Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  “My part doesn’t call for smiling. You’re trying to please me instead of thinking about the show. Worse, you’re putting me up there to show me off, to prove a point, not because the dress fits the part. You’re thumbing your nose at Ivan and Dell and the reporters and any of Willa’s friends who might show up. You’re saying I’ve got Ginger, deal with it. I’m not Ginger. I’ll find my own costume.” She stood up and gestured for Zeke to climb out.

  “You worked hard on that side of the argument.” Josh stayed where he was, fuming all over again. “You’re wrong. You may be a mind reader, but you’re not reading mine right. Start looking for the other side of the story, the one where I’m giving you a chance to be a strong woman and still be feminine.”

  “You’re not giving me anything. I’ll take what I want, when I want it. Go back to your studio and take another look at your script, Jacko. Write out Ginger. Write in Amber. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She picked up her bag and left without another look back.

  Jacko was the name she’d called his character in the show. He guessed this was where she told him good-bye, as she hadn’t had the chance to do when they were kids.

  It was a pity Dell and Ivan had left. He really needed to punch something now.

  Thirty

  Even after she’d worn herself out in the pool, Amber didn’t sleep well. She and Josh had argued frequently and fervently when they were kids. She hadn’t bothered arguing with anyone since. She had just packed up, moved on, and grown up. Did that make her argument last night a reversion to adolescence? Or another rung on the ladder to maturity?

  Some days, she hated being a Libra.

  Breakfast was quiet without Josh. He’d threatened to leave if she wore a raincoat. Would he quit if she wore a blazer? Wouldn’t it be better to get him out from under her skin before he was permanently embedded?

  She had all day to waffle, but tonight was the deciding point.

  Zeke happily ran off to help Fee around the café. They had another group of wedding guests inundating the town, plus guests gathering for the memorial tonight. All hands needed on deck.

  Oscar arrived after breakfast to drive her the short distance into town. “Café has a few reporters asking about the memorial,” he reported. “Lodge is booked, so most can’t get rooms. I think they’re hoping for a scoop so they can go home without staying for the performance.”

  “Not happening,” Amber said, climbing into his SUV. “Even we don’t know what’s going on.” Especially if Josh quit.

  Oscar dropped her off directly in front of her shop. “I’ll be there after I park. Nellie should be inside.”

  A red-haired woman in what appeared to be a designer suit wandered the shop as Amber entered. Nellie gestured in her direction. “Your nine-thirty, Susan Meadows.”

  The woman did not emit happy wedding vibes. A jilted lover?

  “Come on back, Ms. Meadows. You can choose your tarot deck while I settle in.” Amber swept through her curtains and gave her office a cursory glance to be certain she’d left it neat yesterday. Willa hadn’t wreaked any havoc overnight. The felt cloth covering the reading table was in its usual place. Her shelves were lined with colorful tarot decks. She lit candles as the guest entered.

  “I can choose any of these decks?” Susan asked, studying the shelf that Amber indicated.

  “Yes, sometimes your choice tells me a little about you, so it’s up to you how you want to play this. I tell all my new customers that I am not a fortune teller. The tarot divines future possibilities based on the past and current circumstances and your personality.” Amber took a seat, her curiosity aroused. This was definitely not a normal wedding guest. Susan Meadows had a lot on her mind, and weddings weren’t it.

  Her guest picked up a traditional Smith-Waite deck and set it on the table, taking a seat without speaking. Amber shuffled the cards while surreptitiously studying the woman across the table. Susan was probably a few years older than herself, well kept in a way that indicated a degree of money. But the expensive cosmetics couldn’t quite hide the shadows under her eyes and the chipped and peeling nail polish. Susan was unraveling.

  “If you’d shuffle the cards for me?” Amber handed over the deck, her inner sense on high alert. She glanced at her walking stick and caught a distinct gleam in the dragon’s crystal eyes. Uh oh, something was definitely off. She waited until the deck was shuffled, then gestured at the table. “Now divide the deck into three stacks, please.”

