Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) (40 page)

Ariana snorted. “This is a joke, right?”

“I’ve been in love with Jackie for a long
time.” Kingston looked down at Jackie with something far more than
the fond gaze Simone was used to. “She only figured out how much
she adores me a few months ago.” Then he turned back to his
so-called employer. “We don’t feel like wasting any more time
before getting married.”

Ariana’s jaw dropped. She’d hate the
expression if she saw it in the mirror. “That’s perverted. You’re
old enough to be her father.”

Jackie leaned on Kingston’s shoulder. “You
can’t say anything that will ruin this for us, MOTHER.”

“He’s deserting me for you. He’s always got
to attach himself to a star. He’s nothing without it.” She threw
out her arm in Kingston’s direction. “He’s not even much of a
man.”

Jackie turned her face up adoringly. “I
assure you, he’s very much a man.”

After a quick nuzzle to Simone’s ear, Brax
crossed the short distance and picked up the two forgotten bags.
“I’ll carry these out to the car for you, Mrs. Chandler.”

“It’s Miss. Miss Chandler.” Ariana refused to
be anybody’s anything, even somebody’s wife.

“If you hurry,” Brax said, “you can make it
to Las Vegas before it gets dark. Stay at the Venetian. I’ve heard
the rooms are luxurious. You won’t even need your fumigator.”

Ariana looked at her daughters. Then she
looked at her manager. She didn’t even bother looking at Brax.
Finally, she lifted her head regally. Then exited the small
trailer.

Silence reigned for exactly three seconds.
“Shit, the car keys.” Kingston dug in his pocket.

Simone took Jackie’s hand in hers and smiled
all the way from her heart. “I’m very, very happy for you both. Now
give me the keys, Kingston, and I’ll take them to her.” Her last
hurrah.

Her mother did not lower herself to
acknowledge either the man who carried her bags or the woman who
offered the keys, even if it was her daughter. She did not say
goodbye. Nor did she leave them a tip.

“I didn’t even know she knew how to drive,”
Simone murmured as Brax hugged her.

Together, they watched the car disappear
around the corner.

Brax rubbed his nose in her hair. “You know,
my mother’s gonna love you as much as I do.”

She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my
God, I forgot. I’m going to have to meet your mother.” But she
could do anything if she put her mind to it. Especially with Brax
at her side. “You’re right,” she murmured, letting a smile grow.
“She’s going to love me. And I’m going to love her.”

Epilogue

Crepe paper streamers looped the tables set
along the back wall. Paper tablecloths festooned with flowers hung
almost to the floor. Helium balloons had been set free to drift
lazily along the ceiling while cardboard angels floated across the
white walls. The aroma of freshly perked coffee wafted to every
corner.

The dining hall of Our Manor of the Ladies
was decorated more for a party than a wake. Brax didn’t think
Maggie—or Carl—would be unhappy with that.

“I made three trifles. Carl loved my trifle.
Maggie always took home the center piece for him, where all the
sherry soaks into the ladyfingers.” Rowena dug out a large portion
of whipped cream, bananas, and sherry-laced cake. Then her smile
suddenly drooped. “She is all right, isn’t she?”

Brax had escorted Maggie, his mother, and
Simone to the funeral while Rockie the gigolo opted to stay at
home. After the service, Brax drove them to the Manor, where they’d
all piled into the home’s small ladies’ room, where Maggie could
wipe her tears and receive a few much-needed hugs. They were still
there, as far as he knew.

All right?
No. Maggie wouldn’t be all
right for a long time. But she had her mother, her brother, and her
future sister-in-law to help her through.

“She’s going home with my mother for a
while,” he told Rowena. “Then she’ll come to Cottonmouth. We’ll
take care of her.”

Handing the plate to him along with a
flower-flocked napkin and a plastic fork, Rowena gasped. “I didn’t
make the trifle that last time. I baked scones instead. Maybe
that’s what went wrong. I always saved the last piece for
Carl.”

Brax didn’t say that Carl was already dead
before the last tea party. Nothing could have helped him then. “I’m
sure he’s enjoying this one from above. Just keep remembering
that.”

The little woman beamed. “You’re right. Can’t
spoil the mood with crappy regrets. Carl would have wanted us to
remember him with happy thoughts. Right, girls?” Rowena called
across the room.

