“Called a cab and took myself out for tacos.”
“Wise,” Amber said.
On their way from the Catty Melt to Marbleglen, after Kim had grilled Amber for information about what had happened with Jack, Kim cleared her throat in a very unsubtle manner and “casually” said, “It’s cool you and Edgar are able to spend so much time together now. He seems like he has a lot of free time. So he doesn’t, like, have a girlfriend or whatever?”
“I knew it! You have a crush on my cousin!” Amber said in her best approximation of shock. She’d picked up on this fact during the Hair Ball when Amber had spotted Kim and Edgar dancing—though Edgar’s dancing was technically more of an awkward sway. Amber had caught Kim on more than one occasion gazing at Edgar as if he were made of gold.
“He’s … I wouldn’t say … I mean, I hardly know him!” Kim said. “But I would be lying to you if I didn’t say that man is a total beefcake.”
Amber laughed. “He does not currently have a girlfriend, no. He very rarely leaves his house. He’s spends a lot of time coding and playing MMORPGs.”
“That’s literally the hottest description of a man that I’ve ever heard.”
Kim, much like her cousin, was a flat-out weirdo.
The floats were being decorated in a “float barn” that a Marbleglen citizen allowed the committee to use in the weeks before the festival. The place was located in the northwest of the town, in a well-to-do neighborhood near Magnolia Garden. In order to get there, Kim had to drive through the city center, which was bustling with people this Sunday morning. Kim’s brake-happy foot didn’t do well with so much vehicle and pedestrian traffic. She’d hit the brakes suddenly so many times, Amber was convinced that she’d have a new series of bruises to add to her already growing collection.
Amber was relieved when they finally left the center of town and traveled up a pretty, tree-lined stretch of road for a few minutes before a sign directed them to turn left onto Aster Lane. In short order, they reached a gated community. Kim pulled up to the code box.
The Italian blue cypress trees that the town planner clearly had an affinity for lined the edges of this place, just as they ringed the four main spoon-shaped gardens that marked the four corners of the town. Before the towering ring of trees was a five-foot-tall beige stone wall that stretched out in either direction. A large stone sign sat to the right of Kim’s car, announcing that they’d arrived at Magnolia Estates.
“I feel underdressed already,” Amber muttered, peering past the intimidating black gate that blocked their entrance. She could make out portions of some of the giant houses beyond, each with large, green, unfenced yards, and three-car garages. The wide asphalt road eventually curved to the right and out of sight past the small forest that had been planted here.
Kim rolled down her window and punched in the code as if she lived here. The box beeped and the black iron gate slowly started to swing open. “Oh, me too. This place is fancy-schmancy.”
Amber and Kim gawked at the houses as they drove. Each street was named after a type of magnolia tree: Yulan, Liliiflora, Cylindrica, Star. Some houses were three stories and made of glass—usually facing an elaborate garden. Some were one story but so sprawling, Amber guessed they had at least fifteen rooms.
Aside from its famous marbled rhododendrons, Marbleglen’s other claim to fame was how many TV shows and movies had been shot in this picturesque town, making it a perfect backdrop for everything from commercials to blockbuster romance movies. It was also a prime destination for weddings. Amber supposed that part of the reason why the Floral Frenemies hated them so much was that despite Marbleglen’s successes, the Here and Meow consistently left the Floral Frenzy in the dust. And they resented it deeply that their gorgeous, “safest town in Oregon” had been upstaged by cats.
“I heard most of these places aren’t even lived in all year,” Kim said. “The Estates are apparently a big destination spot for rich folks in the spring and summer; the owners are usually off somewhere warmer in winter. I think a lot of celebrities and such stay here too when there’s something in production. Harlo said this place will be swarming with the richy-rich next week for the start of the festival, but it should be pretty quiet today.”
