“If they have the email, Walker’s company can track it faster,” she said, trying to be reassuring. “His company is supposed to be paid for his investigations, but he never charges Hillvale once he gets involved.”
“I’ll pay,” Josh said, viciously tearing at a chicken leg. “I’ve already told him I’ll pay whatever it takes to find out about Willa. I’ll add Sarah to the bill. He doesn’t have enough help. He had to borrow an off-duty deputy to interview your mother. I sure the hell hope he found out who came here with her. If it’s Dell. . .”
“Willa warned us there was a spy, remember?” Amber said with excitement. “And she showed us the pervert and the Midas card. Could Sarah have been the spy? Would she do that?” Amber glanced at the bag holding her spare tarot decks. “I really don’t want to have to find out if Willa is still with us.”
“Neither do I. But I didn’t know Sarah well enough to know if she would spy. She was certainly in a position to do so, but we know for fact that she was with Ernest and on her way back to LA when Willa died.” Sipping his beer, he glanced at Zeke, now fully absorbed in his video game. “Walker has dreamed up a scheme—or his Lucy wife did. The plan was originally to draw Willa’s crew back here and hope we could produce a guilty reaction from one of them.”
“Let’s have a show.” She repeated his earlier quote from the old Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney film. “That never turned out so hot when Jack and Ginger did it. And I don’t think her original crew is enough, especially now that Sarah’s dead. I think we need Willa’s father and maybe Crystal and Dell and who knows who else. Willa’s phone would be more useful.”
On that thought, she got up and called Mariah. Mariah might be able to hack a virus, right?
Before Amber could say a word, Mariah announced, “You and Zeke can’t go back to your house until the sheriff clears out, and we stage a cleansing. I’m not up to another séance just yet, but maybe Cass will do this one. In the meantime, you and Josh need to get your posteriors over to Sam’s place. We’re having a meeting.”
Amber slumped over the counter, fearing what they plotted. “Do we have to? I can’t leave Zeke alone unless you can persuade Walker to arrest my mother.”
“I heard Josh hired a bodyguard. Have him stay with Zeke. Didn’t he tell you about our plan? We’re calling it a tribute to Willa Powell and insisting her father attend. We’ll help,” Mariah said reassuringly.
“A tribute?” she asked cautiously.
“A show,” Josh called from the counter.
They were realio trulio plotting a show? The thought filled Amber with horror. “The rest of you can discuss a show. I’ll stay here and you can tell me about it later.” Amber did her best to sound firm and decisive. “I called to find out if you know what happened to Willa’s phone. Josh said they tracked it somehow.”
“Spyware,” Mariah replied curtly. “I haven’t had time to find out if the police found the phone, but it could take months to dig anything out of it, if then. And you’re essential to the show, so you need to be here, now, before anyone else dies.”
“The town is crawling with reporters.” Amber desperately tried to sound calm and reasonable, even though panic was setting in. Hillvale was supposed to be safe, her private cocoon. “I will not appear in public for any reason unless it’s behind a curtain.”
Josh appeared at her side, taking the receiver from her hand and speaking to Mariah. “I haven’t had time to explain yet. A little case of murder has thrown me off stride. If there’s room to park, we’ll drive down. Apparently the lane is crawling with tourists.”
Amber crushed the cardboard lunch box and trashed it. She debated walking out and asking the bodyguard to drive her somewhere safe, but where would that be? Maybe she should walk over to Cass’s. A person could get lost in that weird place. Maybe even Cass wouldn’t know she was there.
But she couldn’t abandon Zeke.
She scraped the remains of lunch into the trash and began scrubbing the counter. She didn’t eat when she was upset. She cleaned. And organized. And feathered her nest.
She needed to get back into her house so she could clean up and make things pretty. . .
She didn’t know if she could ever bear to go back into her pretty house again.
She burst into tears and ran back to the bathroom.
“Need a beat here,” Josh told Mariah before he hung up the phone. He followed Amber down the short hall to the minuscule bathroom. “Amber?” he asked, warily knocking on the panel.
