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As far as Diana was concerned, there was no reason for their party to leave the spa just because someone died.

A Daily D-Ash left on their kitchen counter announced “an unfortunate incident on the grounds” and the delay of certain services while promising a percentage taken off their bills for the inconvenience. Rather than being concerned about the nature of this “incident,” Jess overheard Diana wonder if this would disrupt the reflexology treatments they had scheduled for the next day. And then she’d flounced into her room to change her clothes for dinner.

Jess shared a look with Kiki, who only pursed her lips and nodded, as if to say, This is who we’re dealing with. Then Jess indulged in a particularly long hot shower to rinse off the remnants of orange-cinnamon mud. She wasn’t sure why the word “incident” bothered her so much. It was probably the fear she’d felt, watching that person standing outside her treatment room. What was happening at the Golden Ash? Jess walked out of the bathroom to find Kiki scrambling over her bed.

“Just a second! I’m changing!” Kiki yelled as Jess opened a door that was already slightly ajar. She was clambering over her bed, trying to scoop loose papers into a thick five-subject notebook with a smiling narwhal on the cover.

“Um, changing into what?” Jess laughed as several sheets of loose-leaf paper fluttered to the floor.

“It’s just some research I’m doing,” Kiki said quickly. “Sort of a fun side project.”

“On life before the cloud existed?” Jess asked, tossing her towel in the provided hamper.

“It’s not for work, so I have to be sort of careful about where I save it, because I don’t want it to belong to my employer,” she said. “The thing about notebooks, they’re untraceable. There’s no search history.”

“So even your fun side hobbies are more work?” Jess teased her.

“I have this idea.” Kiki sighed. “Truffles can be grown in the root systems of pecan trees. Locally grown luxury ingredients are really trendy now, you know, ‘homegrown delicacies.’ Eat local, farm-to-table, and all that. The Tillards haven’t tried it because the older generation, namely Trenton’s grandfather, is very traditional. The company’s arborists systematically root out the truffles and throw them away because they still think of them as a nuisance! Those things sell for hundreds of dollars a pound! I’ve done some research, and I’ve managed to hybridize several different types of truffles to create something that will be cheap to grow, difficult to kill, and carry a unique flavor. After the initial lab costs, it won’t cost the Tillards anything extra to grow them.”

“Can you hybridize truffles?”

Kiki grinned. “In my lab, I can do anything. I want to pitch the idea to Trenton, but I want to wait until after the wedding to do it. They might be a little more likely to take a chance on an in-law than a not-quite-connected-to-them girl approaching them with an idea.”

Jess offered Kiki a delighted grin, but she didn’t want to be the one to tell her that Diana wouldn’t stretch her neck out a single inch to help Kiki. Diana wouldn’t risk that sort of “capital” with the Tillards. That wasn’t Jess’s job, to hurt Kiki. Diana would have to handle that on her own.

“Do me a favor, just don’t tell Diana, OK?”

“I probably wouldn’t be able to explain it anyway,” Jess said, shrugging.

“True.”

Jess tied her thick hair back and brushed on a little makeup. “But you’re not going to accidentally create some sort of evil zombie pecan that will wipe out all known pie forever, right?”

Kiki pursed her lips. “Probably not.”

While Kiki was occupied with her makeup, Jess threw on a cranberry long-sleeved dress and black flats. And while she itched for the comfort of her pearls, she knew it was a bad idea to wear them. They were dirty…and possibly evidence. She still wasn’t sure about that. It would only look worse now, she was sure, to tell Blister she’d taken them from the scene. So, she shoved them in one of her socks and buried it at the bottom of her underwear drawer. Because it didn’t feel like something she should leave lying around.

Rather than wait on Aubrey’s usual outfit audit, Jess ducked out of the villa and headed up to the kitchen—which took a little while, even in flats. Outside the open kitchen door, she could see the older chef, Jamie, smoking. He dropped his cigarette as soon as he saw her, grinding the butt with his foot.

