Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  Dell never used his last name, which was some unpronounceable collection of consonants. He expected to be recognized, like Cher or Beyoncé. Amber was pretty sure even the Dell was short for something, but his legal papers all used the single syllable as his first name.

  “Have Oscar carry some chairs back. I’ll put on the tea.” Deciding this was her office, and they had to follow her protocol, Amber turned on her electric kettle and picked out her favorite Darjeeling. She had a steel backbone, she reminded herself. She had friends now and no reason to be afraid.

  “This isn’t a social call,” Dell bellowed as he pushed through her curtains.

  Fourteen years had not improved the producer’s looks or disposition. A burly man of under six feet, Dell had grown jowls and a bigger paunch. He still stank of expensive cologne that didn’t quite hide his excessive perspiration. His graying hair had receded, but it was still stylishly cut in bristles on the sides. Suave, he was not.

  “Hello, Dell. It’s my lunchtime. You may stand around and watch me drink tea, if you prefer. Would you care to introduce me to your friend?” She’d always been good at socializing. Business, not so much, so she stuck with what she knew best.

  “Ivan Powell.” The taller man introduced himself.

  No paunch on Ivan. Willa’s father was as lean as his daughter had been, although in a more masculine way. The double-breasted tailored suit probably had shoulder pads, but it suited him. She was pretty certain his silver hair was the result of a good colorist, but it gave him an air of competence, authority, and wealth. Very intimidating, if she was inclined to be intimidated by someone she didn’t know. She wasn’t.

  “Amber Abercrombie, pleased to meet you, Mr. Powell. Would you like some Darjeeling? I’m afraid I don’t keep coffee here. The caffeine is too strong and interferes with my work.”

  “Your work? You’re an actress, Amber! A two-bit one at that,” Dell shouted. “Why the hell are you getting in my face now? Call off that bitch of a lawyer. We had an agreement, and you don’t have anything worth my suing you for.”

  So far this week she’d been called a fat, lazy slug and a witch and now she was no more than a worthless, two-bit actress. It really was this side of enough, as they said in her favorite historical romances.

  Years of humiliation had stiffened her steel spine. She poured tea, sat down, and shuffled her deck, forcing her visitors to either sit or rant uselessly. Silence had the unexpected benefit of leaving them off-balance. Looking uncomfortable, they finally took seats.

  She studied them expectantly. “And you, Mr. Powell? Would you care to call me a few names as well?”

  His eyes narrowed as he took her measure. “You’re not the reason Josh is hiding up here. I should have known the reporters were puffing up the love triangle. I want my daughter to rest in peace. Anything you can do to help steer her company into competent hands would be greatly appreciated. I can help you pry Dell off your back.”

  “Now wait a minute—” Dell sputtered.

  Amber waved her hand, letting the glow from the table lamp catch on her rings and bracelets. “Never mind, Dell. Mr. Powell just said I’m too fat to interest Josh, and that he’ll buy us both off.”

  She flipped the cards and spread them. She knew how to fake a reading if needed. She had no way of knowing if Willa still lingered, but she meant to provide a good show one way or another. “Willa, what do you think of your father’s offer?”

  The glow in Amber’s staff brightened, and a breeze rustled the tarot deck.

  Well, swell, it appeared Willa was not only still here but listening. Amber wanted to cackle as the King of Coins blew off and dropped onto the Ouija board on a side table.

  “Your daughter calls you Midas, doesn’t she?” Amber said conversationally as she retrieved the card and the board. She felt Ivan’s shock, so she knew she was on the right track.

  The two gray-haired men, unfortunately, didn’t believe in Willa. They looked around in suspicion, seeking the trick behind the flying card.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” Amber told them, pulling the Ouija board in front of her. “I really am a psychic, not a fortune-teller.” A psychic who had never really tried to read minds or ghosts until pushed to the limit, she realized. She’d been coasting all these years in more ways than one. “I can tell the nickname hit a sore spot. I also know you won’t believe that your daughter’s spirit is here with us, at least partially.”

