The Bourbon Kings
Page 67

All in all, the whole thing created an impression of Fresh, Lovely, and Tempting—and made someone who was Tired, Anxious, and Stressed feel deficient not just on a hair and wardrobe level, but down to molecular genetics.
“Yes?” Lizzie said as she went back to pounding on one of the legs to collapse it.
“Could you please stop that? It’s very loud.”
“My pleasure,” Lizzie gritted out.
For some reason, as that woman played with her goldilocks, the flashing of the big diamond on her left hand was like somebody dropping the F-bomb repeatedly.
Chantal smiled. “I need your help for a party.”
Can we just get through tomorrow first? “My pleasure.”
“It’s a party for two.” Chantal smiled as she loosened that scarf and came in further. “Oh, my, it’s hot in here. Can you do anything about that?”
“The plants do better in the warmth.”
“Oh.” She swept her wrap off and put it down beside some of the bouquets that were going to be placed in the public rooms of the house. “Well.”
“You were saying?”
That smile came back. “It’s Lane’s and my anniversary soon, and I’d like to do something special.”
Lizzie swallowed hard—and wondered if this was some kind of sick game. Had the woman heard something through the door upstairs? The walls? “I thought you were married in July?”
“How kind of you to remember. You’re so thoughtful.” Chantal tilted her head to the side and locked eyes as if they were having a moment. “We were married in July, but I have some special news to share with him, and I thought we could celebrate a little early.”
“What were you thinking?”
Lizzie didn’t track much as all kinds of ideas were thrown out. The only thing that stuck was “romantic” and “private.” Like Chantal was looking forward to giving her husband a lap dance.
“Lisa? Are you writing this down?”
Well, no, because I don’t have a pen and paper in my hand, do I? And PS, I think I’m going to vomit. “I’m happy to do whatever you want.”
“You are so helpful.” The woman nodded toward the garden and the tent outside. “I know everything is going to be beautiful tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“And we can talk more later. But again, I’m thinking a romantic dinner in a suite downtown at the Cambridge Hotel. You can provide the flowers and special decorations—I want to drape everything in fabric so that it’s as if we’re in an exotic place, just the two of us.”
“All right.”
Had Lane lied to her? And if he had … well, she could have Greta take care of everything at The Derby Brunch while she stayed at her farm with a gallon of chocolate ice cream.
Except she and her partner weren’t speaking.
Fantastic.
“You’re the best.” Chantal checked her diamond watch. “It’s about time for you to go home, isn’t it? Big day tomorrow—you’re going to need your beauty rest. Bye for now.”
When Lizzie was alone again, she sat down on one of the overturned buckets and put her hands on her thighs, rubbing up and down.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.
Greta was right, she thought. She wasn’t on the level of these people, and not because she was just a lowly gardener. They played a game she could only lose.
Time to head out, she decided. Beauty sleep wasn’t going to happen, but at least she could try and get her head on straight before the bomb went off in the morning.
Getting up, she was about to leave when she saw that scarf. The last thing she wanted to do was deliver the piece of silk back to Chantal like she was a Labrador returning a tennis ball to its owner. But the thing was right next to all those bouquets, and knowing her luck, something would leak or drop on it and she’d have to save up three months of paychecks to buy a new one.
Chantal’s wardrobe was more expensive than whole neighborhoods in Charlemont.
Picking the thing up, she thought the woman couldn’t have gone far in those stupid kitten-heeled shoes.
It was not going to be difficult to track her down.
•   •   •
Gin was still standing underneath the magnolia tree where Samuel T. had left her when a vehicle came up the winding front drive. It wasn’t until the SUV stopped in front of her that she realized it was from the Washington County Sheriff’s department.
Good God, what was her father trying to get her arrested for now: Courtesy of this morning’s awful field trip downtown, her first instinct was to run, but she was in high heels, and if she really wanted to get away from the officer, she was going to have to bolt through a flower bed.
Breaking her leg was not going to help her in jail.
Deputy Mitchell Ramsey got out with a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. “How are you?”
He didn’t take out any handcuffs. Didn’t seem more than politely interested in her.
“Are you here for me?” she blurted.
“No.” His dark eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”
No, not at all, Deputy. “Yes, thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.”
“So you’ve not come for me?”
“No, ma’am.” He walked up to the front door and started to ring the bell. “I have not.”