part0005

Wilson opened the door, and I peeked inside. “Where is Karen when I need her?” I asked. “I want Karen.”

“Well you don’t get Karen.” He took me by the elbow and ushered me into the Stone Fountain, our friendly neighborhood bar, and we spotted our friend and neighbor Candy Poppe. “But you do get Candy,” he said. “You like her, too.”

Yes, but the man sitting beside her was another matter altogether. “I do not like that new boyfriend of hers,” I said.

“Jessie. You know Carter’s been part of her life for years.”

“But only on again, off again,” I argued. “Personally, I prefer the off again segments.”

My husband raised an eyebrow. “Karen feel the same?”

Okay, perhaps not. But I knew if I could just get her attention, Karen would agree with me about the dreaded Carter O’Connell. After all, Karen Sembler, Candy Poppe, and I are best friends, and live in the same building in Clarence, North Carolina. Wilson and I occupy the top floor, Candy’s on the second floor across from the empty apartment, and Karen’s on the ground floor across from Peter Harrison. Once upon a time, Peter owned the whole building, but converted the old warehouse into condominiums to support his retirement.

“Karen would help me talk some sense into Candy,” I insisted. “So, where is she?”

“You know that too,” Wilson said. “She’s at Pierpont Rigby’s.”

About then Candy spotted us and hopped up from her bar stool to wave.

I waved back. “Why can’t Candy find a beau like Karen’s?”

“Maybe because billionaires don’t grow on trees?” He took my hand, and as we began weaving our way to our spot near the pool table, the dreaded Carter also waved us onward. Wilson tightened his grip. “Be polite. ”

“I am always polite,” I said and reminded my husband the cop he’s the one who has perfected the grumpy intimidating cop persona.

“I’m not grumpy,” he mumbled and stepped forward to plant a kiss on Candy’s fresh young cheek. He also exchanged a handshake with Carter, who in turn, kissed my cheek.

Testimony to my southern upbringing and good manners, I attempted a smile.

“Jessie!” Candy reached for a hug. “Why do you look so mad? What were you and Wilson arguing about?” She pointed a hot pink fingernail toward the doorway.

“We were discussing Karen,” I said honestly. “We were discussing how happy she is with Pierpont.”

“Us, too. I was telling Carter they’re probably flying to New York City or something. Too busy to spend Friday night with us. Karen never even returned my phone call.”

“I miss her,” I said.

“Me, too! It feels like I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Her loss.” Carter pointed to the bottle of Korbel chilling on the bar. “We ordered your favorite, Jessie. May I do the honors?”

I frowned, and Wilson nudged me.

“Since when do you make faces at champagne?” he whispered. “Be polite.”

“I am always polite,” I whispered back, and Mr. O’Connell handed me a glass.

He filled the other glasses and held up his. “To friendship,” he said.

“To old and new friends,” Candy said.

“Cheers,” Wilson added, and yours truly attempted another smile as the four of us clinked glasses.

Candy leaned into me, and I looked up. “Yes, Sweetie?”

“You’re not paying attention, Jessie. Carter’s asked you, like, five times, if you’d shoot a game of eight ball with him.”

I turned to the dreaded Carter .

“I keep hearing about how good you are,” he said. “Teach me?”

“She’d love to,” Wilson answered for me and tipped me off my bar stool.

Charlie our bartender handed me my cue stick from behind the bar, and as we stepped toward the pool table, I ever-so-politely told Carter I would be pleased to show him a few tricks.

“Little Girl Cue-It must know lots of tricks.”

I stopped short. “What did you just call me?”

“Wasn’t that your nickname?” Carter nodded toward the pool table. “Back when you made your living at it?”

“That was my father’s nickname for me. My father,” I repeated for good measure.

Candy picked up on my annoyance. “I shouldn’t have told Carter about that, huh, Jessie?”

“No one’s allowed to call her that,” Kirby Cox and several of my pool-playing buddies informed the man.

“Not even me,” Wilson added.

I turned to Mr. O’Connell. “Don’t use it again.”

He took a step back, and I blew a puff of chalk from the tip of my cue. “You can count, right?” I pointed to where Kirby was racking the balls. “Fifteen balls, a cue ball, and as my daddy used to say, six easy pockets.”

Carter grinned. “Easy for you to say.”

“Gosh, you’re good!” Candy told her beau as the lesson came to an end. “Isn’t he good, Jessie?”

I agreed Mr. O’Connell did seem to possess a modicum of talent.

“Did I really do okay?” he asked me.

I shrugged, handed my cue back to Charlie, and took my seat, and Wilson slid a fresh glass of bubbly in my direction.

“Be polite,” he sang under his breath.

“I always am,” I was singing back when Carter tapped my shoulder.

“What’s up with Princess Destiny?” he asked.

“Jessie!” Candy scolded. “That’s the new book you’re writing, remember?”

“I can’t believe you’re a writer,” Carter said. “I’ve never known a real author. Especially one who writes such steamy stuff.”

“I do not write ‘steamy stuff,’” I said. “I write historical romances.”

“Steamy.” Wilson caught my eye. “Since when do you deny you write bodice rippers?”

I tossed my head in the haughty manner reminiscent of Princess Destiny herself, and Carter informed me he had never met anyone who writes historical romances. “May I call you Adelé?” he asked.

“No, you may not.”

Wilson kicked my bar stool.

Okay, okay. I patiently explained to the dreaded Carter that no one actually calls me Adelé. “Adelé Nightingale is my pen name,” I told him.

“She’s just Jessie to us,” Candy said.

“Jessica Hewitt-Rye,” Wilson added, even though I hadn’t officially taken his name when we got married. I thought Jessie Hewitt, Adelé Nightingale, and yes, Little Girl Cue-It were more than enough names for any one person.

“So?” Carter asked again. “What’s up with Destiny?”

I sighed dramatically. “I don’t know, so please stop asking.”

“Plot plight.” Candy nodded knowingly and told her beau it happens whenever I begin a new book. “Jessie starts writing without knowing what will happen next.”

“Maybe we can help,” Carter suggested. “So we have a princess, and who else?”

“Her parents,” I said. “King Cedric and Queen Camille.”

“No prince?” he asked.

“No villain?” Candy asked.

“No hero with a huge—”

“No, Wilson!” I spoke up. “No hero, no villain, no prince.” I sighed again. “Not yet, anyway. ”

“Plot plight.” Carter nodded as if he knew what he was talking about.

At least I knew one thing—I knew Princess Destiny was harboring a secret. “She’s hiding something from her parents,” I said.

Candy and Wilson asked what secret, but Carter told them to think again. “Not what,” he said. “It’s who. The question is who is Destiny’s secret. Right, Jessie?”

I blinked twice. “Perhaps,” I said. “But whatever her secret, King Cedric and Queen Camille will be quite surprised when they learn of it.”

“Me and Carter have a surprise, too!” Candy said, and my head snapped in the direction of her ring finger.