The New York Times bestselling author of the Psychic Eye Mysteries and the Ghost Hunter Mysteries returns with a new installment in the popular Life Coach Mystery series starring Cat Cooper, the best life coach in the Hamptons, when she’s not busy solving murders.
Gilley’s whirlwind romance with creative director Stuart Jacobs began in Paris, where Stuart was sourcing fabric for the world-renowned Texas Rose Festival, which he is heading-up for the first time. The festival is nothing short of spectacular, bringing in half a million people (and their wallets) to see the artistic displays, and exquisite gowns and jewels worn by the Rose Queen and her court. Stuart and his crew seem to have it all under control. But the night Cat arrives in Texas, someone is shot in cold blood, and a member of Stuart’s staff is named the prime suspect!
The Rose Festival is too important to the city’s economy to cancel, so while Stuart scrambles to prevent the festival from derailing, Cat and Gilley launch their own investigation into the murder. With a parade of potential suspects to parse, and an even longer list of motives, they bring in East Hampton Police Detective Steve Shepherd to help. As rumors of arson, burglary, and professional sabotage swirl around the already fraught festival planning; Cat and her team immerse themselves in the cutthroat pageantry to identify the killer, who has already picked their next victim . . .
Release date:
November 28, 2023
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
304
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“And tell him what?” I snapped, waving wildly to the giant wall of flames coming from the warehouse where we’d barely escaped being burned alive.
“I don’t know, Cat, maybe something like, ‘Gee, Shepherd, I sure do miss you, by golly! Also, I’ve been a fool to stay away this long. Of course I’ll marry you! Especially since I was nearly made into barbecue brisket tonight, which has me questioning all my life’s choices and I’ve been so stupid to run away from the man I love! Also, could you come down here and help us solve this hot case we’re looking into that just got a whole lot hotter?’”
I scowled at him and adopted a droll tone. “Wow. That sounds just like something I’d say.”
“Yes, Cat, we do! Plus, you could lose him over what happened at the airport. This could be your one chance to repair the damage.”
My stomach muscles clenched. He was right. I could lose Shepherd over the stunt I’d pulled. “It’s impossible,” I said softly, wiping a big fluff of ash from Gilley’s sideburn. “I can’t face him until I know what I’m going to say.”
“Why is saying ‘yes’ so hard, Cat?”
I sighed and glanced again at the flames roaring out of the open door to the warehouse, and I thought it was the perfect metaphor for my life right now and what a mess I’d made of things. My mind immediately flashed to that moment when Shepherd had met me at the airport, He’d emerged from the limo that’d come to pick me up after the European vacation Gilley and I had been on, and as he got out of the car my heart had leapt at the sight of him, and then he’d ruined the moment by getting down on bended knee and producing a little black box.
The same little black box that I’d discovered just before embarking on that very same vacation, and the reason why I’d avoided talking to him for much of our trip.
So, I hadn’t told him about Stuart Jacobs, the fabulously talented designer whom Gilley and I had met on our first day in Paris, and how, when Stuart had caught Gilley’s eye, they had gravitated toward each other like two fireflies on a dark night and had been nearly inseparable since.
I’d never witnessed love at first sight, but it was the only way to describe Gilley’s reaction to Stuart, and Stuart’s reaction to Gilley.
Stuart had been in Paris to select some fabric for a massive and world-famous event—the Texas Rose Festival—and he and Gilley had spent all the days we were in Paris together, and then, as we moved on with our itinerary, Gilley simply couldn’t stop talking about Stuart and he couldn’t stop talking to him, either. The two chatted on the phone incessantly. Finally, as we landed in Amsterdam with six days left on our trip, I looked at how unenthused Gilley seemed about the last week of our vacation and secretly purchased him a ticket to Texas, which I handed to him over dinner that night.
Gilley had practically sprinted back to our hotel to repack his things and head to the airport, and I’d stayed to finish the trip on my own, which hadn’t been nearly as fun as I’d expected.
At last, I’d boarded my own flight back to New York where—as I mentioned, Shepherd had met me—and I’d been so happy to see him until he did that whole proposal thing.
Truthfully, my reaction had been poor. Terrible, even. Before he could even say the words, “Will you . . .” I’d blurted out, “Nope!” And then I’d turned on my heel and run back inside the airport to dart into the nearest ladies’ room, where I knew he couldn’t follow.
I’d waited twenty minutes trembling at the sink, and then I’d cautiously made my way out of the lavatory and walked to the nearest ticket agent. “I need to get to Dallas, Texas, please. As soon as possible.”
