Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina Read online

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  The Carriage House Capers, Book 3

  Emmy Grace

  EG Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Emmy Grace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mallory Rock Rock Solid Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

  For TMR, I hope you dance!

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Lucky and the Crushed Clown

  Lucky and the Crushed Clown

  Thank you

  Connect with me

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Emmy Grace

  1

  “Let me get this straight. You’re going to let an old woman who can hardly walk and has the disposition of a cornered Tasmanian devil teach you how to shoot a gun?”

  Regina looks positively horrified.

  “Well, when you say it like that…”

  “It’s the truth, though. That’s the scariest part.”

  “Believe it or not, I bet Mrs. Snuffleupagus is the perfect person to teach me. Something tells me she was a bad-A in her younger years. She was probably instrumental in turning a war or something.”

  Regina is my best friend, and she and I grew up creating nicknames for people based on their physical characteristics. You can just imagine the long, droopy nose of my landlady, Mrs. Stephanopoulos, to make a moniker such as Snuffleupagus feasible.

  “Probably. Like the first World War.”

  “She’s not that old.”

  “Lucky, I’ve seen younger artifacts from the life of Jesus.”

  “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  “I’ve learned from the best,” she quips, running her hand over the dress she brought me to wear.

  “What’s with you tonight? Did something ruffle your pretty peacock feathers?”

  Regina is the primpiest person I know. I think she puts on makeup both before and after her shower.

  “Stop. I’m not that primpy.” From the mirror of my vanity, I tilt my head and shoot her a wry look. “Fine. I like to look nice. It’s not a crime.”

  “It’s most certainly not. And you’re very good at it.” She’s effortlessly gorgeous. She’s as Cajun as my adopted grandmother, Beebee, and her coloring is similar. Smooth caramel skin, dark wavy hair, darker brown eyes.

  While she normally has a great sense of style to go along with her beauty, tonight’s outfit is one of my favorites, but not for the reason one might think.

  Regina is wearing a cream-colored sweater with brown polka dots. It makes me think of chocolate chip ice cream, which is basically two of my favorite foods rolled into one— chocolate and ice cream. Then again, many things remind me of food because one of my favorite hobbies is eating.

  Who am I kidding? It’s hands down my favorite thing to do.

  “You shouldn’t wear that top around me,” I mumble distractedly.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it reminds me of ice cream. With chocolate chips. Sugary decadence dunked in more sugary decadence. And I don’t need to be thinking about food anymore than I already do.” I lean to one side and smack my butt cheek. “This trunk doesn’t need any more junk in it.”

  Regina is looking at me like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum in the dairy aisle at the grocery store. Her tone matches that very scenario. It’s rife with barely-there tolerance. “So, what colors would you suggest I wear that would help to maximize your weight loss?”

  “Maybe gray? It’s a great color on you. Plus, it might remind me of being outside on the sidewalk. Like, jogging or something. And you know how much I hate to exercise.”

  Regina hangs her head and mutters, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “How is it any weirder than all the other stupid things we talk about in a week’s time?”

  “Good point,” she acquiesces. “Okay, so back to these shooting lessons.”

  “I’m not going to start strapping a pistol to my leg, Regina, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just for safety, for the odd occasion when I might get in a bind. Like I did with Leopardo.”

  That’s the name of the cartel guy who gave me a little scare a few weeks ago.

  Okay, fine. It was more than a little.

  “The odd occasion? You mean daily, right?”

  “I’m not that prone to getting into trouble.”

  “Lucky, you need a bigger security team than the President of the United States.”

  I spin on my chair, one eye fully made up, the other not. “Okay, what gives?”

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “It’s nothing. I—”

  “Fibber!”

  “It’s just… Alex asked me out again.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  Alex is the nice guy she went out with right before her ex made an unexpected appearance in her life last month. She blew Alex off for coffee the next morning because she was…otherwise engaged.

  “I just…I’m so embarrassed.” She drops her face into her hands.

  “You’re being crazy. He will understand. Just be honest with him. Tell him someone showed up unexpectedly and you had to deal with some things.”

  “I didn’t deal with anything. My vigilante, Calamity-Jane-wannabe best friend did.”

  “He doesn’t need to know that.”

  “So you think I should go back out with him?”

  “Do you like him?” She nods. “Do you think he’s a pretty nice guy?” She nods again. “Is he hot enough for all your Cajun heat?”

  At that she giggles. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “Then, yes, I think you should go back out with him. See where it goes anyway. No one ever got anywhere by playing it safe.”

  “If that’s not your life motto, I don’t know what is.”

