It made Amber’s head hurt if she thought about it too hard.
She stood on a sidewalk—a sidewalk that looked similar to the one she’d seen a few minutes before when Simon tried to guide her to Jameson’s house. She couldn’t see the black door at the end of the walk this time; now she saw the street Jameson had lived on. Several cars lined the street and the sound of laughter and music filled the air.
A man climbed out of a sleek black car at the curb and then made his way toward the front walk of the house. He was a handsome man in his mid-fifties with short light brown hair, blue eyes, and a cleft chin. He had one hand in the pocket of his charcoal gray slacks as he walked. More like swaggered. He waved at someone coming up the street from the other direction. One hand in the air like a celebrity acknowledging the masses. His black button-up shirt fit snuggly against his fit form.
“Is that you, Ricinus?” the man called out.
Amber’s view suddenly shifted, toward the standing-open black door that led into the Jameson house. Simon clearly had put his phone in his pocket. Amber imagined the eye of the phone’s camera lens peeking over the top of his pocket, silently watching.
“Hey, Tillman,” she heard Simon say, and could detect a hint of unease in his voice. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
“Ah, you know me,” Tillman said. “I never miss a party. Plus, I hear Jameson’s got an open bar this evening. The wife is home with the kid and Daddy is ready to mingle.”
Amber was forcibly knocked from the memory then. Not from the magic kicking her out, but from Simon taking her by the shoulders and giving her a hard shake.
“Hurry!” came Bianca’s shout from the kitchen.
Still groggy from the abrupt shift from memory to present, Amber hurried after Simon out of the office, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. They collapsed into their respective chairs just as Officer Wilson gave a great groan and pushed himself to sitting.
“I think the weather should hold for the festivals, don’t you think?” Simon asked casually, as if they hadn’t just sprinted across his house a second before. He took a slow sip of lemonade. “Oh, nice of you to join us, Wilson! Are you feeling okay? Have you been sleeping well lately?”
The man’s calculating gaze went from vulture to hawk-like as he eyed the three of them. “What happened?”
“You fell asleep right after you finished eating,” Simon said. “Was it the tryptophan in your turkey sandwich?”
Wilson’s eyes narrowed further. With his attention focused on Simon, Wilson said, “I think our little prisoner has had enough visitors today.”
Amber didn’t need to be told twice.
As she drove home, a small smile graced her face, though. Now she knew what Randy Tillman looked like. Which meant she had enough to find him.
That evening, after Amber had closed up shop for the night and gotten both herself and the cats situated, she plopped herself in front of her computer and pulled up a map of the United States. Amber had no way of knowing where Randy Tillman was now and hoped her magic would throw a dot up on her screen if one didn’t appear on either her Edgehill or Marbleglen maps. With both paper maps laid out on her dining room table, and the open laptop placed above them, Amber closed her eyes and pulled up the image in her mind of Randy Tillman. All swaggering gait, blue eyes, and cleft chin.
With her amethyst crystal clutched in her hand, she recited the increasingly easier locator spell.
When she opened her eyes again, she was relieved to see a dot in Marbleglen. And, even better, he was in Magnolia Estates—the gated community where the float barn was located. Amber wondered if Randy Tillman owned a house in the area or if he was renting one while he was negotiating the land deal.
In the morning, she planned to find out.
Chapter 18
After a night of terrible sleep, Amber was awake well before six, which gave her ample time to work on her new disguise. Once she was set up in the bathroom, she sent Willow a video chat request. Her smiling face answered right away.
“Well, good morning, dear sister,” Willow said.
As usual, Willow looked immaculate, even this early in the morning. Amber’s hair resembled something Alley had coughed up that morning.
“Hey. Are you alone?” Amber asked.
“Yes?” Willow said.
“Do you think you could walk me through a few glamour spells?” Amber then gave Willow a very condensed version of what had been happening lately. “Molly Hargrove already has her suspicions about Cassie Westbottom, so I figured it’s time to try another face. But, as you know, I’m not always the best at getting glamours to stick and I don’t know how long I’m going to have to tail the guy today.”