“Terrible habit,” he said, ruffling a hand through his silver-streaked black crew cut. With his smile tilted at a guilty angle, he picked up the butt and dropped it into a nearby garbage can. “But a lot of people who work in kitchens pick it up. Something about high-stress work and break times. Do me a favor, don’t tell anybody you saw that? Jonquil and Beth will try aromatherapy or meditation—again—to help me quit. Again . I love them, but no man can take smelling that much chamomile. It’s just not right.”

She burst out laughing. “Nobody will hear it from me. I wouldn’t subject anyone to involuntary chamomile.”

“You seem like a nice girl, not like—” He stopped himself. The unspoken “not like the people you’re sharing villa space with” hung between them. He placed a large hand, covered in the sort of tiny kitchen scars she’d seen on caterers through the years, over his heart. “Jamie Ortega.”

“Jess Bricker. Nice to meet you, officially.”

“Jamie, you all right?” Dean called through the kitchen doorway as he poked his head out. He was using a much kinder tone than she’d ever heard from him. His face went from relaxed to tense at the sight of her.

Beyond Dean’s shoulder, she could see the kitchen. His workspace was exactly what she’d expected—clean, organized, without frills. The white tile walls showed no sign the room was even used. She’d never seen so many sauté pans in one place. They were stacked neatly next to a massive stove range, surrounded by gleaming chrome counters. And knives. Little knives. Big knives. Cleavers. Serrated.

So many knives.

“So, are you here to ask me to take the carbs out of the bread?” Dean asked.

“No, that’s Diana’s thing. I would probably offer you lewd and licentious carnal favors in return for a cheeseburger right now.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open and Jess swore she could see his breath stutter.

Good.

A warm pink flush crept across Dean’s cheeks for a second. She felt a little guilty, talking to him like that when he was trying to work…

Nah, it went away after a few seconds. She was fine. Dean, however, was still red-faced and he was visibly shaking off whatever state of shock she’d reeled him into.

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Jess asked.

“You only seem able to ask weird questions.”

She rolled her eyes. “Did anybody find Jeremy Treadaway’s room service plate?”

Dean frowned at her. “What?”

“After his fight with his wife, he came bursting out of his villa, grabbed his room service plate, and ran off into the night. Maybe he left it somewhere on the grounds?”

“Now that you mention it, Aaron said he found one of the cloches underneath the ginkgo tree early this morning. He found the plate on the yoga platform. I thought it was one of the weird things that rich people do just because they can,” Jamie admitted.

“That sounds about right,” Jess said.

“You know, there are law enforcement agencies looking into it, even if it is Blister,” Dean told her. “You don’t need to worry about this. I thought the whole point of y’all coming up here was to get away from stress.”

“Well, I sort of brought my stress with me,” Jess said. When Dean and Jamie merely stared at her, she added, “I’m a professional proposal planner, and the woman I’m here with—Diana? Her boyfriend messed his proposal up, and he’s paying me to help him fix it.”

Dean scowled. “You’re a what now?”

“Really?” Jamie chuckled. “That’s cool. Do you do proposals at basketball games?”

“Decidedly not,” Jess said, making him laugh.

“That’s a job?” Dean said, shaking his head. “I don’t know whether to be sad for humanity, in general, or kind of impressed that you turned relationship incompetence into a full-time gig.”

Jess waited for the insult, and when it didn’t come, replied, “Thank…you?”

Dean turned to Jamie. “The dinner rush is starting and you’re out here talking proposals at basketball games. Marianne would hate being up on a Jumbotron.”

“He’s not a romantic at heart,” Jamie told her.

“Actually, my professional experience shows he’s spot-on about the Jumbotron thing,” she said, patting his muscled arm.

“Aw, man.” Jamie pouted briefly.

“Back to the engagement drawing board,” Dean told him. “As is the ‘smoke break that we don’t call a smoke break because you don’t want Jonquil and Beth to hear about it.’?”

“Bye, Jess!” Jamie exclaimed, ducking into the kitchen.

“No Jumbotrons, Jamie!” she called after him.

She heard him laughing, which only made her grin.

“Jess?”

