When Amber thought of Ivy and Miles Henbane—her maternal grandparents—she wondered if they were like Betty and Bobby. A couple who genuinely enjoyed each other even after decades of marriage.
Assuming, of course, that her grandparents were still alive.
Needing to think about something else, she gazed around the always-immaculate shop. Every surface gleamed. The white tile floor was shiny, the chrome and glass display cases were fingerprint- and smudge-free, and the whole place smelled of vanilla and sugar. Amber was still amazed that while so much of the decor in the shop was a light pink—the cabinets, light fixtures, trim around the doors and windows, and the pink-and-gray granite counters—the Harrises had managed to make the place feel completely homey rather than gaudy.
Eyeing the large display case nearest her, Amber could see their supply had almost been bought out. They would be working through lunch to restock the shelves and get another batch into the ovens. How these two managed to run the shop everyday by themselves was even more miraculous than the flavor of Betty’s Oreo Dreams.
A few minutes later, Betty closed and locked the door behind a woman who was already halfway through her giant Chocolate Chocolate Surprise, humming happily as she went.
Bobby waved to Amber from behind the counter. “How you holding up?”
“Okay,” she said. “You two must be exhausted.”
He grinned at her. “It’s the good kind of tired. Not to be rude, hon, but I gotta get this batch out of the oven.” With another wave, he disappeared through the swinging door at the back.
“Phew!” Betty said, resting her back against the door. “Word must have gotten out that we’re in the running for Best in Edgehill, because ever since we got officially nominated, we’ve been run ragged trying to stay on top of all the orders. To be this busy on a Monday? Goodness.”
“Have you changed your mind about hiring some help?” Amber asked.
Betty’s daughter had been helping out in the shop up until six months ago, before she and her husband had moved out of state for a job opportunity. Betty and Bobby had been running the place solo ever since. Between needing to replace some of their bigger equipment—a new cupcake freezer, and a larger oven—they worried they’d be unable to also afford to hire an employee.
“If you get the Best of Edgehill designation, you might have to,” Amber said. “At least for the Here and Meow—you’ve never run this place without help during the festival, have you?”
Betty shook her head, gaze flitting around her shop. “Bobby says I’m being stubborn, and he thinks I’m scared to hire anyone but family. But …” She turned to Amber. “Have you ever wanted something so badly you start to get superstitious? What if I hire someone to help in preparation for being busy and then demand grinds to a halt? What if hiring someone jinxes my chances?”
Amber cocked a brow.
Betty sighed loudly. “I know. I’m being irrational. Even though this is only the second Best of, Olivia’s success after Lollicat won last year set the bar so high. It showed what’s possible if you get the label. I never let myself dream this little bakery would be more than what it is right now … and now the possibilities feel tangible, if that makes sense?”
“It totally does,” Amber said. “But your hard work and amazing recipes is what got you here. Nothing—not even hiring someone to help out—is going to jeopardize that. You needed help before you got the nomination; hiring someone now isn’t you celebrating your win early or anything like that. You have a successful business, woman! Successful businesses hire help. Period.”
Betty nodded absently, but it looked like she was considering the possibility, at least. “I’m almost sixty-five. I should be thinking about retirement, not expanding my business.”
“Pfft,” Amber commented. “If this is what you want, it doesn’t matter how old you are.”
Betty smiled at that. “Thank you, sugar,” she said. “Now, what can I do for you?” She pushed away from the door.
“Got any more of those Oreo Dreams?”
With a laugh, she said, “Sure do.” As she went behind the counter to grab Amber’s cupcake, she said, “How’ve you been? Any news about Chloe?”
“Nope.” No news Amber could share, anyway. “She’s been gone for almost four full days now.” She walked to the counter. “Have you caught wind of any interesting gossip since yesterday?”
“Not since yesterday,” Betty said. “That woman who just left made me remember something though. It happened on Wednesday evening—the day before Chloe went missing.”
Interest piqued, Amber asked, “What kind of something?”
