“Winter,” Mel said, eyeing the food as if it might jump out and stain her one-of-many suit jackets. “We need a firm yes or no on tomorrow.”
“I know, I know,” she said, taking her spoon to the entrée. Edward had caught some nasty bug and had asked for his death scene to be moved up a day. Winter had been back and forth on the decision; two murders so close together would make a boring rest of the week, but then again, she wouldn’t want anyone else catching the sniffles. Poor Eddie looked like his nose had been dipped into a vat of red dye number five.
She took a sip of the taco soup and moaned, momentarily forgetting—again—that Mel was still waiting for an answer. “Kasey, let me bathe in this.”
Her chef laughed from inside the refrigerator, popping up with a large cake made out of… oh my, those were churros. Winter’s eyes grew three sizes, and she had her spoon in the sample before Kasey had even put the thing on the counter.
“Winter,” Mel said again, her voice exasperated. “I need a decision. Rewrites will take all night.”
“Well,” she said through a mouthful of cinnamon heaven, “what are you thinking?”
“I think we don’t want anyone sick.” Mel stuck her pen up into her fraying hair. “I think Edward might pass out in that soup.”
“Not a bad way to go, if you ask me,” Winter said, much to Kasey’s delight—and embarrassment. “But you’re right. Let’s have him kick the bucket tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Mel pushed off the wall and hurried her way out of there. Winter frowned—well, as much as she could while eating the most wonderful dessert on earth. Matching up Mel had taken a backseat once Will had found her out as the real Cupid of the place. Maybe she could focus on her next round.
A light hand touched her shoulder. “Don’t let her get to you,” Kasey said with a warm smile that reminded Winter of her mother. “She acts irritated and stressed, but she thrives on the chaos.”
“You sure about that?” Winter laughed. “I think everything in her house is labeled and organized by color, size, and value.”
Kasey silently chuckled. “Well, now with Edward getting sick, she gets to organize the chaos. It’s a fantastic night ahead of her.”
Well, when she puts it that way… Winter took one more bite from the cake before getting shooed out of the kitchen. Probably a good idea; she wouldn’t want to get too full before she ate in just a few more minutes.
She bounced her shoulders at the excited buzz that filled the main level of the mansion. The voices of guests and actors mingling were like a drug she could never quit. A warm sense of pride swelled in her chest. “Mom and Dad would be so proud of me,” she lilted to herself, laughing when Michael caught her talking to herself. Again.
She made her way to the dining table where several of the servers were setting the plates and name cards. Her feet skipped a little bit as she jumped in to make sure Maybelle was right next to her. Will had given her plenty of stuff to go on, but nothing was better than conversation with the person herself.
An excited bubble ballooned in her stomach when she settled Maybelle’s card on the plate next to hers. She was mostly anxious to talk to someone who seemed just as happy-go-lucky as she was. So many people had excused Winter’s bouncy and bubbly personality as airheaded or naïve. She was neither, thank you very much, and she wondered if Maybelle ever felt the same.
That… and maybe she could get a little bit more information on Will. He was so frustrating, but at the same time, he could be very charming. She had a feeling that Will just wasn’t himself here; there was this distinct distaste for Frostville, or the mansion, or maybe even her that sat below the surface and would bubble up from time to time. Winter had this unexplained desire to prove to him that Frostville was amazing—everyone on Yelp thought so—and she would have him begging to stay by the time he had to leave.
She glanced up and saw Will’s name card only three places away. She leaned over, plucked it up, and walked all the way to the other end and swapped him out with Alexis—the cute, adorable, and also too clingy brunette she’d caught him flirting with earlier. If she was thinking straight, she’d put him next to Alexis so they could continue flirting, and she’ll have made two matches by the trip’s end, but a very selfish part of her had no trouble placing Alexis as far away from Will as possible.
Dinner number two was set up as a grieving meal, and so instead of her go-to color—blue—that she wore on every other occasion, Winter was draped in black. Her nose wrinkled when she caught her reflection in the mirrors across the room. Black made her look putrid; a sickly color no stage makeup could cover. But she supposed, for a murder mystery, maybe it fit.