  Nellie and Oscar were right outside. She could hear them talking. She just needed to be careful of what she said. Susan could be a reporter who’d managed to sneak here in disguise. Although desire for a story was definitely not the vibe she was feeling.

  “Before I lay out the cards, is there a question you’d specifically like answered?” Amber tested the waters.

  Susan narrowed her eyes. Amber could almost feel her suspicion. She waited, and the woman shook her dark red curls.

  “No, I just wanted to see what a psychic does.”

  Amber pulled from the top of the stacks Susan had cut and laid three rows of three cards face-down. “The row closest to me is your past. The center row is your present. The row closest to you is your future potential.” She flipped the first card in the row from the past.

  The Queen of Wands—Willa. The dragon’s eyes brightened.

  She should just quit now, but she was on edge and growing angry. Without explaining the card, Amber flipped the next one—the spy. The third one—Midas. The occult was inexplicable. So was Willa. But the cards were clear.

  Amber set her beringed fingers on either side of the layout and met her customer’s eyes. “You’re not Susan Meadows.”

  The woman scooted her chair back, looking wild-eyed, until she gained control of herself and spoke coldly. “Someone told you. Josh, I bet. Or Ernest.”

  “I have never seen your face in my life. They had no way of telling me who you are. I still don’t know. I just know that you know Willa.” Amber pointed at the queen. “And you know Ivan.” She pointed at the king. “And that you spied on Willa for Ivan.” She pointed at the page card.

  The woman’s arrogant expression crumpled, and she wiped angrily at a tear. “It’s not as if I had a choice. I spied on Ivan for Willa too. They were too damned much alike.”

  The dragon’s eyes gleamed brighter and Amber pointed at her stick. “Don’t, Willa,” she commanded. “Let this one speak for herself. You drove her to whatever she is.”

  Fake Susan stared at the glowing stick in horror. “Willa is here? She’s alive?”

  “She thinks she is. Characters that strong don’t give up easily. Who are you and why are you here?” Amber refused to turn over the rest of the cards. She knew she should, but she was angry that this stranger had lied and polluted her space with ulterior motives.

  “If you’re a psychic, you should know,” Fake Susan mocked, recovering a little.

  “Fine.” Amber flipped the first card in the present-day line. She felt the connection instantly. “Josh, as your ruler. You’re afraid, because he has all the power you covet.” The cards didn’t say that. It was her interpretation of the images crowding into this transparent woman’s mind as she spoke.

  She flipped the next card. “More fear—of a lover? He holds something over you.”

  Fake Susan grew so white, Amber feared she’d faint. “That’s not true. He loves me. He helps me.”

  Ruthlessly, Amber flipped the third card. The Devil. This didn’t feel like Dell, but she didn’t even know who this woman was. She might know Dell in a different way, but there was no denying the perversion, the dark side of this character. “Your lover kills for you?” she suggested.

  “You’re a fraud!” Fake Susan shouted, pushing back and standing up. “You’re just trying to pin Willa’s death on someone else, when everyone knows it’s you. And you sit there fat and happy, scheming like a spider. I don’t know how you killed Sarah, but I’m glad you did. She was a snake in the grass. And now I
’m going to be what Willa was and no one can stop me.”

  She marched out without looking at her future. Without the person who drew the cards, Amber couldn’t interpret them, but she flipped them over anyway.

  The Nine of Swords—vulnerability, loss, the price of pride.

  Five of Coins—desire and gratification, flattery and false promises.

  The Fool—a person driven by base needs.

  Well, Fake Susan certainly knew how to draw a shining future. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t hung around for the interpretation. Before Amber could drop her head in her hands and massage her temples, Nellie popped through the bead curtain.

  “I took her picture and texted it to Josh and Ernest. I figured one of them could identify her. I don’t know how she got your appointment’s name, and I’m not sure she’s operating on all four cylinders.”