She turned to find Diana, Aubrey, and Kiki frowning at her. It appeared that Jess’s departure had left Kiki unguarded, because she’d been shoved into one of Aubrey’s cast-off dresses, navy blue with a bow at the neckline. She looked like a desperate politician’s wife, and she seemed pretty unhappy about it. Poor Kiki. Jess felt like a terrible roommate, particularly after Kiki had trusted her with the truffle information.

Diana, in particular, seemed very displeased to find Jess chatting with the kitchen staff. She was staring at Dean in a way that made Jess nervous. “What are you doing up here? I had some thoughts about fonts for the social media announcements. I would think you’d appreciate my input.”

“We were worried when you left without saying anything,” Kiki said quietly.

“And then we heard your horse laugh coming around the corner and followed it,” Aubrey added.

Dean stared at them, hard. “Miss Bricker was just making some breakfast requests for your party for tomorrow morning.”

“Fruit as far as the eye can see,” Jess assured them. Diana’s face relaxed ever so slightly. Jess supposed it was OK for her to go missing if she was missing in the course of doing something for Diana.

“Oh, and something with kale, if you have it,” Diana told him. “Something like a smoothie.”

“Something like a smoothie?” Dean replied. He cleared his throat, glancing at Jess. “Sure.”

“Let’s just go to dinner and see what the chef comes up with, OK?” Jess said, ushering them away from the kitchen door to the lodge’s front porch.

“Since when do you talk to the kitchen staff?” Diana asked. She kept craning her neck, trying to get a look at Dean.

Jess turned on her sweetest “Wren Hill armor” smile, the one she wore when she heard the other girls whispering behind her back about her mom, about her shoes, about her lack of a vacation home. “I’m just trying to support your goals however I can.”

Diana blinked at her. “I suppose that’s all right, then.”

Diana peppered Jess with questions about Dean, even as they were led to their table and seated. What was the chef’s name? When did Jess meet him? Were they really just talking about breakfast? What else did they talk about? She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Diana didn’t know anything about the dining services at the spa. She didn’t really know anything about the staff at most places, it seemed.

But passing the table that the Treadaways had occupied previously made Jess’s mind wander back to that room service cloche. She could imagine how it ended up under the tree, but the plate was left on the yoga platform. Did Jeremy really wander that far? Did he leave the items in both places or had someone “helped” him?

Of course, it was entirely possible that the whole thing was an accident and she was obsessing over nothing.

“Jess?” Diana said, sounding annoyed. “Are you ignoring me?”

Jess realized she was holding that night’s menu and staring off into space.

“Oh, sorry. Just having some thoughts about your big day,” Jess lied—through her teeth. “And the chef’s name is Dean. He’s one of the Osbourne cousins.”

“Dean Osbourne?” Diana repeated. “Why does that sound familiar?”

Aubrey gasped.

“Oh, wait, I’ve heard of him.” She craned her neck to look into the kitchen. “There was a write-up in some culinary magazine. I think the title was something like ‘Chef on Recluse Mountain.’ He worked with all these big names right out of culinary school and was on the short list for a James Beard Award before he had some sort of breakdown. He moved out to the middle of nowhere…well, I guess it was here. But he won’t do interviews. No social media. He’s turned down multiple offers from the Food Network. Him being all withdrawn just makes everybody want him more. Smart, really. It will only create more demand.”

Dean Osbourne was an onion, with many, many layers. Issues with women? Rejection of success? Reclusive tendencies? Oh, no, Jess was halfway to having some ill-advised feelings toward this man. Mavis would have a fit.

Still, the look on Diana’s face was the kind of expression that any wedding planner knew meant trouble with a capital “T,” for “terminated contract.” If she was looking at Dean like that, what did it say about Diana’s feelings for Trenton? The youngest Tillard was burly and blond and, well, sort of…soft, like an overgrown Saint-Bernard-puppy-turned-human in a hilarious and heartwarming lab accident. And it looked like Diana was about to bolt for fear of missing out on swimmer builds and broody moods.

