Harley parked in the back corner of the staff parking lot, got out of her truck, and headed toward the front of the inn where Boonie Davenport now stood, guarding the front entrance, his muscled arms crossed at his chest.
“Now remember what I said,” he told her, opening the front door. “No teenage fangirl nonsense. It gets old after a while.”
Inside, the chatter of voices, the clink of cocktail glasses rose in a symphony toward the vaulted wooden ceiling, only outdone by Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” blaring from the speaker system. At the room’s center, a fire crackled in the majestic stone hearth and the mahogany tables were packed with people Harley had never seen before, decked out in leather skirts and halter tops, expensive clothes made to look cheap.
There was no sign of Beau Arson. Harley decided she would give the whiskey to the first person she found, then leave. That person turned out to be Laura Abner, who co-owned Muscadine Farms with her husband, Max.
Laura, who was always meticulous with her grooming and appearance, looked as if she had just woken up. She had her ginger hair tied into a messy bun and her print dress was stained and wrinkled. The lines and dark circles around her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept in days. She rushed past Harley, carrying a tray of cocktails, and nearly crashed into the younger woman.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, rebalancing the tray. When she looked up and recognized the girl was Harley, she said, “Harley? Harley Henrickson? What a surprise to find you here.” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You better leave while you still have the chance.”
“He’s that bad, is he?” Harley asked.
“Who? Beau Arson? I wouldn’t really know. I don’t get much of a chance to interact with him. No, it’s all of his people. They’re so rude and demanding and they surround him like a fortress. Nobody gets to that man without going through all of them first. And they refused my waitstaff, don’t you know? They said for security reasons.” The roll of Laura’s eyes said what she thought of their perceived need for security. “Said they couldn’t trust them around Beau. So, now I’m doing all of the servicing and Max all of the cooking.”
“Sounds terrible. But why are you putting up with it? You all are so successful as it is.”
Laura sighed. “Harley, that man is richer than Croesus.” She paused in thought, then almost laughed. “He doesn’t look like it though, does he? More like a bouncer at a dive bar. But anyway, you’re right. We don’t need the money, per se, to run things as they are—we’re doing great—but you see, we want to add another building to the inn. Demand has gotten so high. The money he’s paying us will cover that plus another barn for the livestock and another garden for our produce.”
“So, how much longer are they going to be here? Do you know?”
“Indefinitely, from what I understand. He’s working on a solo album, they say, and looking at properties in the area.”
“So he’s planning on living here permanently then?”
“I don’t know about permanently. People like him have multiple houses all over the world. But he does plan on having some sort of residence here. How often he’ll ever be here is yet to be seen.”
“But why here? Why Notchey Creek?”
“He was born around here apparently, and the place has special meaning for him.”
Harley remembered Beau Arson having said he had lived in Notchey Creek for a short time but had spent the remainder of his early life in foster homes.
“Well, good luck,” she said. “Just keep thinking about that new addition to the inn and the barn for the horses.”
She handed Laura the whiskey bottle. “Could you please see that this is delivered to Beau? He came by my shop this morning and ordered it. I promised I’d get it to him by the end of the day.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She took the bottle and placed it on the tray of drinks.
“Thank you.”
Laura continued past the bar and called over her shoulder, “I’ll see you, Harley.”
Harley headed back outside, thankful for the silence of the parking lot. Being in there had been like being trapped in a dark cave, one populated by primitive creatures who fed off cocktails and heavy metal. She wondered if they would all turn into vampires at nightfall.
Thankfully, now the only sound was that of her boots hitting the pavement as she made her way back to the truck.
Wait. What was that?
She paused in the parking lot, training her ear to listen. She looked around the dark lot but she could see no one.
But she had heard something. She was sure of it.
Then it came again.
Voices. Male voices rising in anger.
She crouched to the pavement and crept behind a pickup truck, then alongside a sedan. Peeking over the sedan’s hood, she spotted Beau Arson and Patrick Middleton by the barn.
“But Beau, please,” Patrick said. “I’m so sorry. I know I should’ve told you. It was my own cowardice. My own shame. I admit it. But you see why I didn’t tell you then, and why I have to tell you now?”
Beau shook his head and deflected his gaze to the ground, mumbling something inaudible.
“But I’ll make it up to you,” Patrick said. “I promise I will. You’ll see.”
Beau jerked his body away from Patrick, turning his back to the older man. “Go home, Patrick,” he said. “Go home before I kill you.”
Before Harley could see what would happen next, someone yelled at her from behind. “Hey, who’s there? Who’s that out there?”
Harley swung around and spotted Marcus glaring at her from across the parking lot.
She ducked behind a row of cars and crawled back toward her truck. From the truck bed, Matilda snorted at her from her pen. “Shh,” Harley whispered. “Shush, Matilda, shush.”
“Oh, it’s you, Deliverance.” Marcus quickened his pace across the parking lot. “Should’ve known it’d be a weirdo like you out here creepin’ around.”
When Harley reached her truck, she secured Matilda’s pen in the bed, and jumped in the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind her. She fiddled with her keys and jammed them in the ignition, saying a prayer the truck would start.
She gasped with relief as the ancient Chevy roared awake, then jerked the gear into drive, tearing through the parking lot toward the entrance. It was then she spotted Marcus ahead, standing in the road, his blond hair glowing in the truck’s headlights. He was trying to block her path, and if he did not move soon, she was going to hit him. She punched the brakes and the truck jerked to a halt.
Snap!
Rosie, the cupcake, flew from the truck’s roof and struck Marcus in the face, knocking him to the pavement. The giant cupcake lay alongside him, its red cherry kissing Marcus’s perfectly coiffed forehead. He had his hand clamped over his nose, his eyes squinting in pain as he yelled a few choice words at Harley.
With the truck’s window rolled down, Harley idled past him and murmured, “Sorry.”
“You broke my nose.”
From the truck bed, Matilda snorted and kicked at her pen with glee.
Once past a crumpled Marcus, Harley punched the truck’s gas again, zooming out of the parking lot and leaving the giant cupcake trembling in the middle of the road. In her rearview mirror, a crowd of people had gathered on the front veranda, watching her escape with rapt attention, manicured hands over painted mouths.