Pawsitively Secretive

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  “Anyhoo! I finally got up the nerve one day to ask him out. On, you know, a date, date. I couldn’t believe it when he said yes. I mean, I could tell he was a little nervous about it, but I figured that was normal since we were so close and we’d be crossing a major line. I had every intention of sticking my tongue all the way down that throat of his at the end of the night.”

  Amber and Francine erupted in laughter.

  Kim shot them a goofy smile.

  “What happened?” Francine asked.

  “The night of, I got … uhh … how do you say … I had a very unpleasant stomach situation happen and I had to call him from the bathroom floor and tell him I couldn’t make it because I was pretty sure all my organs were trying to leave my body at once.”

  “Oh no!” Amber said, laughing.

  “I know. Mortifying,” Kim said. “We were supposed to go to this old-school arcade together, and he ended up going by himself because he was bored. And, that night, he met Jolene and basically fell in love with her instantly.” Kim fake-wailed as she walked. “I think that’s why I told Chloe to just go for it when it came to that guy. You never know what the future holds, you know? If I’d said screw it, I’m going to this stupid arcade even if I’m pale as a ghost and sweating like a pig and need a bathroom every ten seconds, maybe I would be the one married to Nathan right now.”

  “Maybe,” said Amber. “But if he was really the one for you, he’d have come to your house to take care of you while your organs were trying to make their exit. Nathan is totally the kind of a guy to hold your hair while you heave. Jolene told me as much.”

  Kim sighed. “And I know that. If Nathan and I really had a shot, it would have already happened. But even if I know it logically, my heart can’t seem to let him go.”

  “Unrequited love is the literal worst,” Francine said. “And I had two cases of it in a matter of a year! But … I don’t know … I think you were right to tell Chloe to go for it. If you don’t at least try at love, you’ll never find it.”

  “True,” Kim said.

  “Sometimes when you try, you get burned anyway, though,” Amber said.

  “Also true!” said Kim. “But that’s why I have you two. Who needs silly men anyway?”

  “Amen!” they chorused in unison.

  They had just made it back to the car, Kim and Francine a little more sober now, when Amber’s phone rang. The other two women clambered into the car, still laughing and chatting, while Amber stayed outside and answered.

  “Hey, Alan.”

  When Kim and Francine offered wolf whistles in reply to Amber saying a man’s name, she rolled her eyes and walked further away.

  “Sorry,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Does your cop buddy know Sean Merrill has an alibi for the night Chloe was kidnapped?” he asked.

  Amber didn’t know if the chief knew that. What she did know was that someone other than Sean had snatched Chloe that night—a man paid to grab the girl. Alan, however, didn’t know that though and she couldn’t tell him. “I’m not sure. Where was he?”

  “Portland,” Alan said. “He left Missoula, Montana, a month ago, and has been in Portland ever since. Working at a gas station, just like he did in Montana. He’s been coming into work every day since he started three weeks ago. He usually works five to six days a week. It’s at least a three-hour drive from Edgehill. The night Chloe was taken, Sean was working from five to midnight, and the next day he was back in by six and worked until noon.”

  It was a solid alibi, one that very likely could get the guy off the suspect list—or at least shove him further down. The one thing about this hired hand that had never sat well with Amber, though, was that he had to know Edgehill well enough to find Blue Point Lane. That street was notorious for not showing up on GPS.

  If it was true that the hastily planned search for Chloe on Saturday morning had been part of Sean’s plan to get Chloe out of town undetected, that would also require knowledge of the area. Which Sean didn’t have. Was the hired hand a local?

  “Is he in a house or an apartment?” Amber asked Alan now.

  “Apartment,” Alan said. “Tiny place on the second floor. If he’s got her there, he’d have to keep her in a closet—assuming a place this small even has a closet.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Are you in Portland now?”

  “Parked across the street from his place,” Alan said. “I called in some favors to find as much about Sean Merrill as possible after our last talk. Been watching him since I got here this afternoon. All he does is work. Haven’t seen anything strange in his behavior yet.”

