Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  “We do what we can and hope for the best. Meanwhile, I have my men hunting for whoever audited Dell. My main business is corporate fraud, so that’s doable. And if he’s into child pornography, I want him taken out. I’ll write it off as charity.”

  “I’ll pay for that too. And Amber’s lawyer is a bulldog who will hunt Dell into eternity and have a class action suit prepared before he knows what hit him, so she’ll help with witnesses. If there’s any chance that the court will return Zeke to his guardian, we want Dell out of the picture. It’s impossible for Amber to petition the court for guardianship while this crap hangs over her head. I know she’s worried.”

  Josh stood, wearing the stern face he seldom displayed. “And if you ever have any inkling that the sheriff is going for Amber, feel free to frame me. I’ve let her down in the past, and I won’t do so again.”

  He seriously meant that. His life was meaningless. Ernest could hire a new director to handle the one project that depended on him. But Amber had a kid to look after, and a full life she had barely begun to live. He was the one who’d brought this crap down on her. She deserved her rainbows and sunshine.

  “Amber’s a lot stronger than she looks,” Walker warned.

  “And I want her to stay that way. You don’t know what she’s been through. I do.”

  Walker nodded. “I don’t think it will come to that, but I got it.”

  “Thanks, and just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  Walker stood too. “It takes a strong character to accept what Amber, or any of the Lucys, can do. You don’t want to be on their wrong side. Heaving spaghetti is the least of it.”

  Josh relaxed and grinned. “To hell with Lucys. Getting on the wrong side of Amber is my concern. Ivan and Dell practically flew out of town after she was done with them. I don’t know if I’ll be able to lure them back. I’m taking Amber’s word for it that they aren’t killers.”

  “They still might have hired killers, so don’t get too cocky.”

  Josh saluted and let himself out of the police chief’s barren office.

  The play was practically writing itself.

  Twenty-eight

  “Is there a cliff I can throw Tessa off where no one will find her for a million years?” Ernest asked, slipping into his gallery seat beside Amber, looking exhausted. It was Friday evening, dress rehearsal before the memorial on Saturday. They were all a little ragged.

  “Keegan has a mine in the hills. Maybe he could stash her there,” Amber suggested unhelpfully as she read the final changes in Josh’s script. “Could we stow Josh there too? Does he really think I can pull this off? I might as well carry a top hat and hope a rabbit falls out.”

  “You’re sounding as negative as him. You can’t be little Shirley Temple forever. Did you think he’d write you as Miss Marple?” Ernest popped a mint and typed on his notebook keyboard. “Wait until you see the costume he and Tullah have found for you.”

  Which was the real reason she was chewing nails, Amber acknowledged. She’d told them she’d wear a suit. Josh had insisted that Tullah had found the perfect detective dress. How big of a fool was she about to make of herself? She wasn’t equipped for any more battles. Her armor had grown soft with rust.

  She flung down the script and marched back to the curtained-off area they’d built for their backstage. No one had let her see the costume, which told her right there that she would hate it.

  With theatrical wardrobes all over the state to call on, Josh had provided his actors everything they desired and more. Val had a stunning floor-length gray satin gown and hip-length gray veil for her ghost part. When she played the part of a grieving sister—the “sister” part barely disguising Tessa’s weak character—Val wore a hat with a chin-length black veil and a short black dress that made the most of her long legs. She was practicing walking in red-soled high heels when Amber pushed past the curtains.

  “I don’t think the audience will even recognize that the ghost and the sister are the same actor,” Amber said in admiration. “If we didn’t have to be on stage at the same time, you could play me.”

  “I prefer the weeping, wailing parts,” Val said with a curt gesture. “You may have the cold, logical, deductive part.”

  Wearing a beret over her short Afro, Tullah was studying her image in a mirror. “I think Ernest will cut Josh’s throat after he sees me pretending to be him.”