Jess didn’t talk about Those Proposal Jobs. The rare occasions when a client overestimated their partner’s interest in matrimony and left Jess with a heartbroken mess, dead flowers, unwanted jewelry, and, on one occasion, a custom message that needed to be chipped out of the surface of an ice rink. Trenton’s legal people had been smart enough to write a refusal clause into her contract, meaning that if Diana said no, Jess didn’t get paid. Diana had been so eager for her perfect proposal, Jess hadn’t worried about it at the time…but seeing the look on Diana’s face as she stared at Dean’s ass as he walked away?

This was trouble.

Time to bring Diana’s brain back to the point of their stay, and if that happened to distract her from Dean, all the better. Jess asked, “So, Diana, are you going to go for a custom gown for the wedding or do you have a designer in mind?”

Diana’s face brightened as she waxed poetic about “this adorable little designer” she’d discovered on a recent trip to London with Trenton, and how she couldn’t wait to make an appointment with him. This lyrical enthusiasm continued through their salads, the delicately seasoned salmon Diana insisted they order, and their dessert course (fruit), until they were ambling toward the front door. Not only was Dean forgotten, but Jess suspected Diana had forgotten that she, Kiki, and Aubrey were present, too.

Still, it had been nice to get a solid, uninterrupted meal.

“I see what you did there, redirecting her to the dress talk,” Aubrey told Jess quietly as they walked out behind the still-yammering Diana.

“It’s called ‘being goal-oriented,’?” Jess shot back, making Aubrey snort. Jess cleared her throat. She would not develop a friendship with Aubrey, who had proven herself to be a needlessly competitive pain in the ass. She had to draw the line somewhere.

Somehow, Diana seemed to register that they were having a conversation without her and turned. “What was that?”

“I was just telling Jess, I don’t blame her for wanting a piece of the chef,” Aubrey drawled as they walked around the front of the lodge. “But I think it’s sort of tacky to go after him. Your attention should be focused on Diana right now, Jess.”

Jess narrowed her eyes at Aubrey. Apparently, they weren’t quite past the whole “gamesmanship” thing. But rather than make a scene, she simply said, “I’m not trying to get a piece of anything.”

“Oh, leave Jess alone,” Diana sighed. “Besides, she wouldn’t go for Dean Osbourne. And he wouldn’t go for her.”

Jess blinked at Diana, wondering what that meant.

“I don’t know. I could see Jess chasing hopelessly after the hot chef and then him filing a restraining order against her,” Aubrey said, smiling slyly.

“I don’t know why that was something that had to be said out loud,” Jess muttered.

“It’s normal, chasing after the shiny option, the one that feels good, instead of the one that’s good for you. It’s human nature,” Diana said. “The trick is to be discreet. And Jess is way too straitlaced to do anything that would upset her orderly little life.”

Jess tried not to side-eye Diana, she really did. But it didn’t sound like Diana was talking about hypotheticals. These didn’t seem like the words of a person ready for a lifetime commitment, and Jess had serious doubts about Diana’s ability to be discreet. Had Diana thought about what would happen after the champagne went flat and the rose petals had been thrown? Diana was going to have to make a life with Trenton. Jess knew the right club privileges and cash flow could smooth the way toward contentment, but even that only extended so far.

What was Jess setting Trenton up for here? And did Jess have the financial wherewithal to question these things?

No. No, she did not.

Also, Jess didn’t think she was too straitlaced. She was just the right amount of laced.

“Wait, so does that mean you previously didn’t get caught or that you’re currently not getting caught?” Kiki asked, frowning at her cousin.

The look Diana shot at Kiki could turn a lesser person to stone, but then Diana’s face shifted to an expression of horror as they reached the front steps of the lodge. She stopped in her tracks at the sight of three rather large men climbing onto a golf cart at the base of the lodge steps.

“Trenton!” Diana squeaked.

“DeeDee!” Trenton Tillard the Fourth’s boyish face lit up as he threw his arms wide. “Surprise!”

Jess’s Big Book of Life Plans: Panic. Everybody, panic. Fuuuuuuuu—