Just then, Claudia, looking like she’d wrestled a badger and lost, strolled in. “You know there’s another way to keep Cameron occupied and still keep your word to King,” she said, her voice laced with the quiet menace of a librarian who’d discovered a missing bookmark.
“Sedate him for the next few days?” I suggested, only half-joking.
Lidi frowned. “No. Cameron likes to feel needed. Give him something to do.”
“Like what?” I scoffed. “Offer to let him do Mr. Jones’ gallbladder surgery? Because I’m pretty sure that’d end up on YouTube, trending faster than a cat video with a laser pointer.”
Jess chuckled. “While I’d pay good money to see that, no. King told me you are corralling the kids so Josie and the others can get ready for the wedding, right?”
“Yeah?” My eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling my skin like a swarm of miniature, highly caffeinated bees.
Where was this going?
“Have Cameron be LeeAnn’s gofer. Tell him he’d be a big help if he could stick by LeeAnn while you help Josephine with everything else. Cameron is great at multitasking...” Jess trailed off, leaving me to ponder the sheer lunacy of her suggestion.
Unleash Cameron on LeeAnn?
That was like setting a hyperactive squirrel loose in a porcelain shop filled with priceless Ming vases.
“You want me to unleash Cameron on LeeAnn? That’s like setting a bull loose in a china shop,” I groaned. “He’ll have her running in circles, and the wedding will be a disaster. We’ll be having a ‘rustic chic’ wedding reception... if ‘rustic’ means ‘utter and complete destruction.’”
“Oh, come on,” Jess chimed in, ever the optimist or possibly a masochist. “It won’t be that bad. Cameron might be a handful, but he’s got a heart of gold. And LeeAnn can handle him; she’s not exactly a pushover.”
“True,” I conceded. “But it’s still a risky move. What if they end up at each other’s throats? Will we need a mediator... or maybe a small army?”
“Then we’ll have some entertainment for the wedding,” Lidi said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Besides, it’s not likeyou have a better option. Unless you want to go back on your word to King.”
I sighed, defeated.
They had me.
Completely and utterly cornered, like a bewildered mouse in a cheese maze designed by a sadistic cat. “Fine, I’ll talk to Cameron and see if he’s up for the task. But if he drives LeeAnn crazy, it’s on your heads.”
As I reluctantly agreed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a meticulously crafted trap, designed by masterminds who specialized in chaos theory and had far too much time on their hands.
But with no better ideas, I figured I might as well embrace the impending hurricane of adolescent energy. Little did I know, this was just the pre-game show. The main event—Cameron versus LeeAnn, the wedding, and possibly the apocalypse—was yet to come.
Buckle up, buttercups. This was going to be a wild ride.
After seeing the time, I gathered my coat and headed for the front door, passing the receptionist’s desk and smiling as I remembered Josie’s screams as I ate her for breakfast. Needing actual sustenance, I walked out of the clinic and headed for my car when Mike Brewer whistled, getting my attention. Looking up, I saw the sheriff standing across the street, wiggling his finger at me.
Groaning, I walked across the street to see what the man wanted.
Mike Brewer, our sheriff, a man whose whistle could curdle milk at fifty paces, interrupted my escape. He was standingacross the street, his finger wiggling like an enthusiastic conductor leading a one-man orchestra of doom.
“Kind of busy, Mike. Got a brief window before my next appointment at the hospital. Can this wait? I have a date with a cheeseburger,” I asked, already calculating how much faster I could run if I had to.
“Nope,” he stated, all firmness and granite jaw. He stepped aside, revealing the alluring interior of the sheriff’s station. A place where I’d rather be anywhere but.
I sighed dramatically. “Hunter Dukes is pressing assault charges?”
Mike frowned. “Nope. But should I be on the lookout for him?”
“Not if he values his kneecaps,” I muttered mainly to myself as I headed into Mike’s office where I sank into the chair with the grace of a collapsing soufflé. “So, spill it, Sheriff.”
Mike leaned back, a glint in his eye. “Heard you claimed Josephine Hennessy.”
I smirked. “Rosewood’s gossip train runs on caffeine and pure, unadulterated drama. Apparently, carrying a screaming woman out of a coffee shop is the new cardio.”