  Tullah was playing the ghost’s male assistant. She was tall and broad-shouldered enough to pull off the part of man, and since the assistant was gay, she could swish like a woman without being out of character. She’d let Josh order her costume, though, and that might have been a mistake. Tullah in a man’s madras blazer and shiny blue slacks was a sight to behold.

  “He’s made Ernest six feet tall,” Amber said with a grin. “That should make him happy. And you’ve seen Ernest. He might not wear a beret, but the madras is perfect.”

  “You’d better like what we found for you,” Tullah told her sternly. “You can’t be Suzy Sunshine. You have to be an uptight lady detective determined to bring a killer to justice.”

  “You’d better not have made me look like Jessica Fletcher,” Amber warned. “I’m no Angela Lansbury.”

  “No scarves and blouses,” Tullah promised. “You’re too young and pretty. And your role is a professional detective, not an amateur.”

  “Over here,” Teddy shouted from the dressing room. “Do I look like a Hollywood secretary?” She popped out wearing a low-cut t-shirt and mini-skirt over her full figure.

  “Like every secretary I remember,” Amber agreed, grinning. “These days, you probably need a tattoo or three though, maybe a nose ring.”

  “I can draw tattoos in ink and do jewelry without self-mutilation. Your turn.” Teddy drew back the curtain. “I want to see you in something a little more upscale than flounces.”

  “I like flounces,” Amber protested, stepping into the booth. The only dress left on the rack was a sleek, flared teal, without a flounce in sight. She hated to tell Tullah, but there was no way in heck she’d fit into that skimpy thing.

  But it was a gorgeous silk wrap-around, like something out of the nineties. It just lacked shoulder pads. She wouldn’t have to shimmy into the skirt the way Teddy must have into hers. Still, it had a waist, and a belt that would only emphasize what she lacked. And that top. . . Amber smoothed the fabric longingly. If she were a few sizes smaller, she’d feel like Kathleen Turner as V.I. Warshawski, only a lot shorter.

  She hummed a little in appreciation that Josh had known she’d like a feminine costume. She hated to tell him that a tank top and blazer were a more appropriate choice. They’d be ugly, but they’d look professional.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try on the silk fantasy. She’d feel ridiculous, but Lucys would never laugh at her pretensions to glamor. And Tullah and Josh would have to see to believe that the dress wouldn’t work.

  At least she’d worn her fat crunchers so she might have a chance of it fitting. She might be comfortable as she was, but she knew audiences. They wanted the fairy tale of beautiful people.

  She stripped, then slipped the slinky silk sleeves up her arms, loving the sensation against her skin. Cotton flounces were practical, but the silk. . . was the sexy prom dress she’d always dreamed of wearing.

  The skirt hooked at the waist, and the bodice had hidden buttons to keep the wrap from opening over her breasts. The slightly flared skirt draped around her legs without any other fastening. To her amazement, the waist hook went in without trouble. But the top. . . bared way more than she’d ever revealed, even in her off-the-shoulder blouses.

  In this bad lighting, she could almost imagine the three-quarter sleeves hid her flabby upper arms. Although she’d need a scarf to conceal her heavy-duty bra, and even then, her cleavage would be exposed. With the belt, it almost appeared as if she had a waist. She brushed the silk swaying around her hips with longing, swished a little to make it rustle. She was half n
aked, for pity’s sake. She couldn’t go on stage like this, but oh, she loved the way it made her feel.

  Arms slid around her waist, and kisses stole along her exposed neckline. “I knew you’d be gorgeous in this. I love that teal on you.”

  Amber closed her eyes and drank in Josh’s admiration like a flower soaked up sunshine. “You might be a tad bit biased,” she murmured. “No detective ever wore anything like this. And are you setting this in the 90s?”

  “I am, actually, to explain the lack of cell phone coverage. So this works perfectly.” He swung her around and gazed admiringly at her exposed cleavage. “Okay, scarf required unless you want to go commando under that top. I’m all for that. . .”

  She smacked his arm. “I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy tarted out in a belt. I know this is a farce, but I can’t go out looking like Barbie’s fat fourth cousin, twice removed.”

