Furry Godmother’s advice for dating: Don’t.
I stopped at the French Market for junk food and squirt guns, then drove to the Garden District for lunch with Scarlet and her kids. I was in desperate need of decompression, and I always left the Hawthorne estate feeling lighter. The stress of the week had me leaking brain cells, and permanent lines were forming on my forehead.
“Only you would come here to unwind.” Scarlet waved a loaded squirt gun at the minirebels moving too close. “This place is a circus without a ringmaster.”
“You’re the ringmaster,” I told her.
“No. I’m more like a trained monkey. I do what they say, and I have very few thoughts of my own these days.” Her fantastic red hair was swept into a bun and her red baby doll dress matched her lipstick. She’d thought to coordinate. That was something. My mom would love the monochromatic effect. She’d hate the baggy, bohemian number I’d chosen, especially paired with my messy ponytail.
“Well,” I turned the knob on Scarlet’s garden hose and hefted the green weapon in both hands, “I have enough thoughts for ten people, and I need some help sorting what’s real and important from what’s imagination and Froot Loops.”
“Now you’ve done it.”
“Froot Loops!” Her youngest son ran circles around my legs. “Froot Loops! Froot Loops! Froot Loops!”
I trained the nozzle at him and waved a bag of kid-sized graham cracker bits his way. “Here.”
He nabbed the bag, and I shot him. Water sprayed off his little back as he squealed through the grass. He dove behind the slide for cover.
I lowered the hose.
Scarlet dropped her gun on the table and rubbed her eyes. “Nice diversion tactic.” When the other pint-sized Hawthornes went after him to get their piece of the cracker action, she collapsed into a white wicker chair lined with floral print cushions. “You have about two minutes before they’re back.”
“I have to drive out to the Hamses’ plantation and measure the llamas for leg warmers this afternoon. Mrs. Hams insisted. She didn’t seem like a lady to trifle with. I can see why Mom chose her as a nemesis. Before you ask, no, I haven’t mentioned the job to Mom.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. I’m only getting started. Someone stabbed a threatening note into my tire last night, and Detective Oliver had to drive me home.”
“Oh my stars! Are you okay?”
“He helped me bake carrot cakes, and he drove me to get my car this morning.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
“He said I should call him Jack.”
A grin slid across her face. “And?”
“Miguel’s girlfriend is pregnant. She came to see me outside the store today. She says they had planned on leaving together. They were going to be a real family, but now she’s alone. I can’t imagine how she approached the woman accused of killing her boyfriend.”
Scarlet drained her glass of ice water. “That wasn’t what I meant by and.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a lot to take in. Mr. Tater is distancing himself from me, but I’ve got appointments and orders coming out of my ears. Probably enough to make the lease payment, but I’ve got only two hands to work with and no money until the jobs are done. Mable Feller arranged the windfall of customers. Actually, I should contact Mr. Tater. Maybe everything that’s going on is enough for him to keep investing. Jack isn’t looking at me as a suspect anymore, and with Mable’s approval, my name is clear around here again.” I tugged my lip between my thumb and index finger. It would be tough—practically impossible—but maybe I could do it without Tater’s help. “I’ve still got twelve days before my lease payment is due.”
Scarlet straightened in her seat and nodded stiffly. “Okay. What can I do?”
I scanned the chaos tearing through her perfect green lawn and sighed. “You’ve got your hands full. I just needed to spill my thoughts so I could attempt to sort out the pieces.”
“I could reach out to Miguel’s girlfriend through the restaurant. Maybe she needs a friend who’s been in her position about four times.” She traced the bump of her upturned belly button.
“That would be amazing. I don’t know if she’ll be receptive, but it would be good to know we tried.”
“She’s the overly independent type? Those are the worst.”
I nudged her foot with mine. “The very worst.”
“What are you going to do about your mom and Margaret Hams?”
“I don’t know.” I imagined Mom’s face as I explained my reason for helping her archenemy with llama leg warmers. “She’ll see this as mutiny.”
“Undoubtedly. I suggest telling her before she gets wind of it from someone else.”
