Her Billionaire's Murder Mystery - Stephanie Fowers Page 0,4
phone a few months ago before he asked to discuss details with my uncle. This guy is going all out for this Murder Mystery, with gangsters and flappers. He’s sponsoring the Barefoot Ball on Saturday. He’s commissioned Autumn Molinero originals for it—do you know how expensive that jewelry is?” Mollie’s face went blank—she wasn’t into fashion like Charly was. “Anyway, money’s clearly no object.”
Mollie’s pert nose wrinkled in distaste. “What a nightmare.” If there was anything Mollie detested more than the men in this town, it was arrogant ones with money. “What are you going to do about security?”
Charlize threw her hands up into the air. “Barnett is going crazy trying to meet all the demands. A security team will take a room near all the exits, since each floor here is a ground floor.”
Mollie nodded. She led her ghost tours here often enough to know that. The whole building was a historical masterpiece, but doors wouldn’t shut right. Halls bumped and creaked in the night—some might say it was haunted, especially Mollie, since that was her job. “Hey, I know,” Mollie said. “How about you wrap this sexy-voiced billionaire around your finger and... talk him into taking his friends on a ghost tour.”
Charly felt her face go red and laughed. No way would she try to catch the eye of their hotel’s most important guest. Never mind they were cousins, Barnett would fire her on the spot. However, suggesting a historical tour wasn’t a bad idea. Mollie was voted best actress in their high school yearbook. She thrived off telling tales of Chicago gangsters who’d once lived at the Basin Park Hotel and kept their very own live-in “hostess” on the third floor. Shocking!
Of course, it hadn’t taken too long before “the coppers” broke up the gangsters’ fun back in the day and raided their illegal operations by sneaking through the same underground tunnels used for smuggling alcohol. They’d ruined the town’s annual Barefoot Ball by busting through the secret entrances into the billiards room that doubled as a speakeasy and confiscated all the slot machines. Mollie often took groups to those smuggler tunnels in the basement, though they were boarded up now. Charly’s uncle said he couldn’t risk losing their guests indefinitely down there.
“I’ll suggest a tour,” Charlize said. “What are best friends for?”
Mollie grinned and poked her. “Don’t sell your soul for it though. I was kidding about going after that billionaire. We don’t want you falling for one like Brooklyn did.”
Charlize swallowed the last of her fries, trying not to choke on her bubbling laughter. Their brash friend had tried to turn the town against the charming and successful architect of the Mountain Cove Resort, only to fall for him herself. Charly wasn’t about to follow Brooklyn’s example. She dug her elbows into the counter. “Oh please. Who do you think I am? Cinderella? He’s not going to take one look at me and fall in love.”
“Of course he would.” Mollie said decisively. “I just can’t see how another billionaire could possibly be worthy of one of my friends, so you’d better not give him the time of day. You hear?”
Charly tucked a strand of her dark hair back into her ponytail, embarrassed by how pleased she was at her friend’s loyalty. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m just excited to get some good people-watching in. They’re holding a bachelor auction during the Barefoot Ball on Saturday.” Mollie pursed her lips, but looked intrigued. “It’ll be in the billiards room,” Charly said. “The guests will be raising money for their pet charities. You should come. Find love with your own rich man.”
Now that the tables had turned, Mollie let out a terrified giggle. “Sorry, I want to do ghost tours for the rest of my life. Who wants to live in a cold, oversized mansion anyway?”
“Yeah,” Charly agreed with a wink. “It would probably be haunted.”
Mollie’s eyes lit up. “If it’s by a hot, brooding ghost with a cravat and a tragic past, I’ll take him instead. Oh, but he definitely needs an accent.”
“What kind of accent?”
“Any accent.”
Charlize bit down a smile. No matter how much her friend hid her tender side, she was a romantic at heart. “Would the ghost’s name be Heathcliff, by chance?”
Mollie lifted a graceful shoulder just as the bells rang on the door and another guest walked in. Charly stuffed her takeout under the counter and turned to see a blonde bombshell sway towards them in a