After slapping a sticker to the front of the single-cupcake box to keep it closed, Betty pushed it aside, then placed one hand on the counter, and one on her hip. “Well, on Wednesday, Francine Robins came in here and she was, to put it lightly, a mess.”
“Frank’s assistant?” Amber asked.
Betty nodded. “Yep. Well, ex-assistant. He fired her on Wednesday.”
“Really?” Amber asked. “She’d been working for him for years. Any idea what happened?”
“I can only guess,” Betty said. “But that woman chowing down on a Chocolate Chocolate Surprise as she walked out of here made me think of Francine. On Wednesday, she came in here asking for every variation of a chocolate cupcake I had. Her eyes were a bit puffy, and judging by the bag she carried, it looked like she’d already been to Cat’s Creamery for ice cream. I asked her if she was okay, and as I was getting her cakes ready, she just started ranting. She called the mayor a monster and said that he’d fired her for ‘being too nosy.’ She was just carrying on, so I let her talk—seemed like she just needed to vent. Happens in here more often than you’d think. Then Francine said, ‘I have to see his finances because I’m the one who’s booking all his events! How can that be too nosy!’ She paid for her cupcakes, downed a Chocolate Chocolate Surprise in two bites right here at the counter, burst into tears, and left.”
“Geez,” Amber said.
“Yep,” said Betty. “I’ve always liked the mayor, but now I’m starting to wonder who we have running our town. Apparently even the cause of death of Chloe’s mother is suspicious.”
“I heard the same thing,” Amber said slowly.
Francine Robins had knowledge of the mayor’s daily habits, and she was skilled at financial matters. A light bulb went off in Amber’s head.
“Hey, can I get a dozen Chocolate Chocolate Surprise, too? All this talk of chocolate has gotten to me.”
Betty laughed. “Sure thing, sugar.”
After Amber left the shop, she called Lily Bowen and asked if she and Daisy could cover the shop for a little longer after lunch. Once she had confirmation, she let herself into the still-closed Quirky Whisker and placed the cupcakes on the counter. For the next twenty minutes, she set about finding a basket big enough to hold a box of a dozen cupcakes, and then looked up Francine Robins online. After dashing upstairs to feed the cats, she did a quick locator spell on Francine. As Amber hoped, she was at home. Amber knew if she was recently unemployed, that was where she’d be.
It would take Amber a good twenty-five minutes to make it to Francine’s on her bike. A quick consult with her grimoire later, she threw her messenger bag over her shoulder, called a goodbye to Tom and Alley, grabbed her bribery cupcakes and basket, then hurried out to her small outdoor storage closet. Closing herself in the small space, she conducted a spell to fasten the wide mesh basket to the front of her handlebars. She only hoped the spell held for the duration of the ride. There weren’t enough words at her disposal to describe how devastating it would be to drop a dozen of Betty’s Chocolate Chocolate Surprise cupcakes.
Once the box was snugly inside, and her own smaller cupcake was resting on top, she wheeled herself out of the storage closet. With her bike resting against the wall, she called Kim, hoping her friend was on her lunch break, too.
“Hey, Amber!” Kim answered almost immediately. “Are you okay? W
hat happened?”
“Yes, I’m fine?”
“Oh, phew,” she said. “I guess I’m just not used to hearing from you unless we have a Here and Meow meeting coming up, so I assumed it was bad news.”
Amber’s face flushed. Once they found Chloe, she and Kim would go out to dinner to just talk about … things. Guys? Yes! They could talk about guys. And Amber could ask about Kim’s family. Did she have siblings? Ugh.
Then she realized that the reason she was calling her was related to the Here and Meow and her face flushed even further.
“Are we still looking for a finance person for the committee to replace Whitney?”
“Yes! Do you know of someone?”
“I might,” Amber said. “I’m going to meet her now. I just wanted to check with you first; I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“Step all over them! Please!”
Amber laughed.