I stroked a tuft of windblown hair behind my ear. Scarlet was right, of course, but the whole thing was complicated and delicate. “That’s going to get ugly.”
“What isn’t?” Her creepy grin returned. “So you baked with Jack last night? How was it? Please tell me baked is a euphemism.”
“Stop,” I chided. “He was oddly at home in my kitchen, and I appreciated it. Also not a euphemism.”
Scarlet’s smile fell. “That’s too bad. Did you ask him about himself?”
“No.” I made a point of watching the children instead of asking the plethora of questions I had on the topic.
“You want to know why he seemed at home in the kitchen?”
“Nope.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this before,” she hedged. “Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”
“The last time we talked about Jack, you also tried to set me up with Chase.”
She wasn’t listening. Whatever she had on her mind was consuming her. I’d seen the look a thousand times. “It was pretty interesting around here when his grandpa died. Women were throwing themselves at him.”
Good grief. I swiveled to give her my complete attention. “What women?” Presumably, Garden District women, but they wouldn’t look twice at a man making a detective’s salary, or even have reason to know he existed.
“His grandpa left him the family trust and his entire estate. Jack cried at the funeral. It was a free-for-all after that. He moved back into the district, and ladies lined up at his new doorstep with casseroles and ripe ovaries.”
“He cried?” He hadn’t struck me as a guy with emotions. Jack was more like a modern version of RoboCop, wheeling around town, chasing the wrong suspects with his big truck and serious face.
“Believe it. I guess his grandpa raised him, but we never saw Jack around the district because his grandpa’s interpretation of ‘raise’ was ‘send to exclusive boarding schools abroad.’”
“Shut the front door. He’s a Garden District kid? He went to boarding schools? What is happening? Why would he join the military? Kids here have every opportunity at their fingertips.”
“You mean like Ivy League medical schools?” She beamed. “Interested now, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Well, not like that, but yeah.” How did I not know he existed before? I smacked the table. “Did you know he takes his cat to my dad for her care? I couldn’t understand why he’d come all the way out here to see a vet. He lives here. That makes sense. Wait. Who was his grandpa? There aren’t any Olivers here.”
“That’s because Grandpa was his maternal grandpa, and his mother’s family name was Smacker.”
“No.” I dragged the word into several syllables. “Grandpa Smacker was Jack’s actual grandpa?”
“Yep.”
Jack inherited Grandpa Smacker’s Homemade Preserves.
Scarlet folded her hands over her round belly. “Jack has a cat?”
“Jezebel,” I deadpanned. “Oh!” I straightened in my seat. “Pete called again last night.”
“While Jack was there?” She leaned forward, mouth gaping. “What did he say?”
“He says I can have Penelope back. He said he’d bring her to me if I agreed to see him when he came.”
She blinked. Her mouth closed slowly. “I don’t trust him.” She reached out for me and laid a palm on my arm. “I won’t let him hurt you again.”
I gave her a little smile. “Are you my muscle now?”
“Always have been. Always will be.”
The patio doors behind us swung open with a flourish. “There you are,” a familiar voice boomed.
The children abandoned their inflatable pool and sandbox with a squeal and flew past us. I hadn’t heard that voice in a decade. It was ridiculous that I identified it so easily all these years later.
Scarlet hoisted her body from the seat beside me. “Chase! What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my nieces and nephews.” He kissed Scarlet’s cheek and smiled. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
“Enormous. Thank you for asking.” She motioned me out of my chair. “You remember Lacy Crocker.”
I blew out a long breath before turning to face the district golden boy. “Hello.”
He whistled long and slow. “Lacy Crocker. It’s been a long time.”
“Yep.”
“What have you been up to the past ten years?” His deep-set green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. Black Ray-Bans sat atop his cropped chestnut hair. He looked every bit the part of professional volleyball player. A measure of commonality linked us together. His mom went nearly mental when he dropped law school in lieu of shirtless days on sandy beaches.
“Not much.” I forced my attention back to his face.
“We were just about to have lunch.” Scarlet pulled up a third chair. “Why don’t you two catch up while I get something started in the kitchen?”
I shot her a dry expression.
