Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Page 2

  I knocked on Franklin’s door harder than necessary and walked straight in, not even waiting for his invitation.

  “Bentley talked to you?” he asked with a sheepish look.

  I nodded, walking over to his wall that displayed all his clients’ framed book covers. I located Damian York’s cover, which showed a table set for two in a romantic English garden, with candles flickering inside hurricane glass and paper lanterns strung on overhead branches. For one wistful second, I thought of how such a table would be a perfect setting for a proposal, then I snapped back to reality. “Yes, Bentley talked to me.” I pointed up to Damian’s framed cover. “She wants a signing for Perfect Outdoor Spaces followed by a dinner for a hundred of his fans.” I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling. “‘Rustic but elegant,’ I think she said. And, of course, she wants everything to be fabulous,” I added, waving my hands in a mock gesture.

  Franklin shook his head. “Oh my, she’s been scheming again. I’m sorry, Lila. I should have warned you.”

  I looked across the desk at my friend. Franklin Stafford was one of the sweetest men I knew, the definition of the term “Southern gentleman.” I could never be angry with him. “It’s okay.” I sighed. “If we divide and conquer, I think it’ll be doable.”

  He seemed relieved. “I have to admit, I’m not the best at planning dinner events.”

  I took out my legal pad and started adding to my notes. “Okay, then. I’ll handle the dinner if you want to take on the book signing. Bentley has a garden venue in mind.”

  Franklin nodded. “She told me as much. I was thinking the Secret Garden.” The Secret Garden, in keeping with Inspiration Valley’s literary theme, was the perfect name for the local nursery, which was located on Sweetbay Road just past the railway station. Its enchanting acres were surrounded by a hand-stacked stone wall covered in trumpet vines. Patrons entered through carved wooden doors under a double-arched gate covered with pastel climbing roses and made their way around the nursery’s beautifully orchestrated settings on pea-gravel pathways defined with colorful beds of perennials.

  I jotted it down. “Perfect! That would work for both the signing and the dinner. I could arrange to have a large tent brought in and set up in the gardens. It would be a lovely location.”

  “We should do flowers on every table,” he added.

  “Wildflowers, perhaps.” Field lilies, hibiscus, and mallow popped into mind, but I couldn’t quite picture them all together. I made a note to check with Damian to see which flowers would suit both the book and the occasion. Or perhaps my friend Addison Eckhart, manager of the Secret Garden, would give me some advice.

  “Yes, and we’ll use some of the repurposed containers that he suggests in his book.” Franklin’s voice rose an octave as he described his ideas. “I like the idea of tinted mason jars or vintage boxes and tins. It adds a sort of an earthy charm, don’t you think?”

  I started to reply, but he jumped back in with more ideas. “Oh, and I saw in his book that Damian likes to fill small metal buckets with a mixture of herb plants and place them on the table where guests can clip fresh herbs if they want. Isn’t that clever? As for the other containers, we could pop by Beyond and Back to see what they have.”

  Beyond and Back was a new home décor store that sold gently used home decorating items. “Good idea,” I agreed, then went on, tapping my pen excitedly as another thought came to mind. “You know, I bet we could get How Green Was My Valley to cater the event with a fresh-from-the-garden menu.”

  “Damian would love that,” Franklin agreed. “His book features several ideas for hosting garden-to-table dinner events featuring in-season vegetables.”

  I sat up a little straighter, making a note to read the book right away and check out some of those menus. “Speaking of Damian, when’s he coming into town?”

  Franklin’s face brightened. “I’ll be picking him up tomorrow. I reserved a room for him at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Good, that’s the best place in town.” It wasn’t always that way, though. Mother had told me that when she first moved to the area, called Illumination Valley at the time, the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast was nothing more than a dilapidated old Victorian, close to ruin. Not much more than a hangout for freethinkers and New Agers. Illumination Valley had practically dried up during a hard-hitting recession. That’s when Bentley came onto the scene, establishing her agency in the center of town. The success of the agency soon carried the town out of its slump. Then, jumping on the bandwagon, the town reinvented itself, changed its name to Inspiration Valley, and adopted literary-like themes for many of its small businesses.