When they turned onto Sweetbay Court, Amber saw only one property out in the distance. To the right of the road stood a two-level house. The bottom floor was red and beige brick, and the top was equal parts glass and blue painted wood. At the end of the road sat a long, squat building that looked like a cross between a barn and an airplane hangar. The barn-like door spanned the entire length of the building’s front, and inside were three very tall unfinished floats. Dozens of cars were parked in the gravel on the right side of the hangar-barn. At least thirty people milled about inside.
Last Amber heard, the rest of their group hadn’t left Edgehill yet. It was twenty minutes until ten, which meant Amber and Kim were due for some awkward conversations until the rest of the Here and Meow Committee arrived.
Kim parked in the first makeshift parking spot available, then shut off her car and just sat there, staring off into the distance which was more open meadow and trees than anything else. Amber could see the peaked roof of some massive house on the other side of a copse of trees. “This is for a good cause, right? The mayor asked us to do this as a personal favor, and also the extra exposure this parade is going to get will help even more cats get adopted. Right?” She turned to Amber, eyes wide. “We’re going to be outnumbered. Harlo is nice enough, but the rest are vicious! Should we wait until Nathan and Ann Marie get here?”
“If any of them do or say anything particularly horrible to you, I’ll put them all to sleep.”
Kim’s shoulders relaxed and she grinned at Amber. “You’re so sweet!”
Laughing, Amber got out of the car, her ankle throbbing a bit as she started the walk toward the float barn. She didn’t think her limp was particularly noticeable, but Kim made her promise to tell her if the pain got too bad, and they’d leave.
As they got closer to the float barn, Amber spotted piles of flowers and plant parts stacked all over the space. They were in piles at people’s feet, heaped along the far wall, and filled gallon buckets. Amber figured the other buckets—there were dozens of them—were filled with things like colorful seeds, bark, and dried fruits. Several of the volunteers were already working—some stuffing flowers through slots in the chicken-wire bodies of the floats, others gluing on seeds or bark, and others still were working on separate pieces that would be attached to the main body of a float later. They all wore ratty tennis shoes; green aprons were tied on over their clothes.
Amber and Kim were about six feet from the hangar door when Amber spotted Molly Hargrove among the group.
“Why is she here?” Kim asked.
But the reason for her visit was soon made evident by the large camera around her neck as she snapped picture after picture.
The crunch of their approach eventually alerted Harlo, who stood with his back facing the entrance, a hand propped up on one of the large, unadorned paws of a float-cat. He turned around with a wide grin, one which dimmed rather significantly when he saw it was Amber and Kim, and not someone from the Marbleglen group.
Harlo did his best to ignore the fact that Amber and Kim both clearly witnessed his disappointment. “Ladies!” he said, full of false cheer, walking toward them with his arms outstretched. “Welcome! We didn’t expect you so early.”
“Clearly,” Kim muttered.
When neither Kim nor Amber made a move to greet him, Harlo dropped his arms to his sides and offered them a tight smile. “Would you like to see the setup, and then you can explain it all to your people when they get here? We’re going to have the whole Edgehill team work on the cat float.”
Amber eyed the other two floats in the barn before giving the Edgehill float another once-over. Aside from what she assumed were black onion seeds marking the round spots where the cats’ eyes were, no work had been done to this float, while the other t
wo were a third done each. “Lead the way.”
Harlo turned on his heel and headed back for the hangar. He clearly made a face at the women he’d been gossiping with, as one of them winced and quickly turned away and the other stifled a laugh.
By the time Kim and Amber had crossed the threshold of the hangar, most of the teenage volunteers had recognized them. The majority of the teens pulled earbuds from their ears, dropped bulky headphones onto their necks, and paused in their work to watch the newcomers. Amber was all too aware that her wonky ankle had been noticed by nearly everyone. Namely Molly.
Kim, being Kim, pulled a notebook out of her purse once Harlo started his instructions, and took furious notes about what plant-related item went where and the best techniques needed to adhere the various materials to the float’s body. Amber hobbled along with Kim, doing her best to take it all in, but all the eyes on them were making her some combination of anxious and furious. Amber supposed the float preparation and the use of the float barn were things sacred to the Floral Frenemies and they didn’t want to have to share it, but it wasn’t as if anyone from Edgehill wanted to be here either.
