Oh, brother. “I didn’t know you two would be here tonight.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” says Mom. “After all, we’re part of Betty Jean’s book club. She gave us all a heads-up so we were sure to get tickets.”
“Practically the whole town’s here,” says Dad. He waves across the room to Victor Marino, who’s chatting it up with Phoebe Van Cleave. They’re both members of the Sunshine Ghost Society and the principal naggers who want to involve Paco in a séance. Victor waves back. Besides them, I recognize lots of my
regular customers, as well as most members of the Gray Flamingos.
“I had no idea this room could hold so many people,” says Mom. “Makes it the perfect place for a wedding reception, doesn’t it?” She winks at Travis.
I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Thankfully, before Mom can book the band for my nonexistent reception, Dad slaps Travis on the back. “Why don’t I buy you a real drink while we let the girls gab?”
Travis throws me an amused look as Dad takes him away to the bar.
“Look! Even Will is here,” says Mom. “And you know how much he dislikes J.W.’s books. I guess as the town librarian, he felt it was his duty to attend. Don’t he and Brittany make just the cutest couple?” I follow Mom’s gaze. Brittany looks spectacular in a slim navy-blue dress and heels. Will is wearing a suit, and he looks incredibly handsome. I have to agree with Mom. They do look good together.
A waiter passing out champagne comes our way. I grab a flute off his tray and take a chug. I have a feeling I’m going to need a few more of these to get through the night. “Have you seen J.W. Quicksilver yet?”
“Not yet,” says Mom. “But I’ve met his personal assistant.”
“He has a personal assistant?” This is getting stickier by the second.
“Well, of course he does. All the big celebrities have them.” Mom points to a woman standing in the middle of a group. Mid-twenties, brown hair pulled back in a bun, glasses, kind of frumpy. “Her name is Anita something. Very nice, but the poor woman looks a bit overwhelmed. Although you’d think she’d be used to all this by now. J.W. is a worldwide sensation. He probably attracts a lot of attention wherever he goes.”
Before I can respond, an older woman comes up to join us. She’s got long, blonde hair, and her dress is so tight, it’s a wonder she can breathe. “Ladies, are you having a good time?” Her voice is oddly familiar. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was—
My champagne goes down the wrong way. “Betty Jean?” I sputter. “Is that you?”
Even Mom isn’t quite sure what to make of this. “You look … well, you look … Betty Jean Collins, how on earth did you get yourself into that dress?”
“It’s called Spanx. Don’t you think I look like Farrah Fawcett?” She carefully pats her blonde curls. “It’s a wig. But don’t tell anyone.”
“What’s up with your face?” asks Mom, making her my new personal hero.
“Botox. And a makeover at the Clinique counter at Dillard’s.”
“Don’t you think that long, blonde hair looks a bit … too much for a woman your age?” Mom says, trying to be tactful.
Betty Jean makes a huffing sound. “If Christie Brinkley can get away with it, why can’t I?”
“For one thing, Christie Brinkley is younger than you,” I say. “Plus, you know, she’s a supermodel.”
“Phooey. The only difference between me and Christie Brinkley, besides a few years, is that she has a really good team behind her. I’m thinking of getting my neck done. What do you think? And be honest.”
Before I can give Betty Jean what she’s asked for, Mom discreetly elbows me in the ribs. “Whatever makes you happy, dear. Now tell us, because we’re dying to know. Have you met J.W. yet?”
“I’ll say.” Betty Jean makes a growling sound. “And I’m happy to report that he’s just as yummy in person as he is on the phone.”
Mom leans in. “What’s he like?” she asks eagerly.
“Terribly handsome. You can all thank me later.”
“Why should we thank you?” I ask.
“Because, Lucy McGuffin,” says Betty Jean with attitude, “if it wasn’t for me, J.W. wouldn’t even know that Whispering Bay exists. If I hadn’t reached out to him, tonight would never be happening, so you’re all very welcome.”
I’m not sure how much more of this foolishness I can stand. Betty Jean does a double take like she’s just now noticing my dress. “Yowza. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you could pull it off.”
“Pull what off?” asks a deep male voice from over my shoulder.