  Franklin nodded. “I’m anxious for you to meet him. He’s simply …” A hint of red showed in his cheeks. “Simply bigger than life.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at Franklin’s enthusiasm over his client, wondering if it was only a professional interest or something more personal. He must have realized his description of Damian was a bit overzealous, because his eyes grew wide and he suddenly took interest in tidying up his desk. A while back, I’d stumbled upon a secret Franklin had worked hard to keep from his friends and coworkers. And, while I’d discovered the truth about Franklin’s love life, I’d never talked about it with anyone, including him, out of respect for his privacy.

  When he finally spoke again, his tone was all business. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to do most of the initial planning for this event on your own, Lila.”

  My brows shot up. It was unlike Franklin to skirt responsibility.

  “I’ll be spending most of tomorrow with Damian and Ruthie Watson from Sherlock Holmes Realty. Damian is moving back to the area and is looking for a large piece of land to build a home. He wants me along for a second opinion.”

  “Really? But what about filming his show? Doesn’t he do that on the West Coast?”

  Franklin’s voice was tinged with excitement as he began to explain. “That’s just the thing. He’s planning on building a home that will showcase his design ideas. It’ll be like a live-in set for his show. In fact, Damian says that if he finds the perfect spot, he may be able to talk the network into doing a spin-off show that features the construction of his new home and the expansive gardens that will surround it.”

  “What a great concept,” I commented, thinking of all the possibilities for Novel Idea and the Valley’s art community. “Ruthie will find him the perfect place. She’s the agent who helped me buy my cottage.” I remembered that tumultuous time like it was yesterday. Trey and I had been living in nearby Dunston at the time when a combination of events—me losing my job and Trey, along with several rowdy buddies, causing a boatload of damage to Dunston High School’s football field—forced me into selling my home. Luckily, my mother let us move in with her. Finally, after I landed my job at Novel Idea Agency, I was able to pay off my debt and save enough for a down payment on my dream home—a charming butter yellow cottage with periwinkle shutters.

  “That’s right. You’re over in Walden Woods Circle—a lovely location,” Franklin complimented me. Although, thinking of my cottage and my unsightly flower gardens brought on a whole new level of anxiety. Now that Bentley had added me to the garden walk, I was going to have to face down my garden with its tangled mess of weeds, overgrown perennials, and the attention-starved primroses. I started rubbing at a kink that was forming in my neck.

  Franklin must have picked up on my stress. “Don’t worry, Lila. I know this seems overwhelming now, but it’ll all come together in the end. It always does.”

  I nodded, still working on my neck. For some reason, I had an uneasy feeling. Perhaps I was just leery of this current disruption to the prosaic rhythm my life had assumed over the past couple of months. The monotony of late was a welcome change from my first year in Inspiration Valley, which had been tainted with more violence than I’d ever experienced while living in Dunston.

  I shuddered at the memories, although those days were behind me. Thankfully, ever since the deathl
y events at this spring’s Taste of the Town, my steady and uneventful routine had brought back a sense of harmony to my life. Except for the fact that my relationship with Sean was in some sort of weird funk, things were on the upswing: After a successful freshman year at UNC Wilmington, my son, Trey, was on task, working hard this summer as a barista at Espresso Yourself; my wacky mother, the Amazing Althea, local clairvoyant and tarot reader, was behaving herself; my best friend, Makayla, was hopelessly in love; and my professional life had never been more stimulating or rewarding.

