Her Billionaire's Murder Mystery - Stephanie Fowers Page 0,2

Highbury Independent Living Center, and had a lot of time on her hands for virtual fights.

The last time Charlize had run to the rescue, she’d landed in social media jail for calling the mayor a Nazi for trying to stop Highbury’s Cupcake Bakeoffs, which was probably why Charlize didn’t mind backing up her mother’s latest article defending mEDIAwARS, an alternate site for social media that didn’t care if people posted too much, advertised without paying exorbitant amounts, or shared views that weren’t aligned with their own.

The problem was that the rascally founder, Aaron Mills couldn’t open his big mouth without causing a scandal. He just didn’t care what anyone thought, and this time, he had the nerve to side with his friend Janson Styles. Styles’ medical innovations were deemed controversial. Aaron called it for what it was—a media hit job backed by rival global drug companies that wanted to sully Janson’s name. Of course now everyone who believed the negative coverage was calling for Aaron’s blood, saying he’d be complicit for the death of millions... because of course, all his dumb followers couldn’t think for themselves and would follow him blindly.

“And Mabel,” her mother said, “—get this—Mabel said I sided with drug traffickers because Aaron Mills promoted a charity once that ‘they’ say helped out a cartel...”

The stories were always crazy, but what was crazier was that anyone believed them. “Did you tell her that wasn’t true?” Charlize asked.

“Yeah, but she had a dozen articles saying that it was. She said all of mine were fake news funded by Aaron Mills, and I was a fool to believe them. And if I stand behind that arrogant billionaire now then I’m a drug dealer, too.” Her mother’s soft voice quivered. “She unfriended me... made this huge speech about it too! It felt like she was some puritan excommunicating me from polite society.”

Charlize tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness. Mabel lived across the hall from her mother at Highbury. There was no reason they couldn’t work out their differences in real life. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to clear your name so no one at Highbury thinks you’re a drug dealer.”

“That’s not the worst of it! Mabel said bingo night is off! In all caps she said it.”

What? Charly’s mother lived for bingo nights. “Well... we’ll hold our own bingo night,” Charlize reassured her. “How about that?”

Her mother didn’t seem convinced. “We’ve got a lot of the same friends. Mabel will turn them against me, then no one will come.”

The bells over the heavy door jangled as someone new entered the cozy old-school foyer. The grand hotel where Charly worked for her uncle was a historical masterpiece built with a fire-resistant limestone and dolomite exterior, with a hundred rooms as well as restaurants and a ballroom. It was rebuilt in 1905 after its last fire and boasted all the modern conveniences of running water, electricity, bathrooms, elevators, and telephones. Then, because the owners feared another devastating fire, they built fire escapes with iron catwalks on each floor of the eight story building. Having a “ground level” on every level was how the Basin Park Hotel landed in the book of Ripley’s Believe it or Not.

Charlize glanced up at the newcomer and let out a breath of relief when she saw Mollie delivering a bag of takeout from Amigo’s. Her stomach hadn’t stopped growling since seven, but she hadn’t been able to slip away with all these new arrivals. They’d been coming nonstop. “Mom, my dinner is here.”

“Dinner? You’re eating this late?”

“Charly!” Mollie waved, wearing a black blouse, a short black skirt, and black leggings. While Charly liked to express her punky, artistic side by playing with vivid eye makeup and dressing in bold colors, her redheaded friend was in her usual black from serving tables. Mollie looked like a shadow walking past the foyer’s burnt orange wall. Blending with the night was part of Mollie’s job description. After working at Amigo’s, she ran her mother’s ghost tour business until well past midnight. Mollie held up the brown paper takeout bag. “I knew it was your order from all the guacamole in there.”

Charlize smiled and tried to twist out of the long phone cord while her mother jabbered on about embarrassing herself in front of the neighbors. She tried to wrap up her conversation so she could talk to Mollie. “No one can possibly think you’re a drug dealer, Mom.”

“Your cousin Scooby does,” her mother said. “Scooby got in on the fight, said