Pawsitively Secretive

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  They didn’t reply.

  She gave the glass a tentative sniff. No scent. After reciting the incantation, she said, “All right, well, here goes nothing. Show me Chloe Deidrick.” Then she chugged down the contents of the glass.

  Almost immediately, her vision started to blacken at the edges. She had enough time to place her empty glass on her nightstand beside her grimoire, and then she tumbled into sleep.

  The windowless room was dark, and the walls were cement and unfinished. A mattress lay in a corner, directly on the floor. The sheets on the bed were clean, the dark blue blanket on top soft and new. There was only one pillow, but it was fluffy. There was no other furniture here. On the wall opposite the bed was the distinct outline of a door, but there was no knob or handle on the inside, just a round, flat metal disc where a knob should have been.

  Chloe sat on the mattress with her back to the rough wall and the blanket wrapped around her knees. She angled her head to the upper right corner of the room, where a black wireless camera was mounted into the ceiling, its all-seeing eye trained on her.

  A knock sounded on the door. Four quick raps. Chloe flinched with each one.

  Slowly, the door opened, but Chloe made no move toward it.

  Blackness lay beyond, but the door didn’t open far enough to reveal much.

  Chloe reached out and slapped an open palm against the rough wall. One, two, three, four in quick succession. Then she pulled her hand back to wrap her arm around her knees again.

  A square paper plate slid into the room, topped with a piece of buttered toast cut diagonally into two triangles, a scrambled egg, and three pieces of bacon. No silverware. A man’s hand reached in to place a plastic cup of water beside the plate. A rolled-up newspaper slid into the room next.

  The door quickly closed, and a lock engaged. Four quick knocks followed.

  It wasn’t until the second set of knocks that Chloe moved. She darted forward on her hands and knees, not for the food, but for the newspaper. She quickly unrolled it, her hands shaking. “Edgehill Gazette” was printed at the top of the paper. The top story was, unsurprisingly, about her. Connor Declan’s name was in the byline.

  “Mayor Deidrick’s Daughter Missing for a Full Week.”

  The picture featured was of the mayor standing on one of the tables outside the Sippin’ Siamese, a megaphone to his lips. Chloe placed a finger on the image of her father, her dark red nail polish chipped. Then she picked up her plate of food and newspaper and went back to her mattress. As she used the toast to scoop up the eggs, she read the article about her. A tear slipped down her nose and landed with a splat on the newspaper below, the ink dissolving.

  Amber woke with a start. Sunlight poured in through her bedroom window, spilling over Alley’s back as she slept on the window bench seat.

  Chloe has been gone for seven days?

  Amber checked her cell phone. Today was Wednesday, but Chloe disappeared on a Thursday. The tincture had worked—it had showed her Chloe’s tomorrow. Which meant she was alive and safe now and would be for at least twenty-four hours.

  They still had time to find her.

  Chapter 12

  After Amber fed the cats, she called the chief. It wasn’t until the phone was ringing that it registered with her that it was just after six in the morning. She had to hope that his job and/or the new baby in the house would ensure he was awake, and not that he would answer the early morning call in a groggy panic.

  “Morning, Amber,” the chief said. “Please tell me you’re calling at this ungodly hour because you have good news.”

  “Chloe’s alive,” she said.

  She almost heard his posture straighten, fully alert now. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I don’t know where she is or who has her, but for at least twenty-four hours, she’s okay.” She then proceeded to explain how a premonition tincture worked, but he cut her off in the middle of it.

  “I think I’m at the point where I don’t need the details on how this all works,” he said. “The details give me hives.”

  “Okay, then I won’t explain how I found out that the nosy PI in town wasn’t hired by the mayor,” she said. “Whoever hired Alan Peterson seems to think the mayor can’t be trusted. Have you been able to find out anything about Shannon? Is there some way that this client of Alan’s is related to Chloe or Shannon somehow? Who else would be invested enough in Chloe’s disappearance other than a family member?”

