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  I squinted. “Doing what?”

  “My sales pitch, that’s what. Friends have told me that all I talk about is the home and the women there.” She shrugged. “Guess I’m just passionate about what I do.”

  There it was again. Passion. Dr. Meyers’s passion for her work was evident in everything she did, as was Bentley’s passion for her agents and authors, her family, as she put it. And, of course, Trey’s passion for cooking. Perhaps if we didn’t follow our passions, we’d never achieve our purpose in life. I hated to think where all these women would be if Dr. Meyers hadn’t followed her passion. “Please don’t apologize,” I said. “I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”

  “Welcome, everyone.” Pam’s voice cut into our conversation. Dr. Meyers shot me a smile before leaning back and focusing her attention forward. Pam was on the stage, leaning against the lectern, looking poised and beautiful. She’d chosen to wear a deep burgundy blouse today, which really offset her brown skin tone and dark hair. She must have applied a little extra makeup during her restroom break, because her dark eyes were sparkling. “Are you ladies ready to turn up the heat?”

  A chorus of whoops rang out. I glanced around, a little surprised by the outburst, and wondered if perhaps Ms. Lambert’s idea of serving champagne samples to this already rambunctious crowd might not have been the best idea after all.

  Pam slowly opened her book, the wicked little smirk on her face playing right into the crowd’s feisty mood. I dared a glance Mama’s way, wondering what she was thinking. To my dismay, she looked positively green. “Mama,” I whispered. “Are you okay? Is this upsetting you?”

  “Is what upsettin’ me?” she asked, regarding me with a strange look.

  Pam continued, “I’m going to start with a scene that unfolds between my two main characters: Joseph, the dark sultan, and the object of his desire, the innocent Sasha whom he’s abducted from a foreign village and is about to ravage. Let me warn you, ladies. This is some spicy stuff.”

  “Bring it on,” someone cried out. Another round of whoops and giggles ensued.

  I peeked at Zach and Jude, noticing that Zach was more focused than I’d ever seen him. So focused that his mouth practically hung open. I was surprised he wasn’t drooling. Jude must have sensed me staring, because he suddenly turned around and shot me one of his irritating winks.

  Next to me, Dr. Meyers was covering her mouth to keep in the giggles. On my other side, Mama was also covering her mouth. Not to keep in the giggles, though, but out of shock. At least that was what I thought until she bolted from her chair and ran from the room. I went after her, following her down the hall to the restroom.

  A few minutes later, I asked, “Mama? You okay in there?” She’d holed herself up in a stall and had been vomiting. I’d run some paper towels under cold water and waited for her to come out. “What can I do to help you, Mama?”

  She finally finished, opening the door and crossing straight to the sink. While she splashed her face with cool water, I held the damp paper towels against the back of her neck. “I’m so sorry you’re sick. Let me drive you out to my place. I’ve got Trey’s car here and we can get yours tomorrow. Just stay the night with me.”

  She wiped her face with a towel, a little color returning to her cheeks. “No need, sugar, I’ll just head home. I’m feeling a little better already. But I’ll take ya up on your offer of a ride. ’Fraid I’m not in much shape to be drivin’.”

  Suddenly the restroom door flew open and Bentley came charging in. “Althea. I heard you’re not feeling well.” She came right over and placed her arm around my mother’s shoulders. “Do you need to see a doctor? I can get you to the best physician in town.”

  “Thank ya, Ms. Duke. No need for a doc. Just a little too much rich food, that’s all. I’ll be all right with a little rest.”

  I smiled at Bentley, grateful for her offer of help. “I’m going to run Mama home,” I told her. “She needs to get into bed.”

  “Of course.” She turned to my mother. “And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me, Althea. Okay? And, Lila, I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I’ve informed everyone that there will be a status meeting at ten o’clock sharp. There’s a lot on the table for discussion.”

  I nodded dutifully, wondering if she meant Jodi’s case or the issue with Vicky and Olive or the roundup of the expo week. Or maybe all three. But for now, the status meeting was the furthest thing from my mind. I placed my hand under Mama’s elbow and gently coaxed her to the door. “Come on, Mama. Let’s get you home.”