When everyone was seated, she took her glass and rose it high in the air, choking back very believable tears. “For Joshua.”
Everyone followed suit, the actors using their best sullen faces—all except Michael, who looked as indifferent as could be—and the guests mixed between suspicion and excitement. There was always a good mix of those who were there to solve the mystery and those who just wanted to enjoy the show. Winter loved each and every one of them.
She took her seat, and the servers started dishing out the appetizers; Winter’s eyes searched for that jalapeño dip as she leaned to her side to talk to Maybelle.
“Mexican was Joshua’s favorite,” she said, which was a downright lie in real life. Josh, in fact, hated the stuff, so whenever his character was written out, Mexican night came right after.
“I don’t get it much,” Maybelle said and dipped a tortilla chip into the crusted cheese. “Back home it’s either pizza… or more pizza.”
Her laugh could be heard from a mile away, and Winter couldn’t help but giggle along with her. “Pizza? Not really what comes to mind when I hear southern food.”
Maybelle nodded toward the other end of the table where Will sat filling his plate with much enthusiasm. Winter’s lips pressed together, holding back an appreciative grin. So far the food seemed to be the star of the show for him, and she told herself once more that she was going to introduce him to her kitchen before he went back home.
“My brother, there… he owns the busiest pizza place in the history of Alabama. And who am I to pass up free food?”
Winter nodded with big eyes, knowing she really hadn’t paid for food a day in her life. Unless she counted paying a chef; in that case, she paid for it every day. “I only wish I had that talent.”
“Cooking?” Maybelle asked. “Oh, believe me, I hear ya. If it weren’t for Will, I swear I’d be starving. The one time I tried to cook for the family, they all ended up with veiny chicken and doughy cornbread. It traumatized me so bad I haven’t set foot in front of a stove since.”
Winter grinned at the way Maybelle told a story with her accent and her hand gestures. If she wasn’t careful, full glasses were going to topple at any moment.
“I am the same way,” Winter said, lightly tapping Maybelle’s hand. “I tried working a toaster when I was six, stuck a fork in it to fish the toaster pastry out, and next thing I knew, I was being carted away to the ER.”
“Y’all fooling me.”
Winter shook her head. “My father was a wreck. He kept running around the ER, babbling what-ifs to anyone who would listen. ‘What if she loses her hand? What if it shocked some of her brain cells out? What if she falls asleep and never wakes up?’ Meanwhile I was happily playing with the toy beads in the corner, singing along with Cinderella on the children’s TV.”
Maybelle put a hand to her chest. “That is so sweet.”
Winter blinked, the veracity of that statement hitting her for the first time. “Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose it is.” The grief of losing her parents always came so suddenly, she was rarely prepared for it. She liked to think of them with a smile, believing they were truly in a better place—and considering the way they’d lived, where they were now had to be extraordinary.
But occasionally she would be reminded of just how alone she was, and the grief w
ould eat at the backs of her eyeballs, prickle her heart, and sink her stomach into a black abyss.
She drew a breath, putting a smile back on and remembering where she was and why she’d put Maybelle next to her.
“So, what brought you to Frostville Mansion?” she asked as casually as she could muster. Maybelle didn’t seem to want to ask questions about the mystery itself, so Winter found it easy to slip out of character.
“Oh, that silly rumor,” she said, waving her hand before taking another bite. “I’m determined not to become a cat lady this early in life, and back home I’m pretty much ancient to all the decent men. I’m here to spread my horizons and pray that Eros finds it in his mercy to shoot me right in the chest with that heart-tipped arrow of his.”
Winter’s insides practically leapt at how open she was. Getting to know her would be easy, especially compared to her absolute opposite, closed-off brother.
“Ooh,” Winter said, settling her chin in her hand. “Have your prayers been answered yet?”
Maybelle’s blue eyes—just like her brother’s—-sparkled, and she leaned in, letting out a blissful sigh. “Heaven help me, I sure hope so.”