There was one seat available on a flight that’d left two hours later to Dallas, and from that airport I’d called Gilley and confessed what I’d done.
“You what?” he’d screeched. “Cat! Please tell me you did not leave that poor man kneeling on that public sidewalk without even an explanation!”
I didn’t reply and the silence had stretched out between us for a long, awkward moment, until the sob I’d held in for the past six hours escaped from my throat and I dissolved into a puddle of tears.
“Stay put,” Gilley ordered. “I’m sending you a limo.”
Two hours or so later I emerged from the town car an absolute, emotional mess. Gilley had been waiting in the circular drive of whatever stately home we’d pulled into and he rushed forward to hug me tightly.
I wept none too quietly on his shoulder for a long, long time. The tears and sadness were much heavier than I’d expected them to be, and I knew as soon as I’d come to my senses on the plane to Dallas that I’d done a horrible, horrible thing. A thing that I deeply regretted and absolutely should’ve handled better.
Shepherd would probably never forgive me.
Or speak to me again.
I’d absolutely humiliated him and he was the last person on the planet I ever wanted to do that to. “I’ve made such a mess!” I wailed.
Gilley patted my back and cooed, “It’ll be okay, Cat.
“He’ll never forgive me, Gilley!”
“He will.”
“I panicked!”
“I know, sugar.”
“I . . . I . . . I knew he was going to propose—but not at the airport!”
“The excitement of your return probably overrode all good reason,” Gilley assured.
I nodded into his shoulder and tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. I was an unkempt puddle of misery.
“How’s she doing?” I heard a voice behind me say. It sounded like Stuart.
“She’ll rally,” Gilley said.
His confidence in that statement helped tremendously. I swallowed hard, sniffled, and stepped back out of our hug. Wiping my eyes again, I turned to look back at Stuart and felt so embarrassed by my emotional display. “Hi,” I said shyly. “I’m so sorry to crash your party, Stuart.”
“Oh, pish!” he said, waving his hand. “Honey, we’ve all been there. I can’t tell you the number of hearts I’ve had to break over the years. Men always fall too hard and too fast for this bag of goodies.” He added a shimmy for effect and a wicked smile.
I forced a smile to my own lips, but my gaze drifted to Gilley. He looked alarmed, and I again regretted inserting myself into this budding romance between the two of them that was now likely layers more complicated than Gilley had expected.
“Do tell,” Gil said, and Stuart seemed to realize what he’d just admitted.
Stuart’s smile held a hint of regret. “Gilley,” he said. “You had me at ‘hello.’ Your heart is safe with me.”
Gilley all but swooned and the two had a little magical moment between them before Stuart broke eye contact and waved at me again. “Come inside, woman, and we’ll fix you something to eat and pour you a glass of wine, which, I suspect, you badly need.”
“I do, I do,” I said.
“Too bad Shepherd didn’t pop the question with an open bottle of chardonnay,” Gilley quipped. “He’d have been a much happier man right about now.”
I glared at him.
“Too soon?”
“You’re a scoundrel, Gilley Gillespie,” I muttered, walking around him to follow after Stuart.
As we approached the front door, I had to marvel at the home I’d been standing in front of for several minutes, but hadn’t quite taken in. The place was as large as my own home back in East Hampton, but of a much different architectural style.
Sand-colored limestone brick lined the two-story structure, with windows and the front door framed in a dark espresso wood. Succulents lined the redbrick driveway and beautiful hot fuchsia crape myrtles gave a glorious pop of color to the side of the main entrance.
Once we were through the door, the heavy scent of gardenia and sandalwood wafted down the hallway to greet my nose in the front foyer.
Someone was obviously burning the most delicious scented candle nearby. The front hall was large and mostly bare, save for a brass iron railing that ran along an off-white carpeted staircase and, in the middle of the staircase on the wall, hung a seven-to-eight-foot tall abstract painting composed of layered, long brushstrokes of brilliant Klein Blue, black, and gold leaf, which was so striking that I had to pause, simply to marvel at it.
Waving my hand toward it I said, “That’s breathtaking.”
“You like?” Stuart asked, sidling up next to me.
“I love,” I said. “Who’s the artist?” Like many of my peers who’ve been fortunate in life, I had a growing art collection that I was immensely proud of.
Stuart chuckled. “It’s one of mine.”
I gaped at him. “You really painted that?”
Stuart shrugged as if it were no big deal. “When I’m not sketching costume designs, I like to unwind by creating abstracts. The bigger the canvas the better.”