“I’m planning retirement to Siberia. Go away.” She ran the water.
“Not happening, sweetheart. That lock opens with a paper clip. Don’t make me come in after you. Bring the energy here, get in my face, but don’t pretend I’m Dell or Crystal.” He was starting to remember the darker side of their warped adolescence. Where he would go ballistic and blow things up under stress, Amber would work her heart out, fight the good fight, and then vanish in a deluge of tears.
He’d been a kid then and helpless against the adults controlling their world. He’d grown up and learned a little about fighting back since then, he hoped.
And maybe she had too. The door popped open, and she glared at him. “I am not doing a show.”
That wouldn’t be good, but Amber wasn’t dumb. She just needed more information. “I get that. But you’re the person the Lucys know. They won’t listen to me. I’m supposed to write the script. Maybe you can do a reading from behind a curtain. We don’t know what we’re doing until we talk about it.”
“You’re lying. You always blink fast when you lie.” She slammed the door again.
Zeke appeared, looking worried. The kid didn’t need this turmoil right now.
“Your aunt isn’t happy about not being able to go home.” He lied some more, trying to keep from blinking. “We need to go to a boring meeting. Why don’t I tell the bodyguard to take you to the suite at the lodge? We can’t swim until your grandmother leaves, but the lodge has Netflix. Ernest will be there to order snacks.” He hoped he wasn’t lying about that. Ernest might be halfway back to LA. “As long as you stay inside, no one will see you.”
Understanding the danger of his grandmother, Zeke nodded, throwing a cautious glance to the door. “Aunt Amber? Are you okay? You want me to go?”
The door popped open again, and she swooped down to hug her nephew. “Of course I don’t want you to go. But I know you’re bored, and I’m so sorry. Once I have my computer, we’ll look up some fun things to do together.”
Amber had to emerge from hiding to instruct the bodyguard about stopping at the thrift store to buy pajamas, clean clothes, and available games.
Josh grimaced, realizing it might be hours or more before Amber could return to her safe nest. His presence was destroying all the security she’d established. And he was asking her to demolish the rest. Aw shit. He was scum, and she’d realize that and never want to see him again.
But they couldn’t let a killer go free. He’d have to play the bad guy instead of her hero.
He called and verified that Ernest had decided to stay and warned him that Zeke was on the way. “I know I can’t expect you to babysit,” he told his new CEO. “But until we can find an assistant we trust, I’m still counting on your help. If you can find someone to babysit, go for it. These are desperate times.”
“He doesn’t really need a babysitter,” Ernest said. “We’ll deal. We do need new PR. The conference is old news already. We have a publicity nightmare on our hands.”
Josh ran his hand over his face. “And we’re just getting started. I’m no Willa. I have no interest or knowledge of anything except directing. You really are in charge, unless you want to run, screaming.”
“I like being paid to scream.” Ernest hung up.
Amber was waving Zeke farewell when Josh set down the receiver. She wasn’t fragile, he reminded himself. Emotional, yes, but she’d rescued herself once.
He didn’t want her to hate him forever, but this killer had to
be caught. He’d do whatever it took.
Twenty-three
Amber wiped her eyes after Zeke left, then glared at Josh. “I’ll listen if my friends ask. I will not go on stage for an audience ever again.”
She’d been harboring hopes that Josh would help her find connections. She needed to support Zeke somehow. She had a professionally trained voice and had been hoping for voice-overs, not public appearances.
By refusing to cooperate with this insane idea, she was flinging away any chance of Josh helping her. She would have to abandon her security, maybe go to the city and record audiobooks for a living.
And live in the street.
Trying not to weep in fear and loss, she marched down the studio’s lovely tiled stairs, ignoring the view. She could hear the wedding party wandering down to the reception, but Cass’s trees hid the lane.
Josh took the stairs after her, hurrying to open the Prius door, placing a hand at her back as if she needed assistance climbing in. As if she might be precious to him?
That made her want to cry too. She’d actually started to hope that they might rebuild their relationship. Stupid, stupid her. His life rotated around money and audiences and people. What little comfort she had depended on obscurity.
