Page 1 of Royal Agenda

Prologue

SECRET SEVEN MEETING

Nancy bustled into The Palm’s conference room, where most of the Secret Seven waited to start their next meeting. Her short blonde hair puffed out in the back where she kept scrubbing at it and her button-up shirt was untucked. She briefly considered tucking it in but decided it was too much work. Her brain was scrambled like a 1000 piece puzzle right out of the box and there was no way she could put it together in the next thirty seconds.

There was no point. Life was upside down, inside out, backward, and all the other things that meant it was wrong. Very. Very. Wrong.

The group of retirees who had formed together as a secret group of matchmakers was special. Would she have chosen any of them as friends? A few. Probably. Who had time for friends when there was so much work to do?

Once she was forced out of her company, Nancy’s Niceties, and into retirement by her loving and wonderful, though meddling, children and grandchildren who were more worried about a hole in her heart than they were about the company she built from the ground up, she had plenty of time for friends.

And these were the best!

The group’s objective: to help their grandchildren find love—was the most ambitious and most important launch campaign she’d been a part of in her entire life.

It was also the most difficult.

Grandchildren—and their hearts—could be unpredictable, willful, and downright stubborn.

Feeling defeated, she landed in her seat before everyone arrived, and the meeting began. Her carefully organized and labeled life in a pink bungalow by the ocean came unglued this morning.

She looked down to see that she was wearing one white sock and one gray sock.

Rosa glanced her way; the happy greeting on her lips died as she took in Nancy’s appearance. “Aiya! Were you mugged on the way over here?” She hurried to Nancy’s side, put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her so tight Nancy’s face pressed against the cross hanging from her neck. “Harry, bring her some water.” She motioned with her hand for him to get moving.

Harry, their resident find-anything-man of Scottish descent, dashed from the room as fast as his tartan crocks would let him.

Nancy pulled out of the hug and drew in a deep breath. She stood up wanting to pace. Rosa pushed down on her shoulders. “No, amiga. Rest. We will find the ones who did this to you and bring them to justice.”

Nancy slumped—slumped!—back in her chair, her arms and legs splayed. “It won’t do us any good.”

“Why not?” asked Winnie. She spoke kindly, as per usual, this time with that note in her tone that said she was here for Nancy no matter what. She might be quiet, but she was resourceful. And, she took on Sweetie, the blind alligator who was as much of The Palms as the fountain in the lobby or the surly Chef Bruno, whenever a wardrobe/costume change was necessary. If that didn’t shout bravery, then nothing did. The woman was a force for good in this world and her button-up shirt was tucked in!

“Because my granddaughter did this!” Nancy wailed, throwing her arms on the table and dropping her head between them. Such behavior was beneath her, yet she couldn’t seem to contain herself.

“Elizabeth?” asked Walt, his forehead wrinkled under his NASA hat. He cleared his throat. “She’s not in town this weekend. Am I right?”

“You are correct,” answered Winnie.

“It’s not Elizabeth.” Nancy wobbled her head from side to side, too upset to answer. Elizabeth was fine—happily in love with Chad and planning a wedding. Not to mention, the germ bomb she’d worked so hard to bring to market passed the second round of lab tests last week.

“Another granddaughter then.” Winnie turned to the murder board to search for pictures and names.

It wasn’t really a murder board. It was a marriage board. However, it reminded Nancy of the suspect diagrams on police dramas on television and she often referred to it as such. Not that anyone else, except Don, picked up the phrase—which was understandable considering it was their beloved grandchildren plastered across the whiteboard, and none of them wanted to use the word murder.

“Maisey?” Polly asked, leaning toward her with a frown. Her turquoise earrings swung against her long neck. She was tall and thin with light gray hair and was always on the lookout for someone who needed help. She’d found jobs for several people in Diamond Cove and rounded up back to school supplies for teachers at the local elementary school every year among three dozen other service projects.

“Thank goodness, no,” Nancy mumbled into the table top, her voice echoing strangely in her ears.

“So, Grace,” Winnie tapped her nail on the board next to Grace’s picture. It was a couple of years old and might not look like her now. Grace traveled extensively, living in this country or that for months at a time. She was a gypsy with a heart full of wind that carried her away to the next project.

“What’s wrong with Grace? I thought she was in Mexico.” Polly asked.

Harry’s crocks appeared in Nancy’s vision as he shoved a water bottle into her hand. She sat up, twisted off the top, threw back her head, and guzzled half. Gasping for breath, she nodded a thank you to him. He tipped his page-boy hat at her and then readjusted it on his head. He didn’t sit down just in case he was sent on another mission but leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other.

Don, their resident bodybuilder, retired general, and baker extraordinaire, came in carrying a plate of homemade oatmeal cookies. The chocolate, sugar, and butter scents hit the air, and Nancy’s sugar coping mechanism kicked on with a vengeance. She reached for a cookie.

Don slid the plate out of her reach. “They’re for after the meeting.” He checked the clock, his silver hair glinting in the light from overhead. It reminded Nancy of the old Archie comics and how the artist always had a flash of light on the characters’ heads to indicate their shininess. “Besides, it’s early for cookies.” He gave her a funny look because she was the one who had instituted the no snacking during meetings rule.

---