Standing like a welcoming committee at the
door, Nonnie, Divine, and Agnes tucked into their own plates of
trifle.

“That boy always did love a party,” Agnes
intoned.

“So we’re giving him a proper send-off,”
Divine added.

“Do you know he used to dress up every year
as Santa Claus and bring us gifts?” Rowena asked. “He always
brought me lavender perfume.” She savored a bite of trifle. “I
never did tell him I hate lavender.” Her small nose wrinkled.
“Smells like bug repellant.” She quickly covered her mouth with a
dainty hand. “Oh, you don’t think he heard, do you?” she whispered,
then raised her voice. “Carl, I love lavender. It’s my favorite.
Always made the men gather round like tomcats.” She batted almost
nonexistent eyelashes, then her features drooped once more. “I am
so going to miss that boy. Whatever will we do next Christmas?”

Brax threw a glance at Teesdale standing
between a tall woman with fading red hair and a young lady sporting
enchanting dimples at the corners of her mouth. His wife and
daughter. His pride and joy. His beloved Goldstone roots.

“Santa would never desert such lovely ladies
as yourselves.” He’d toss a hint at Teesdale before he left, though
he was sure the sheriff would think of it on his own come
Christmas.

“Oh look, the chickens.” Rowena bounced and
bubbled. “Yoo-hoo girls, get some trifle before the whipped cream
gets soggy.”

The chickens had attended Carl’s graveside
draped in black. Without their distinguishing colors, Brax couldn’t
tell them apart. Of course, necklines plunged to reveal too much
cleavage and matching skirts barely covered their rumps. Chloe had
said Carl wouldn’t have it any other way. Maggie had hugged each of
them with trembling arms.

“Mumsy, did you make any tarts?”

Brax raised an eyebrow and mouthed
Mumsy?
with a question mark at the end.

Rowena rose on her tiptoes and whispered to
his shoulder, which was all she could reach. “I give them pointers.
So they sort of think of me as their mumsy.”

Brax didn’t ask what kind of pointers.

“I made tarts, of course, but they won’t be
coming out until all the trifle is gone.” She raised a snowy white
brow at Brax. “Except for the last piece.”

The chickens surrounded him then, pecking his
cheeks with tiny kisses, then swiping at the lipstick prints left
behind.

“Ooh, we can’t let Simone see the evidence.
She’ll rip my lips right off my face and stuff them up my—”

“Chocolate. Behave yourself.”

“Yes, Mumsy.” But she smiled and simpered and
batted her eyelashes at him.

Chocolate, of course. The thirstiest among
the bloodthirsty.

“We were going to give you a bachelor party.”
Peppermint—maybe—smiled lasciviously.

“But Rowena and Chloe said it would be in bad
taste.” Cotton Candy—perhaps—batted her eyelashes.

“Do you think it’s in bad taste, Brax?”
Caramel—the only remaining choice—seductively bit her lower
lip.

“It would be an honor, ladies. But Simone’s
planned my bachelor party.”

“The bride-to-be can’t plan the bachelor
party. It just isn’t done.”

He liked Simone’s plans. In fact, he loved
Simone’s plans. She was going to show him
The Wizard of Oz
.
Because they’d missed most of it the first time, and they still had
a bet. Simone threatened to make him watch the whole thing, but he
had a few plans of his own.

Then Chocolate did an odd thing. She wiped
the lipstick from her mouth on her flowery napkin, rose up on the
toes of her spike-heeled shoes, and kissed his cheek gently. “We
already bought a robot,” she whispered.

Peppermint-Maybe followed suit, wiping clean
her burgundy lips, and planting a kiss in exactly the same spot as
the Chocolate kiss. “For the first baby,” she said.

“And we’re going to learn to put the robot
together ourselves.” Cotton-Candy-Perhaps.

Caramel-Definitely. “We’ve already started
practicing. I even know which is the Allen wrench.”

His heart swelled, with the image of Simone
carrying his child and the sweetness of the chickens. “Thank you,
ladies.”

Rowena set her plate down, wiped at a
mysterious moisture in her eyes, then clapped her hands. “Girls, go
and put your lipstick back on now. You look positively naked.”