“Remember that time you tried a glamour when you thought our babysitter was asleep and then she busted in on us and found your face sliding off like melted wax?” Willow laughed. “It’s really a wonder that when she fainted, she only gave herself a mild concussion.”
Amber winced at the memory. “See! I need help. Faces sliding off during stakeouts is not recommended. That’s not on Alan’s official list of Things Not To Do During a Stakeout, but it totally would be if he knew it was an option.”
“Ugh. I need to get my butt back to Edgehill soon,” Willow said.
“Is work still really busy?”
Willow hesitated for a millisecond. Anyone else likely would have missed it, but Amber didn’t. “Yeah. Work has been a nightmare for almost a solid month. I would much rather be on a stakeout with you.”
Amber eyed her sister, getting the distinct impression Willow was lying to her, but couldn’t imagine why. “We’re down to less than a month before the Here and Meow. You have to get your butt back here soon.”
“I will! I promise! Just a few more things to wrap up here,” Willow said. “I think I’ll be able to take off two full weeks.”
“Oh, good!”
“Now, go ahead and choose a few features to change, and then I’ll walk you through the no-smudge spell. It’ll keep your glamour in place for a good six hours if you do it right. You’ll just need a bigger shock to the system than usual if you need to knock it loose before then.”
This time, Amber kept her hair the same mid-back length, but instead of brown, she turned it copper. Her eyes went from brown to green, and she added a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“Cute!” Willow said. “You’ve gotten much better!”
While Willow explained the no-smudge spell, Amber worked her hair into two braids, one flopped over either shoulder. She had just tied the elastic around the end of the second braid when Willow finished her lesson.
Amber then did her best to replicate it.
Willow wrinkled her nose. “All of your freckles just migrated to your forehead. Try again.”
After the third try, Amber’s skin began to warm. It was a bit like pressing a hot towel to her face. Well, more like a scalding towel, and Amber winced. The sensation faded instantly. Willow had used the same spell on Amber a couple of months ago before they headed out for a night of dancing at the Sippin’ Siamese, but it hadn’t hurt then.
“Perfect!” Willow said. “You got the full dose of the spell this time; I know that wince well. That should last a good chunk of the day. When it fades, though, the features will immediately switch back to your own, rather than the gradual fading that usually happens. Your skin will warm again just before it dissolves, so if you’re quick enough, you can reapply the spell and get it to last another six or so hours. Otherwise, you have to start over.”
“Thanks, Will.”
“Of course,” she said. After a pause, she said, “Oh, uh … have you heard from Connor lately, by any chance?”
“Last I heard, he was out of town,” Amber said. “Not sure where he went.”
Willow nodded, frowning a little. “Oh.” Something beeped in the background. “Ugh. Coffee is done. Which means I need to get out of here. Oof, do I ever need a vacation. Let me know how it goes,
okay? I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” Amber said.
“Sienna,” Willow said suddenly, and Amber cocked her head. “That should be your name today. Sienna Tate.”
“Sienna Tate it is.”
With a sad little smile, Willow said goodbye and disconnected the call. Did Willow just need a vacation or was something more going on? Despite always looking like she had everything under control, Amber knew from experience—and even more recently with Bianca Pace—that how someone looked on the outside didn’t always reflect what was happening on the inside. Amber had to remind herself that even the “okay” people in her life still needed a check-in sometimes, too.
With Sienna Tate firmly in place, Amber packed up her things, including her Marbleglen map, and hurried out of her apartment and then the shop, hoping no one would see her at this early hour, wondering who this redheaded woman was sneaking out of The Quirky Whisker and into Amber’s car.
Amber didn’t pull out her Marbleglen map again until she made it to Sorrel Garden. She pulled into lot D and took the map out, reinforced the locator spell, and confirmed that Randy Tillman was still in Magnolia Estates.