Josh was silent as they maneuvered the half mile down the lane to Sam and Walker’s big farmhouse. Tinted windows prevented pedestrians from recognizing them, thank all that was holy.
As was becoming the custom, Sam’s tables were covered in food from Fee’s café. It was early for dinner, late for lunch, but they burned energy with their discussions and snacking fought lethargy. Amber smelled the delicious scents as Sam welcomed them in the door. She was still too sick at heart to be hungry.
Her therapist had told her she was fortunate that with her ruined metabolism, she viewed food as medicine to be taken according to instructions. Amber didn’t feel particularly fortunate not to enjoy the yummies everyone else scarfed down.
She shook off Josh’s hand and parked herself in a padded rocking chair. She’d led such a placid life these past years that she was shocked at how draining this roller coaster of emotions could be. She just wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over her head.
She didn’t think she’d ever be able to enter her cottage again knowing a woman had died there.
Saying, “Energy food,” Fee handed her a bowl of cinnamon-roasted almonds that smelled like heaven. Fee walked away to deliver another plate before Amber could thank her.
Fee’s ability to smell what people needed was pretty uncanny and extremely useful. Amber felt like a fraud in her shadow. What had she ever accomplished with her cards?
Maybe that was what was really sapping her strength—she felt as if all the happy years she’d spent here had been frivolous. Instead of wallowing in her pretty nest, she should have been doing something useful with her life, as Josh had. Then she’d have a real home to offer Zeke. What kind of business was reading tarot cards anyway? She couldn’t really read minds.
Her mother’s words cut like a knife—she was a failure.
The nuts distracted her. She nibbled a few, then stopped to inhale. She cleared her lungs and head in hopes of returning to the happy place in her heart. It was there, but it was tough to reach with all the tension building. She felt Josh inside her mind as if he were a physical presence. She didn’t turn to look at him standing at the back of the room. Like most men, he meant to use her.
She was a grown woman now. She didn’t have to allow it. She had options.
Sam stood up in front of the fireplace to draw their attention. “All right, ladies, the men have an interesting presentation for us. Be kind.” She turned to her husband. “Walker, do you want to do the honors?”
“No way. I’m just the informed source. Josh took our idea and ran with it. Let him explain.” Wearing casual jeans and a muted blue Hawaiian-print shirt, the police chief leaned against the wall near the food table and gestured at Josh.
Next to a formidable giant like Keegan and Aaron’s Scorpio intensity, Josh seemed reassuringly approachable. Except, even though he didn’t have their height, he’d carried her as if she weighed nothing. Every ounce of him was restrained muscle and tension.
Carrying a bottle of water, he worked his way through the crowded room to where Sam stood in front of the fireplace. “I don’t know everyone well,” he told their hostess. “I’ll need you and the others to work with me on this, please.”
Sam perched on a high bar stool she’d dragged in from the kitchen. “Magic wands, at your service, sir.”
Amber fretted at her bottom lip as Josh shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and focused on her. She wanted to squirm. But as always, his direct cobalt gaze held her pinned.
“Willa Powell and her personal secretary died here for reasons we don’t understand. Since the sheriff can handle forensics but knows little about Hillvale, it seems to be up to us to find a killer by establishing motive.” Josh appeared pale but determined.
“Murder motives are more complex than you see in books and film,” Walker warned from the back of the room.
“I memorized your list of motivations,” Josh said. “Out of the list, I’d say we’re not dealing with narcotics or crime, and probably not property disputes. But knowing Willa, I’d say her death could be motivated by anything from personal vendetta to an act of rage. Money might be another motive, but none of our current suspects logically fit that pattern. Sarah, on the other hand, was a quiet, unassuming person who wouldn’t inspire hate, but who had access to much of Willa’s life. Her death might fall under the motive category of someone wanting to keep a secret.”
