The Rock Star’s Fake Fiancee - Kenzie Reed Page 0,92
guess is for luck, and a series of hearts. I shove my phone back in my pocket and glance over at Naomi, who’s smirking knowingly.
“That was Mama,” I inform her.
“I call bull-shiznit. Your mama never inspired the look that’s on your face right now.”
Then she glances around the room. “Hey, what gives?”
I follow her gaze. She’s right. There’s a distinct chill in the air, coming from the Sugar Hill residents.
Gramma Mae cheerfully waves at us from the coffee table. Carlisle is sipping coffee, and Gramma Mae is loading up her plate with cookies, many of which will end up wrapped in a napkin and shoved in her purse. You can’t take her anywhere.
The beautifully coiffed “ladies who lunch” set from Sugar Hill are clustered together at the opposite end of the table, whispering amongst themselves with their husbands and glaring at Gramma Mae and Carlisle, and then me.
“I can make a pretty good guess.” Naomi glances at Gramma Mae. “You’re on your own with this one.”
She takes a step backwards.
“Coward!”
“Hey, she’s your wacky gramma, not mine. Excuse me, I just remembered I need to drink some of that brown energy water. What’s it called again? Oh yeah, coffee.” Naomi scampers away. I sigh and walk over to Gramma Mae and Carlisle.
“Cookie?” Gramma Mae holds out her plate.
“Don’t you cookie me. What have you done?”
She gives me a hurt look. “Who says anyone’s done anything?”
I look at Carlisle. He shrugs. “She never tells me anything.”
“That’s right,” Gramma Mae nods. “Plausible deniability.”
I lean in and whisper in her ear. “Okay. How much is it going to cost in bail money?”
She smiles and blinks her eyes. “Bail’s for people who get caught.”
“Callie Abernathy?” Sheriff Buckley has somehow sidled up to us without me noticing.
I spin around. “Good morning, Sheriff!” I use my brightest, chirpiest voice and smile hugely. I flash back to Chase telling me that when I lie, my entire body radiates visible guilt rays. I’ve got absolutely no future as a criminal.
I clearly haven’t fooled Sheriff Buckley. His forehead furrows in a scowl. “Don’t good morning me, Callie. Just tell me if you can confirm Fiona Duffy’s whereabouts last night.”
Fiona? I feel a jolt of alarm. “Yes, she slept over in our guestroom because Mama needed help cleaning out the chicken’s stalls this morning. Her aunt gave us permission.”
Well, more like when I called her aunt to ask if it was okay, her aunt yelled at me to stop bothering her and hung up the phone. That woman’s nastier than week-old roadkill.
“She could easily have snuck out at any time.”
“No, she couldn’t have, because we just had an alarm system installed after that whole burglary incident.”
He looks a little less sure of himself. “She could have disarmed it.”
I roll my eyes. I’m getting mad on Fiona’s behalf, because she’s been behaving better for weeks now, and she definitely didn’t do anything last night. “She doesn’t have the code. What happened overnight?”
“Someone vandalized a bunch of cars in Sugar Hill. Specifically, they spray-painted a bunch of penises on them.”
I clap my hand over my mouth. I really want to laugh, but Sheriff Buckley is looking at me grim-faced and I know it would be a very bad idea.
Gramma Mae, who was born without the “common sense” gland that keeps so many of us from rushing head-first into danger, snort-laughs into her hand. “Aww, did someone get dick on their Range Rover?”
His eyes narrow and his gaze lights on her. “How did you know it was a Range Rover?”
“Because that’s what all those high-falutin’ snobs drive,” Gramma Mae scoffs. “Just go look out in the parking lot today and you’ll see. Cars that cost more than a house? Those people have more money than sense.”
“Fiona had nothing to do with it,” I say firmly. “Obviously the vandal is someone else, because I swear to you on my daddy’s grave that Fiona was with us all night.”
“I assume your mother can corroborate Fiona’s alibi?”
“Yes, she can. She cooked Fiona dinner last night and made her breakfast this morning. Nagged her into having seconds because she thinks Fiona looks a little peaked.”
“Probably from all the persecution,” Gramma Mae chimes in. “By the law.”
I shoot her a look. That woman just doesn’t know when to quit.
“You Abernathys will be the death of me. I can only hope sooner rather than later.” Sheriff Buckley stalks off.
He’s immediately surrounded by a group of very well-dressed Sugar Hill residents, all shouting at once and gesturing in our direction.