Dressed To Kill (21 page)

M
odern wisdom says it takes twenty-one days to make a habit stick. Lack of exercise, eating too much, or even negative thinking are all habits that can disappear in less than a month. My problem is, I don’t seem to get past week one. Oh, my intentions are good. My heart’s in the right place, but then the proverbial stuff happens.

Like the current Business-to-Business meeting, where I sat eating my second slice of Sadie Michael’s black forest cheesecake. The item was a new offering from her bakery, Pies on the Fly. Each slice had enough calories to nourish a small village for a week. However, Josh Thomas was off on a rant, and the creamy chocolate dessert was the only thing keeping my mouth shut and therefore not pointing out the flaws in his reasoning. Today, the owner of Antiques by Thomas thought we should do something about the ocean smell that permeated our little tourist town. His idea was to have electronic air fresheners installed on each streetlight on Main Street.

I guessed the fact that South Cove was located in central coastal California—therefore, the ocean—hadn’t been included in Josh’s memo when he opened the store last year. I glanced over at Aunt Jackie and raised my eyebrows, a signal that she needed to control her tubby boy toy before someone pointed out this fact to the clueless Josh.

She ignored me.

As I eyed the last piece of cheesecake heaven, Bill Sullivan, owner of South Cove Bed-and-Breakfast and our committee’s chair, interrupted Josh’s tirade. “I’m afraid I can’t support this idea. Most of my guests book rooms with us specifically because of South Cove’s proximity to the coast. In my mind, the sea air is a selling point, not a distraction.”

“You don’t understand how damaging it can be to my inventory. I’m always having to dehumidify my shop. If air fresheners were installed, at least the smell wouldn’t enter with my customers.” Josh looked around the table. “I’m sure others on the committee feel the same way.”

I saw ten heads shake as Josh tried to make eye contact with the other business owners. Even this month’s representative from the local art galleries failed to meet Josh’s eyes. Of course, that could have been because they were asleep behind the dark shades. Artists loved the grant money that being a member of the Business-to-Business committee gave them, they just didn’t like the actual meetings. Or helping with community projects. Or even having a freaking opinion.

“Well, it looks like we can table this discussion for another time then.” Bill took charge and glanced down at the agenda. “One more item: the Mission Walk sponsorship. Darla? Do you want to present or is Jill handling this?”

The Jill he was referencing is me—Jill Gardner, owner of Coffee, Books, and More—or CBM, according to the new logo on our last cup order. I’m also the liaison between the South Cove City Council and the business community. Which means I’m responsible for setting up the monthly meeting, publishing the meeting minutes on our website, and any other crappy job the mayor decided to assign me.

I nodded to Darla Taylor, the owner of South Cove Winery and local event planner extraordinaire. “Go ahead, you’re spearheading this event.”

The Mission Walk was South Cove’s first entry into the world of the California Mission Society. The charity focused on the preservation of historic missions throughout the state. Now that the small wall in my backyard had moved up on the list from application to possible historic landmark, I’d been invited to help sponsor this year’s 5K Walk and Run fund-raiser. Darla had jumped at the chance to plan the event, and I blessed her every time I got a new e-mail from the representative of the professional company that the society had hired to manage everything.

I reached for the last slice of cheesecake, but Aunt Jackie slapped my hand, moving the plate off the table and onto the coffee counter. I refilled my coffee cup instead and sat back to listen to Darla’s report.

“We’re all set for next Saturday’s run. The greenbelt has been measured, and we’ve got parking set up for the start and finish lines. Greg hired off-duty police officers from Bakerstown to help with patrols that day. The only thing I need is a small group to walk the distance on Friday so we can make sure there aren’t any surprises Saturday morning.” She glanced around the table. “Who’s going to volunteer?”

The room went quiet. I raised my hand. “You know Greg and I will be there, just name the time.”

“Thanks. I’d like to do the run-through at five p.m. sharp. That way we’ll know how long it will take our slower walkers so we don’t leave anyone on the trail.” Darla wrote down our names in her notebook. “Who else?”

“Josh and I will be there.” Aunt Jackie stood to take the coffee carafe back for a refill.

“Jackie, you know I don’t . . .” Whatever Josh had been going to say was blocked by the scorching look my aunt gave him. Sure, now he shut up.

“Perfect. Matt and I will start timing you at the start line and then we’ll drive to the finish line to wait for you.” Darla focused on me. “Do you want to ask Amy if she and Justin would join, too? I’d like some runners to see how quickly people can get through.”

I held back my retort about me being chopped liver and nodded. Besides, if Amy and Justin ran, I could bring Emma, and Greg and I could have some quality time before the craziness of the weekend hit. We hadn’t had much couple time lately between the shop and his annual training requirements for the local police department.

Yes, my boyfriend was the local detective for South Cove. Greg King had just returned to the area when my friend, Miss Emily, had been murdered. While he investigated her death, we’d started spending time together. I think he just wanted to keep his prime suspect close. He tells a different story. No matter what the truth had been, we’ve been a couple for over a year now. And we rarely, if ever, fought. Unless he thought I was messing with one of his investigations.

As Darla wrapped up the list of assignments for Saturday’s run, the committee members filled their to-go cups with more free coffee and squirmed in their seats, ready for the meeting to end. Fortunately, Darla was enough of a bulldog that she’d filled the final few volunteer spots before she’d turned control of the meeting back to Bill.