Within forty-five minutes, the rest of the Here and Meow group had arrived—along with Chloe and her gaggle of teenage volunteers—and both groups were working in tense, awkward silence, punctuated occasionally by shutter clicks from Molly’s camera. A camera that seemed to be pointed in Amber’s direction more often than necessary.
After an hour, Amber’s ankle felt swollen, her aching body desperately wanted her to sit down, and her fingers were sticky and covered in spots of black from handling the onion seeds. She told Chloe, who had been working diligently on Amber’s left side, that she just needed a short break, and then she put away her things and asked Kim if she could have her car keys. Once she had them, Amber hobble-walked out of the hangar, ignoring all the eyes following her out. The promised refreshments hadn’t arrived yet, save for a few snacks and bottled water. Amber grabbed a bottle off the table set up just outside the hangar, and then made her way to Kim’s car.
Amber let herself into the passenger seat and sighed, her ankle throbbing painfully. She propped her elbow on the inside lip of the door, placed her head in her hand, and closed her eyes. The water bottle she held in her free hand was cold, but she wondered if she could conduct an ice spell to freeze it solid and then use it to gain some relief from her ankle pain.
The spell was cut off quicker than it started, as someone rapped hard and fast on the passenger window. Amber was so startled, she yelped and dropped the water bottle onto the floorboard. She looked up at her visitor, expecting to see the wide, worried eyes of Kim, but instead was met with the single eye of a lens.
Molly Hargrove’s dang camera.
Given the quick movement of her finger, Amber knew Molly had just taken several very unflattering pictures.
Ticked off, Amber tossed her door open; Molly jumped back.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Amber asked, quickly getting out of the car and then doing her best to hide her grimace when her heel hit a rock and her already aching ankle rolled. She placed a hand on the roof for balance.
Molly smiled at her. “How do you know Cassie Westbottom?”
Amber was so stunned, she forgot about Molly’s paparazzi-like arrival. “W-what?”
“Cassie Westbottom is, as the rumor goes, a psychic who the Edgehill police department—namely Chief Brown—has started using on cases,” Molly said. “She helped with Chloe Deidrick’s kidnapping. I heard she found some well-hidden documents in Chloe’s room that alluded to the fact that Chloe had been adopted.”
Amber stared at her.
“And now I hear that she’s working with Chief Brown on the Jameson case,” Molly said. “Cassie went with him to talk to Wilma Jameson.”
Doing her best to remain calm, Amber said, “I don’t understand why you’re asking me this.”
“Well, you see, Connor Declan is a close friend of mine,” Molly said. “Very close, if you know what I mean. He said one day he saw you driving into a deserted area of Edgehill, he followed you, and then the next thing he knows, Cassie is driving out of this same area in your car, and you’re nowhere to be found.”
Amber said nothing.
“Are you Cassie Westbottom?” Molly asked. “If I check your trunk, will I find a blonde wig? But what I really want to know is … do you have Chief Brown fooled into thinking you’re two different people, or is he in on whatever this weird psychic scheme is? I guess, of course, you could actually be a psychic. Is that it? Do you have the ability of clairvoyance and you’re going to great lengths to keep it a secret?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amber said, figuring admitting to anything to someone like Molly Hargrove would backfire quickly. Bianca had called Molly a snake. Amber didn’t like snakes.
Molly shrugged. “No matter. I’m going to figure you out. Just you wait.” Then the short blonde rolled her shoulders, offered Amber a confident grin, and walked away. “I’ll see you back over there?” she called over her shoulder.
Amber’s heart thumped hard.
What had Connor been saying to Molly, and why?
Jack had said that Connor had become increasingly obsessed with Amber and that he’d come up with “wild theories.” But how wild were these theories? Paired with someone as tenacious as Molly, it was only a matter of time before they figured out Amber’s true secret. Assuming they hadn’t already.