  I sighed and put on a smile. My apprehensiveness was silly and completely unfounded. “You’re right, Franklin,” I said, trying to relax. “This event will be like a walk in the park … or should I say garden.” I giggled. “After all, it’s just a signing and dinner. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Chapter 2

  Still, my uneasiness grew. Even as I headed back to my office to wrap up my work for the day, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled over me. Instead of dwelling on it, I busied myself with the manuscript I’d started on before Bentley’s interruption. It was the first of a proposed English cozy mystery series. It featured a feisty female pub owner who, after ferreting out a local murderer, served up a little justice with her whiskey and beer. The author had done such a lovely job of describing the quaint English hamlet and developing its quirky inhabitants that I never wanted the story to end. That’s the thing I love most about a well-crafted story: The story line and characters stay with me even after the last page.

  In this case, the author’s talent had given me a much needed reprieve from my current worries. So much so, I’d decided the uneasiness I was feeling was all in my imagination. I was just stressed after being caught off guard by the extra workload, a problem which could be easily solved.

  I glanced over at my desk phone. It was time to call in the big guns.

  “Hello, Mama. Are you busy this evening?”

  “Of course not, hon. You and I have plans.”

  I searched my brain. “We do?” I knew we’d discussed trying out the new Italian restaurant in town, Machiavelli’s, but I didn’t recall setting a date.

  “Yes, I knew that you would be needin’ me, so I cleared the whole evening. It was in the cards.”

  Aw … I should have seen that coming. My mother, the Amazing Althea, made her living by reading palms and tarot cards. And not a bad living, at that. Although I’m not sure if her clients referred to her as “amazing” because of her fortune-telling or her baking skills, because every person who came by her home for a reading was treated to a slice of her famous banana bread. Althea’s banana bread had become legendary in these parts.

  “So, what is it we’re doing?” she asked.

  I sat back, enjoying the moment. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Don’t get ornery with me, Lila Wilkins! You know darn well the cards don’t tell me everything.”

  I stifled a chuckle and got on with the reason I’d called. “Actually, I need a favor.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can you take your truck by the Secret Garden and pick up a few items for me? I’ll throw in a pizza and beverage of your choice.” I needed to strike a bargain because there was very little I could haul on my Vespa. My sporty yellow Vespa scooter was great for jaunting back and forth to work and easy on my gas budget, but not always the most practical mode of transportation, especially when it came to things like grocery shopping. Although, I’d been known to use packing twine laced through the bars of the rear seat rack to haul home sizable purchases from the monthly artisan fair.

  “Well, if you’re planning on invitin’ my ol’ friend Jim Beam, then we’ve got a deal.” My mother had enjoyed an ongoing relationship with Mr. Jim Beam for as long as I could remember. I was just sure her veins flowed with the stuff by now.

  I finished the conversation by giving her a list of things I needed and agreeing to meet at my place around six o’clock. That would give me enough time to run by and pick up her “friend” and still get home in plenty of time to change and call in a pizza order.

  Sean was next. I dialed his cell, but had to leave a message. He’d been hard to reach lately. Since major crime incidents had been on a decrease, his sergeant had allocated Sean’s time to assisting the specialized narcotics unit. Narcotic trafficking was on the rise in Dunston due to an uptick in gang activity. The city’s department was dedicating half its force to trying to get the situation in check before things spiraled out of control. As a result, Sean had been working a lot of overtime. I couldn’t even recall when we’d last had an evening together.

  Frustrated that he wasn’t available—yet again!—I gathered my stuff, took one last glance at the dead plant Bentley had left behind, and flipped off my office light. On the way down the agency’s back stairs, I decided to take a detour by Espresso Yourself.

  Walking into Espresso Yourself was like walking into a feast for the senses. The first thing that always hit me was the spicy blend of coffee, cinnamon, and chocolate. Then my eyes would alight on all the artistic creations displayed on the walls and shelves, their textures and colors stealing away my imagination. All that, combined with the soft whirring of the espresso machine, piped-in acoustic guitar music, and the sound of the owner’s—Makayla’s—melodic laugh were enough to abate my strongest worries. I could already feel my shoulders relaxing.