  Amber slumped. Were they wrong about Sean Merrill being the kidnapper? “Thanks for the call,” she said. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  “Same goes for you.” He ended the call.

  When Amber got back to the car, Kim and Francine immediately stopped talking. The inside of the car smelled like an appletini.

  Kim was in the passenger seat and turned toward Amber. “Everything okay? Was it the chief? Was it about Chloe?”

  “So you and the chief really are buddy-buddy?” Francine asked.

  “Oh yes!” said Kim, nodding vigorously. “Amber is basically a consultant on the case now because she’s a master detective and she’s even friends with a private investigator!”

  Amber cut her gaze to Kim in a manner that she hoped conveyed, “You are terrible at keeping secrets, Kimberly Jones.”

  Kim clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oops,” she said, her voice muffled.

  Francine laughed. “A master detective and a fairy godmother. Even though I didn’t know her well, Amber somehow found the perfect fit for me with the Here and Meow Committee after I got fired.”

  “Yeah!” said Kim. “Amber, she’s, like, a wizard; thank you so much for finding her for us! Thanks to Miss Robins’ fancy math skills, we have a solid financial plan in place to be able to afford John Huntley to perform at the festival this year. We’re going to make bank if his hot country butt comes to play for us.”

  Amber snorted, then met Francine’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Frank was a dummy to let you go.”

  Francine grinned.

  Amber was roused from a very deep sleep by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She lurched awake in her dark apartment, then searched for her phone. It wasn’t charging on her nightstand. She saw a faint outline of a blue rectangle under her comforter and groped groggily in the sea of twisted sheets and blankets until she found it.

  It was 4:15 a.m.

  And the chief was calling her.

  Amber’s stomach dropped into her feet.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Amber,” the chief said, with what sounded like wind in the background. “I’ve been working with some colleagues in Portland and we’ve got reason to believe Sean is there. They got a call into the station an hour ago from your friend Alan Peterson that Sean left his apartment at three a.m. and went to a house that’s currently for sale. Alan looked the house up and realized it’s been on the market for three months, but there’s no sign out front. Garcia and I are headed there now.”

  “Oh my God,” Amber said, sitting bolt upright.

  “Just wanted you to know,” he said. “I’ll keep you updated.”

  Amber couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 20

  It seemed that all of Edgehill was abuzz that Thursday. It marked both two weeks since Chloe had disappeared and the day that Chief Brown had raced off to Portland in the middle of the night to hopefully rescue the girl. Edgehill residents came into the Quirky Whisker with speculation about everything from the involvement of the FBI to the possibility that Johnny from Scuttle was the leader of a group who stole young girls for nefarious purposes.

  Amber hadn’t heard anything from the chief or Alan Peterson since five that morning and her nerves were shot both from worry and lack of sleep.

  Just like every day that week, Amber ran the shop until noon
, then passed the torch onto the Bowen sisters so she could help Kim with more Here and Meow duties. With the rehearsal gala happening the next day, there was still a lot of preparation needed at the community center. Amber had only ten plastic cats left to create and had a box of completed ones in her car to drop off at the center later.

  Her first task of the day was to pick up the rest of the centerpieces from Grace Williams at Hiss and Hers. Amber was halfway there when Kim called her. She hit a button on her rental car’s steering wheel and said, “Hey, Kim. I’m on my way to Hiss and Hers right now. I promise I’ll be there soon.”

  “Oh, forget about that. I have a huge favor!” she said. “I’m stuck at the florist for a bit longer than I planned—the sample arrangement they showed me earlier was nearly all muted blues and purples even though I very specifically said I wanted cheery spring colors. I’m trying not to become Galazilla again. I’ve got a bunch of deep breathing exercises I’m working on.”

  Amber laughed. “So what’s the favor?”

  “Francine has a bunch of glass vases she said we can borrow,” Kim said. “We need a couple for displays. Can you grab them from her house? She’s got a hair appointment she has to leave for in an hour and I’m not going to make it there in time.”