“If I may interrupt again?” Walker asked. At Josh’s nod, he continued. “The sheriff just located Willa’s smashed phone on the top of Amber’s kitchen cabinet, along with a print photo of Willa’s body as we found it in the canyon. Oddly, Sarah had photos in her purse of Josh and Amber together in the shop and at the café. She was also carrying a printed blackmail note saying she had proof that Josh had ordered Willa’s death.”
Amber felt the blood seep from her face. Josh looked glassy-eyed in shock.
Everyone else sat silently, waiting for Walker to continue. Swallowing fear, Amber circled a hand near her chest, reminding Josh to breathe. Nodding, he held her gaze as they both deliberately inhaled and exhaled to center themselves. No matter what their differences now, they still had their shared past to fall back on.
Walker continued. “The sheriff agrees that Sarah was killed in a manner consistent with a military-style Ka-Bar knife wielded by someone with experience in handling knives. She died instantly. That pretty much rules out Josh and Amber. A hired killer. . . is always a possibility. The really bad attempt to put the onus on Josh or Amber. . . that’s right out of a fictional murder mystery.”
“And Hollywood,” Josh said, sounding almost relieved. “That plays into our working theories, right?”
“I prefer to keep an open mind. We’re checking the photos and phone for fingerprints. I doubt that any of our Hollywood suspects have military experience with knives, but we’re running background checks. If there’s enough money at stake, one of them might possibly have hired a killer. That still makes them guilty. If our object is to obtain a confession, then Hillvale has a pretty good track record. I’m willing to play along.” Walker reached for his pie plate, signaling he was done.
Amber tried to keep her teeth from chattering. As much as she’d like to nail Dell with murder, she was pretty certain he didn’t have the guts to even hold a knife. But hiring a killer. . . Yeah, that was right down his rotten alley. How would they ever find proof?
“The play’s the thing, wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king. . .” Josh recited. “Walker and I’ve discussed this. I’ve been scribbling a script and characters ever since I came up here. It might work into Walker’s suggestion of a play, but I’ll need Lucy input to explain what’s possible. So this is all open for discussion. But we thought we might be able
to lure the suspects up here by staging a memorial production in Willa’s honor, sort of a dinner theater. Willa used to watch the Jack and Ginger show and often mentioned a fondness for the childish farces the characters occasionally put on. It’s far-fetched, but it might be a draw. Your facilities aren’t great, but a short memorial show followed by a buffet could give you time to meet the suspects.”
“Make me greeter at the door so I can identify anyone who might smell guilty or evil,” Fee suggested. “Then I can prepare food especially for them while everyone else is doing the show. I’ve never tried to persuade anyone to talk, but there’s always a first time.”
“Mariah will not be performing any ectoplasmic tricks,” Keegan announced. “If Fee can’t produce confessions, we need to find a better method.”
Amber would have bristled at his proprietary command, only she’d come to understand that was how the Scots giant expressed his love. She supposed not all men were controlling rats. Keegan was just being protective of his dangerously intrepid wife.
“If Fee knows there’s a killer in the room, I’m not promising anything,” Mariah warned, holding an arm around her protruding belly. “We don’t know ectoplasm causes any problems.”
“And we don’t want to find out,” Tullah said with finality. “Let the child develop as it should. You are carrying a beautiful soul.”
Teddy raised her hand. “If there’s a good way for me to move among the audience, I might sense guilt, if we can produce a program that induces it. Can you do that?”
Amber wrung her hands. She’d never read the cards for anyone evil that she knew of. Her psychic gifts were pretty low key and useless. It wasn’t as if she could really read minds, just. . . vibrations, maybe, but she needed her cards to translate. And it had to be a fairly intimate setting. She didn’t know how she could help.
Aaron spoke up. “We talked about my sensing images left on objects. I should probably have access to the smashed phone and the photos. But chances are good there wasn’t enough intense thought on them to yield usable results. However, if we produce a show that induces guilt and the guilty person is holding, say, a wine glass, their emotion should be clearly imprinted, at the very least. If we’re lucky, the guilt will produce an image. We could give each audience member a memorial glass with their name on it. After the show, I could offer to refill the glasses. There are no guarantees, but it’s the best I can do.”
Amber Affairs Page 21
