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When Hollywood A-listers swarm Bartell County for a celebrity funeral,
Miss Lillian takes in a temporary houseguest. After all, Abby Ruth is
away and her room is sitting empty. She’ll never be the wiser. But after
the charming visitor leaves, Abby Ruth’s adored arsenal has also
vamoosed.
Lil, Maggie, and Sera are in one hot mess trying to find the guns
before Abby Ruth gets back. And when Abby Ruth divulges a heartbreaking
secret, her friends are more determined than ever to catch the culprit
themselves.
Only this time the gals have crossed the line into deeper, more
dangerous territory than ever before. Will they recover Abby Ruth’s
guns, or will they find themselves buried in a heap of trouble?
The
six-shooter was pointed right at Sera, momentarily jolting her out of
her sorrow.
Thank
goodness it wasn’t a real gun, but a float-size wreath in the shape
of a revolver, which might’ve looked right at home had she been
back in California for the Rose Parade, rather than in Georgia with
Lil and Maggie.
As Sera
and her friends walked closer to the massive building looming in
front of them, Holy Innocence Mausoleum looked anything but innocent
today. A crowd was growing in the area surrounding the cannon-size
handgun wreath. So lowbrow. Besides, hadn’t these people been
taught never to point a gun? Even one made of flowers.
Sera
lifted a handkerchief graced with tiny, hand-stitched hummingbirds on
one corner to dab at a tear beneath her Miu Miu sunglasses. “I
still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I
hate that these terrible circumstances brought you back to us.”
Maggie grabbed Sera’s hand. “But it’s good to see you.”
Lil
tugged at the peplum of her yellow suit jacket. “Look at all these
people. I’ve never seen so many Western hats in one place. She was
obviously loved by many. Bless her heart.”
“My
goodness. Would you look at that wreath over there?” Maggie pointed
toward a spray of all-white carnations with a fringed cowboy boot in
the center. “Wish Abby Ruth was here to see this. She’d have
loved it.”
Sera
sniffed back a tear. “Only Abby Ruth would have expected that boot
to be blazing red.”
Lil and
Maggie both nodded, the tender thought lightening the heavy mood.
“It’s
odd not to have her here,” Sera said. Standing tall and strong,
Abby Ruth was always the one anchoring their foursome. Instead,
Sera’s husband, Marcus, made up the fourth today. Well, he would be
once he parked the car and caught up to them.
More
floral arrangements stood nearly eight-feet deep along each side of
the mausoleum’s entrance, giving the otherwise cold, harsh facade
an inappropriately festive look.
“I
know folks are trying to show their love and appreciation.” The
words caught in Sera’s throat. “But she’d have hated the waste
of all of these flowers. The money could’ve been spent on something
that would help others.”
“Even
if they were cheap sunflowers and alstroemeria, with so many, the
money adds up quickly,” Maggie agreed.
“More
than Summer Shoals raised at the last High on the Hog event,” Lil
said with a quick tsk.
“Easily,
and they’ll all be wilting and dying before sunrise,” Sera said.
One more dreary sign of death, which seemed to be the subtitle in
every direction.
The tiny
pillbox hat balancing atop Lil’s freshly dyed blue-blond curls—a
combo not too many people could pull off—gave the matriarch of
Summer Shoals a look of royalty. A thin man with a bad highlight job
darted out in front of them and snapped pictures, clearly focused on
Lil, who looked like a Hollywood A-lister today.
“No
pictures,” Sera said, waving the skinny guy away, a habit she fell
back into so easily. “How are we supposed to mourn with these
vultures all over the place? What was her family thinking with all
this fanfare?” If she had to guess, they’d probably tipped off
the paparazzi themselves.
Once the
photographer moved on to another victim, Maggie said, “Everyone
shows their love in a different way. Can’t really judge that, can
we?”
Sera,
Lil, and Maggie walked in lockstep. Three styles. Three sizes. But
three women equally affected by today’s sad affair for their own
reasons.
True
friends.
Sera was
thankful that Lil and the other girls hadn’t pitched a hissy fit
and thrown her out on her fanny when they’d found out the truth
about her life in California. During the time she lived with them
here in Georgia, she’d omitted the tidbit that she was the wife of
Marcus Johanneson, one of the most influential men in the Hollywood
film industry. A triple threat, Marcus had been an actor first, then
he began directing and producing his own movies. Only a few people
had a résumé as impressive as his. He had the magic touch when it
came to selecting blockbuster movies, and everyone who was anyone
wanted to be considered for one of his projects.
“There
are so many people here.” Lil’s head swiveled right and left. “I
think I saw Michael Douglas over there. Sera, tell me you’ve met
him. Or even better, his daddy.”
“We’ve
met.” Although Sera had told herself she’d never keep anything
from her friends again, elaborating on the fact that Michael and Kirk
were much more than business acquaintances didn’t feel appropriate.
Lil
touched her heart. “I do love those men. I swear, I think they
could wake up my last working hormone.”
