Page 88 of Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

I headed back to the table, trying to figure out what had just happened, and why electricity was skating across my skin. It had to be adrenaline from our contentious encounter. That was all.

I sat in my seat and picked up the beer Brandy had left for me and took several deep gulps.

“Do I want to know whatthat wasabout?” Dixie asked, her brow raised.

“Nope.”

Belinda had already downed most of her drink and flagged Brandy as she walked past our table. “I need another whiskey sour, and Summer needs another beer.”

Belinda gave Dixie a questioning look.

Dixie lifted her half-full drink. “I’m good.”

“Comin’ right out,” Brandy said, peering at with me an inquisitive look before she walked off.

Had she seen me and Nash in the hall?

Brandy had our drinks on the table within a few minutes, and Belinda picked up the glass and took several generous gulps.

Belinda was making a concerted effort to get plastered. Why? It was obvious she wanted to talk to us about something, and I was pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with wedding planning or how we produced our reality show.

When she was nearly finished with her second cocktail, she looked up at me with slightly unfocused eyes. “Do you ever do PI work outside of Sweet Briar?”

“You mean up by Dothan?” Dixie asked. She shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Belinda continued to hold my gaze.

“She means farther away,” I said, worry tweaking my nerves. “She means out of state.”

Belinda nodded.

“We’re only licensed in Alabama,” I said carefully. “We’d have to be licensed in the state you want to be looking in. Are you wanting us to investigate in Tennessee?”

Belinda started to say something, then stopped and took another drink. When she lowered her glass, she laughed, but it sounded forced. “I don’t need a PI. I was just asking in general.” She waved her hand, nearly knocking over her glass. “Just making conversation.”

She was lying, and from the fear in her eyes, she was scared to death.

“Do you need help, Belinda?” I asked gently.

“Heavens no,” she said with a snort, but her eyes looked terrified and dangerous, like a wild animal trapped in a corner. “That is, unless you speak Italian. Then I could use your help communicating with a shoe store in Milan that one of my bridesinsists has the perfect pair of shoes for her to walk down the aisle in.”

She might need help with the shoe store, but she was lying through her teeth about the rest. “Can’t help you there,” I said, leaning forward. “But wecanhelp you with PI stuff. All you have to do is ask.”

She picked up her drink and realized it was empty. “I need another,” she said as she got to her feet. “You want another? I’m goin’ to head up to the bar.”

I shook my head, and Dixie gave me a perplexed look.

“No. I’m good,” I said.

Belinda hurried off to the bar, surprisingly well coordinated after downing two drinks in such a short period of time.

“What was that about?” Dixie asked, lowering her voice.

I glanced over my shoulder at her. “I don’t know.”

Belinda was in trouble, but she didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to help her, but I was at a loss as to how to do so. Maybe Dixie and I could keep in touch and check back with her from time to time, because something had spooked her. Was it the fact that Lila had hidden her crime so well for so long? Had it dredged up memories for Belinda?

But I had plenty of trouble of my own to deal with without adding Belinda’s worries to the pile, and Nash Jackson was close to the top of the heap. He was watching me even as he got Belinda’s drink, and the expression on his face said we had unfinished business. Only I had no idea what that could be.

---