  Chapter 18

  By eight o’clock Saturday morning I was in line at Espresso Yourself, anticipating my caramel latte. I’d been up late taking care of Mama, so I was eager for my morning caffeine hit. Especially since today was sure to be the busiest day at the expo. Not only was the weather cooperating—sunny, crisp, and most importantly dry—but Ms. Lambert and her crew from Southern Belles Bridal had planned an event that was sure to draw a crowd—a bridal fashion show! And without any author presentations scheduled, I’d be able to just sit back and enjoy. I thought back to the dress I’d seen just this week, the simple white sheath, timeless and so classy, and hoped they’d chosen it for the fashion show.

  A baby’s cry drew my attention to the young mother in front of me, who jostled a fussy toddler on her hip as she waited for her coffee order. Makayla returned to the counter with what looked like a double shot of espresso. “Did Jackson have another rough night?” she asked, taking and swiping the woman’s credit card. It always amazed me that Makayla knew so much about her customers. She made everyone who walked through the door feel special.

  The woman shook her head. “I’d say. Can’t wait until this tooth comes in.” The baby was sucking his fist and whimpering, big tears running down his pudgy cheeks.

  Makayla reached over and tickled the baby’s arm, clucking and making little goo-goo sounds. She was rewarded with a brief but toothy grin. “Now, don’t be complaining too much, Mama. Just look how precious that smile is!” And just like that, the child jammed his fingers back into his mouth and started fussing again.

  The mother chuckled and took her coffee cup from the counter. “Are you volunteering to babysit tonight?”

  Makayla threw up her hands. “No way, girl. I’m just here to provide your morning cuppa joe, not babysitting services.”

  We all laughed as the woman hugged her precious little bundle and made her way out the door.

  “Boy, do I remember those days,” I said, moving up to the counter.

  Makayla turned to steam my milk, speaking louder so I could hear her over the whirring of the machine. “And it only got easier from there, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha.” Makayla finished steaming and started mixing. “Did that missing photo ever turn up?” I asked her.

  “Photo?”

  “The one Rufus Manning took.” I’d tossed and turned throughout the night, the whereabouts of that photo bugging me. With my agent duties and Mama getting sick and everything, I hadn’t much time to question Rufus about it the day before.

  Makayla scrunched her face. “No, it never did show up. And Jay says he didn’t throw anything away.”

  I’d asked Trey about it over breakfast, too, and he’d said the same thing. Which led me to believe that the breakin at Makayla’s shop was less about vandalism and more about eliminating that photo. The killer must have wanted to make it difficult for the police to trace the ring. But who and why? Chuck’s fiancée, I thought. After all, the ring would link directly to her. Was the woman I’d met at the funeral, spoken with, even tried to comfort … I shivered. Had I really been that close to a vicious killer—a desperate woman, fallen victim to Chuck’s abuse, who decided to stand up for herself …

  “Hello, Lila?” I snapped back to focus to hear Makayla say, “I was saying that I missed you last night.” I must have looked confused. She raised a brow and clarified, “At the linger
ie show?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” I’d forgotten that I told Makayla that I’d meet her at the Dragonfly Room. We’d planned to try out the spa items and maybe even get a mini makeover. “Mama got sick and I had to take her home.”

  She stopped mixing and turned her full focus my way. “Althea? Is she okay?”

  “Just a little stomach bug, or maybe something she ate. I took her home and got her settled into bed. By the time I left, she was doing much better.”

  Makayla let out a relieved sigh and went back to mixing. “Oh good. Well, you missed out on my big purchase.”

  “Your purchase?”

  “Uh-huh.” She finished my latte and capped it off. After handing it over, she reached under the counter and brought out a small shopping bag. Then she glanced around, just to make sure the place was empty, before pulling out a daring lace teddy. “What do you think?”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Makayla!”