  “Yep, no problem,” Amber said.

  “Ah! You’re such a doll,” Kim said. “We all need to go out for dinner in the city again when this gala madness is over. I had so much fun the other night. It’ll be my treat!”

  The call disconnected before Amber could reply.

  Amber got across town to Francine’s house much faster in her rental car than she had on her bike. When she pulled up out front, one of Francine’s Siamese cats was perched in the window again. This time, when Amber walked up the front walk, the cat didn’t dart for cover.

  Francine pulled the door open before Amber had a chance to knock. “Oh, hey!” she said. “I was expecting Kim a bit later; I don’t have the box packed up quite yet.”

  Amber stepped into the front entryway. “Kim is stuck at the florist for a while so she sent me instead. And no hurry; I can wait.”

  “Okay, I just need to box them up. They’re scattered in the back room and the garage,” Francine said. “Feel free to hang out in the living room and watch TV. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.” Then she hurried through the rightmost archway.

  Amber dropped her purse onto the forest green cushion on the bench seat and wandered through the left archway. The living room, with its elegant white leather couch and two wingback chairs, was tidy now. No clothes were piled on the floor or on the sofa. The coffee table was devoid of everything except for a small stack of coasters, the glass surface gleaming. Amber made her way across the room, passed into the dining room, and then turned right into a spotless modern kitchen.

  The kitchen floor was made of grayish brown hardwood, the cabinets were a slate gray with gleaming silver knobs and handles, and a white marble island sat in the middle of the room. A white tile backsplash lined the wall behind the stainless steel sink.

  It took Amber a moment to realize that the doors of the refrigerator had been modeled to match the sleek cabinets. She pulled one open and found a bottle of water. As she drank, she noticed that the side of the fridge was covered in pictures and magnets—the only truly personal touch added to the pristine room. There were photograph Christmas cards featuring smiling families with kids and pets, engagement announcements of happy couples on a bench or posed in the middle of a field or on the end of a pier, and wedding invitations. There were school pictures of children that might have been nieces or nephews. And then, wedged underneath several photos, was a tan-colored card with a black ribbon looped through a hole in the top. Something about it was vaguely familiar; a magnet covered the words.

  Amber removed the card and as she read the words, her mouth dropped open.

  “To my Kitty Cat, you make every day brighter. Love, Snugglebear.”

  It was the exact same message that Johnny had supposedly written on the card he was going to give Chloe along with half a dozen roses, the night of the storm. Why the heck did Francine have this?

  Amber pulled out her phone and shot a glance through the doorway of the kitchen. Francine was still busy collecting the necessary items, so Amber took a quick picture of the card and sent it to Kim, along with the message, Kim! Did Chloe ever show you this?

  She tucked her phone into her pocket, affixed the card back onto the fridge, and quickly made her way toward the front entryway. She had to get out of here. She didn’t know what Francine had to do with all of this, but Amber didn’t want to stick around to find out.

  Heart in her throat, she hurried into the front entryway, only to find her purse on the ground, and half of the tan body of a Siamese cat sticking out of it.

  “Shoo!” Amber said softly, startling the cat who jumped at the sound. In the cat’s haste to escape, her head got caught in one of the purse’s straps. Being tangled freaked the poor cat out even further, and it started to thrash around. While Amber did her best to calm the cat so she could free it, she tried to listen for Francine. The cat yowled.

  “Minnie?” Francine called from the other room. “Is that you? Did you get stuck in a cabinet again?”

  Oh goodness. Should she just she leave her purse here and flee?

  The cat yowled again, and during the course of her meltdown, she bucked so violently that the purse collided with the various odds and ends stuffed precariously into the middle cubby of the bench seat Amber’s purse had previously been lying on. Everything jammed inside came spilling out. Minnie gave another great yowl, but managed to free herself in the chaos, and darted away, claws scrabbling on the tile entryway.