  He laughed and swung her around to face the mirror. “You have breasts women pay money for.” He cupped them through the silk, then ran his hands to her waist. “You’re short, so you’ll never be willowy, but you have a perfectly good waistline that’s in dimension with your beautiful booty.”

  He squeezed her hips and rocked her so the skirt swayed, making her feel as if she really were desirable. Except she knew the audience was expecting straight-up-and-down Ginger, not a roly-poly bug.

  “You will notice almost everyone on stage will be wearing drab colors. You will be the bright shining object of everyone’s attention,” he added, bringing her back to earth.

  “Oh that makes me feel better.” She pulled away and marched past him, throwing open the curtain so everyone could see her. “Peacock strutting through. Anyone got tail feathers?” She walked out into slightly better lighting.

  She could swear almost the entire town was gathered to wait for her appearance. They broke into applause and hoots of appreciation. No way could she handle this much exposure.

  Feeling her cheeks flame, Amber bobbed a curtsy and fled back to the dressing room, yanking the curtain between her and Josh.

  “A raincoat,” she cried. “I’ll wear a raincoat!”

  “I’ll quit if you wear a raincoat,” Josh shouted back.

  They’d played this scene before. Back then, Jacko had always got his way. Not this time. She flung the dress through the dressing room curtains at his head. “So, quit. You always take the easy way out, don’t you? Why don’t you go find another Willa and just forget about us?”

  “I’m not the one who walks out,” he roared in outrage from the other side of the curtain. “You’re the one who walked away without leaving a forwarding address. You’re the one who left me for fourteen years, without any idea if you were alive! Get over yourself and wear the damned dress!”

  She heard him storming off in a fury—rightfully, after all his hard work. Once upon a time, she would have gone after him to placate him.

  She wasn’t Ginger anymore.

  She was Amber, the powerful witch. She glared at herself in the mirror.

  Witches wore black. She hated black.

  Without Josh, the whole damned play would fall apart, and they’d never find out who killed Willa and Sarah.

  The silence on the other side of the curtain warned that everyone was waiting on her to fix the unfixable.

  Twenty-nine

  “Look, I’ve been too busy to finish this list until tonight.”

  The pregnant, black-braided Mariah tracked Josh to the back of the theater/gallery where he was nursing his wounds. His gut ground in knots, and he was too miserable to look at the digital notebook she waved in his face. He couldn’t quit now, not after Amber had flung that accusation at him about taking the easy way out.

  He’d always seen his choices as pragmatic.

  “Tell me your email,” Mariah demanded. “I don’t want any of the other Lucys to see this or it might affect their judgment.”

  Josh leaned back in his chair with his feet on the bench in front of him. After the blow-up, the dress rehearsal had gone badly. Amber had returned wearing one of her caftans. No one could play to a detective in a caftan. Everyone but Amber was still reading their lines from the script. That was to be expected, but he’d hoped Val, at least, would have hers memorized. That’s why he’d given her all the good ones.

  Practically snarling, Josh took Mariah’s notebook and typed in his contact information, then glanced at the device she was waving. “What is this?”

  “A detailed background of all our potential suspects. I’m not allowed access to my bunny trails anymore, but there’s so much information available online that I think I’ve got a pretty good picture without hacking.” She pushed a button sending the list to his email.

  Bunny trails. . . He’d ask another time, especially if it involved hacking. He opened his phone and tried to read the document, but it took too much scrolling. He was in a mood for smashing, not reading. “Anything pop out at you?”

  “Ernest is a convicted felon, fraud and drug charges. There’s a good chance he’d know how to hire a killer. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Willa kept interesting company. Even her father has a shady past.”

  Shit. So much for his judgment. He didn’t have a head for business. He would have been better off asking Amber to read the tarot for all his employees. Willa’s employees. He couldn’t manage without Ernest, so he might as well throw in the towel now. Forget the fantasy film, find another superhero flick to direct. . .