“Who?” Winter scooted closer, heart pounding as she wondered if Maybelle would point out any of the men she’d already picked.
“I don’t want to jinx anythin’,” she said, sitting back into her chair. Winter didn’t hide her frown as she leaned back as well. “Besides, I betcha anything that someone at this table can hear every word I’m sayin’…”
Michael, who was at least five seats away, slowly raised his hand in the air and then grinned at them both. The guests around him looked utterly confused as to what he was doing, but Maybelle and Winter burst into a fit of giggles.
The soup was next, and Winter salivated the moment she smelled it enter the room. She saw Maybelle silently laughing out of the corner of her eye as Winter bounced in her seat.
“You and Will are like synchronized eaters,” Maybelle said, eyes toggling between the opposite ends of the table. Will stretched his neck to see what was in the dishes the servers were bringing out, looking much like a meerkat.
“Is that what I look like?” Winter asked, jokingly appalled. “Yikes!”
Maybelle raised her eyebrows as the soup was in front of her. “But… I really can’t blame you for dancing. This looks…”
“It’s amazing.”
Maybelle pushed back her red curls and leaned forward to take a sip. Her moan was so loud that every head at the table turned, a few chuckles making the rounds as Maybelle looked up, completely unashamed at how loud she was. “I think I just died.”
A round of laughter fell over the table, and most guests dove into their own bowls, more groans and moans echoing through the room. Winter hoped Kasey would hear it; there’s no better compliment than dancing and grunting to a meal.
After a few more minutes in which most people were silent—because they were in soup heaven—Winter shook her head and scolded herself for getting distracted again. Maybelle was just so easy to sit next to, to talk with, and so easily relatable with everything she said that Winter had forgotten that she needed to be watching for clues. She was also trying to solve a mystery: who was the perfect man for this southern beauty?
She caught eyes with Will across the very large table, satisfaction on his face as he cleaned his mouth with a napkin. He gave her a nod, and her stomach fluttered. She’d never received that sort of nod before, or if she had, it never caused her neck to flush, her heart to stop working, or her breath to catch. It was so subtle and lasted for less than a second that she wondered if it was him or just the effects of the taco soup.
Probably the food.
She ripped her eyes away from him and focused on Maybelle again. “Can you tell me about Alabama?” she asked, wanting the subject to stay right where it needed to—Maybelle’s life. “I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to.”
Maybelle’s hands started moving before her lips did, and Winter dodged a flying arm.
“Oh, it’s wonderful! And awful. But it’s a great place to visit! I’m not so sure I wanna stay, though, that is…”
Winter chuckled, indulging in her food while Maybelle went back and forth on why she loved and hated her hometown. Apparently she was the town spinster, and everyone always knew everyone else’s business, and what she really wanted to do was get out and have a family and go to beauty school to become a stylist.
“You want to do hair?” Winter asked, perking up at the information.
“I love styling hair. I do all the weddin’s back home.”
Winter’s gaze drifted over Maybelle’s perfect curls. “You do your own? Because I’ve been jealous of your hair for two days now.”
“No,” she gasped. “I’ve been eyeing yours. Look at this.” She grabbed a chunk of Winter’s hair, yanking her a little. Winter laughed and moved her head so it didn’t hurt. “I could just braid the heck out of it. Maybe put it up with some pink and blue floral sprinkles. It’s the perfect shade for a pop of color.”
“You should,” Winter said, sitting back as soon as Maybelle let go. They’d grabbed the attention of about half the table, but neither seemed to mind.
“Should what?” Maybelle’s brows pulled together. “Do your hair?”
Winter nodded. “Do it for the dinner dance on Saturday evening.”
“You better not be yankin’ my chain, Princess, or I—”
“No fooling. I’d really like you to.” She could only imagine the skinny she’d get during an hour or more styling session, not to mention how great her hair was going to look. She could give her hairdresser a night off, and Bianca would gladly take it.
“Then heck yes, Princess!” she shouted, and everyone at the table laughed. The servers came out and swapped the empty soup bowls for full dessert plates. Winter started dancing in her seat again, but looked up this time to watch Will. A smile grew on both of their lips when their eyes met.
