“After a man drove through my fence last year—”
We all turn as Nora stiffens at the mention of the first in a series of events that would leave her husband dead.
“I know you’re mad, Carol.” I wave a hand to bring her attention back to me. “But let’s not bring that into—”
“I had security cameras installed,” she huffs. “And I saw what you did. I know it was you and Polly McGinnis who vandalized my house last night.”
The idea that Carol has video proof of Polly and me tossing toilet paper rolls onto her oak tree actually stuns me silent, sinking my confidence that I could talk my way out of an accusation. I look around the crowd, panicking a little. If Ford hears this, Polly’s toast.
Carol is the biggest blabbermouth I’ve ever met—a yammerer to her very core. She makes a Facebook post every time she buys tomatoes at the farmers’ market. But somehow, she kept the security cameras to herself.
Her cheeks turn red and splotchy—something I’ve seen before when she’s experiencing a level of rage she knows the Garden Club ladies would consider “unbecoming.”
“It was you.” The volume in her voice spikes. “I know it was, and I have video footage to prove it!”
People nearby are looking. I see Beau in the crowd. He’s got a knight-in-shining-armor expression on his face, but I wave him off and take a step toward Carol, lowering my voice to a coo. “Perhaps we should find a more private place to work out this misunderstanding.”
Polly had her fun, and I’ve gotten my puff of smoke. I’m getting ready to ask Carol for her Venmo to buy out the damages when a voice rises in the crowd. “It wasn’t Este, Carol. It couldn’t have been.”
It completely was, but discovering that someone else is coming to my defense is like finding an escape hatch in the nick of time.
Tippy steps beside me. “I was driving past your house last night,” she says to Carol, “and I saw a couple of kids there with the toilet paper. Este and Polly were out for a walk, and we all yelled at the kids to go away.”
Is this détente? Or mutually assured destruction?
“Tippy,” I say to her quietly. “It’s all right. I deserve—”
“We’re friends now,” she answers. “I’ve got this.”
Apparently, my refusal to hear Tippy’s secret in the bathroom has somehow galvanized her to my cause. And if it means settling this without ruining Autumn’s party, I’ll let Tippy take the wheel.
Carol sputters, “That’s not true, I have video proof—”
“Carol, I was there.” Tippy folds her arms across her chest to make her point.
And just like that, Tippy—and the House Tequila Built—has brought down the hammer.
She has enough power in this town to rewrite history. To erase the facts of the matter. I suddenly feel a touch of guilt for underestimating her.
Carol’s shoulders are cranked up to her ears, but she’s outmatched. And she knows it.
I’m about to put an end to all of it when something catches my eye through the window—a flash of someone familiar walking past the window outside.
In the same breath, Gemma interrupts the standoff with a tray of freshly poured champagne. “Ladies, can I offer you another drink?”
Tippy lifts a flute from the tray and slinks off into the party, leaving me double-checking the spot in the window.
What was that?
Carol leans very close to my face and hisses, “This is far from over, Este Walker.”
This is the downside of my devotion to my people. Sometimes, things spiral in ways I never planned. This one spiraled so far, in fact, I might be in an alliance with Tippy Schaeffer now.
I’ll have to cut Carol a check and buy her overpriced flowers at the farmers’ market to make this right. But at least Lemon & Fig’s night is salvaged.
Exhaling, I watch Autumn’s jaw unclench, then glance at the spot where Tippy had just been, wondering if I imagined the way she swooped in. She’s already thrown herself into a newconversation, tilting her head back and laughing with Ford. Then, across the room, she meets my eye—for only a second—andwinks.
My new friend Tippy is a sleeper cell powerhouse. Good to know.