She herded the kids inside. “Come on, y’all. Let’s get cleaned up. Who wants sliced peaches?”
Chase lowered his body onto the seat beside mine and rubbed the arms of his chair with mammoth palms. They looked like the perfect size to grip a volleyball.
Heat crawled up my neck and into my cheeks as the mental volleyball I’d conjured slowly became a number of other things unrelated to his sport. I snapped my gaze to his face.
His smile widened. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“What?” I’d temporarily forgotten I didn’t like Chase Hawthorne on principle. He was a shameless playboy. “No. I’m single and happy.”
“Playing the field, huh?” He waggled his brows.
“No.”
“Oh, come on, Lace. I’m just playing with you. You were always too uptight. Relax. Tell me all about Virginia.”
The patio door flung open, and the trio of mini-Hawthornes spilled out again. They marched single file to a kid-sized picnic table, complete with striped umbrella, and sat with their hands in their laps.
Scarlet brought up the rear. A tray of crust-free triangles, stacked four tall, teetered on her palm. A bowl of sliced peaches balanced precariously in the crook of her arm. She had bags of pretzels, paper plates, and napkins jammed between her fingertips. She looked at us. “Can you grab the fruit punch?”
Chase and I knocked into one another getting to the door.
“Sorry.” He steadied me with strong hands.
I blushed like an idiot and took a baby step back while he grabbed the punch. The zip of heat racing down my arm from his touch must obviously be thanks to a sunburn I hadn’t realized I had.
Chase delivered the punch to the kids and disappeared back into Scarlet’s kitchen. He reemerged with a similar feast for our table. “I think this is for us.” Croissant sandwiches lined a milk glass tray with chunked cheese and grapes in the center. Peaches filled a crystal serving bowl. “Almost done.” He made another quick trip and returned with a pitcher of sweet tea and three glasses. We split the duties setting the table while Scarlet served the kids.
“Nice.” Scarlet nodded in approval when she returned. “Teamwork. I like it.”
I shoved a grape between my lips and smiled. “This looks amazing. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Scarlet gave Chase the gory details of my life drama while I made faces and groaned appropriately.
Chase looked unnaturally at ease. “Man, it’s good to be home.” His ultrawhite shirt and teeth emphasized the extent of his hard-earned beach tan and illuminated his eyes.
I tore the corner of my croissant. “That’s what you got from all this? You’re glad to be home?”
“Yeah. This place is real. I missed it. The world of professional volleyball is a hot mess. Literally.”
“I guess I missed the District, too. I didn’t know it until I was home, but I did. Things were going predictably well until last week. Now my life is in upheaval.” I tossed the bit of buttery pastry into my mouth and checked the time on my phone. “Yikes. I’ve got to go.” I collected my plate to drop in the sink on my way out. “I need to get those llamas measured before four and it’s already after one.”
Scarlet followed me into her kitchen. “What happens at four?”
“Mom volunteered me for the parade committee.”
She laughed. “I can’t say I miss those days. Small groups with power scare me. You know,” she teased, “kids get you out of stuff like that. Husbands, too. Family always comes first. That’s the rule.”
I set my plate in the dishwasher and gasped as authentically as possible. “Are you suggesting I get married to avoid my civic duty? How dare you, ma’am.”
She smiled. “What about your duty to continue the Crocker family bloodline? You have zero siblings. Lots of pressure.”
Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. “I hear Hawthorne genes are impeccable. Above reproach, really.” He motioned a thumb over one shoulder toward the lawn where Scarlet’s kids were slinging cups of fruit punch at one another.
“Ugh.” Scarlet took off across the yard at a clip, threatening naps and showers.
“How about dinner sometime?” Chase asked.
“Sorry. I’m off men.”
He tented his brows. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Not like that. I’m not dating. I’m busy building a business and investigating a murder.”
“Not tonight then. Tomorrow at your place?”
I couldn’t stop the smile that popped onto my traitorous lips. “You’re insane. I have to go.”
He followed me to the front door and leaned out. “See you tomorrow night.”
I’m not going to lie—I ogled him a little as I drove away.