  “Bedtime reading.” Josh shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I assume the cops have all this? And they know Amber and I are clean as a whistle? Although I’m not sure why whistles wouldn’t be covered in bacteria.” Always dissemble when in denial.

  “Guilt by association?” She shrugged. “You could have asked Ernest to hire a killer. Amber has all of us to call on, and we’re not exactly squeaky clean either. Any one of us could have shoved Willa off a cliff, although knifing Sarah might be less likely.”

  “In other words, not helpful,” Josh said gloomily. “We’ll all be laughingstocks by tomorrow evening and maybe the killer will slink back in his hole and never bother us again. Does that justify going on?”

  She swatted him with the script. “I’ve done my part. You do yours. Amber is a Lucy. That means she’ll do anything for anyone else before she’ll do something for herself. It’s a curse, if you ask me, but that’s how it is. Figure it out.” She waddled off.

  Amber thought she waddled, but Mariah had it down fine, and she still looked good. Waddling was better than prancing. And Amber swayed like an amber wave of grain.

  He was cracking up.

  He locked up the theater after everyone left, climbed in his car, and stared blankly at the street light. Had Amber gone home? Or stuck to their routine? Did he even want to see her after she’d thrown his gift in his face?

  He was steamed and stressed and had no one to punch. He needed to swim.

  He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when he arrived at the pool to find Amber and Zeke already there. “How many laps?” he called as he pulled off his shirt.

  “Four,” Zeke called back. Amber was plowing through the water as if she had steam to blow off too.

  She usually quit after four laps, but she didn’t even stop to acknowledge him when Josh dived in. He easily pulled abreast of her and kept on going. He could do two laps in the time it took her to do one, so he set out to catch up.

  She beat her record and was breathing hard by the time she climbed out. Josh finished up his usual laps, debated doing a few more, but he was afraid she’d run away without a word. He was angry and miserable, but he’d worked off enough to prevent blowing up, he hoped. She looked so gorgeous in her rainbow outfit that he bit his tongue and just dried off while she hid behind her cover-up.

  She sat on a lounge chair and let Zeke continue splashing around. “I’m a Libra,” she announced.

  “So you say.” He sat and dried his hair while he processed her words through his fury. “I r
ead up on Libras after you told me that. You’re a natural mediator—which I already knew. You love harmony, so everything you own matches. You’ve certainly got the dimples and melting smile. I’ve not seen you overindulge in anything—”

  “Used to be overeating. Lovemaking, lately,” she pointed out.

  It was hard to think once reminded of their passionate hours in bed. He nodded acceptance while trying to figure out what the hell she wanted him to understand. He reached deeper into his memory banks. “You’re creative. You love books. I didn’t see anything about reading minds. I particularly liked the part that said you can argue both sides and finish a debate alone. You’re good at that.”

  He studied her warily, rehashing their earlier barn-burning dispute. “Does that mean you’ve settled an argument? Can I ask which side you took?”

  She hugged herself and watched Zeke instead of him. “I love the dress, thank you.”

  That didn’t answer the question. “But you think I’m a lazy lout. I fail to find the connection.”

  “You are lazy, because you avoid stress. Stress boils your brains, hence the dress. You know I can’t wear that dress on stage.”

  “I know no such thing,” he retorted angrily. If she was ending their relationship, he might as well boil his brains. “I love the way you look in that pink cover-up you’re wearing. When Tullah showed me that design in a dress, I knew it would be perfect.”

  She tugged self-consciously at the belt holding the gauzy fabric closed. “There’s nothing wrong with the dress. It’s me. You’d see that if you weren’t treating me like Willa. If we’re doing the nineties, why can’t I just wear one of those blocky blazers and a blouse, something that will hide me?”

  Josh grimaced and fell back against the chair. “Because they’re unfeminine and not you. I want to show the world how beautiful you are. Things have changed since we were kids. TV and film are full of people of all sizes, shapes, and colors. I love the way you look, the way you move, the way you smile, and you smile more when you look good. You won’t smile in an ugly blazer.”