then.

 

 

I managed to push Vonetta and the play to the back of my mind for the rest of that day. I had work to do, customers to serve, candy to make. Orders kept stacking up, and I didn’t have the luxury of giving in to distractions.

That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway. I took out my frustrations by lining a dozen cookie sheets with foil, then crushing six boxes of graham crackers the old-fashioned way. A food processor might be quicker, but nothing beats a rolling pin for getting the crumbs to the right consistency.

When the crackers were ready, I set them aside and opened a package of bamboo skewers. I pulled several containers of homemade marshmallow from the storage room, and melted dark chocolate on low heat until it was silky smooth and ready for dipping.

Maybe it’s because we live in the mountains, but S’Mores Pops are a local favorite. Every classroom with a Valentine’s Day party scheduled had a corresponding order for thirty pops. If I did nothing else between now and the fourteenth, I’d barely keep up with the demand for those.

I was crazy for even thinking about getting involved with Vonetta’s production, but the idea still danced around at the back of my mind all morning. Trying to shake it off, I slid three pieces of marshmallow onto each skewer, drizzled chocolate until each trio was completely coated, and then sprinkled cracker crumbs over the chocolate. But no matter how hard I tried to concentrate on the recipe in front of me, the drama at the Playhouse was never far from my thoughts.

Of course, it didn’t help that everyone in town knew that Laurence Nichols was around, or that every customer who walked through the door had some bit of gossip to share. We heard that Laurence had been seen dining at Gigi, that he’d flirted with the clerk at the post office, and we even picked up claims that he’d purchased artwork or antiques from half the businesses in town.