“He has another one upstairs,” Gilley said, and I detected a note of pride in his voice. “It’s every bit as beautiful as that one.”
“Is this your house, Stuart?” I asked.
“No, love. This house is owned by Nigel Bloomfield. He’s one of the five.”
“One of the five?”
Gilley said, “Stuart means that Nigel is one of the five families that’ve been growing roses in this town since the eleventies, and they’re all rich, rich, rich!”
I giggled. “The eleventies, eh?”
“A long, long time ago,” Gilley said.
I laughed again and rolled my eyes. “Well, that clarifies things.”
“The point is,” Gilley continued, “that Nigel and the other family heads are some of the top rose growers in the world. They grow millions of roses, Cat. Mill-eh-yons.”
“Wow,” I said. “I had no idea.”
“Nigel’s company is the biggest producer,” Stuart said. “And he grows some of the rarest varieties.”
“He’s loaded!” Gilley exclaimed.
“What’s gotten into you, Gilley?” I asked. “You’re literally surrounded by vast fortunes back home—why is Nigel’s money making you so giddy?”
“Cat,” he said, as if I were simple. “There’s money, and then there’s money, and these people have the latter.”
“Well, good for them,” I said. Wanting to get off such a superficial topic I switched my focus back to Stuart.
“You were saying, Stuart?”
He waved his hand airily. “This is Nigel’s guesthouse, and this is the house the costume and scenic designer each year gets to use as their personal quarters for the two weeks leading up to the festival.”
“This is his guesthouse?” I gasped. The place had to be five thousand square feet if it was an inch, and I couldn’t help but compare it to my own guesthouse, where Gilley lived, which was just over fourteen hundred square feet.
Gilley wagged his brows at me. He knew what I was thinking, and he was enjoying my reaction. “Wait till you get a load of the main residence,” he said. “It’s as big as the Entwistle estate.”
“Wow,” I said. Wealth doesn’t usually impress me unless it’s someone like Julia Entwistle, who was just our local neighborhood billionaire. She floated in circles no one without an extra set of zeros was invited to, which probably meant that, like Julia, Nigel Bloomfield was not only wealthy—but powerful.
Gilley took up my hand and tugged me down the hallway then around the corner to the kitchen. As I took in the pink granite countertop with honey-colored cabinets and appliances, which I knew quite well cost a fortune, I realized that, in my haste to escape answering Shepherd’s proposal, I might’ve overstepped on the side of imposing. “I should get a hotel room,” I said as Gil let go of my hand and pointed to one of the light brown leather-back chairs at the counter.
Gilley rolled his eyes. “Don’t even, Cat,” he said, as if the very thought were absurd.
“This house has five bedrooms,” Stuart said. “All have an en suite and only one of those is currently being occupied.” Stuart glanced at Gilley and the pair traded nearly identical wicked smiles.
I felt my own cheeks flush. “I really should’ve booked a room,” I insisted. “Clearly you two were about to have a marvelous, romantic time together and here I am, the third wheel, crashing your party.”
This time Stuart rolled his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere, miss. And I don’t want to hear another word about it. Gilley and I are upstairs. There’s a lovely little suite down here that faces the garden and has its own private sitting room.” Stuart then came to sit down next to me while Gilley poured us each a glass of wine.
“How’s the festival preparation coming along, Stuart?” I asked.
He shook his head. “As you know, Catherine, this is my first Rose Festival rodeo, which means there’s a lot at stake for me. My crew and I have been working on these designs since January, but pulling this whole thing together is like trying to corral a tornado.”
“Yikes,” I said. “That bad?”
“It’s not that it’s bad, necessarily, so much as there are so many moving parts that all have to coordinate together to maximize the time we have left to create and finish all forty-six gowns for the court and the costumes for the twelve attendants, plus there’re the hats, the shoes, the scepters and crowns, and parts of the added scenery that will need to be secured to the float for any individual member of the queen’s court.”
Gilley set a plate of sliced apples and caramel dip in front of me. I smiled at him, took up a slice of apple, and then went back to my conversation with Stuart. “Tell me about the festival itself, Stuart. What’s the makeup of the court and what themes are you creating this year?”
“Our theme this year is Enchanted Twilight.”
“Oooo,” I said. “That sounds so dreamy.”
“It is,” Gilley gushed. “Cat, Stuart’s designs are a vision!”
“Can I see some of your designs, Stuart?”