“And that’s everything.” Bill closed the South Cove notebook cover where he kept the meeting notes. Mary, his wife and a marketing maven, hadn’t attended the meeting, but she’d been working with Darla this last month to analyze the effect of the run on the city’s business community. The couple’s bed-and-breakfast business had been booked solid for the last week with runners preparing for the event. He waved as he left the shop. “See you all Saturday.”

“As usual, they leave all the cleanup for the meeting to us,” Aunt Jackie grumbled as she started moving tables back to their normal places scattered around the shop.

Josh inched toward the door. “Sorry, I have to open in ten minutes. Otherwise . . .”

We watched as Josh lumbered through the door, his next words lost to the wind. He scurried as fast as his close-to-four-hundred-pound frame would allow toward his shop next door.

“I’m shocked, I tell you, shocked.” Darla laughed as she placed chairs around a table my aunt had just moved. “Seems that Josh always has an excuse when there’s actual work to be done. I don’t think the guy has moved a box since Kyle started working for him.”

“Being catty doesn’t suit you, dear,” my aunt chided Darla, her tone gentle. If I’d said that I would have gotten a lecture about being generous in spirit in my words. Darla just got a verbal tap on the hand.

My thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and a man and woman entered. To refer to the pair as Ken and Barbie would be too generous to the dolls. Both of the new arrivals were actor-level beautiful. We had tourist traffic that came up from Hollywood at times, but typically they came later in the day and dressed in clothes a bit more casual (but just as expensive).

“I told you we were going to be late, Michael.” The woman tossed back her blond hair with caramel highlights as she watched us moving the tables.

He sighed. “We would have been on time if you hadn’t had to call your stylist about what outfit would be appropriate for a business meeting.”

The woman smoothed down the blue jacket that hugged her curves. “Blame me for wanting to make a good first impression.” She turned toward me and flashed a hundred-watt smile. “Forgive our bickering. I’m Sandra Ashford and this is my husband, Michael. We’re the owners of Promote Your Event. We’ve been hired by the Mission Society to assist with their fund-raising events. We’re checking in to see if you all are ready for the walk on Saturday.”

“I’m Jill Gardner. I own the land where the South Cove Mission was found.” I held my hands up and glanced around the room. “As well as this coffee shop/bookstore. We’ve committed to be one of the sponsors for the event.”

“Lovely.” Sandra’s gaze covered the shop’s dining area and book department in less time than it took to read a road sign. A look of disgust flashed on her face for a second, her lip twitching like the smell was Stockyard Drip instead of Vanilla Bean Delight. Then her plastic veneer went back up, and I almost thought I’d imagined the negative assessment. Until she spoke her next words. “I guess it will have to do.”

Darla stepped next to me and held out her hand. “Darla Taylor, South Cove Winery, and
Examiner
lead reporter.” She grinned at me before adding, “And South Cove Mission Walk chairman. I’m so glad you took time out of your busy schedule for us. Come sit, I’ve got the event plan right here. I’d love to have you go over it to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

Michael stepped forward and shook Darla’s hand. “I’m sure it’s grand. You know, these events never could get off the ground without the tireless effort of volunteers like you.”

As Darla stepped toward a clean table, I heard a sigh come from Sandra’s direction. “I swear, if I have to do any more of these one-horse-town events, I’m going to scream.”

Michael grabbed her elbow and leaned closer. “Be nice. Or pretend to be nice. I know it’s hard to act like something you’re not.” The couple followed Darla, and as I watched, Sandra shook off her husband’s grip.

Those two have issues
. I knew what it was like to be in a marriage that wasn’t working. Between my law practice and my own failed relationships, I’d had plenty of examples. The Ashfords were definitely dysfunctional and on their way to a nuclear blowup. I just hoped they’d get through Saturday. The Mission Walk was too important to be collateral damage from a couple’s disintegration. I stood by the table as they sat on both sides of Darla.

“Before we get started, can I bring you coffee? A carafe? Or something more decadent, like a cinnamon roll and a hot chocolate?”

“Bottled water.” Sandra didn’t even look up from digging in her leather tote.

“I’m good.” Darla waved me to a chair. “Sit down and help me present our plan.”

Michael turned toward me. “That cinnamon roll sounds amazing. Can you heat it with a little butter? And coffee, cream and sugar.”

Sandra snorted. “No wonder you didn’t want to go to the gym today. You were planning on blowing your diet.”

“I’m not on a diet.” Michael smiled up at me. “But I should have accompanied my wife to the gym. Sometimes you just want that extra sleep.”

And time away from a witch from hell
. I started to walk to the counter, but my aunt waved me away. “I can handle this. Just sit down.”

By all rights, Aunt Jackie should have been the one involved in the discussion. She had a knack for marketing. I had just muddled through before she’d come to help me with the shop. I slipped into the last chair at the table and accepted a folder from Darla.

Listening to the plans and schedule, I knew that Darla had been the right choice to set this event up. She had thought of everything. As I looked through the maps, sign-up sheets, and lists of South Cove businesses she’d gotten donations from, I was impressed.

Aunt Jackie set a glass of orange juice in front of me and looked over my shoulder, pointing to an item on the list. “I didn’t think Lille would be participating. That woman’s always griping about giving away her profits.”

Darla laughed. “When I told her you were sponsoring all the water stations and providing CBM cups, she decided she needed to do something. So she’s hosting a small celebration circle at the end of the walk. Burgers and fries.”

“Just what a health-conscious runner wants at the end of an exercise event. Sometimes I think the woman is clueless.” Sandra snorted.

Michael dug into his cinnamon roll, holding his fork up to show his wife. “There’s more to life than just health food.”

“I hope you choke.” Her response sent a chill through me.