  Amber got up to heat water for her tea. “I may be a fat spider, but she’s the Fool.” She pointed at the card. “She’s no Willa and never will be.” She glanced down at the dragon head. The eyes gleamed brighter for a second, then went dark. One blink for yes?

  “But is she a killer?” Nellie asked worriedly.

  Amber glanced at the spread. “The potential is there, under the right circumstances. She’s torn between too many people with power over her. And she doesn’t have a strong character to resist temptation. I’m not sure that pointing a finger at me proves anything.”

  Nell’s phone beeped. She checked her incoming text and turned it to show Amber. “She may be a fool, but Willa’s death left her in a position of power.”

  Amber read the text—Tessa, Willa’s VP.

  Wow. “Ivan’s spy,” she said flatly. “Lovely. I wonder what she thought she’d learn stealing in here like this? Proving I’m a fraud won’t accomplish much. I’d swear that woman was living in a state of terror.”

  “Yeah, well, I would be too if I had Ivan breathing down my neck. A woman has to have balls to stand up to a tyrant like that.” Nellie returned to the front room to greet whoever had just entered.

  Balls, huh. Amber had never aspired to having balls. She simply refused to be walked over ever again.

  Which led her back to tonight. If she had a killer in the audience, how did she want to present herself?

  This wasn’t just about her making a fool of herself anymore. For the first time, she realized she could be laying her life and the lives of others on the line.

  “Amber asked me how much I’d give for her prettiest ring,” Teddy, the jeweler, whispered to Josh backstage. She’d arrived in her t-shirt and miniskirt costume, wearing a concerned frown. “I think she’s planning on leaving town after the memorial. The ring is designer quality and would make a nice deposit on a rental.”

  Friggin’ blasphemous cauldrons of flaming shit. . . Josh caught himself before he flung his phone across the gallery.

  “I hope that doesn’t mean she’s skipping out on tonight.” Crushing down panic, pretending he wasn’t Mount Vesuvius, he gulped coffee, paced, and flipped through the script. As the director, he had to stay focused and not have a heart attack. If Amber left him, he might as well go to jail for murder.

  Letting the cops arrest him would be easier than directing Amber, pushing her to see herself as she was—and not as the chubby kid imprinted on her psyche. Maybe she wouldn’t have to leave Hillvale if she didn’t go on stage tonight.

  Going to jail as the easy way out—good work, boy. Amber had a point.

  He almost melted in relief as she stalked in the back door wearing a blocky pink blazer and bright orange straight skirt. A white silk shell and colorful beads completed the look—feminine and distinctive, but professional enough to work for the part. She’d been right—the cleavage had been for him. Damn, she was good.

  And professional. Even after their fight, she’d showed up on time and ready. He could name half a dozen stars who would have walked.

  As her sidekick, he didn’t really need a costume. He was the wall her energy bounced off of. He just needed to look like his surroundings, so he wore jeans and a jacket, a wrinkled shirt with a loosened tie. She zoomed in on him the instant she entered.

  Amber didn’t flash her trademark smile but nodded knowingly at his outfit. “Good choice,” she said in her crisp, professional voice—already in the role.

  It was impossible to read her mood like this.

  Ernest arrived from the front of the house, looking his usual worried self. “Ivan and Dell came back,” he whispered. “I thought Brad said he couldn’t do the photography, but he’s out there. So are Tessa and Sarah’s family. And the wedding planner. Even the money men. They’re all here.” He sounded terrified. “Including every entertainment reporter in the state.”

  “Along with most of Hillvale, including the chief of police, several of his men, and a few officers from the sheriff’s department,” Amber reminded him. “Just duck for cover if you see any sticks glow.”

  Amber had persuaded Zeke to stay with Mariah, telling him they might need an errand runner. Neither of them wanted him around if Dell or Crystal showed up.

  Josh wanted to ask her about selling her ring, but the others were starting to crowd around, asking about the changes he’d made in the script, nervously questioning their costumes. Val sailed in wearing her gray ghost gown and veil. Harvey tuned his keyboard. It wasn’t a concert quality instrument, but it produced the comic-dramatic effects the script required.