He smiled and got up from his chair, disappearing out into the hallway. I sipped my wine and nibbled on a slice of apple while Gilley began to pull items out of the refrigerator that I suspected were the ingredients for a marvelous dinner.
In short order Stuart returned with a large sketchpad. Placing it on the counter next to me, he got settled and opened the cover to reveal a breathtaking gown with a bodice of the same Klein blue as in the painting. It was a shockingly vivid blue that popped out against any background. Mingled at the top of the bodice were large stars made out of crystals, and the skirt was a mixture of warm yellows, oranges, and reds. The dress gave the effect of the setting sun and it was absolutely spectacular.
In the rendition of the woman wearing the gown was a large scepter of gold, white, and sapphire-blue crystals and topped with a three-dimensional star.
Her crown was a wishbone tiara with three rows peaking in a point that formed the shape of a star. Overall, Stuart’s design was elegant and regal.
“I love it,” I said. “Who’s wearing this dress?”
“The queen,” he said. “It’s her coronation, after all.”
I flipped the page and found a gown shaped like a crescent moon, in cool colors of mint green, light blue, and white. It was whimsical and wonderful. “And who wears this one?” I asked.
“The princess,” Stuart said. “For every coronation there’s always one queen but only sometimes is there a princess. This year we’re blessed to have both.”
“How is the court structured?” I asked, continuing to flip through the sketchpad, delighting in the fantastical designs on every page.
Stuart crossed his legs and rested an elbow on one knee while holding aloft his wineglass. He was perfectly relaxed and perfectly poised. “This year, as I said, there’s one queen and one princess but there is also one Duchess of the Rose Growers.
“The Duchess of the Rose Growers is a direct descendant of one of the five original rose grower families. Melissa is a lovely girl, and her mother was also the duchess thirty years ago, and her grandmother was the Rose Queen twenty-two years before that.”
“Wow. That’s incredible that these families have been so tied to this event for so many generations.”
“It is,” Stuart agreed, taking a sip of his wine. Then he continued. “Most of the rest of the gowns belong to the ladies-in-waiting and the regular duchesses. The ladies-in-waiting are all local women who grew up in town and are now juniors in college. In fact, the entire court is made up of college juniors, so they’re all about twenty years old and they’re a tight-knit group. The duchesses are ladies who didn’t grow up here—they come from all over. They can be sorority sisters of one of the ladies-in-waiting or simply just college friends. And there are about twenty in each group. At least this year there’re twenty. Some years it’s more, some years it’s less.
Rounding out the court are the attendants—these are young boys and girls in middle school and they’re placed on the floats to give the appearance of attending to the queen, princess, and the rest of the court. Their costumes need to reflect the colors and styles of the young lady they’ll be attending, so there’s an additional twelve costumes to add to the list.”
“My goodness,” I said. “I had no idea there was so much work involved.”
“This is a project!” Stuart said. “We hit the ground running ten months ago and we haven’t slowed down since.”
“Amazing,” I said. I so admired Stuart’s work ethic, but I was still curious about the makeup of the festival’s court. “How are the young women chosen, Stuart?”
“The queen and princess are chosen by the president of the Rose Festival. The president is part of a four-person committee and the roles rotate through year to year so that no one person is president for more than one year in a four-year period. And there is also a committee made up of about twelve members. The Rose Festival is such a large affair that it requires quite a bit of planning, preparation, and effort to execute. The other women are nominated by members of the committee and other influential citizens in town.”
I got to the last sketch and marveled at it. It was so incredibly imaginative. “These are amazing, Stuart, and I can’t wait to see these designs come to life.”
Stuart smiled. “I’m glad you like them, Catherine.”
Something that smelled delicious came wafting to my nose from the stove. “What’re you making, Gilley?” He’d been largely silent during the conversation.
Gilley stepped back from the stove, holding the handle of a large pan, swirling and flipping the contents. “We didn’t have a lot on hand,” he said, reaching for one of the stacked plates on the counter. “So I threw some odds and ends together and voilà!” With a flourish he portioned out a plate for me and set it down on my placemat before reaching for another plate for Stuart and then himself.
I looked down at the mound of food. It was a pasta dish with chicken and English peas, all covered in a creamy-looking sauce that smelled heavenly. I swirled some linguini onto my fork and tried a bite. “Oh, my God,” I said, closing my eyes to relish in the flavor. “This is incredible. What is this sauce?”
Gilley beamed a smile at me and said, “We didn’t have any cream so I used the next best thing. The sauce is a fair amount of butter, Baileys Irish Cream, Kahlúa, and a splash of bourbon.”
