Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  The Evil Duo tried to brush Aaron off, but the antique dealer wasn’t a small man. He blocked the exit and must have said something conciliatory, perhaps offering flattery. He had that kind of sophistication.

  She gulped in relief as Dell stopped to swig free alcohol. Ivan grudgingly accepted his after Aaron made a production of writing their names on the plastic with a gold Sharpie. Then he indicated the buffet, where more bottles waited.

  The escapees hesitated, deterred by the generous gesture from the sophisticated antique dealer. Amber relaxed as regal Cass sealed the deal by taking Ivan by the arm. She gestured at Dell, then imperiously conducted them toward the food. Cass didn’t chatter, but she had the imposing force of the very best of society’s matrons. Their suspects were in good hands.

  Amber dropped the curtain and nodded thanks at Josh for the glass of wine he handed her. She couldn’t talk about personal differences now. She needed to stay in character.

  Her character wouldn’t worry about the ass she was making of herself. The real Amber could disintegrate later.

  He understood her taciturnity and stuck to his director’s role. “You are magnificent. I think the reporters have already worked out who the characters represent.”

  “There’s a journalist called Stone out there. He recognized me earlier this week but left me alone. I’ll call him up with the audience participation act. I think he’s ham enough to handle it.” She sipped the wine and practiced breathing. This next act was all hers. She just needed Fee and Teddy to narrow down the suspects she would call on. One more hour to go.

  Josh was drinking more coffee, a sign that he was stressing. She took the cup from his hand and carried it off so she could peer around the curtain on the buffet side.

  The display of flowers was stunning. She wondered how many of the people who had sent them had bothered showing up. Guests were surreptitiously checking the tags.

  Part of the cast was mingling with the audience, helping themselves to the food. The Kennedys, owners of the resort and half the town, stayed near Teddy and Fee. That should protect them from any irate suspects.

  As focus of the rumors about love triangles and murder, Josh and Amber prudently stayed backstage, letting the others bring them tidbits of food and gossip.

  “Fee says most of Willa’s friends, family, and employees smell off,” Teddy whispered, handing them plates of appetizers. “She’s particularly concerned about Ivan and Dell because they’re fishy, but that just means they do drugs, and Fee hates drugs. Brad and Tessa apparently smell of skunk and fish. I’m getting flashes of rage and guilt from all four. I think they’re our main suspects. They haven’t let go of their glasses, so Aaron can't look for readings yet.”

  “Thanks, Teddy, you’ve gone beyond the call of duty. You may rest on your corpse’s laurels for the rest of the evening,” Josh said, pacing. “According to Mariah, three of our four suspects have been in the military—Ivan, Dell, and Brad—serving at different times. I can’t see them knifing Sarah, but they may have the know-how. I don’t suppose hired killers would show up, dammit.”

  Teddy snorted. “I’m rather glad hired killers don’t show up.”

  “Ernest is clean?” Amber asked, still in her detective mode. Mariah had given her the same list she’d given Josh.

  “Fee insists that Ernest does not smell like fish. And I sense that he’s enjoying himself immensely. I’ll go back out there and help Aaron gather glasses.” Teddy bounced a curtsy, and still in costume, returned to her Kennedy husband in the audience.

  Samantha arrived, having changed into Gypsy clothing borrowed from Amber. The skirt was far too short and the blouse had to be pinned to keep it from sliding off her tall, slender frame. She wore one of Amber’s favorite shawls draped over her shoulders so the pins weren’t noticeable. She’d let her platinum hair go wild and wore square rose-tinted glasses. “Walker is about to have a nervous breakdown. I’m not sure if he’s worried I’ll run off for a life in Hollywood or that the guilty party may think I’m a real psychic.”

  “I’m pretty sure they won’t confuse you with me,” Amber said wryly. Sam was special, and she loved her like a sister, but Sam was also the model-thin size Amber would never be.

  Of course, Sam would never have curves like hers. Maybe that balanced out.

  “Walker’s just on edge. He hates relying on us. He’s compiled huge files on everyone, but without evidence, he says everything is circumstantial. So it’s up to us to produce a confession.” Sam turned to Josh. “How are you holding up?”