Maggie
nudged her best friend. “Lil, we’re not that
old.”
Lil’s
eyebrows danced. “That might be true, because I do believe that I’d
be tempted to rise from the dead if all these folks showed up at my
funeral.”
Sera
would’ve never expected anything less than a standing-room-only,
Hollywood-style full house for Jessie Wyatt. Even in death. Jessie
might’ve been one of the most famous movie stars of her time, but
to Sera, she’d been a dear friend. Since the day they’d met on
one of Marcus’s movie sets, Jessie had been Sera’s lifeline and
advisor during the tumultuous tides of her marriage.
Sera
wished Finn, could’ve made it for the funeral. She would’ve
simply said, “Lil, Maggie, Abby Ruth, please meet my son.” Then
they would’ve been so taken with his good looks and charm that they
would’ve easily forgiven her. And it would’ve kept her from
having to explain yet one more thing that she’d hidden from her
friends.
She
shook back her long hair, chasing away the nostalgia and past
mistakes to focus on today.
Although
the interment would be inside the mausoleum, the family had opted to
have the service outside. Probably a good decision with this many
people in attendance, and the May weather was perfect for it. The
crowd of thousands mingled close to the building. The mourners’
muted wardrobes were occasionally punctuated by a bright spot of
white and fringe. One that couldn’t be ignored, because an entire
group of women were dressed up like Jessie, in all-white cowgirl
costumes.
“Mrs.
Johanneson, excuse me.”
Sera
turned to face another reporter with a cameraman hovering behind him.
“Jessie starred in several of your husband’s films. Someone said
that you two were very close. Could you comment?”
She
sucked in a breath. “Jessie Wyatt was one of the most genuine
people I’ve ever met. She was not only a friend but also a mentor.
I’ll miss her terribly.” She lowered her head after her
statement. Once, she and Jessie had spent three weeks together when
Marcus was shooting in the wilds of Zimbabwe. If anything could bring
two women from different generations close together, it was sharing
toiletries in the jungle. And Jessie had been generous with not only
hard-to-attain supplies but also advice and encouragement. A gift
that had changed Sera’s life in so many ways.
The
excited reporter closed in on her again. “Wasn’t Jessie from
Macon? Why did they decide to bury her here in Myrtle Knolls?”
“Someone
in her family can answer that. We’re here to honor the woman, not
the location. No more questions, please. This is a difficult day for
us all.” Sera raised her hand politely, and the reporter backed
off. Automatically, she scanned the crowd for security. She’d
learned to be sure she knew where help was in case the reporters got
out of control. Happened all the time with Marcus.
Off to
the far side of the funeral area, Teague Castro stood tall, wearing
his Bartell County Sheriff uniform. His dark good looks and muscular
build fit right in with this attractive Hollywood crowd. Myrtle
Knolls wasn’t his jurisdiction, but that was the cool thing about
small towns. The attitude of the residents was one of community and
goodwill. Teague and his men were here to help keep things under
control because it was the neighborly thing to do, something that
would never happen in Hollywood.
Lil’s
fingers dug into Sera’s hand. “Is that Luke Bryan?”
The
reporter who’d still been hovering around must have heard Lil
because he took off in Luke’s direction, waving over his shoulder
for the cameraman to follow.
Whoomp-whoomp-whoomp.
One
look at the helicopter circling overheard told Sera the
bottom-feeders who couldn’t score a press pass to the funeral
weren’t letting that stop them. Paparazzi. Those fools would crash
any event if they thought it would tantalize the public. The funeral
location should’ve been kept under wraps, but with this many
attendees and Jessie’s family’s propensity to blab, that had
probably been unrealistic.
Sera and
her little group finally made it close enough to get a glimpse of
Jessie’s casket through the throng of family, fans, and A-listers,
where a young preacher stood holding a leather folio.
“The
deceased has often been described as a force of nature,” he said,
his gentle but strong voice calming the crowd to an eerie silence.
“She will be sorely missed by many, including the NRA, which she
supported generously throughout her lifetime.”
A smile
touched the corner of Sera’s lips. She should’ve thought to
introduce Abby Ruth and Jessie. Those two would’ve gotten along
like a house on fire. Then again, together they might’ve set the
house on fire.
On her
left, Lil squeezed closer to her. The older woman looked like a tiny
Vienna sausage among a tall package of frankfurters.
Sera
tapped the huge man in front of Lil on the shoulder. “Mr. Hogan,
would you mind giving us a bit more room?”
He
pulled his massive arms into his body and smiled down at Lil, his
bushy blond mustache twitching to one side. “You want to climb up
on my shoulders?”
“Lord
have mercy,” she breathed, that little hat hanging on by a bobby
pin. “No, thank you.”
“Let
me know if you change your mind.”
Lil gave
him a vague, star-struck nod.
The huge
tan man turned to the side and ushered all three of them in front of
him. A front-row view.
“If
you’ll bow your heads and join me in blessing Jessie Wyatt’s soul
so she may pass peacefully to the other side,” the preacher said.