“Oh! And while I have you on the phone, can I ask you a huge favor?” Kim said. “It’s totally last minute, so it’s okay if you can’t, but there’s a Job and Career Fair at Edgehill High tomorrow morning from 11 till about 1. Is there any way you can help Ann Marie with our table? We’re trying to snag as many student volunteers as we can and the seniors are going to all be there for the fair. Several teachers are offering extra credit to the students who volunteer for the Here and Meow this year. Ann Marie was going to run it with Chloe but, well …”
Amber blew out a breath that puffed out her cheeks. Lily and Daisy likely could keep the store running while she helped Ann Marie. Luckily Lily had graduated high school last year, so they were now both more readily available. If Amber needed last-minute help, say, on a Monday morning, they usually could. Besides, Kim’s earlier comment about Amber only calling her for Here and Meow details had made her feel horribly guilty. “Sure. I can make that work. Just email me details.”
Kim cheered. “Oh, you’re such a doll, Amber, I swear. I’ll be in touch soon!”
After disconnecting the call, Amber scrolled through her contacts again. She jammed earbuds into her ears, then hit dial. When it started ringing, she shoved her phone into the front pocket of her messenger bag. She had already started pedaling down Russian Blue Avenue by the time the chief answered.
“Hey, Amber,” the chief said, somewhat cautiously. “What’s up?”
“Do you have a revised policy on when I’m allowed to interview potential witnesses?”
His pause was so long, Amber worried she’d managed to hang up on him on accident. “Uhh … you’re not allowed to interview anyone, Amber. Why are you breathing so hard?”
“I’m … biking,” she said. “And what if it’s more of a … casual conversation where I ask things that might provide helpful answers?”
“That’s an interview, Amber. You’re not allowed to do those.” When Amber didn’t reply, he said, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it.”
“I thought you wanted my help! You had me use a locator spell on Chloe’s lipstick,” she said. “I’m sure that wasn’t exactly by the book.”
“Yes, but I asked you to help. If you do it on your own, it’s meddling.”
“Is it really meddling if I’m just dropping off cupcakes to a very sad woman?”
“What woman?”
“A woman who is currently sad?”
She could feel him glaring at her through the phone. She needed to hang up on him now, but it would be very difficult to do so while she was moving. Releasing the handlebars, she sat straight up, balancing without the use of her hands. All her hours of riding around Edgehill as a bored teenager were paying off. Now, she just hoped she could maintain this without slamming into a parked car while she was distracted. She fished her phone out of the front pocket of her messenger bag.
“Amber … what are you doing?”
She made a terrible imitation of static. “I … can’t … reception … bye.” And then she tapped her phone to end the call, wincing. He called back immediately, and she hung up, quickly stuffing her phone back into her bag. He called twice more during her bike ride, but she didn’t pick up. She imagined him stomping around his office in a huff. Oh, he was going to be so angry with her.
She’d deal with that later.
Francine lived about a mile from the Deidricks, in a modest one-story house on a quiet street. The house was painted white and had soft blue accents, and there was a small front lawn bisected by a cement walkway that led to a small patio. A large oak tree rose up from the right side of the lawn, its wide branches stretching over most of the house. A Siamese cat sat in a windowsill, eyeing Amber with mild interest as she wheeled up the sidewalk. Amber left her bike on the pathway, and carefully plucked the wide pink box out of the basket, leaving her Oreo Dream inside. Her lower back felt damp from the trek over here and she hoped she wasn’t a sweaty mess, or that her hair had turned into a windblown disaster.
As she approached the navy blue front door, the Siamese in the windowsill fled. Amber knocked.
On the way over, she’d worked through any number of things she thought she could ask Francine, but now that she was standing here, holding a very large box of cupcakes, she started to deeply regret her impulsive decision.
The door opened and an extremely disheveled black-haired woman stared out at her. One hand clutched the handle of a wide-rimmed red coffee mug, and the other held fast to the doorknob. The vixen from happy hour night was nowhere to be found. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, there was a ring of day-old mascara around her eyes, and she had a ratty red-plaid robe cinched tightly around her waist. Her feet were shoved into black fur-lined slippers.