Giving her new face a quick scan, she found Sienna’s green-eyed gaze staring back. It was always jarring to look in a mirror and see a face that wasn’t hers staring back, but she had at least grown used to the sight of Cassie Westbottom. Sienna Tate was still new.
Amber backed out of the lot and followed the same path she had taken this past weekend when Kim had driven them to the float barn. She had texted Kim last night asking for the gate code so she could program it into her phone for future reference, and Kim had given it to her without asking any questions other than, Have you heard from Edgar lately?
Times certainly had changed; it had been a long time since anyone had asked Amber the Recluse of others’ whereabouts.
Randy Tillman was a few streets down from the float barn on Sweetbay Court. His dot was smack-dab in the middle of a sprawling one-story house with a four-car garage and an elaborate garden out front. Amber was still on the main road—inching toward 86 Cylindrica Lane—when one of the garage doors on the Tillman house opened. Eyes wide, Amber kept moving, but made a quick U-turn and parked a couple of streets past Cylindrica, on the opposite side of the road. She took out her map and opened it wide across her steering wheel, so that should anyone drive past her, they’d think she was lost … and had time-warped from the past, because who used paper maps anymore other than the elderly and creepers on stakeouts?
In her rearview mirror, she saw a large black SUV approaching. A woman was in the driver’s seat and what looked to be a teenage boy was beside her. Amber could just make out a closing garage door in the distance. Checking her map, Amber found the Randy Tillman dot still in place. The woman and the teen drove past Amber, neither so much as glancing over as they went by.
Amber knew she had to make a decision now: either wait to see if Randy would be leaving soon, too, or approach the house now since he was presumably alone inside. As Amber stared at the house in her rearview, anxiously worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth, she wondered how Alan Peterson did this as a chosen career. It was either incredibly boring or incredibly stressful, with little in between. How was she supposed to know which course of action to take? Approaching Randy now could be extremely dangerous, even with magic on her side.
She stared at Tillman’s dot for a little longer, then fished her phone out of her purse.
He picked up right away. “Peterson.”
“Hi, Alan,” Amber said. “I need some advice.”
“All right …”
“There’s another person on the suspect list of who actually killed Eric Jameson. His name is Randy Tillman. He’s a land developer, and he’s currently in Marbleglen—but I think he might just be renting.”
Alan was silent for a beat. “Are you outside his house right now?”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
Chuckling softly, he said, “So that’s a yes. You’re trying a little too hard to sound casual. Did you at least remember to lock your doors this time?”
She hit the power lock button. “Yes, Alan. I’m not an amateur.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Tell me about Tillman.”
“Aside from Daniels, Tillman has something to gain from Jameson being out of the picture,” Amber said, then explained what she’d learned from Simon yesterday. “But I still don’t know who pulled the trigger.”
“And how do you plan to find out if it was Tillman?” Alan asked. “Can’t just waltz in there and ask him to tell you the truth.”
Technically, Amber could, but she didn’t say as much. “What Simon’s lawyer needs is a case of reasonable doubt, right? Maybe we don’t have to prove that Simon didn’t do it so much as we need to prove that it’s likely someone else had reason to.”
“Good,” he said. “So you need proof that something shady happened during that deal with Hugh Woodbury—which will be hard to prove since it happened decades ago and Hugh is dead—or that Tillman’s involved with the supposed plot to take down Joe Cooper.”
“Right,” Amber said, nodding.
“I’m guessing you looked him up as best you could or asked around about him enough to find his address. That’s a good start. You’ll need to get a feel for the guy and his habits. Watch him for a few days. Once you get an idea of his routine, you’ll be able to approach him. Tell him you’re new to the area and you wanted to know if he likes the neighborhood,” Alan said. “If he’s got a dog, find a way to chat him up about the breed. Feign car trouble. Wait until you see him in a coffee shop and accidentally knock over his drink and offer to buy him a new one. You’ll think of something.”