  “The whole wall of the gallery is covered up with memorial wreaths and flowers,” Teddy whispered as she joined the circle of players.

  A farce as a memorial. It just seemed fitting somehow. Even Willa would have appreciated the irony.

  They had no stage curtains other than the muslin they’d used to hide the backstage clutter. Everyone held notes. The audience couldn’t expect a memorial to be memorized. As part of the cast, Josh couldn’t even direct his actors to take their places if they forgot. He had definitely lost it. Willa’s money men were out there, the ones he needed to produce his film. He’d be a laughingstock.

  Being laughed at was what Amber feared—and she was still here. No backing out now.

  Giving up his drug of choice, Josh set aside his coffee cup. His job began here. He addressed their announcer, the police chief’s wife. “Remind them that Willa loved farces, that she started out producing dinner theater mysteries in college. Make them believe this is done in her loving memory.”

  Samantha had been appointed as a non-actor and a person no one in the audience could have a grievance against. She took the stage to welcome their guests and explain that they’d created the memorial to grieve for a bright light extinguished too soon.

  While she spoke, Josh arranged his cast in the order he’d chosen—Val first, for the drama, Amber last, to suck them in. The reporters knew who she was by now. Her bodyguards had kept them at bay until they were slavering like big hungry cats, waiting to pounce.

  And then he sent out these townspeople who trusted him, and he prayed.

  The audience’s silence was deafening as Val and Amber effectively set up the first act on their own. A laugh followed Tullah’s first lines, playing the part of Ernest hiring the detective. Had one of Willa’s staff recognized the caricature of her flamboyant assistant?

  Josh slouched on stage as Amber’s credulous sidekick. He could recite lines well enough and manage a little stage direction while he was at it. “Cheat left,” he whispered to Amber as he passed behind her. She was trying to hide her face from the audience.

  She scowled but followed his progress on stage so she was turned around. If that was tittering from the audience, Josh meant to go down and remove heads. He was so hyped, he could dance across stage, if he’d felt like dancing. He didn’t.

  Harvey’s music took a dramatic turn and the audience shut up. The boy was good if he sensed Josh’s irritation.

  Murmurs arose from the crowd as each cast member appeared, representing people in Willa’s life, whether the
audience recognized them or not. The burly local veterinarian ambled on to portray Brad, the photographer—although the script called him Cad, the ghost’s driver, who always carried a camera with him.

  Val as ghost vanished into the wings to replace her long veil with a short black one and switch out her long skirt for a knee-length one. She minced on wearing her red-soled high heels, introduced as the corpse’s sister. Her arrival produced a gasp and more titters. Josh prayed that meant people were recognizing the characters, not the cast. Val had been well-known once.

  Amber’s performance was nothing short of breath-taking. She almost had Josh weeping as she questioned the grieving sister. She brought the audience to laughter as all five-foot-three of her forced the flamboyant six-foot tall secretary to behave himself. She was astonishingly convincing at not seeing the ghost but creating a word image of her from her questioning.

  The act ended with the discovery of Teddy, the ghost’s secretary, dead on the detective’s doorstep. A sharp gasp of recognition of the recent murder ran through the room. As his sidekick character, Josh took pretend notes while directing his company offstage, muttering his lines of doom. In place of a curtain fall, he signaled Harvey for the flourish and the little cook from the café to open the buffet.

  Dropping his notebook in his jacket pocket, Josh noted Ivan and Dell suffused with fury, heading for the door.

  Thirty-one

  Peering from behind the backstage curtain, Amber gulped as two of their suspects stormed toward the exit. If they couldn’t test the main culprits, the whole production was wasted.

  Josh hastily stepped past the muslin to signal Aaron. They hadn’t managed fancy commemorative glasses as had been suggested, so it was cheap Prosecco in plastic their psychometrist carried as he loped after their escapees.