  The rest of Willa was gathering outside the shop, Amber sensed. The Lucys and their crystals would be sitting on the boardwalk, leaning against posts, holding their still-glowing staffs, waiting for a signal. Nellie had moved swiftly. Good for Granny Bodyguard.

  “You’re too old for this juvenile crap,” Dell said in disgust.

  Amber chuckled. “Now I’m old. Thanks, Grandpa.”

  Ignoring her humor, he continued. “Tell your bitch lawyer to back off, and I’ll tell Crystal that the kid won’t fit the part. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get the kid out of her hands?”

  “The court will give me Zeke without your help,” Amber said with a confidence she had no right to feel. But they’d pushed her patience as far as it would go. She either believed in herself, or she didn’t. She placed her fingers on the planchette. “Willa, did your audit find anything on Dell?”

  The planchette practically flew to YES.

  Powell made a gesture of disgust. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can move that thing any way you like. We came here to be reasonable, not to be treated like hysterical females.”

  Amber’s fingers were still on the board when the tarot cards flew into a furious tornado, pelting Powell and Dell with cutting vehemence.

  “Willa apparently doesn’t appreciate being called an hysterical female,” Amber explained, fighting back amusement—possibly of the hysterical sort. “Dell, if Willa’s audit uncovered fraud, then you have motive for killing both her and Sarah. You probably ought to talk to the cops before they find the evidence.”

  “I did not kill anyone!” he shouted. “I was hundreds of miles away. And you can’t make me believe Willa cared about anything except money with this stupid playacting.”

  Amber didn’t have the ability to sense his guilt the way Teddy might, but she wasn’t picking up any other vibrations either. Maybe Dell’s brain was too addled for her to read. Maybe he really did believe Willa was only auditing him for the money and not with the goal of shutting down his porn operation, as Josh had requested.

  She didn’t think Dell would touch the tarot deck to let her read him better. “The police think there might be a hired killer involved. It’s just a matter of time until they put the pieces together,” she said, using her best acting ability to reflect complacence. “Would either of you like to place your hands on the planchette and ask Willa a question?”

  They both expressed disgust and got up to leave.

  Nellie, holding a stack of boxes from the café, blocked their exit. “Have a seat, gentlemen. This is some of the best food in the universe. Fee doesn’t have an alcohol license, but she sent over some of Monty’s health juices.” Unfazed by the cards drifting around the floor, she dropped the boxes on the table.

  Fee hadn’t met Dell or Ivan, or Amber would worry about what the cook had added to the ingredients. Instead, she took a bracing sip of her tea and let the box Nellie gave her sit unopened.

  Before the men could storm out, Amber asked, “Willa, who was the last person you saw?”

  Instead of using the planchette, Willa’s spirit spun the cards up and around again.

  “I never should have introduced her to the cards,” Amber muttered in exasperation as over half a dozen cards landed on the table. She was aware the two men had frozen while the cards flew under no visible means.

  Looking at the spread Willa dumped in front of her, Amber bit back a groan. “Willa says these are the last people she remembers.” She pointed at each card as she named them according to her interpretation. “Ernest, Sarah, T
essa, Brad, Dell, the wedding planner, and this crowded one apparently represents the people working on the wedding, like the musician, caterer, and florist. That’s a lot of people, Willa,” she told the circling wind. It died down, possibly in exhaustion. “Dell, you just lied about being hundreds of miles away. Do the cops know that?”

  “You’re making that up!” he shouted, his flabby jaws mottling.

  “Hold the planchette, Dell,” Amber told him, pushing the board in his direction. “Put your fingers on either side of the triangle. Let’s see what happens when I ask Willa if you were there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No court in the world will listen to this!”

  The cards flew off the table. The Devil card that Willa had assigned him flew out and hit Dell in his reddened nose.

  “It’s possible that I translate Willa’s thoughts through my own,” Amber admitted. “I always assumed you were the Devil card in my spread, so she’s been using it for you too, I think. Put your hands on the planchette, Dell. As you say, it won’t hold up in court.”

  “Do it,” Powell rumbled. “And then let’s get out of here.”