  Josh studied their slightly glowing walking sticks. “Worried.”

  Amber got that. She was terrified. But her detective was only allowed to be concerned, so she kept her character’s confidence wrapped around her. She was painfully aware of Josh’s frostiness. When they were kids, they’d always settled their spats because they needed each other. As adults, they could stand on their own—unless they got arrested, of course.

  As the cast returned backstage, Josh sent Samantha out to take a seat at a table bearing one of the cheaper crystal balls from Amber’s shop. The audience settled in their seats and chatter died with the dramatic flourish of Harvey’s keyboard.

  “I don’t think anyone escaped,” Tullah whispered, peering from behind the curtains. “Fee’s food has them looking mostly mellow. If she put truth serum in the cookies, I can’t tell.”

  No one knew precisely what Fee could do with her cooking. Neither did Fee. She could have poisoned half the audience so they’d wake up dead in the morning. Amber clutched her fingers into her palms and sought calm.

  It was bad enough exposing herself to an audience after all these years, but this audience was live and might contain killers.

  Apparently guessing Amber’s nervousness, Josh reassuringly squeezed her arm. She told herself that was what any good director would do.

  “You can do this,” he reminded her. “We’re here when you’re ready.”

  Because this was where she winged it. . . Taking a deep breath, she sauntered on stage to help Sam set up the next act, the crucial one where they called on the suspects Fee and Teddy had chosen as most likely.

  At her arrival on stage, the audience settled back, wined, dined, and prepared to be entertained. Lance, the gallery operator, had directed his track lights on the stage, leaving the audience with dim overheads, so Amber couldn’t see everyone clearly. That was okay. They’d discussed where she should start.

  “I don’t believe in this mumbo-jumbo,” she curtly told Sam as Psychic. “But let’s see if anyone else believes you’ve captured a ghost in that glass. Choose someone from one of our guests.”

  “I’ll start with a non-believer,” Sam said with the wide-eyed innocence she did so well. “The gentleman in blue on the end of row four. Will you please come up?”

  They’d chosen the most likely suspect to go up first, Dell. He appeared reluctant. But he didn’t know Sam and had no good reason to believe she knew him.

  Amber gestured at the audience. “If you want to hear our psychic prove there are ghosts, stomp your feet.”

  Led by Lucys, the audience stomped. Aaron arrived at Dell’s elbow to escort him. Enthusiastic, the onlookers stomped louder. Caught in the thunder of a hundred pairs of feet and the nonsense about ghosts, Dell caved, although he managed to look belligerent as he climbed on the small stage.

  Sam chanted and waved her hands over the ball until Val appeared in her ghost costume. Tall and solid, she was so obviously not a ghost that the audience just enjoyed her performance as the diva swept dramatically back and forth in front of the triptych mural of the town.

  “Well, is your ghost here? Does she say this person killed her?” Amber asked with appropriate disdain, ignoring the spectral performance.

  “That one is an old fraud,” Val-as-ghost shouted, gesturing at Dell in contempt. “A pornographer who doctors his books to cheat the innocent.”

  Most of the audience accepted the statement as fiction and wait
ed for a reaction. A few gasped and sat up straighter.

  Sam dutifully repeated the ghost’s accusation but Dell’s sagging jowls had already turned purple.

  “This is ludicrous,” he sputtered, glaring at Amber and clenching his fingers into fists. “Did you call me up here to repeat your stupid accusations? I’ll sue.”

  A low murmur from the audience indicated a few more understood the play had taken an interesting turn.

  Josh as her sidekick arrived with his notebook. “The dead woman’s auditor has evidence of fraud,” he said cheerfully. “Looks like our psychic may actually have a connection with Dial-the-Dead.”

  Dell took a swing at Josh, who obligingly ducked as if it had been written into the script. Someone in the audience screamed, and the murmurs grew louder. Amber bit back a gasp and held onto her character’s impartiality.

  “I’ll sue you and your lying whore!” Dell shouted, shaking his fist at her.

  Already stressed and hyped, Josh straightened from his crouch with fists raised—totally out of character. Amber stuck her hand out to halt any fight so she could study the images Dell’s fear and fury projected. All she saw was his pornography collection—no hint of murder.