  After a long pause, he said, “There’s a news article from a small town in Montana that details Shannon’s car accident seventeen years ago. She hit a patch of black ice and her car went into a lake, where she drowned. There were marks on her body that imply she’d suffered physical abuse for a while, but none of her injuries are what killed her—the car pitching into near freezing water is what did that. There’s an obituary for her in that paper, too. Nothing else. We have a social security number for her, but when we looked into it, we found it actually belongs to a woman who died twenty years before Shannon was apparently born. It’s as if Chloe’s mother didn’t actually exist.”

  Amber blinked rapidly. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

  “Yeah, we’re all scratching our heads here, too. Don’t know if that means Shannon was in the country illegally so her identity isn’t on paper, or if Shannon Pritchard is a fake name,” the chief said. “We’ll keep looking, but something is definitely fishy here.”

  “Have you been able to look into those monthly payments Francine mentioned?”

  “We’re working on that, too. We’re also close to getting a search warrant on the Deidrick home; Frank won’t let us back in. When Chloe first went missing, Frank consented to have us search the house from top to bottom. With consent, we don’t need a warrant. However, when we went back a couple days later, he refused to let us in unless we had one,” the chief said. “But if we’re granted one now, it means a judge has reason to believe a second search could prove fruitful.”

  “That doesn’t sound good for Frank.”

  “Nope,” the chief said. “It sure doesn’t.”

  Though the premonition tincture hadn’t revealed Chloe’s location or the identity of her kidnapper, Amber felt some of the tension leave her shoulders, if only because she knew the girl was safe. Scared and lonely, yes, but she was alive. And, even if her accommodations weren’t ideal, they were feeding her and she had a decent place to sleep. And that sense of relief allowed Amber to tend to more of her responsibilities—namely filling all the orders she’d gotten behind on and making a list of all the toys she still needed to make for the Hair Ball.

  Sometime while Amber had been getting ready that morning, Kim had texted her with, Want to grab lunch with me today? I can pick you up at noon. I’m losing my mind and I’m this close to strangling Ann Marie.

  At noon on the dot, Kim pulled up in front of the Quirky Whisker. The Bowen sisters had already left for lunch, so as soon as Amber saw Kim out front, she hurried outside, locked up, and climbed into Kim’s car.

  “Hi,” Kim said. “I’ve had six cups of coffee.”

  With that, she pulled out onto Russian Blue Avenue.

  “Hi to you, too,” Amber said. “Why are you going to strangle Ann Marie?”

  “Ugh! Can we not even talk about it? I don’t even want to talk about the Hair Ball. We can talk about literally anything else. I just want this to be a fun lunch outing with someone who I don’t want to strangle,” Kim said.

  Amber winced. “Sure. I—”

  “The Hair Ball will go fine, right?” Kim said, punctuating the question with a semi-hysterical laugh. “So many businesses are desperate to be named Best of Edgehill—what if I’ve planned the whole thing wrong? Everyone is going to hate me!”

  “Breathe, Kim,” she said. “You’ll be fine. Lean on the rest of us, okay? The Bowen girls are ready to take on as many hours as possible to allow me the time to help you.”

  Kim nodded vigorously without looking at Amber. “I’
ve missed Melanie so much lately. She was so good under pressure. I’m a mess.”

  “I miss her, too,” Amber said. “But she’d tell us that we’re strong women capable of anything we put our minds to.”

  Kim nodded again.

  “So where are we headed?” Amber asked. “Think we have enough time to get Mexican food?”

  “Yes! But! Oh, fiddlesticks.” She thumped the heel of her palm on the steering wheel. “Can we make a quick stop at Hiss and Hers first? I totally forgot I was supposed to check on their table display. Since we can’t have people sample home decor the way we can sample cupcakes, we’re having Pawterry House and Hiss and Hers put together table displays using only items from their shops. I need to approve their displays before the Hair Ball. Oh my God, Amber, last night Ann Marie and I went to The Applaws to see the one-man play they’ll put on during the gala. It was a disaster! They let the owner’s son, who is in a creative writing program, write an original play for the gala. It was so bad. I don’t know if it was the acting or the writing or both, but it was a total stinker. Half the audience walked out. Now they have to scramble to put something else together in only a week.”