At the end of his prayer, multiple words rippled through the
gathering.
“Amen.”
“Blessed
Be.”
“Namaste.”
Finally,
the crowd pulled back, and Lil and Maggie worked their way closer to
the casket.
Before
Sera could move to join them, a warm hand brushed the small of her
back. Marcus. There was a time when he’d led her into a crowded
room with that gesture and she’d felt as if she was the most
special woman in the world. Today, she wasn’t sure what his touch
made her feel.
Still,
she smiled up at her husband—as handsome as ever with his lean
build and million-dollar smile. He’d aged gracefully with sexy
silver lacing his hairline now. Had she caused those grays? He’d
have worried about her even though he’d left her alone to find her
way. He was like that.
“Did
you get the car parked okay?” she asked him, her nerves insisting
that she make small talk with her own husband. Her mind needed the
break from the overwhelming sadness if only for a moment. “I
thought you’d missed the service.”
“Sorry
it took me so long. Ran into Sylvester Stallone on the way back from
the lot and stood by him while the preacher was talking.”
Of
course he had, because Marcus Johanneson was a magnet for Hollywood
types, and a slew of them had shown up today.
“It
was a beautiful ceremony.” He wrapped his arm around her. “How
are you doing?”
She
rested her head against his shoulder, needing his strength today. “It
was lovely, made more so by how pretty it is here in Georgia.”
“But
nothing can compare to you,” he said, dropping a kiss into her
hair.
Sera
reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Returning to her adopted
state for Jessie’s funeral had been hard, but being back a few
days, Sera knew this was where she belonged. Marcus seemed to want
their marriage to return to the way it had been when they were
newlyweds, before Finn came along, when she’d always been the one
to mold to Marcus’s career, his life. Yet she yearned for her days
back here in Summer Shoals, where she was simply Sera. No reputation.
No money. No expectations.
Only
Marcus wasn’t a part of that life, and she didn’t know if she
could live here in the place she loved without the man she loved.
“Georgia,
and Summer Shoals in particular, has become one of my favorite places
in the world,” she said with complete honesty. Saying the words
aloud seemed to give them wings but left her shaky. She needed to be
away from Marcus for a moment to get her head together. “I’m
going to go pay Jessie my respects.”
“Then
let’s—”
“Alone,
please.”
He
dropped her hand. She regretted hurting him. But she needed a little
more time and space to work out how she planned to go forward with
her life. And her relationship with Marcus was still a work in
progress. Jessie’s death made it even clearer that a person’s
time on this earth was limited. Each day needed to be cherished.
A crush
of people had quickly separated Sera from Maggie and Lil. So Sera
tried to slowly edge her way around and was captivated by the
elaborate casket spray. The blanket of the tiniest perfect
bluebonnets, with Indian paintbrush tickling stalks of red clover,
resembled a Texas sunset. Jessie hadn’t ever lived in the Lone Star
state, but most people considered her the perfect Texas cowgirl.
Funny how a fictional role could change the whole world’s
perception of a woman.
Not only
had someone spent a fortune on the out-of-season Texas wildflowers,
but they’d also integrated Jessie Wyatt’s signature Wild West
outfit of white leather into the flowers. And right on top were her
famous deerskin gauntlets with fringe of gold and stones that had
once been rumored to be genuine sapphires, rubies, and diamonds.
“Are
they going to entomb her costume?” a woman next to Sera asked.
“Sure
looks that way,” someone else whispered.
“But
it’s a collector’s item—a representation of an important
Hollywood icon. Seems like it would be better served in a museum
somewhere.”
Sera
couldn’t agree more. Especially the gauntlets, because although
Jessie had owned several skirts and vests, only one pair of authentic
gauntlets existed. One night over sangria at an after-party, Jessie
had shared a secret with Sera. Those gauntlets were insanely
valuable, given to Jessie by her husband as an anniversary present.
Not that anyone else knew that. Rumors had been bandied about for a
few years, but with some well-executed PR by Jessie’s agent, the
gossip had eventually been written off as Hollywood lore.
The
helicopter took another spin above, and camera lenses shimmered in
the bright sunlight. Then more flashes and clicks came from beyond a
private family mausoleum less than fifty feet away, just outside the
funeral’s security perimeter. Entertainment rag reporters were wily
and persistent.
Apparently,
she wasn’t the only one to spot the intruders, because several
Bartell County deputies raced off toward the culprits.
One of
Teague’s guys hollered, “Y’all need to get on out of here. This
is a private event.”
“Dude,
this is a free country,” a so-called reporter yelled back. “Maybe
I’m here visiting my grandma.”
“With
that camera equipment? What? Were you planning to take family
portraits?”
Sera
tried to suppress a smile, because truthfully, those country boys
weren’t prepared for the likes of ruthless paparazzi. They had no
remorse and no manners. And if a story put them in the position to
make a buck, they didn’t care one bit who they hurt.