  “As a matter of fact, it is.” I wink my unmade-up eye at her.

  She scrunches up her face. “Gross. Turn around and finish your face. That one eye thing is freaking me out. You look like Marilyn Manson.”

  I narrow my eyes and then make the unmade-up one as big as I can, turning so it looks like I’m giving her the cursed eye. “What did you say, infidel?”

  “Stop it! You’re gonna give me nightmares.” Regina actually shivers, which, of course, also makes me giggle.

  “You’re too easy.”


  “That’s what he said,” she rejoins with a snort.

  “Nice.” I hold my hand up above my head, palm facing her. She leans over and smacks it for a high five.

  As I’m putting the finishing touches on my face, I see my little pig, Gumbo, the newest addition to my pet menagerie, pop into my field of vision. He meets my eyes in the mirror, gives me a hearty oink, and then trots over to my purse where it’s lying on the floor. Gumbo loves to root around in pretty much anything, so if it’s low enough for him to stick his snout in, he makes a beeline for it.

  Just before he can successfully bury his nose in the center pocket, I leap up. “Gumbo, no!” I lunge for my purse, swiping it up to get it out of his reach. Gumbo glares up at me. If a pig could frown, I’d swear he was frowning at me. “I’m sorry, buddy, but there’s a dangerous thing in here. You can’t be nudging a stun gun. It’s liable to turn your hide into pork rinds.”

  I take it out and set my bag back down for him to play with. He immediately dives in. I stand and watch him, smiling down at the cute little guy. He’s much less destructive if I keep him occupied. He’s very smart and very curious, so as long as I have things around for him to investigate, he’s a happy porker.

  Much like me.

  “What’s that?” Regina asks.

  “It’s the stun gun Mrs. S. let me borrow. I tried to give it back to her, but she made me keep it until she can get me trained on a real gun.”

  “What does it do?”

  “I’ve never used one, but evidently, you push this button and press these two little metal things into someone’s skin and—”

  A jolt of electricity zings through me. I feel stiff as a board and tingly from head to toe.

  The last thing I remember thinking is that I didn’t intend to actually hit the button.

  2

  I open my eyes to a bright overhead light. My head feels heavy and confused, but I still think I recognize the round globe on the ceiling as the one above my bed.

  “She’s waking up.” I hear the whisper. It’s a woman’s voice, but not Regina’s.

  I raise my head and crack a lid. Regina comes through the door toward me. Judging by her expression, she’s relieved, but why she should be relieved that I’m awake is beyond me.

  Suzie Lynn is with her. Hers was the voice I heard. She’s the owner of the Color Me Badd salon. She’s the only hairdresser in Salty Springs and is quickly becoming one of my closest friends. She’s in her fifties, but she doesn’t look or act it. Take tonight, for instance. She’s wearing a black mini dress with a bright red belt and bright red shoes, and her Mohawk is dyed to match. Her personality is as colorful as her hair.

  “How do you feel, Sleeping Beauty?” Regina asks when she scoots onto the edge of the bed.

  “In that dress, you could be a princess,” Suzie Lynn notes.

  I glance down and see the pink silk dress I donned right before…before…

  Oh. Yeah. The stun gun.

  I groan and roll onto my side. “I missed it, didn’t I?”

  “Missed what?” I recognize that voice. It’s deep and surly and belongs to none other than Liam Dunning. Local farmer, ex-FBI agent, prickly pear, and all-around pain in my rump.

  “The ballet. It was only coming through for tonight, and only then because the mayor pulled some strings with the owner of the troupe. And I missed it. I missed her.”

  “You’re not a fan of Serena Flowers, are you?” His tone is so caustic I don’t have to see his expression to know what he’s thinking.

  “Don’t you dare say one bad word about her. I don’t care what the gossip rags say, she’s not a diva.”

  “Whatever you say.” Evidently, he disagrees.

  I sit up so fast that my head literally spins. Well, on the inside anyway. If my actual head spun, I’d be calling for a young priest and an old priest.

  “The mayor!” I exclaim, which is the wrong thing to do. Loud, abrupt noises startle my animals and they have this mad tendency to get each other more and more excited. It’s like dominos at the loony bin.

  Mr. Jingles, my brown and white French bulldog, snarls (that’s what he does when he’s frightened), which startles Gumbo, who oinks. Next, my black devil-cat, Lucy-fur, gives her meowing growl of alarm and jumps onto Gator, the hamster’s cage. She takes high ground when she goes on the defensive. The clatter scares him and he jumps into his hamster wheel and starts running. Unfortunately, the wheel is hopelessly squeaky, which agitates my rescue parrot, Squishy. He shows his fear by squawking some random phrase over and over again as he walks his wooden perch like he’s doing the pirate plank pachanga.

