Lucky and the Drowned Debutante Read online

  Lucky and the Drowned Debutante

  Carriage House Capers, Book 5

  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

  Love.

  That’s what it’s all about.

  Connect with me

  Be the first to be notified of pre-orders and new releases by following me at one of the places listed below. Pick one or pick ‘em all:)

  On Amazon

  On BookBub

  On Facebook

  In my reader group

  Also, subscribe to my mailing list for the absolute latest and exclusive sales, offers, and sneak peeks. I promise not to spam you:)

  You can also find information and ways to contact me on my website.

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Next

  Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex

  Lucky and the Electrocuted Ex

  Thank you

  Connect with me

  About the Author

  Also by Emmy Grace

  1

  “You want me to do what?”

  Regina is my best friend, who also happens to be my immediate supervisor at Consumer Global Product Testing. With some friends, that might not work. But with us, it just makes work fun.

  Mostly.

  Except when she’s suggesting pure madness.

  I stare at Regina like she’s sprouted hair from her eyeballs. Although, on her, it would probably look good. She’s Cajun, and she’s just as beautiful outside as she is inside. And she can do anything, too. Work a crossword puzzle, do a handstand, apply perfect makeup, style perfect hair. She’s even fashionable.

  If I didn’t love her, I might hate her.

  Just a little.

  “It won’t take long. Just a quick dip in the lake.”

  “You do get that it’s November, right?”

  “It’s South Carolina. How cold does it actually get in the south?”

  “Cold enough for me to tell you to bite my butt. There’s no way I’m—”

  “Lucky, the whole point of the suit is to keep you somewhat insulated, like neoprene, but also to save your life when you trigger the test button. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  I balk. “Wait, did you say somewhat insulated? Somewhat insulated?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ll be plenty warm.”

  “Maybe in a movie theater. Or in the Bahamas. But in the lake? Regina, that water will be colder than Free Willy’s willy. I can’t get in there with something that’s somewhat insulated.”

  “It’ll be—”

  “If you say it’ll be fine one more time, I’m gonna drag you to the bathroom and give you a swirly in Betsy’s big mouth.”

  One of the products I had to test a few weeks ago went sideways (not the first one, I might add), and I became intimately acquainted with my toilet. We bonded over several long, disgusting hours, and we are now on a first name basis.

  Her name is Betsy.

  She was a true friend to me that night.

  Regina’s face melts into a plea. “Lucky, pleeeease! The big boss’s assistant’s secretary is coming down here to evaluate me. This would be such a great product for you to be testing.”

  “Isn’t that like saying your third cousin’s boyfriend’s dog, twice removed?”

  “Probably, but it’s still a big deal. Europe is—”

  “Her name is Europe?”

  She nods. “I told you that.”

  “Um, no you didn’t.”

  Regina sighs. “I did.”

  “No, because if you did, I would remember. And do you want to know how I know I’d remember?”

  Her stare is blank for about three heartbeats. I know the instant understanding sets in.

  Simultaneously, like we share a brain (which I sometimes wonder if we do), we start singing. “It’s the final countdown! Do-do-dooo-dooo. Do-do-do-do-dooo.”

  We were both raised on 80’s and 90’s music and television. Unless you were homeschooled in a plastic bubble trapped between two boulders in the Sierra Nevadas, that fact should be fairly obvious within sixteen seconds of meeting either one of us.

  I do my best impression of someone playing a keyboard for about a minute. After that, neither of us can sing for laughing so hard.

  While I catch my breath, I muse aloud. “We need an 80’s music night. I bet Suzie would bring a bunch of her music over and do weird things to our hair.”

  “I bet we wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d probably volunteer.”

  Suzie Lynn is the owner and operator of the Color Me Badd hair salon. She’s in her fifties, so she grew up listening to the same music we did even though we’re more than a decade younger. Only we moved on. With Suzie, I’m not sure the same can be said. Her hair is usually styled in some sort of colorful Mohawk and she plays Duran Duran in her shop. She’s the nicest person you’d ever want to meet, though, and she puts up with me.

  That says a lot.

  “She would. She’s a pretty rad chick,” I declare.

  It’s Regina’s turn to stare at me like something gross has taken up residence on my face. “Don’t do that.”

  “Too much?”

  “Way too much.” She hardly misses a beat before she continues. “Now, where was I?”

  “You were begging me to do something incredibly stupid and irresponsible.”

  “Exactly. It’s right up your alley.”

  “Heartless,” I whisper dramatically, donning my best “deeply offended” expression. “But also true.” I sigh loudly. “Good grief, fine. But promise me we don’t have to go out too deep.”

  “I promise. We won’t get too far from shore.”