  “Fraud does not prove he is a killer,” she chided her sidekick. “Madame Psychic, does your ghost call this man a killer?”

  Val moaned and wept and swept back and forth across the platform.

  “She’s not sure, ma’am,” Sam replied.

  Dell stalked off, fuming. Josh gave him a surreptitious finger. Amber smacked his arm and returning to pacing as if in thought. The part of the audience who didn’t know the rumors about Dell tittered, amused. The in-crowd, however. . . were people Amber would rather not acknowledge. Their murmurs were distracting.

  “Then let us give a reporter the documents on fraud and pornography and let his fate be in the hands of the courts.” Amber whipped out copies of the documents Walker’s corporate gumshoes had pried from Willa’s auditors. “Mr. Stone, perhaps you would come up and use these wisely?”

  “Old news,” the tanned, silver-haired TV reporter said snidely, jogging up to take the papers. “But verification goes a long way towards preventing lawsuits. Thanks. Hey, Dell,” he shouted as he stepped back down. “Want an exclusive interview to tell your side of the story?”

  Half the audience laughed, thinking Stone part of the cast. Others had their phones out, cursing the lack of signal as they attempted to make calls. A few were snapping photos and texting.

  Dell fled. Amber checked that Aaron had swept up his abandoned wineglass. She hadn’t seen any hint of Willa in Dell’s thoughts. She hoped Aaron would verify her impression. He shook his head, and she sucked in air. One down, three to go.

  The reporter didn’t follow Dell, but settled back in his chair with a smirk. Nice to know someone was enjoying the production.

  “Madame Psychic, I do not have all day,” Amber said curtly. “Who else do you see in your magic crystal?”

  Val as the ghost responded chillingly, “My father spied on me. He never wanted me to succeed. He thought I would fail, but I made a fool of him!”

  Amber saw a lot of wise insight on Josh’s part in that line, whether he knew it or not. The excited murmur of the Hollywood set said they got it too.

  Sam circled her hands over the ball. “The ghost fears her father, madam. I see a silver-haired, distinguished gentleman, if the spirits would fetch him, please.”

  In a normal farce, the ushers or the sidekick would rush into the audience and find any man who came anywhere near the description. In this case, Tullah as the dead woman’s assistant swept into the audience and took Ivan by the arm. Tullah was not small. Ivan might have been slightly taller and heavier, but flustered, he didn’t resist a female African-American caricature of Ernest in madras pants and beret.

  “We searched your daughter’s suitcase, sir,” Amber intoned in her role as impassive detective. “We know for fact that you spied on your daughter. To what purpose, may I ask?”

  His spurt of rage produced a strong impression of arguing with Tessa, but nothing more, to Amber’s disappointment. But then, she’d never really expected Ivan to have dirtied his hands with murder. At best, she might have hoped for an impression of hiring a hitman.

  “Fathers watch over daughters,” Ivan said in scorn. “Your ghost is an hysteric.”

  The stage lights blinked twice. That wasn’t in the script. Uh oh.

  Amber glanced worriedly to the Lucy sticks they’d placed in an umbrella rack. They blinked in tandem with the stage lights. Willa had decided to make her presence known.

  Swallowing dismay, she continued with the planned action, pointing at one of the props, Josh’s fancy metal suitcase. “We found evidence in your daughter’s bag that you were undermining her company to prevent her from succeeding.”

  The stage lights and crystals flashed a victorious Yes!

  “That’s an outright lie! If anything, she was undermining mine!”

  The Hollywood half of the audience practically came out of their seats at Ivan’s accusation at his own daughter’s memorial service. Amber turned a quelling glare on their noise, and they settled down, whispering excitedly.

  “She was buying out my board, threatening to put me out to pasture. Of course, I kept an eye on her.” In self-righteous fury, Ivan turned to stalk off.

  Without warning, the suitcase toppled into his path.

  As the fallen suitcase hit Ivan’s foot, Amber saw a fearful flash of Tessa and Brad in his mind. She needed her cards to focus.