  “Will you back off my case?” Dell demanded, uneasily setting his pudgy fingers on the glass triangle Amber had had a craftsman design back in the days when she had money.

  “Not my call,” Amber said, sipping her tea. “Willa, was Dell here in Hillvale on the day you remember last?”

  The planchette jerked to the YES faster than Dell could lift his hand.

  Amber grabbed the fragile planchette before Dell could fling it against a wall. “As you say, it doesn’t signify anything except verifying what we already know. Willa’s spirit is hazy about what happened that day, hence all the cards.” She gestured at the selection. “But you’re free to ask her what you like. I never met Willa, but she has a strong will. I’m sure she’ll try to answer.”

  “My daughter is dead!” Powell cried in more fury than anguish. “She’s dead because of that murdering son of a bitch she wanted to marry! This little charade proves nothing.”

  He turned to stomp out. His unopened cardboard lunch box flew off the table, hitting him squarely on the temple. Spaghetti in marinara sauce dripped off his ear and onto the shoulder of his bespoke suit.

  “Spirits don’t believe they’re dead,” Amber said conversationally, admiring the stunned silence and Willa’s handiwork. “Willa, I appreciate your help. I know you have no reason to like me, but take my word for it, these two are too dense to understand you. And yes, I know they’re thinking obscenities and planning on calling their lawyers. It’s okay. We won’t let you down. Why don’t you rest until we find more receptive minds?”

  The table lamp brightened. Amber’s Lucy stick, as Josh had called it, went dim in a ghostly signal for Okay. Amber nonchalantly opened her lunch. “Good meeting you, Mr. Powell. Dell, why don’t you take your lunch with you? You probably ought to save every penny for your defense. Or, since I’m receiving strong impressions about your condo in the Caribbean, you’ll need it for your retirement.”

  Powell flung the spaghetti off his shoulder before stalking out. Dell added a glare, grabbed his lunch, and followed.

  Both Oscar and Nellie in the front room called cheerful farewells. Amber was quite certain they’d heard every word.

  Her unused back door crashed open and a dusty, disheveled Josh fell through.

  Twenty-seven

  “I tried to get in the normal way.” Brushing the dust off his clothes, Josh accepted the untouched celery juice that Amber handed him and swigged it down. “Your witchy friends barred the door. My own damned bodyguards let them.”

  Looking appropriately horrified, Amber glanced out at the cliff he’d just climbed down. “There is a reason no one uses that door.”

  At least someone appreciated his heroic efforts.

  “They’re just rocks, easier than fighting a half-dozen Lucy sticks.” In disgust, since he was already filthy, Josh took napkins from the boxes to clean up the spaghetti on the floor. He tossed cards back on the table while he was down there. “You shouldn’t have to fight my battles for me. I’ll go back to LA and get the buzzards off your back.” It physically hurt to say that, but he meant it.

  She picked up the sauce-soaked napkin from the table and flung it at his head. Not exactly the reward he’d expected.

  “Don’t you belittle me too! I’ve had enough of that crap for a lifetime. I’m an adult capable of taking care of myself. That’s what my witchy friends were telling you. If you don’t believe that, then get out.”

  He glared at her in irritation. “I know that. My day has been as bad as yours, so don’t you get on my case too. But Ivan is my battle, not yours.”

  She dropped into her chair, still red-cheeked with anger. “That’s not the way it works here. Your problem is our problem. We work it out together. And I had fun.”

  “Fun?” Josh stared at her in incredulity. His frilly but sensible Amber had enjoyed confronting two jackasses like Powell and Dell? “I don’t recall anyone ever calling Ivan the Terrible a barrel of monkeys. He’s been known to bring powerful men to their knees, quivering in remorse.”

  “He’s a selfish asshole,” she said in dismissive disdain.

  Josh’s eyebrows crept up. The sharp-tongued Amber peered from behind Ginger’s sunny smiling self. He sat back to enjoy the rant.

