“Right,” I say. “And I’m just a casual observer of homicidal activities who happens to stumble across corpses with disturbing regularity while trying to enjoy vacation activities and a few chocolate fountains.”
Nettie nods and hitches her thumb my way. “What she said.”
“Besides,” Bess continues with a breezy tone, as if delivering information that definitely won’t change anyone’s life forever, “he invited me to spend a few weeks at his ranch in Montana.”
The silence that follows could be heard all the way back in Big Sky Country.
Montana MONTANA? The state that exists primarily to make other states feel crowded?
Nettie’s mouth falls open like a drawbridge that’s forgotten how to close, while I feel my brain grinding to a halt like a computer that’s just been asked to calculate the meaning of life using only emojis.
“Montana?” I manage, my voice climbing approximately three octaves higher than usual.
“Just for a few weeks,” Bess says casually as if discussing weekend plans instead of a potential cross-country relocation. “He has this beautiful ranch outside Billings—horses, mountains, it’s the whole romantic western fantasy. Sounds absolutely divine, doesn’t it?”
“Divine. Sure,” I whisper. If your definition of divine includes losing your best friend to a state that’s mostly populated by cattle and men who think flannel is formal wear.
“I should get inside,” Bess announces before either of us can form coherent responses to this life-altering bombshell. “I promised to save us good seats, and you know how these magic shows fill up. I’ll save a few for you gals as well.”
She disappears into the Hocus Pocus Lounge like smoke in a hurricane, leaving Nettie and me standing in the corridor like survivors of a romantic natural disaster.
“Montana?” Nettie finally explodes as if someone just told her chocolate has been outlawed—or worse yet, her bestie has been. “MONTANA?! That’s not a vacation—that’s a relocation! That’swhere people go to disappear into wide open spaces and questionable internet connectivity!”
“We’re losing her,” I say with a hollow voice while watching my comfortable world crumble like a poorly constructed sandcastle. “This is really happening.”
“The Three Musketeers are about to becomeTwo,” Nettie declares with all of the drama that the end of civilization would call for. “What do we do about this? Stage an intervention? Hide his passport? Convince her that Montana is just a myth created by travel agents with sadistic senses of humor and a fetish for cowboy boots?”
I consider our options strategically, having witnessed enough relationship disasters to qualify for a degree in Romantic Crisis Management. “We could try talking sense into her, but she’s got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says common sense has left the building and been replaced by hormones and expensive dinner wine.”
“We could investigate Rex more thoroughly,” Nettie suggests as if she’s truly found a mission worth pursuing. “Find out what he’s really up to. I mean, we still haven’t gotten to properly interrogate him about the murder case.”
“If Bess is serious about him, we need to know who he really is,” I agree, though part of me wonders if we’re investigating for the case or for our own survival as a friendship trio. “Because if he’s innocent, we might lose Bess to Montana. If he’s guilty, we need to protect her from becoming the next victim.”
“Either way, we’re fighting for our friend,” Nettie says with viral determination as if we were preparing for war. “And I didn’t survive eighty-plus years of questionable life choices to watch our little family get broken up by some smooth-talking cowboy with suspicious timing.”
We head into the Hocus Pocus Lounge, where the scent of stage makeup mingles with the aroma of overpriced cocktails and whatever mystical smoke machines produce when they’re trying too hard to create atmosphere. It’s downright cold inside, and the venue pulses with intimate lighting that makes everyone look like they’re part of an expensive illusion, while the softmurmur of excited conversation creates the perfect backdrop for secrets and revelations.
Bess has secured us a table near the front, close enough to see every sleight of hand and probably close enough to get volunteered for whatever humiliating audience participation the magician has planned, too. She waves us over with the enthusiasm of a woman who has no idea she’s just delivered news that could end our friendship as we know it.
“Isn’t this exciting?” she gushes as we settle into our seats. “I love magic shows. There’s something so thrilling about watching the impossible become possible.”
I stare at her for a moment because I just realized that sometimes the most dangerous magic tricks are the ones that make your best friends disappear into other people’s lives, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever see them again.
When love becomes the ultimate disappearing act, even the best magicians can’t make heartbreak vanish into thin air.
CHAPTER 19
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hello, Trixie!
My husband has planned EVERY SINGLE SHORE EXCURSION for our upcoming Valentine’s cruise—zip-lining in Ireland, castle tours in Scotland, walking tours through Paris. He’s treating this like an athletic competition, while I just want to relax on deck with a good book and maybe visit a café or two. I feel guilty for not sharing his enthusiasm, but the thought of hiking through ancient ruins in February makes me want to hide under the covers. How do I tell him I’d rather sip champagne than scale castle walls without ruining our romantic getaway?
Exhausted Before Embarkation