  “When is this supposed to take place?”

  Her face crumples up into a cringe, so I know I won’t like this part either. “She’s flying in this afternoon, so if you could do it today, that would be awesome.”

  “Regina LaFayette, you are a sneaky devil woman. How long have you known about this?”

  She hides her face behind her hands this time. “Almost two weeks.”

  “For shame!” I breathe. “And you’re springing it on me last minute because…”

  “You’ve had a lot going on lately. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  I can’t very well be mad at her for that. I really have had a lot going on lately. Dead bodies, public performances, more moments of unconsciousness than I care to think about.

  “I guess I can forgive you then.”

  She lowers her hands. “Really?” I nod. “So you’ll do it?”

  “I’ll do it. But I’m gonna need a reward afterward. A big one. Of the gourmet variety.”

  After all, food is life, right?

  “You get paid to do this, Lucky
. And paid very well, I might add. Besides, you’ve tested way worse things than this.”

  I can’t argue those facts either.

  Blast her and her accuracy!

  “I’m not talking about the product testing. I’m talking about a woman named Europe. Do you have any idea the amount of restraint I’ll have to call upon just to make it through the day without singing every time I look at her? I mean, her name is Europe for God’s sake. Europe. And the song is already stuck in my head. The struggle is real.”

  “Please try to control yourself. At least until you’re away from her.”

  “And you’ll bring me ice cream for a week?”

  “I’ll bring you ice cream for a week.”

  “Double chocolate pecan praline?” My favorite. She nods. “From home?”

  “I’ll have Beebee bring it when she comes this week for Thanksgiving.”

  “Deal.”

  She leaps up from the couch and claps her hands excitedly. “Let me go get it.”

  “You brought it with you?”

  “I was pretty sure you’d do it.”

  “I’m too easy.”

  “You’re just easy enough. Except with Tasty Cakes. That could use some work.” She gives me an exaggerated wink and then hurries out the door before I can address that comment. She knows my feeling on the Liam Dunning, a.k.a. Tasty Cakes thing. That’s why she runs.

  She’s the one who came up with that nickname for Liam, too. Not that it’s not warranted. I mean, the man is gorgeous.

  Since we were two wild young things, growing up in Gator Cove, Louisiana, we’ve given people nicknames that speak to a certain outstanding characteristic. Liam’s being his hotness.

  Pure, beautiful, steamy-good hotness.

  Since moving to Salty Springs, South Carolina, we’ve also dubbed a couple of others. We call Petey, the Chief Sheriff’s assistant, Ginger Creep. He has a mangy red beard and is far too creepy to be any kind of officer of the law. We named Mrs. Stephanopoulos, my ancient landlady, Mrs. Snuffleupagus, because she has a long, droopy nose just like the children’s television character. I’ve independently named a few catty women I’ve met along the way, but I haven’t seen any of them again, so they haven’t really stuck.

  As for Liam/Tasty Cakes, Regina and quite possibly the rest of the town are gunning for a union between him and me, but only Regina and Liam know the reason that it can never be. When Beebee “blessed” me, it made me extremely lucky when it comes to getting out of scrapes, but it seems to have made me very unlucky in love. Not immediately, though.

  At first, there’s this thing that happens. Regina calls it my lucky charm. Liam calls it catnip. Whatever you want to call it, men are attracted to me pretty much instantly. That in itself isn’t so bad, but if I make the mistake of kissing one…

  God help us all.

  They go completely insane.

  Like stalker insane.

  That’s why we had to leave Gator Cove. An ex-boyfriend tried to kidnap me. That was my sign that it was time to move on. Start over.

  And never kiss another man.

  Liam seems to be immune to my charm and my kisses. “Seems to be” being the operative words, there. We have such a good thing going with our investigations, though, I’m afraid to test it to be sure. I don’t want anything to mess that up. Especially whatever crazy spell I might inadvertently cast over men.

  Not worth the risk in my opinion.

  Regina, however, disagrees. To her, the most important pursuit in life for both of us right now should be finding our Mr. Right. Her biological clock is like a tiny Unabomber lording over her ovaries with twice-daily threats. She feels the urgency, hears the ticking day and night. Maybe she thinks if she doesn’t marry in time, her girl parts will explode and ruin her outfit. With my sweet best friend, it’s hard to tell.

  When she comes back in, she’s carrying what looks like a tuxedo bag draped over her shoulder.

  “Lake formal wear? Won’t I feel snazzy?”

  “It’s not formal. It just isn’t supposed to be folded or compressed in any way.”

  “Oh.”

  That probably doesn’t bode well.

  She makes her way back to me and unzips the garment bag with a flourish. “Ta da!”

  I stare at it. “It’s orange.”