  Amber winced.

  “The one for Pawterry House is gorgeous, so I have my fingers crossed this will be a good one, too. I don’t think I can handle another flop like Stan Tackles a Unicorn.”

  Amber snorted. “I don’t even want to know.”

  “You really don’t,” Kim said. “I’m scarred for life.”

  Hiss and Hers was on Himalayan Way, not far from Paws 4 Tea, where Susie Paulson used to work before she was arrested for her role in Melanie’s death. Amber wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to step inside that shop again.

  Kim pulled up outside Hiss and Hers in one of the diagonal parking spots at the curb. When she got out, Amber gave her friend a quick scan. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a French braid; she wore a pair of skinny jeans, a silk floral top, and two very mismatched flats. One had blue and white stripes, while the other was leopard print. Amber thought it best not to mention it.

  Though Hiss and Hers always gave Amber a sense of claustrophobia because the small space was so jam-packed with items, she loved it because the front of the shop was all windows, letting in a ton of natural light. The shop specialized in unique, repurposed furniture and trinkets. There were dressers that had vintage suitcases as the drawers, couches made out of claw foot bathtubs that had been cut in half lengthwise, and steel drums that had been turned into ottomans. In the middle of the room stood a table draped with a white tablecloth. On top was a rustic springtime display. There were vases made from colorfully painted Mason jars and small tin buckets stuffed with pastel flowers; a wire cupcake tower had been filled with wooden wreaths topped with stuffed birds and eggs to resemble nests; and small repainted birdhouses sat on wide-based wooden candle stands.

  “Oh my God, Amber,” Kim said softly, grabbing Amber’s arm. “It’s so cute!”

  A voice sounded from ahead of them. “Do you really like it? We’re not quite done yet, but it’s almost there.”

  Amber glanced up to see a petite, smiling woman walking their way. Grace Williams, Bethany’s mother, had short hair that was so black—given the woman’s pale complexion, Amber guessed the color had come from a salon—and a tiny hoop in one nostril. Her eyes were a striking purple thanks to colored contacts.

  “It’s adorable,” Amber said to Grace, shaking her hand.

  After releasing Amber’s hand, Grace said, “Glad to hear it! We’ve gone through a dozen displays by now. This last one was mostly Bethany’s doing. She painted all the jars, buckets, and stands herself.”

  Just then, a younger version of Grace emerged from the back of the cluttered shop. Her light brown hair matched her natural complexion, which was a bit paler than what seemed healthy. There were bags under her eyes, and she sniffled periodically as she made her way to her mom’s side.

  Grace wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Poor thing is still recovering from a nasty bug. She’s missed school every day this week.”

  “I already started getting acceptance letters to college,” Bethany said, her voice a little nasal, “so it doesn’t feel like I’m missing too much. I think I have senioritis on top of having the flu.”

  They all laughed.

  “Oh, Kim, I wanted to find out if what I’m working on for the centerpieces for the Hair Ball are okay,” Grace said. “I know you’re in a pinch with those, but I didn’t want to start making dozens of them if you don’t think they’ll work. They’re in the back if you want to take a look.”

  Kim arched her brows at Amber.

  “Go ahead,” Amber said. “I need to find something for Willow’s birthday next month.”

  With a nod, Kim followed Grace toward the back of the shop. Bethany, eyes closed, was leaning against the small glass cashier counter, which was filled with animals made of smooth river rocks. The poor girl looked like she needed to be in bed, not in the shop.

  Amber moved toward the front, where there was a display of brightly painted tin cans that had cooking utensils sprouting from them like flowers.

  “Hi … Amber?”

  She glanced over to see Bethany standing a few feet away, pulling her oversize cardigan tighter around her body. “Hey, Bethany.”

  Bethany’s green eyes were red-rimmed; they looked itchy. “You saw Chloe the night she disappeared, right?”

