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Had he accidentally ingested thirty of Tanner’s lollipops?
“Who are you people?”
Madelyn sauntered across the stage and stood between Donna and Damien. “Landon Paige, may I introduce Warren and Lizzy Luxe.”
No way!
“You’re Mr. and Mrs. Luxe? The owners of the Luxe Grandiose and LookyLoo?”
“We are,” Donna—no, Lizzy—answered.
He still couldn’t understand what they were doing, moonlighting as sparkly southern internet personalities.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Lizzy and I got our start in show business on the Strip in Vegas,” Damien—no, freaking Warren Luxe—explained.
Lizzy Luxe nodded. “And we use our skills to covertly assess our investment endeavors.”
“We don’t get the full picture as Mr. and Mrs. Luxe,” Warren continued. “But as reality show co-hosts or even working in our hotel as a bellhop or a hostess, we get an untainted view of our businesses.”
Landon eyed the matchmaker. “And you knew about this?”
The woman offered another nonchalant shrug, then adjusted that damned red scarf. “I know many people. The Luxes have been friends of mine for years, and ourendeavorsaligned.”
He could use thirty of Tanner’s lollipops right about now. He was all for requesting a slice of ceiling cake and then being put to bed.
“We’re also the new owners of the record label that represents you and Vance Vibe,” Lizzy Luxe purred as she removed a prosthetic chin.
Her chin!
These people took hiding their identity to another level.
“Sparkly nose guy and chin lady,” Aria called and wiggled out of his arms. “Check out my proof.”
His niece unzipped her backpack and removed Harper’s old video recorder and a photograph. He stared at the creased picture. It was the photo of Harper and Vance he’d seen the first night they’d spent in Baxter Park. He’d thrust the damn thing into his pocket. He was supposed to dispose of it, but he’d forgotten about it.
“Where did you get that, Aria?”
“Your pants. I also found some of Aunt Harper’s underwear. I thought you said it was a doily.”
Busted.
“What’s so special about the picture, Aria?” Mrs. Luxe asked, pulling the attention from his panty problem.
“The date on the back of the picture. My friend Phoebe is practicing to be a secret spy, and she told me details matter.”
Mr. Luxe nodded. “They most certainly do.”
“The date on this picture matches the date that flashes on the video, and the people are wearing the same clothes. My Lolo and Lala helped me with the math. It’s from six years and four days ago. Here, Uncle Landy.”
Aria handed him the picture, opened the camcorder’s viewfinder, and hit play.
A scowling Harper stared into the camera. “Vance, stop messing around with that old thing. I doubt it even works.”
“Why? I’m bored,” Vance whined.
“Well, I’m trying to work.”
