Page 72 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

Juniper runs her hands over the outfit—tailored pants that fit surprisingly well; a silky, low-cut blouse; and a fitted blazer. She somehow looks both sexy and professional, and my lungs can’t quite seem to reach capacity, my breath shallow in my chest. If anything, the pink hair seems to magnify the effect; it speaks to the parts of her personality that I’m most attracted to.

“You’re not allowed to call me weird,” she says, tucking some of that hair behind her ear and frowning at me. “I’m your wife. We have become Aidiper. We have a beautiful daughter—”

“For the love,” I say, standing up quickly.

“I look good. I look fancy. Be supportive, please,” she goes on.

I exhale slowly, closing my eyes. “You look fancy,” I say. “Now you should go before my family hunts you down and subjects you to an inquisition.”

“This is perfect,” Juniper says. “Thank you so much.” At first I think she’s talking to me, but when I open my eyes, it’s Caroline she’s addressing. “I really appreciate your help. I’ll bring these back—”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Caroline says, waving her hand. “I’ll never fit those clothes again. You keep them.”

“But your fashion—”

“Keep them, Juniper,” Caroline says with a smile.

Juniper bites her lip, looking down at the outfit. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

Juniper returns her smile with pink cheeks and then says, “If you insist. Thank you, Caroline.”

Ugh. I think this is turning into one of thoseYou hang up first! No, you!situations. They’re going to sit here and thank each other and say goodbye for the next twenty minutes.

I don’t have that kind of patience, and I definitely don’t want my parents to wander back this direction and begin questioning Juniper. She didn’t sign up for that today, and my mother’s respect for boundaries is about as negligible as Juniper’s herself. “Let’s go,” I say to her.

“Rude,” she mutters, wrinkling her nose at me. But she returns to the bathroom across the hall, emerging a few moments later with her original outfit back on, Caroline’s clothes draped over one arm. She follows me out of Caroline’s bedroom, down the hall, and to the front door. My sister brings up the rear, smiling cheerfully and wishing us luck when we step outside. I glance at the dining room table, where my parents, Jeff, and the girls are all watching with interest, their plates empty in front of them.

“You’re thinking hard about something,” Juniper says when the front door closes behind us.

Am I that obvious? “How could you tell?” I say, more curious than anything.

Juniper reaches up and touches my forehead. “There’s this little v-shaped crease you get right here. So what is it?”

“Ah,” I say with a sigh. “Nothing. Or I guess—I’m just thinking about the food fight my students had the other day.”

Juniper raises her eyebrows at me, something I only barely see because of the wind whipping her hair around her face.

“My mom made mashed potatoes,” I explain. “It reminded me.”

She nods as we head out to the driveway, past the flower beds that have succumbed to fall weather. “What about it?” she says over her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s just frustrating. I get irritated every time I think about it. And I’m worried about the food bank, I guess. Our funding is already abysmal, and Lionel Astor will cut it more if he wins.”

“Raise money,” Juniper says.

I snort. “Because it’s that easy.”

“Well, no, but there are ways. Hold a fundraiser. A silent auction. Or do a hunger banquet. Something like that.”

I come to a stop next to her questionable little yellow Volkswagen, parked in the driveway much straighter than when I first saw it out in front of Grind and Brew. “What’s a hunger banquet?”

“Are you about to open the door for me? Like, chivalry?”

“What?” I look down, and sure enough, that’s exactly what I’m doing—my hand is outstretched, reaching for the handle to the driver’s side. I snatch it back, ignoring the little grin on Juniper’s face. “No,” I say. “What’s a hunger banquet?”

She nudges me out of the way, and I step aside.

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