“We need to talk,” she mouthed.
“Okay,” he mouthed back, and the jump in her stomach made her actually catch just the smallest amount of air in her seat. Maybe having Will to bounce matchmaking ideas off of wouldn’t be so bad this time around.
Will tripped over his feet for about the fiftieth time since he’d entered Frostville Mansion, but at least this time he had an excuse other than his typical clumsiness. The mansion at night was far darker than during the day, with dimly lit hallways and shadows around every corner. Will wasn’t a jumpy guy, but bein’ so outside of his comfort zone, a jolt would rock him any time there was even a flicker of movement.
Most everyone was either asleep or, like Maybelle, enjoying one of the few nights it wasn’t freezing. She’d told Will she was gonna go wander around outside, and he’d laughed it up so hard that he didn’t even notice her take a jacket and leave their room.
His feet fell heavy on the floor, his steps echoing in the empty halls of the mansion. The place felt big during the day, but there was a vastness to it at night that made Will truly believe the mansion had no beginning or end to it—just hallways and doors that led to more and more rooms and passageways and secret vaults behind bookcases and other worlds.
He’d never felt so far away from home.
The elevator stayed quiet as he passed it and headed toward a rarely used staircase—from what he could tell. Winter said she’d be just down a floor, the stairs leading right outside to a covered—and hopefully heated—balcony that gazed over the back of the mansion. Will had yet to see that particular area, and when she mentioned that it overlooked one of the gardens, he wondered just how many gardens she had. And balconies. And pools. And kitchens, bedrooms, and entertainment rooms.
No wonder she invited strangers in to enjoy it; he couldn’t imagine living alone with all this space.
The door to the stairwell didn’t make a single sound as he pulled it open, and he had to hand it to whoever was in charge of the WD40. The only chance his pizza shop
had of being quiet was if he closed it down.
He took the stain-free, icy gray carpeted steps downward, smirking at the way the designs swirled together. It reminded him of Winter’s eyes; maybe the carpet was designed specifically for her.
When he got to the landing, the air got significantly cooler, and a chill ran up his spine and he pulled his heavy jacket tighter around his shoulders. There wasn’t a door, but a massive archway that led into a circular glass-made room—wall-to-wall windows and glass ceiling. Only the floor remained the same, and he stepped cautiously inside, eyes widening at just how beautiful it was. The stars were invisible tonight, but the sky was a breathtaking inky black, and with only the light from the stairwell filtering in, it was easy to see everything out the windows.
Will’s eyes dropped from the sky to Winter, who was leaning against the long handrail that encompassed the room. Her platinum hair broke through the darkness, along with her blue pajamas. Will felt the corner of his lip twitch upward as he got closer, noticing white, puffy clouds patterned on the fabric; she seemed to like the playful and young style, and he didn’t blame her. She looked stunning in it.
Her bolting, loudest laugh in the world greeted him. “You cold or something?” she teased, nodding at the way he’d turtled into his jacket. He grimaced and pulled his zipper up to his chin with flare.
“Not all of us are used to it being below fifty.”
“Oh, it is not that bad.”
“You ever been to Alabama this time of year? That is not that bad.”
The cutest wrinkle appeared above her nose, and she brought a finger to her lips. “Shh.” Her gaze fell to just out the window. “We aren’t exactly alone.”
“You’re just as loud as I am,” Will teased, but he took the few steps forward in silence to see what she was lookin’ at.
“They’ve been out there for about twenty minutes,” Winter all but squealed, her shoulders dropping in almost a sigh as she gazed down on Bells and Garreth. They were standing awfully close on a cobblestoned path weaving in and out of a lavish garden maze. When Will panned back, the greens reached back as far as the eye could see, gothic lanterns lighting up the hedges and different pathways, benches speckled throughout the gardens that hosted many, many early blossoming flowers. Bells and Garreth weren’t the only ones taking advantage of the privacy of the gardens; he coulda sworn he saw some tangled limbs in the distance, and he quickly diverted his gaze.