The last thing she needed was that picture Molly had taken of her, hand shielding her face, accompanying a tell-all article about Amber’s abilities. If the story gained traction—and it just might if Molly had connections in tabloid and journalism circles—reporters would flock to Edgehill wanting to interview her.
As Jack said: I’m guessing you want to lay as low as possible because of the Penhallows.
If people took an interest in her, she’d have even less time and opportunity to hide the grimoires. She would constantly run the risk that someone was following her. No one could know where the Henbane book ended up—not even Edgar—for the sake of history itself.
She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and sent a text to Connor. We need to talk about Molly Hargrove.
Then she hobbled back toward the hangar, trying to figure out how she was going to use one nosy reporter to stop another.
Chapter 14
By four p.m., Amber was ready to sleep for a week. The next set of volunteers had shown up to relieve them and would work until eight. Once Kim had given the newly arrived Edgehill group the rundown, Amber and Kim had hobbled off to Kim’s car.
“I’m so sticky,” Kim said. “I’m sticky in places that shouldn’t be sticky.”
“Gross, Jones,” a voice said from behind them.
Kim looked over her shoulder to smile at a haggard Nathan. Jolene and Ann Marie were with him.
“Why was that so exhausting?” Jolene asked. “I work in the NICU. Decorating a float should be a cake walk.”
“Mmm. Cake,” Ann Marie said. “Can I eat cake for dinner? I’m too sore to cook.”
It was then that Amber remembered she had some business to take care of with Ann Marie. “Hey, Ann Marie? Do you remember Alan Peterson?”
“The PI?” Ann Marie asked.
“She will not shut her piehole about the PI,” Kim said.
“Hey!” Ann Marie said.
“It’s true,” Nathan said. “I have heard more times than I can count that Alan the PI is intimidatingly hot.”
Jolene laughed and reached up to affectionately pat his cheek. “You’re intimidatingly hot too, hon.”
Nathan snorted. “Babe, we both know that’s not true.”
“You’re right, it’s not,” Jolene said, slinging an arm around his waist. “I think I’ll keep you anyway.”
Amber eyed Kim, searching for any sign that the flirting between Nathan and his wife was bothering her—as Amber now knew Kim had been carrying a torch for him sinc
e high school—but Kim was smiling at the pair.
“What about Alan?” Ann Marie asked, her tone a little urgent.
“He wants to ask you out.”
Ann Marie and Kim both gasped. As the pair swarmed Amber, asking her a million questions a second, Nathan and Jolene laughed and kept moving, leaving Amber to deal with the excitable brunettes on her own.
Amber gave Alan’s number to Ann Marie, and then was bombarded with even more questions about him that she simply couldn’t answer. Amber knew very little about Alan Peterson. She didn’t even know his real name.
Miraculously, Amber was saved from this barrage by the arrival of none other than Bianca Pace. The woman had parked her white BMW a few cars down from Kim’s, where Amber was still being interrogated.
“You made it!” Amber called out, startling Bianca who had been busily checking something on her phone as she walked. Amber hurried over to her.
It was the first time Amber had seen the woman in jeans. There was a hole one knee and her white T-shirt had a logo of a plumbing company on the right breast pocket. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail. Though still striking, Bianca looked normal today, and somehow a little younger. She didn’t carry a purse.
Bianca came up short. “Oh. Hey. I just texted to ask if you were still here,” she said, shoving her phone in her back pocket. Just then, Amber’s phone buzzed.
“How are things going with your dad? Are you allowed to see him?” Amber asked.
“Yeah, I’m allowed to visit him, but his assigned officers are really limiting how many visits Dad gets and for how long. He’s been back for three days now but I’ve only actually seen him once. He’s got one guy who’s like Dad’s babysitter.” She sighed very dramatically. “Anyway, the longer I was cooped up in my house worrying about all this, the worse I felt. So I figured I should at least put in some work here. Plus, I figured by now, Harlo would be gone.”
Deciding to bypass whatever squabble Bianca had with Harlo, Amber said, “Has any of Simon’s memory come back yet?”
Pawsitively Swindled Page 17