A few days? Amber would lose her marbles if she had to follow the guy around for hours, let alone days. “Got it. Thanks. Hey, when’s your date with Ann Marie?”
“Saturday,” he said, clearly smiling. “Try not to get into any trouble, okay? I may need advice later, too. I heard you were dating two guys at once.”
Ugh.
“I’m as bad at dating as you are at being a PI, so this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Alan said. “We’ll be in touch soon. And keep your doors locked!”
Amber rolled her eyes and hung up on him. Ann Marie could have the sourpuss.
Randy Tillman left his house around noon to go on an hour jog with his golden retriever. He left again around three. Amber had watched his dot, trying to decide if she should follow him, but instead decided to move her car so that he wouldn’t see her still parked near his house when he returned. He was gone for twenty-five minutes; he’d only left to pick up lunch from a café in town. His wife returned after five. Randy didn’t leave the house again.
Amber had left the gated community three times during the day—twice to use a restroom, and once to pick up two sandwiches to help her survive the wait. She’d eaten them both within an hour.
After that, she’d downloaded a new game on her phone. By the time she finally decided to go back home, she was on level 56 and her thumb hurt. Thank goodness for good data plans.
On the drive back, she honestly had to fight off tears at the thought of doing this all again the next day. It was all so boring.
Amber absolutely was not meant to be a PI. She would never admit this to Alan, though.
After scheduling Daisy, Lily, and Ben in rotating shifts for the following two days, Amber—disguised once again as Sienna Tate—returned to Magnolia Estates early the next morning. She’d stayed out of sight for the most part, but worried a neighbor was eventually going to call security on her for hanging out in her car in various parts of the gated community. So, on Friday, partly for the sake of her own sanity, she parked outside of Magnolia Estates near a park for a change of scenery.
One positive to all this loitering was that the hours in the car allowed Amber to perfect a noise-enhancing spell. After seeing both Simon and Zelda perform noise-canceling spells, Amber took that concep
t and reversed it. After two days of practice, she had perfected it to latch onto a person in question, as if attaching an electronic bug to the person’s clothing, their conversation ringing in her head with a clarity that made her feel as if the person was in the car with her. She felt terrible eavesdropping on total strangers, so she only kept the spell active long enough to prove it worked.
It wasn’t until the late morning on Friday that Tillman finally broke his rather dull routine.
Amber now recognized the black Mercedes he drove, so when she saw it ease out of the gate, she knew it was him even before she checked her map to confirm that the Tillman dot was on the move. Hoping this change meant he was up to something interesting and not that he was out on another food run, Amber followed him this time.
Magnolia Estates was in the northwest corner of the flower-shaped town, and Randy headed back through the city center, and then headed southeast, toward Lilac Garden. Amber wondered if Randy was meeting a friend in one of the many tucked-away neighborhoods, but instead he pulled into Parking Lot C of the garden, and then casually strolled for the entrance.
Amber drove past the lot so Randy was less likely to make note of her car if she pulled in shortly after he had, but he had his attention focused on his phone screen anyway, his thumbs frantically tapping away. Once Amber had made a U-turn just past the lot and made her way back, Randy had already disappeared inside the garden.
Amber parked, checked her map to confirm that Randy was inside, and then climbed out. There were only four other cars parked here, all of them pickup trucks loaded down with gardening supplies.
Just as Amber was locking her door, another car swung into the lot. Moments later, Mayor Sable stepped out. The five-foot-four woman was dressed in black slacks, a silk maroon blouse with a smart black blazer buttoned over it, and a pair of low-heeled shoes that clicked with authority as she walked toward the garden’s entrance. Her short curly brown hair flapped a bit in the breeze as the woman marched along. Amber still stood by the closed driver’s side door of her car, watching the mayor over the roof, when Yvette Sable glanced over her shoulder at Amber. Amber swallowed a gasp before she remembered that she was Sienna Tate right now, not Amber Blackwood. Yvette’s brown eyes narrowed slightly behind her glasses.
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