The chickens filed out just as Doodle
scampered in. Followed by...damn. The stately woman entering on his
heels was nothing less than a goddess. She had the ageless features
and magnificent beauty of Sophia Loren. Her hair—a brilliant blend
of silver shot through with black—was piled elegantly on top of her
head, tiny wisps falling in curls about her forehead and
temples.

This
was Mrs. Doodle?

“She was a beauty queen in her younger days.”
Rowena then dropped her voice to a whisper. “But we won’t mention
how long ago that was.”

It didn’t matter how many years, the woman
was gorgeous. Somehow, he knew Simone would retain that same
ethereal quality.

“She dotes on Doodle.”

And had Simone write little snippets. Perhaps
snippets were the secret to a happy marriage and a long life. He’d
have to think up a few for Simone to write for him. One for each
day of the week.

Mrs. Doodle stopped to speak with the
sheriff’s wife, but Doodle scurried to Brax’s side.

“Son, son, it was a glorious service, wasn’t
it?” Doodle clasped both Brax’s hands in his bony ones. “They
buried Carl right next to Wyatt Earp.”

“Ya don’t say?”

“Well, they dug Wyatt up in the twenties and
carted him off to Tombstone, but the ambience is still there. And
free, too.”

Brax hadn’t forgotten about the free plot
when he made arrangements for Carl, though Maggie had picked out
the spot itself and the style of headstone. She had yet to decide
on the inscription.

“How’s my Maggie girl?”

Brax smiled. His sister had so many people to
care about her. “With all of you to look after her, Mr. Doodle,
she’s going to be just fine.”

“Well, shit, ain’t that the nicest darn thing
anybody ever said. Whitey wanted to come, but his editor called
about that change he wanted to make to the dedication.”

“A change to the dedication?”

“Yeah, his new book. He’s gonna dedicate it
to Carl. But there was some rigmarole he had to go through because
the book had almost gone to print or something. Don’t know the
technical terms. But I’m supposed to tell Maggie. Thought she came
over here with you.”

“She did. She’s powdering her nose.” And
pulling herself together. Maggie was strong. She’d make it.

Brax watched as Teesdale separated himself
from his ladies and Doodle’s wife and made his way over.

“Braxton, got something to tell you.”

Mr. Doodle cupped his ear. “We’re waiting
with bated breath, Sheriff.”

Teesdale looked down. “That’s why I’m telling
Braxton here, Doodle, so you can make sure everyone else hears it,
too.”

“Do tell, Sheriff.”

Gossip had buzzed from one corner of town to
the other in the four days since the arrest. Every detail of the
how and why of Carl’s demise had been bandied about and dissected.
But no one, not one person had mentioned Della Montrose’s name.
They’d simply referred to her as the judge. It was as if she were
dead to them. Brax didn’t expect her name to be on Teesdale’s lips
now.

“Lafoote’s skipped town.”

Good thing or bad thing, Brax couldn’t be
sure, but his gut tensed. “Where to?”

“Who the hell cares? He left on the morning
bus.”

“What happened to that fancy car of his?”
Doodle asked.

“Repo man in the middle of the night. I think
our Lafoote has a few creditors he didn’t tell us about. Seems he
was only the front man. He didn’t put up the money for the hotel.
Now he’s skipped town before they find him.”

“Sounds a little too good to be true,
Teesdale.”

“Maybe. But most of the time, things too good
to be true do happen in Goldstone.”

Even as she lost something precious, Maggie
had found friends who loved her. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

Simone had found her courage. Brax had found
Simone. All good things happened in Goldstone.

She entered then, in a black suit she’d found
on a Goodwill rack on fifty-percent-off Tuesday. It was some
designer brand a rich woman in Scottsdale probably got tired of.
Simone always found bargains at Goodwill. They didn’t carry size
zero, unless it was her sister’s garments she’d donated.

Her mother was probably still
hyperventilating over it.

Mom and Maggie followed, also in black. They
resembled a wedding procession. A beginning rather than an
ending.

Maggie accepted the hugs and the kisses and
the tears, then made a beeline straight for the table.

“Elwood Teesdale, I think you have something
to tell me, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

A hush fell, waiting for Teesdale’s answer.
Brax felt a hand slip through his arm and a warm body press to his
side. He smelled her, the citrus of shampoo and the tang of woman.
His
woman. Simone.

Teesdale rolled his shoulders forward and
hunched. “Shit, Maggie. Who the hell told you?”