Her crimson lips fall open. “You too?” She gasps. “Of course! Why else would you be friends with Jackson and Opal?” She shakes her head as if her entire life, and mine, were suddenly coming into focus. “It’s deplorable, really. That entire billionaire pact is ridiculous. I mean, we didn’t ask to be born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Nobody asked anyone to bathe us in hundred dollar bills for twenty-five years and then pull the plug. It’s as if we’re a part of some cruel social experiment at the hands of our parents.”
“Oh, I get it.” That entire social experiment at the hands of our parents thing rings true when your father is in the mob, too. And once my daddy was hauled off to prison, the gilded ride was over. It was frozen pizza and clipping coupons from there on out. And that reversal of fortune was a deciding factor in why I decided to siphon a few bucks off the top of the mob’s already siphoned off the top take. “But like it or not, our parents’ lifestyles influenced us in more ways than one. I mean, look at you, you’re running the Hathaway Foundation now and following in your father’s footsteps.”
I guess you could say I was following in my father’s footsteps when I inadvertently became a felon.
She shrugs. “My father has never enjoyed the business end of wealth building. He retired early. And the only reason he’s a philanthropist is because he just so happens to be a little too good at making money. The more he gives away to charitable foundations, the bigger the tax deduction.” She gives a scrutinizing look my way as she takes a step in. “Just before Maddie was killed, the Hathaway Foundation donated five hundred thousand dollars to Goober, Inc.”
“Kiera’s company?” I inch back. “That’s a half a million dollars. Why on earth?”
She takes a deep breath as a smile curls on her lips.
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. Funny thing is, I asked my father about it and he didn’t seem to know what that was about.” She shrugs as we step up, next in line. “He didn’t seem to care either.”
We order our apples, dripping with caramel and rolled in mini chocolate chips for me, rolled in sesame seeds for Sophia—to each his own, and we say a quick goodnight before she takes off into the crowd.
Without my permission, my feet land me back under that tent which houses more local authors than you can shake a caramel apple at.
At the moment it’s devoid of stampeding women, and just about every author here has packed up their belongings for the night. It looks as if the literary show is over.
I head toward Shep’s table and find Regina sitting dazed with her hair mussed. Shep’s tie is askew and he looks as if he’s had a hard night out in Scooter Springs while visiting every single bar.
“Ha!” I squawk. “My vis—” I stop short of saying the V word. “My word.” I can’t help but bounce on my heels with glee. I guess I won’t be finding Regina and Shep in a compromising position like I thought I would. I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong. “So how’d the signing go? Did you sell out?”
Regina grunts. “There was a fistfight, a mugging, and some salty name calling.”
Shep looks her way. “And that was just you.”
A laugh bubbles from me. “Don’t make me sorry I missed it.” I hold out my apple for them to admire. “There are some good eats out there. It’s a real culinary feast. You should hit the booths before it’s all gone.”
“Count me out.” Regina rises from her seat, inadvertently knocking her chair backwards as she staggers away. “I’ll be coming in late tomorrow,” she says. “I’ve got a thumper of a headache.”
I look over at Shep. “Ten bucks says someone thumped a book over her head.”
“If I were in that bet, you’d be ten bucks richer.” He heads over and eyes my apple. “You can count me in on that culinary feast.” He steps in close, and I take in that familiar woodsy cologne of his as he sharpens his eyes over mine. “Are you up for grazing with me?”
“Only if you’re buying, Detective.”
His lips twitch with the hint of a smile as we make our way up and down the midway of culinary delights. I tell Shep all about my encounter with Sophia and that shady half a million dollars that made its way to Kiera’s business.
We indulge in some hot apple cider, hit the hayride, and walk through piles of fall leaves that rim the periphery of the grounds.
Shep and I pause in front of an enormous maple tree, red with rage, because the couple huddled beneath its branches seems to be averse to pressing their lips together.
The waterfalls in the background glow a pale shade of blue under the duress of moonlight, and it paints a tragically romantic scene. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive Mother Nature for creating such beauty on a night when Shep is too stubborn to land his pucker over mine.
“Bowie,” he whispers my name like a secret and my head inches toward his as if it were a bona fide invitation.
“Shep,” I whisper back with a hint of a nod in the event he was waiting for a green light.
A smug smile inches up the left side of his cheek.
“Do you