  “Yes.”

  “Bright orange.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like neon orange.”

  Her face is wreathed in a huge smile. “Right again.”

  “You realize I’m gonna look like a buoy.”

  “I figure with you, that might be a good thing. In case we lose you.”

  “Lose me?”

  I’m sure alarm is written all over my face.

  “It’s not like I really think that might happen, but with you, it’s always better safe than sorry.”

  “You’re not making me feel very good about this, woman.”

  “It’ll be—”

  “Fine. Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first twenty-seven times.”

  I’m reaching for the suit when a terrifying scream reverberates through the house. Regina gives a little screech and jumps so violently that she flings the garment bag at me. For me, I gasp and almost swallow my gum, which is actually an improvement as far as reactions go. The first many times this happened, I peed a little.

  Stupid weak bladder.

  The sound comes from Fred, one of the two newest members of my rescue pet menagerie. He’s a screaming goat that the circus folk left with me because they couldn’t keep him. I guess his screams were too disruptive to the other animals, so they gave him to me.

  We don’t fare much better around here, but we’re learning. Right now, he’s sticking his head through the dog door, trying to get my attention. He picked that up from my watching my other animals do it. They all use the door to come and go. Fred tries, but he’s just too big to fit through it, thank God.

  I glance out the window and see his unwitting counterpart, a fainting goat I named Ethel, go stiff as a board and fall over like she’s been shot. I can’t help giggling. Fred’s screaming always does this to her. She’ll recover in a few minutes and resume nibbling on hay, but it’s the strangest thing to watch. Strange and funny. It’s also one of the reasons I put the bale of alfalfa near their house—so she’d have a soft place to land. The other reason was so they don’t get hungry and ingest something important. Like their house.

  Or my house.

  “Good Lord Almighty,” Regina says when she recovers. She puts a hand to her heaving chest. “I’ll never get used to that.”

  Before I can respond, the rest of the household has to voice their opinion on the matter. Mr. Jingles, my brown and white French bulldog, snarls like he’s going to rip the head off something. Gumbo, my sweet miniature pig, snorts in response and starts running in a tight circle. Lucy-fur, my black devil cat, makes her ferocious meow-growl and jumps on Gator, the hamster’s cage, where she braces to do battle. Gator responds by hopping into his wheel to run for dear life. The squeak of the wheel riles Squishy, my rescue parrot, who walks nervously along his perch, back and forth, as he squawks some random word repeatedly.

  Today’s random words are: “Wrecked ‘em! Wrecked ‘em!”

  Regina and I look at each other, puzzled.

  “Is he saying ‘wrecked ‘em’ or ‘rectum’?” she asks.

  I laugh at that, too. Mainly because potty humor, or anything in the general vicinity of potty humor, tickles my funny bone like nobody’s business. I love a good poop joke.

  “Ha! Probably rectum. He’s been mentioning body parts a lot lately. I don’t know what he’s been watching on TV.”

  “You let him watch TV?”

  I nod. “Sometimes I leave it on when I’m gonna be gone for a while. Just to give them some noise and some company. And so hopefully they won’t do this.”

  I point to the escalating mayhem. The more excited one gets, the more excited they all get. However, Lucy-fur seems to be the k
ey to the chaos, so removing her from the equation usually does the trick in allowing them to settle back down. If I’m not here to move her, though, I guess they just do this until they exhaust themselves.

  I grab Lucy from Gator’s cage and put her out the front door. As I’m turning around, Fred gives another blood-curdling scream and Regina yowls in response.

  “You’re as bad as they are,” I tell her, pointing to my other creatures, which are just now starting to calm down.

  “Everyone and everything around you have to be a crazy just to survive, you lunatic.”

  I shrug, my feathers far from ruffled. “Pretty much. It’s part of my charm.”

  I’ll be the first to admit that I lead a bit of an eccentric life. But to my way of thinking, it’s better to be a free spirit and embrace it than to try and fight it.

  So, embrace I do!

  2

  Regina comes to get me at three PM on the nose. I remember reading somewhere that it’s the warmest point in the day.

  I hope that’s true.

  I open the weather app on my phone. “Good grief, I’m gonna freeze to death!”

  “You’re not going to freeze to death,” Regina says calmly from behind the wheel.

  “It’s fifty-four degrees, Regina. Fifty-four degrees. Five. Four. Do you know what that’s going to feel like wet?”

  “You won’t be wet. You’ll be orange and dry.”

  I glance down at the form-fitting, fruit-colored suit I’m wearing. “I look like a giant Cheeto. I hope there aren’t any Chester Cheetah-lovin’ gators in this lake.”

  “We’re in South Carolina. They don’t have alligators here.”