  As Makayla greeted me from behind the counter, I noticed her chocolate-colored skin was practically glowing. Probably the effects of a blossoming relationship with the local bookstore owner, Jay Coleman. He’d wooed her last spring by slipping anonymous love poems into her tip jar. Then he finally revealed himself as her secret admirer in the most romantic gesture I’d ever witnessed. It started with a single violinist and a rose at Espresso Yourself and ended in a dozen roses, and that many or more musicians later, at the Nine Muses fountain, where Jay serenaded her with a touching rendition of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” They’d been seeing each other ever since, and I’d never seen my friend happier.

  She gave me a once-over, shook her head, then turned back to her machine. “You’ve been working too hard, I can tell. Looks like you’ve had a bad day,” she said over her shoulder. “Let me get your usual.”

  I sidled up to the counter. “Thanks, I could use a boost, but make it a small cup. I won’t be here long. I really came by just to ask Trey a quick question.”

  “Sure, let me get your coffee and then I’ll get him. He’s in the back working on today’s dishes.”

  I laughed. “He does dishes?”

  She glanced back over her shoulder again, her fern green eyes twinkling. “He’s a wonderful worker, Lila. I just don’t know what I ever did without him.”

  I beamed. “Just what every mother wants to hear.” Over spring break, Trey had stepped in to help Makayla during the busy Taste of the Town events. He’d done such a good job, Makayla offered him summer employment, a real boon to a college boy.

  “So what’s going on tonight? A date?” she asked.

  My shoulders slumped. “No, afraid not. Work stuff.”

  She slid my cup across the counter. “Work stuff? On a Friday night? Something big going on?”

  Before answering, I let my nose hover over the rim, closing my eyes and inhaling one of my favorite smells. “You ever heard the expression ‘Where flowers bloom so does hope’?”

  Makayla smiled. “Lady Bird Johnson.”

  I nodded. “Well, I’m changing it to ‘Where weeds grow so does despair.’”

  Makayla tipped her head back and laughed, a sound that always reminded me of wind chimes. “Having garden problems?”

  “Garden problems, work problems, boyfriend problems … you name it, I’ve got it.”

  She leaned over, resting her chin in her palm. “Oh boy. That bad, huh? Tell me about it.”

  I waved it off. “I’m just tired. Sorry.” I suddenly felt bad for unloading.

  “Don’t be. What’s going on?�
� For being in only her midtwenties, Makayla possessed the confidence and diplomacy of a much older woman. Since I moved to Inspiration Valley, she’d become my dearest friend and best confidante.

  I drew in a deep breath and began giving her a quick rundown on my latest project. “And, I was hoping to have some time with Sean, but he’s tied up with work, and now it looks like I’ll be swamped for the next couple of weeks,” I finished.

  My friend straightened up and smiled. Pointing to herself, she said, “Girl, you are now looking at your official decorating committee. All you have to do is tell me what you want and I’ll see that it gets done. Jay will help me and Trey can cover for me here if things get too crazy.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Makayla, that’s too much. I can’t ask you—”

  She reached across the counter and placed a graceful hand over mine. “Don’t argue. What are friends for?” She beamed. “Besides, I’m a huge Damian York fan. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to meet him in person.”

  My eyes slid over to a set of bookshelves that Makayla kept full of worn paperbacks so that her customers could help themselves. I made a note to myself to bring down Damian’s new book for her to display. Not only would it be a nice gesture, but it would provide some extra exposure, since practically everyone in Inspiration Valley got their caffeine fix at Espresso Yourself. “And Jay? How’s he going to feel about being volunteered for all this?” I asked. Not only was Jay Coleman the proprietor of the Valley’s only bookstore, the Constant Reader, he was also one of the agency’s best clients. Just that past spring, Jay had signed on to write the sequel to The Alexandria Society. The first book, a bestseller, was created by Marlette Robbins, an extremely talented local who’d lived his final years as a recluse before his unfortunate death.