  “That’s right,” Amber said, turning to face her.

  “She’s always really liked you,” Bethany said. “Respects you a lot. She was happy she got to be on the Here and Meow Committee partly because she thought it would mean you two could get to be friends now that she was older.”

  Amber’s stomach knotted. “I was happy she joined us, too.”

  Bethany squeezed herself even tighter. “I heard she was talking to you about Johnny … the guy she’d been talking to on Scuttle?” When Amber nodded, Bethany quickly glanced over her shoulder toward where her mom and Kim were still talking at the back of the store. “I think Johnny did something to her. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Amber’s brows shot toward her hairline. “Why do you think that?”

  “Even if she decided she wanted to, like, elope or something crazy, there’s no way she wouldn’t tell me or her dad. Even if she and her dad were fighting about her dating Johnny, she’d still eventually call him to tell her where she was. Running off and not saying anything to anyone just isn’t how Chloe is,” Bethany said. “Something about Johnny always felt really off to me. Did you hear about the hack?”

  “Hack?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know the details ’cause I don’t understand how all that stuff works, but some guy hacked into Scuttle and found names and email addresses for all the kids in Edgehill who use it and posted the names online. The list got pulled, I think, but Johnny started talking to Chloe after that list went up. I mean, maybe he’s someone from Belhaven who’s seen her at a game or something, but maybe it was someone pretending to be a kid from Belhaven, you know? Chloe showed me his picture, but it was only that one picture. Kinda looks like a stock photo if you ask me. He never sent more than that because he was ‘shy.’” Bethany rolled her red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t think he’s who he said he is.”

  “Did you tell the police or her dad any of this?”

  Bethany vigorously shook her head. “No. If she’s really okay, she’s going to be so mad at me for ratting her out to her dad.” She hesitated—opening her mouth and closing it a couple times—before she finally said, “I don’t have anything against her dad. He’s always been really nice to me and everything. But … I don’t know … lately things between them have been a little weird? I can’t even explain it. Chloe told me she found out something about him, too. She wouldn’t tell me what it was; she said she didn’t want to get into it until she had all the details, but it’s about her mom.”

  “What about her?”

  Bethany glan
ced over her shoulder again and then took a small step toward Amber and lowered her voice a fraction. “Chloe thinks she was murdered.”

  Amber’s eyes widened. “And she thinks her dad—”

  “Chloe didn’t act like she thought it was her dad who did it or anything,” Bethany said quickly, cutting off Amber’s question. “But she would get really anxious when she talked about it—and never talked about it when her dad was home. It’s like she didn’t want him to know she was looking into it.”

  “How was she looking into it?” Amber asked, wondering what Chloe had been able to find that the police couldn’t.

  Bethany shrugged, arms still crossed. “I just have a really bad feeling about it all. I think that’s why I can’t get better. It’s like I’m literally worried sick about her. She would never go this long without calling me even if she’d run off with Johnny—so all I can think is that she can’t call me. She’s my best friend. I don’t know what I’ll do if—”

  Even though the girl had to be contagious, Amber closed the distance and pulled her into a hug. Bethany wrapped her arms tightly around Amber’s middle and burst into tears. Amber wished she could tell her that Chloe was alive and safe.

  “Shh,” Amber said, gently running a hand down Bethany’s hair. “Shh. We’ll find her, okay? Chloe is a fighter. She’ll hang on until we can get her back.”

  After lunch—during which Kim talked about nothing but Hair Ball matters—Amber had nothing on her agenda. She’d expected to get a list of errands from Kim, but when Amber asked for an assignment or seven, Kim had waved her off.

  “I’ve got things covered for today,” Kim had said. Amber had been fairly certain Kim’s eye had been twitching through most of lunch.

  With the Bowen sisters scheduled to run the shop for the rest of the afternoon, Amber called a hello to them just before the shop officially reopened for the afternoon, and then trudged upstairs to get to work on the rest of the cat toys she needed to make. On her way, she called the chief.