  “Ivan’s only concern is retaining what’s his and getting even with you for presumably taking Willa away,” she continued. “He’s a repulsive human being—but probably not a killer. Maybe we don’t need a production. Just parade the culprits past Willa and let her throw spaghetti at them. Ivan broadcasted pretty clearly when frightened. I didn’t even need the cards to read his mind.” She retrieved a cracker from her lunch box and dipped it in her tea, still looking mulish.

  She’d read Ivan’s mind? Josh fell into a chair and poked through her box for anything crunchable. He’d had enough adrenaline for one day and needed sensibility. “Let’s start over, okay? Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing useful. I’ll explain tonight, when everyone is together. But Willa really can’t remember who she saw last. Our suspects are wide open, and yes, we can include Dell. She says he was here.” She uncovered the contents of a soup bowl and tasted it.

  He sipped his green drink and processed what she was telling him. “You want to bow out of the play? You think you’d be more useful in the audience with the Lucys and Willa?”

  She quirked an eyebrow at him over the soup. “We have to persuade people to come up here for Willa to throw spaghetti at, figuratively, one hopes, and I’m your best bait. I’d be useless in the audience. Our suspects will be unwilling to heed Ouija boards and tarot, and I can’t possibly read the projections of a few dozen people at once. It was difficult enough with the two of them. Only the spaghetti forced Ivan to think loudly enough for me to understand him.”

  “I’d planned on making my second act a fake fortuneteller with a crystal ball. What if I set the act up so people are called in from the audience? It’s a farce. They should be willing to play along.” Josh finished off the crackers Amber obviously wasn’t eating.

  She smiled, and it was as if a sun had emerged from behind a black cloud. “If your script can force the guilty parties to remember Willa and what they did, Fee and Teddy can narrow down the suspects to one or two. They can get word to us on stage. Fix it so one of your more innocent characters calls on the audience. It might work. Maybe.”

  “Not entirely certain how, but just narrowing down our focus has to be helpful. And putting the pressure on a killer in public is probably safer than letting them loose on your backdoor,” he said gloomily. “Nellie and Oscar can’t be with you every minute.”

  “We might want to keep an eye on Dell,” she suggested, eating her soup. “He’s in meltdown mode. It’s a pity we can’t put our hands on whatever Willa had on him.”

  “Tessa has access to all Willa’s personal computer files.” Josh reached for
the cordless landline. “I’ll have her give the passwords to Ernest and let him sift through them. He’s only been inside her business computers and hasn’t found anything useful. Even the name of the auditor would help.”

  “All that would have been in her phone, wouldn’t it?” Amber asked, looking thoughtful.

  “Possibly.” Josh called Ernest with his request and listened to his new CEO plot heaving Tessa out a window. Once assured that access to Willa’s files might be possible without window-tossing, he hung up. “But Tessa is claiming that Willa kept a cloud account that even she can’t get into. I can understand why.”

  “An account a killer might have wanted eliminated?” Amber suggested.

  “An account that might have been accessed by that phone planted in your cabinet,” he agreed, back to gloom.

  “But if neither Tessa nor the police can access it, then we simply need to go back to Plan A and guilt the killer into confession. Piece of cake.” She snapped her fingers. “Don’t you have a play to write?”

  “My IT team could probably unlock the card in the phone,” Walker told Josh. “But the sheriff doesn’t trust me to be objective. It’s his case, and he’s waiting for bureaucrats and overworked state facilities to unlock it for him.”

  “He’s figuring he’ll find evidence against me in there,” Josh finished for him. “Understood. I know the Lucys are counting on this memorial production for results, but a court of law needs evidence. How the hell do you deal with this?”

  “Well, they blew up a mountain and crushed a killer once,” Walker said unhelpfully. “I try not to ask too many questions. If we ever get a Lucy up here bent on evil, we’re in a world of hurt.”

  Josh winced and rubbed his face. “Yeah, I can see that. I’m pretty sure none of our suspects are Lucys. Willa may have threatened Harvey, but he really doesn’t have anything to fear if his hiding place is exposed, no more than Amber does. I don’t know how the women expect to persuade everyone Willa yelled at to show up at the memorial. There may be suspects out there we don’t know about.”