  “Uranus! Uranus! Uranus!” he screeches.

  Jingles barks again, Gumbo snorts, Lucy-fur meows, Gator runs, and Squishy squawks. It’s like winding a watch. And then continuing to wind and wind and wind. If I don’t intervene, they’d probably all explode in a flurry of feathers and fur.

  “I’ve got her,” Regina says with clear annoyance before she gets up and grabs the cat off Gator’s cage. Usually, for whatever reason, removing Lucy-fur from the room causes everyone else to calm down. It seems her presence is as disruptive as her name would suggest.

  When Regina has put the cat out into the front yard of my little yellow carriage house, she returns. “Why did you scream ‘the mayor’ and scare the wild kingdom half to death?”

  “I didn’t scream. I exclaimed. There’s a difference,” I explain.

  “Not when you do it. But what about the mayor?”

  “He owes me a favor since the whole axed accountant thing. I want to collect. Tonight.” I glance over at Liam. “I know there’s no love lost between you and your mayor daddy, but would you mind giving him a call?”

  “You have his number. You call.” He crosses his arms over his chest. He might as well be puffing up like a toad. He’s about that stubborn.

  “He’ll probably be watching the ballet. It’s more than halfway over.”

  “So? Leave a message,” he says. So practical I could strangle him.

  Men!

  “Fine. I will.”

  I wiggle myself to the edge of the bed and reach for my phone. I scroll through until I find the contact information for William Dunning Senior, Mayor of Salty Springs and soon-to-be South Carolina Senator.

  I’m surprised when he answers. It catches me off guard and I stammer. “H-hi, Mayor Dunning, this is Lucky. Lucky Boucher.”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Boucher?”

  Thankfully, even though Regina and I have only been here for just less than a year, most people know me well enough to be familiar with my nickname, Lucky, as well as my last name. That means the Waterboy jokes have stopped.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I assumed you’d have your phone silenced for the ballet.”

  “I did, but I felt it vibrate. I saw your name come up and thought I should probably answer. Lately, you seem to be synonymous with trouble.”

  I don’t deign to respond to that. Mostly because it’s true. No sense denying it.

  “Actually, sir, I have a favor to ask. I was planning to attend the ballet tonight, but, uh, something came up.” I hear various sniggers and snorts around me. I aim a finger gesture toward the room at large. “I was wondering if there would be any way for you to get me in after the performance to see Serena Flowers. She’s the only reason I wanted to go. I’ve watched her since I was a little girl.” There was a time when I twirled and hopped on the balls of my feet, visions of ballerinas dancing in my head. But that was before I lost my parents. Since then, my passion has been snooping around in other people’s business and trying to solve crimes and murders. And, yes, getting in trouble with alarming frequency.

  I hear a harrumphing sound. Not too loud, like he was being obnoxious about it, but not so soft that he’s trying too hard to hide it. I guess the mayor is an important man. He has deals to arrange and appearances to uphold. They don’t call him Slick Willie for nothing.

  “Okay. Come now. I wa
s going to drop by her dressing room before I leave for Columbia. I’ll introduce you.”

  I know my face must be beaming. The glow can probably be seen from outer space, shooting from the windows of my bedroom like lasers at a rock concert. “Thank you, sir. I’m on my way.”

  I hang up and spin around in a circle. “What did I still have left to do when I—” I stop myself. Even though they obviously know what happened, it’s too embarrassing to admit that I stunned myself. Especially in front of Liam Dunning. That guy seems to witness me at my worst on a weekly basis.

  “You finished your one weird eye. I think that was it. You just needed to brush your hair and put on shoes.”

  I race to the bathroom for my brush. I drag it through my blondish bob. Normally, I’m a lighter blonde, not quite platinum but close. But right now, I’m like super dirty blonde. That’s because, in an exchange for information involving my last case, the hacker with whom I share a love/hate relationship required me to do dye my hair a rainbow of colors. And that wasn’t even the worst part. Luckily, Suzie Lynn has done a great job of working it back toward blonde, but, unbeknownst to me at the time, it’s not an overnight process.

  I rush back into the bedroom, looking around for the shoes Regina brought me. “Where are they?”

  Regina hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “I put them up on your dresser. The pig wouldn’t leave them alone.” Regina isn’t the biggest fan of my small squadron of rescue animals. That doesn’t stop me from loving them, though.

  “Good thinking.” I snatch them off the dresser and slip them on my feet, then survey the room. “Who’s coming with me?”