  Amber winced and was about to push the objects back in but stilled when her hand closed around a pointy object wrapped in plastic. The heel of a stiletto shoe. Which wasn’t odd in and of itself, but both shoes in the bag were caked in mud. They were made of black and red fabric and were elaborately strappy things. The same shoes Amber had noticed Francine wearing at the Sippin’ Siamese the night the Here and Meow Committee had gone to happy hour. The shoes were so caked, Amber doubted they were salvageable. In addition to the flakes of mud at the bottom of the bag were a few dried catkins—like the ones that hung from the trees near the location where Chloe’s car had been found.

  “Sorry that took so long!” Francine called out. But her good cheer died the moment she saw the bag hanging from one of Amber’s fingers. “What are you doing?”

  “These are the shoes you were wearing the night Chloe went missing,” Amber said, her heart rate ratcheting up even further. “Why are they covered in mud?”

  Francine stared at Amber with her lips pressed into a thin line. “The storm was bad that night. Must have stepped in mud on the way to my car.”

  There were only cement and gravel parking lots near the Sippin’ Siamese.

  “You left early that night,” Amber said. “Did you come back here with the hot cowboy?”

  “Yep.” She still held the box of vases. Her eyes were flat, her voice even more so.

  Amber’s phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out, needing an excuse to look away from Francine’s dead-eyed expression.

  A text from Kim was on the screen. What the eff?! Is that on Francine’s fridge? Why does SHE have that?

  “Everything okay?” Francine asked.

  When Amber looked up, she was a bit closer than she had been a moment before. “Yep! Is this everything Kim needed?” Amber flung her purse over her shoulder, then grabbed for the box, wrapping her arms around it. Francine relinquished it with little fuss. “Kim says thanks.”

  Amber had just turned for the door when she felt her phone forcefully pulled from her pocket. The message from Kim was still there; Amber hadn’t opened the text thread yet. Before Amber could whirl around, Francine grabbed Amber by the shoulder and spun her around.

  “Don’t you need this?” she asked, waving the phone in Amber�
��s face. “Without this, you can’t tell your cop pal that I knew Johnny.”

  Amber swallowed. “Did you help him kidnap Chloe?”

  Francine’s eyes welled with tears. The look told Amber that Francine was working through what to do about this little development, and Amber didn’t think whatever Francine was going to decide on would be in Amber’s best interest.

  Amber thrust the box of vases at Francine, who, startled, instinctively reached out to grab them. While she was distracted, Amber pivoted for the door. A thud and crash and then an arm went around Amber’s neck, Francine’s bent elbow just below Amber’s chin. Francine squeezed.

  “You can’t tell him!” Francine hissed in Amber’s ear.

  The memory of Kieran’s magic closing around Amber’s neck was still too fresh. The nightmares were too persistent, never letting her forget how scared she’d been. Francine’s arm around Amber’s throat pulled all that fear back to the surface.

  No.

  Amber threw her weight into Francine, who stumbled back, the circular throw rug beneath them slipping as the two women struggled to throw the other off. They hit the ground.

  Somehow, Francine still had a tight grip on Amber’s neck, one hand used to steady the crook of Francine’s elbow against Amber’s throat. With Amber’s back flush with Francine’s chest, Amber felt like she was in a boxing ring, though she didn’t think Francine would let go of her if Amber tried to tap out.

  Black seeped into Amber’s vision. No. No, this couldn’t be happening to her again.

  Kieran’s voice echoed in her head. Give me the book, Blackwood!

  Amber flung her body to the side in a sudden, violent jerk and wildly flung her arms out, happy to hit any part of Francine if it meant she’d let her go. She bucked and kicked and flailed her arms and whack. Pain shot through Amber’s elbow, up her forearm, and made her fingers twitch. Francine cursed and suddenly Amber could breathe again. She got to her hands and knees and took in great heaving breaths. Her magic was an out of control storm, a hurricane, a tornado. She flicked her gaze up and found Francine with a palm pressed against an eye. Amber hoped she’d given Francine a black eye. Amber wanted to do a lot worse.