“Get out!” I said. “I don’t taste the alcohol at all.”
“The alcohol is used to emulsify the butter,” he said. “You burn it off as you cook and you’re left with just the flavors.”
“Delicious, hon,” Stuart said. “Really, this is outstanding.”
Gilley blushed and swished his hips from side to side, clearly loving the compliment and it was adorable.
We ate in companionable silence for the next a few minutes—the food was simply too good to pause for conversation—but soon we’d polished off our meals, and Stuart sat back and patted his stomach. “Well, now that I’ve been properly nourished, I need to get to the warehouse and check on the team’s progress. We’ve still got several gowns to finish and I want to keep our momentum going.”
“Are you behind schedule?” I asked.
Stuart had a little glint in his eye when he answered. “No, dear. We’re several days ahead. I like running a tight ship and bringing it in early, just in case there are any last-minute emergencies.”
“Smart,” I said. I used to run my own business the exact same way.
Once Stuart had left, I helped Gilley with the dishes, and then we both sat back with a cup of ginger tea and some of his homemade cookies.
Gilley’s phone pinged and he glanced at the screen. Once again that blush and perfectly smitten expression took over his complexion.
“Text from Stuart?” I asked.
“Yep,” Gilley said, typing a quick reply before setting his phone facedown again.
I grinned and shook my head. “How amazing is it that, just three weeks ago, you were so heartbroken over your divorce, and now you look more radiant than I’ve ever seen you.”
Gilley bounced in his chair. “Cat,” he whispered. “I’m in love!”
“Duh,” I said. “When did this happen, though, Gilley? I mean, I remember you two being quite taken with each other by the time we all left Paris, but I didn’t expect it to bloom this fully in such a short period of time.”
“The whole time we were in Europe, Cat, Stuart and I had been texting, talking, and Zooming like crazy. I just didn’t tell you because, well . . . you know how you are.”
“How I am?” I said defensively. “How am I, Gilley?”
He smirked. “Cat Cooper the professional life coach just can’t help but offer unsolicited advice. If I told you how quickly Stuart and I were progressing you’d sit me down like one of your clients and start telling me how I should be all reasonable and cautious and take it slow. And the irony is that you’re as bad as I am at navigating relationships.”
My jaw dropped. Did he actually just say that? “I’m bad at navigating relationships? Really? Gilley, I was married for fifteen years and I’ve been in a three-year relationship with a terrific man. If anyone could give you sage advice when it comes to building a successful relationship, it’d be me.”
Gilley’s mouth flattened into a skeptical expression. “So, I must be mistaken, or did you not just flee town the moment the man you’ve been dating for those three years in that very successful relationship took the obvious next step and asked you to marry him.”
I frowned. “That’s different.”
Gilley dropped his chin and stared up at me. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“How exactly?”
My eyes searched the countertop for a moment, as if I could find the answer within the swirls of the marble. “I have children,” I said at last. “Their opinions have to factor into whatever answer I give Shepherd.”
Gilley picked up a cookie and took a bite. “Your children don’t even live with you, Cat. And I seem to recall a couple of barbecue dinners, days at the beach, and nights out at the movies that included you, Shepherd, and the boys and there were no reports afterward of any animosity between the boys and Shep. In fact, when I asked Mike about your man, he told me he actually thought Shepherd was pretty cool, so don’t try playing that card with me, sugar.”
Of course Gilley was right—my twin sons, Matt and Mike, spent the school year away at boarding school—which they’d chosen to attend four years ago when my ex-husband and I filed for divorce. The boys hadn’t wanted to live with either one of us, and frankly, that had really hurt my feelings, but I’d agreed to their request, knowing divorce can be very hard on young men their age and only wanting them to be as happy as possible given the drama of our contentious divorce.
Since then the boys had been thriving at school, but they also spent half the summers with me and half the summers with Tom—my ex. He had already remarried, and I’d found happiness with Shepherd, whom the boys had taken in stride. So Gilley was also right to call my bluff.
“Gilley,” I said while he eyed me judgmentally. “My divorce from Tom was excruciating. I don’t ever want to go through that again.”
Gilley nodded almost casually. “Anyone who’s ever been through a divorce isn’t anxious to do it again, but what’s the other option when you meet someone wonderful who wants that kind of stability in their life?”
I pointed at him. “That. That right there is my conundrum. I don’t want to lose Shepherd. I love him. In fact, I’m madly in love with him, but marriage wasn’t something I gave much thought to until we discovered the ring i. . .
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