  The bag slammed open, and an object tumbled out. Josh grabbed it before Ivan could recover from his astonishment at magically toppling suitcases. None of this had been planned.

  Amber grabbed her walking stick, hoping to strangle Willa before she could cause harm.

  “I’ll be damned,” Josh said, gaping at the object in his hand. “She must have hidden a thumb drive in the lining. How the hell. . .” That wasn’t in the script either, but at least he’d refrained from saying Willa and totally breaking character. He amended his error by hastily correcting, “I mean, our victim must have hidden a computer disk in the lining.”

  Josh crouched to rip open the rest of the lining snaps, producing a file folder. “This isn’t mine.”

  Had Willa really hidden a thumb drive in Josh’s suitcase?

  The audience murmurs had become a low rumble. A few people slipped out the door, presumably to find landlines. Amber scrambled for a way to bring the scene back to the script and keep people in their seats.

  Ivan grabbed for the folder in Josh’s hand. Someone in the audience, caught up in the action, screamed a warning. Josh dodged, flipping through the pages as he did so. Amber snatched the thumb drive from his hand, prepared to pass it on to Walker waiting at the edge of the platform.

  Furious, Ivan shoved Amber to reach the thumb drive. With a cry, she felt her weak knee give out, and she toppled.

  With a furious roar, Josh flung the folder at Sam’s table and came out swinging.

  Thirty-two

  Unable to reach Amber to stop her fall, already ripe for battle, Josh reverted to his angry youth. He plowed his fist into Ivan’s lipo-suctioned midsection, releasing his stress and fury on the man who’d hurt Amber and tried to ruin his own daughter. His blow produced only an unsatisfying oomph.

  Several women cheered. Others screamed. Men shouted in shock. Josh didn’t care if this shredded his reputation.

  He’d stored a lot of rage against this tyrant, and he wasn’t done. His second blow caught Willa’s father beneath his glass jaw, and the taller man toppled backward over the suitcase. It felt damned good avenging the women Ivan had mistreated.

  The audience erupted in chaos.

  Ignoring the spectators and his stinging knuckles, Josh held out his hand to help Amber to her feet. Instead of accepting his offer, she plopped down like a lead weight on Ivan’s middle to prevent him from sitting up. Josh wasn’t psychic but even he c
ould feel her steam.

  “Bloody despotic bastard,” she muttered under her breath.

  Josh ached to call off this farce before she got hurt, but trouper that she was, she dived right back into her role of detective. With self-importance, she held up the thumb drive and papers to the impassive cop crossing the platform. “Chief Walker, if you would escort the gentleman out of the room with our victims’ evidence, I’ll continue my murder investigation.”

  Which meant, Josh thought, that she couldn’t pin murder on Ivan, damn. He nursed his fist and watched for any signal that the old goat might be their suspect. Nothing. The audience was now at low roar, but not a single light blinked. Crap. Without knowing what was on the thumb drive or in the file, they’d have to continue as planned.

  Amber stood up so Walker and one of his men could lead Ivan away. Public assault would barely dent Ivan’s reputation. He had too much money and power.

  This time, when Josh offered his hand, Amber took it, using him and her stick for balance.

  “Madame Psychic, does your ghost say her father is a killer?” Amber asked, returning to the script.

  Val railed and cursed and said nothing of the sort. Shakespeare would have loved her.

  Punching hadn’t settled Josh’s inner turmoil. He was on edge, forcing himself not to pace, as Amber went through the routine of calling the next suspect. They’d planned on bringing in Ernest, if only for the laugh factor—but she unexpectedly called for Tessa.

  The audience quieted expectantly. Everyone now seemed to understand that the farce wasn’t entirely about fictional characters, even though it memorialized Willa’s love of irony and brutal humor.

  Tessa was practically belligerent as she marched up, unaccompanied. “You’ve got nothing on me,” Willa’s VP declared before anyone spoke a line. “You won’t trick me with your phony winds.”

  Interesting. They hadn’t used any fans to create wind. Did Tessa have prior experience with Willa’s spectral presence? Josh shot Amber a glance, and her lips tilted upward. Shit. Tessa had been bothering Amber too.