  She stepped back and held it up to herself. It was a gorgeous, deep green satin with black lace and dainty straps.

  “It’s beautiful!” I said. And I meant it, too. The color was almost a perfect match for her mysterious fern green eyes.

  Jokingly, she began sashaying back and forth, flaunting her stuff. “Watch out, Jay. Here I come!” Just then, the door jingled open and in came an older gentleman. He immediately lifted his eyes and hand to greet Makayla before stopping short with a jaw-popping expression. His face reddened instantly, and he turned and fled, the door slamming behind him with a chorus of jostling bells.

  I burst out laughing when I saw the mortified look on Makayla’s face. “Oh my Lawd!” she cried. “That was Mr. Goldman. He’s one of my best customers.”

  I placed a bill on the counter and tipped my cup her way. “Don’t worry. Once he gets over the shock, he’ll be back.” I gave her a wink. “I guarantee it.”

  *

  I WAS STILL laughing as I made my way into the office and found Vicky sitting at her desk. “I didn’t expect to see you in so early today,” I said. It was Saturday, and no one was technically required to be at work until the ten o’clock status meeting, which was still almost two hours from now.

  “Just trying to get caught up on some work. I’ve already placed several queries on your desk.”

  “Thank you.” I walked over to the waiting room chair, where Eliot was contently curled up, and stroked his spine, eliciting a soft purr. “Bentley and I spoke yesterday about Olive. I told her that I support your position. We both agreed that it would be horrible to lose you.”

  She looked up from her computer screen. “Thank you, Lila. But when I spoke to Ms. Duke yesterday, she seemed intent on bringing Olive into the office. I even went as far as finding a suitable doggie day care nearby, but Ms. Duke said she prefers to keep Olive with her during the day. I’ve already given her my notice. I’ll inform the other agents of my decision at the status meeting.”

  My heart fell, but what could I do? I’d already spoken to Bentley, and that didn’t get me anywhere. But perhaps once the other agents were aware of the situation, we could team up and persuade Vicky to stay. Or persuade Bentley to come up with a compromise. Like the dog care service Vicky suggested for daytime hours. Anything besides burdening Vicky with Olive’s care.

  Vicky had turned back to her computer screen, her chin elevated as she peered through the blue-rimmed reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. I hovered for a while, not knowing what else to say, before heading back to my own office.

  The queries she’d mentioned were in the middle of my desk, but I pushed them aside for a second, fired up my computer, and opened up a browser window, anxious to find out if Rufus had been able to look at his records yet. I typed in Rufus Manning Photography and called the phone number listed on their website. My call was sent directly to an answering service. I glanced at my watch. It was early yet; I’d try back later. Next, I went back to the browser and typed in Chuck’s name with several key words that might link to some sort of engagement announcement, but nothing popped up. Then I went directly to the online edition of our local paper and searched engagement announcements, still not finding any mention of the name Chuck Richards.

  My mind wandered back to that very first day I’d met Chuck at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast. I remembered him saying he couldn’t reschedule the work on Cora’s kitchen because he had a trip planned. To see his fiancée, perhaps? But why would the ring be in his pocket? Obviously, she’d already worn the ring for the photograph. I shrugged to myself. Probably something as simple as needing repair work, especially since it looked like an older ring. But if he needed to travel to see her, that would mean she wasn’t a local gal. She could live anywhere.

  I sighed and sank back into my chair. How frustrating. It felt as if I were grasping for something just out of my reach. Something big, something key to this whole mystery and, more importantly, something that would exonerate Jodi and prove without a doubt that my client Lynn had nothing to do with Chuck’s murder.

  I leaned forward again, my eyes scanning the piles of work waiting for me. Any further sleuthing would have to wait for a while. Maybe Sean would have some luck tracing the ring’s owner, but for now, I needed to get some work done. I clicked over to my inbox and did a quick check, and an email from Makayla’s editor practically jumped off the screen: “The Barista Diaries Cover Art,” the subject line read. I opened the attachment, my breath catching. The artist had created what looked like an Impressionist painting of the inside of a busy café. Soft hues of gray and blue and shifts in shades captured the essence of patrons grouped around tables as they enjoyed both coffee and conversation. I could almost imagine the smells, the whirring machines, the laughter and din of constant chatter … Makayla was going to love this!