When Amber just stood there standing at her, Francine finally said, “Sorry, I don’t want to buy any cookies,” and moved to close the door.
“Oh, no, I’m not selling anything,” Amber said quickly. “I’m Amber Blackwood and I’m on the Here and Meow Committee. I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in joining us. These,” she said, holding the box out like the offering they were, “are a dozen Chocolate Chocolate Surprise cupcakes from Purrfectly Scrumptious.”
Francine blinked at her rapidly. “Are you an angel in disguise?”
“Ha! Hardly.”
Stepping back and opening the door further, Francine ushered Amber inside.
The small front entryway had a faux-stone tile flooring, and Amber’s boots were directly in the middle of a round forest green mat. A hallway stretched forward from the front door, and on either side of the entryway, arched doorways led both left and right. A bench seat with a plush dark green cushion was pressed against the left wall. It had three cubbyholes below the bench; cream-colored fabric boxes were slotted into spaces on either end. On the opposite wall was a freestanding coat rack, a mirror making up its back. Between a hanging black trench on one side of the mirror and a navy blue peacoat on the other, Amber got confirmation from her reflection that she was, in fact, a windblown mess. How unfortunate.
“Would you like coffee or anything?” Francine asked, redirecting Amber’s attention, and hoisting her mug into the air a fraction. Amber wondered if it was just coffee in that mug. Given Francine’s semi-glassy expression, Amber thought not.
“Oh, no, thank you. I just wanted to chat for a moment, if you have the time.”
“I’ve got nothing but time now,” she muttered, then walked through the leftmost archway.
Shrugging to herself, Amber followed Francine into her living room.
Amber guessed the space usually was kept tidy, but at the moment, the beige Berber carpet was littered with kicked-off shoes there, a discarded jacket here, and what had once been a mouse-shaped cat toy festooned with feathers lay gutted under the oval glass coffee table. The parts of the glass surface that weren’t dotted with water and coffee rings were heaped with stained glasses, mugs, plates covered in crumbs, and a pizza box from Patch’s Pizza, the hint of a few shriveled olives still left in the partly open box.
A
white leather couch piled high with blankets had a pair of Siamese cats lying side by side on the far end of it, their blue eyes focused on Amber. White leather wingback chairs were positioned across from each other, the oval coffee table between them. The flat-screen TV on the wall opposite the couch had a paused movie or TV show frozen on a man and woman laughing.
“Sorry about the mess,” Francine said, then chugged down the rest of whatever was in her mug before adding it to the collection forming on the coffee table. “It’s been a rough few days. A rough week, really.”
Amber watched as Francine shoved blankets aside on the couch so Amber had a place to sit, then stacked cups and plates on the coffee table to make room for the cupcake box. The moment Amber set it down and sat precariously on the edge of the cleared-off couch cushion, Francine had the box open and was wiggling her fingers over the sea of the twelve perfectly sculpted chocolate frosting swirls, trying to pick which one she should start with. Amber left her bag looped over her shoulder and tucked it close to her side.
Once the cupcake was selected, Francine flopped into one of the wingback chairs, freed the cupcake from its wrapping, and devoured it in three bites, groaning. Amber’s stomach growled as she thought of her own sugar lunch still in the basket of her bike. The basket that very well could fall off at any moment, since knowing how long a spell might last was not an exact science. Her grand plan to eat an Oreo Dream for lunch had been derailed for this little impromptu meeting.
“So I wanted to find out what interest you might have in the financial director position with the Here and Meow Committee. It’s unpaid, of course, and I can’t make any decisions on the staff, as Kimberly Jones would have final say, but I would be happy to pass your name along with a personal recommendation if you think it might be something you’d be interested in.”
Francine leaned forward to drop the folded-up cupcake wrapper on top of the box. It took her several long seconds to finally say, “Why me? I know of you, but I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation before today.”
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