  Normally I simply forwarded cover attachments to my clients, but with Makayla, I wanted to be there to see the look on her face when she saw her cover for the first time. So instead of forwarding the email, I copied the image and made a color print. I’d take it down to her later as a surprise.

  The next email I opened was the manuscript I’d requested from the author of Death of a Dame, the Roaring Twenties mystery query I’d read a few days ago. I opened it right away and was immediately disappointed. The manuscript was over a hundred thousand words, way too long for the typical cozy mystery of seventy-five thousand words. I skimmed the first chapter, realizing the author used a lot of unnecessary narrative about the characters’ backgrounds, facts that could be condensed and easily woven throughout subsequent chapters. Overall, the writing wasn’t bad; he just needed to rework and polish the manuscript. And I did like the premise of the mystery, which was set in the 1920s. I hesitated … Did I want to take the time to make a few notes, see if he would be willing to rewrite and resubmit, or should I simply reject the proposal?

  Undecided, I kept reading until the end of the third chapter and found that despite a few rambling scenes, the storyline was solid. I knew this author had a good book in him, maybe even this one if he made a few changes, so I decided to take a chance. I composed a note with a few suggestions and requested a rewrite and resubmission. But as soon as I clicked send, I regretted my decision. Taking a chance on this author was a long shot and nine times out of ten, this type of scenario never panned out well. Either the author was offended by my suggestions or they simply hadn’t developed the skill set needed to write a marketable book. But it was already done. Only time would tell if my initial instinct was correct.

  My thoughts turned back to Pam, an author who had more than enough skill and a ready-made fan base, and I wished I’d thought to ask her more about her mystery. Was it cozy, or hardboiled? Chock-full of romance or more Agatha-like? Whatever it was, I knew it would be a vivid, enthralling story. It gave me a thrill to think that I’d be reading it soon. Piggybacked to that thrill, however, was a bit of trepidation. How would Flora react? Certainly it was an author’s choice to change genres, but it meant cutting Flora out of one of her stron
g authors. Plus I’d be put to the task of convincing the publisher to switch genre horses as well. Or find another publisher. Not that any publisher would usually hesitate to take on an author with an established fan base who was branching into a new genre, but still … suddenly I wondered if this might be part of the reason for the ten o’clock meeting.

  A knock sounded on my office door and Jude stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “I was hoping I’d find you here early.” Without being asked, he seated himself in one of my guest chairs. He’d worn a casual outfit this morning: blue jeans with leather boots and a dark blue button-down shirt that hugged his torso in all the right places. I averted my eyes, irritated that I’d noticed that last detail.

  “Don’t worry,” he started. “I’m not here to talk about this thing between us.”

  This thing between us? The muscles in my neck tensed, a dull ache suddenly rising at my temples. “There is no thing between us, Jude. And for your information, Sean and I have set a date. Next September.”

  He raised a brow. “September what?”

  “Uh … just September. We haven’t set the exact day yet.”

  “I see.” He smirked. “Well, like I was saying, I’m here about something entirely different. It has to do with Zach.”

  “Zach? What about him?” It occurred to me that I had seen him last night but I hadn’t really talked to him much in the last couple of days. “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. He’s fine. It’s just that he took that stuff Bentley said at Monday’s status meeting seriously.”

  “About keeping our eyes and ears open at the expo?” I remembered Zach wanting to make some sort of bet over who could solve Chuck’s murder first. Suddenly, my stomach rolled with dread. Or maybe I was catching what Mama had. I hoped not. “Did he find something?”

  Jude chuckled. “He thinks so. In fact, he says he’s nailed down the killer.” Jude paused, noticed my grimace, and offered a quick apology for his poor choice of words. “The good news is he believes Jodi is innocent.”