Amber Affairs

by Patricia Rice

  By now, the audience was practically on the edges of their seats, occasionally stomping their feet and whistling as Amber engaged them with gestures and expressions. She’d taken to encouraging them with finger waggles, lightening the mood.

  Josh felt less easy when Amber held her walking stick and pretended to limp toward Tessa. He hoped it was pretense and that she really hadn’t hurt herself.

  When Val removed her stick from the umbrella stand and handed one to Sam, Josh sensed trouble. He glanced to Walker, who’d stayed behind after a plainclothes detective led Ivan away. Walker frowned—not reassuring.

  “You inherited the lady’s company, did you not?” Amber intoned. “And you spied on her for her father?”

  “I was her best friend,” Tessa shouted, apparently captivated by the power of having center stage. Or maybe Fee had put truth serum in the food. “She counted on me to keep an eye on her father. And then she hooked up with this bastard. . .” Forgetting the play’s characters, she pointed at Josh. “And she started doing weird things like auditing friends of her father and refusing to finance people she’d helped before. She even fired an old friend and threatened to donate his salary to charity. I just tried to hold it all together until she recovered her senses. And then she fired me.”

  Josh thought his head might spin off his neck at this backward perspective of Willa’s actions. Willa had been cleaning house because of him? She’d fired Tessa, when? Which friend? And threatened but hadn’t given the salary to charity—

  Because she was dead?

  But processing this flood of information wasn’t happening while he watched Lucy sticks glow brighter. If that meant Willa was here. . . Pretending to take notes, Josh eased between Amber and the glass ball on the table.

  “Tessa, shut up,” a male voice cried from the audience.

  Excitement and fear rippled through the audience as Brad shoved from his seat and stalked toward the front. Shit, now he needed to stand between Amber and Willa and Brad—Josh wanted his own damned Lucy stick.

  Amber abruptly pointed her stick at Tessa. “You planted the deceased’s phone in my kitchen. You had the opportunity to push her off that cliff. And believing you inherited the company, you had the motive to kill her.” She shouted the last dramatically.

  The reporters who’d left looking for a phone had returned and were now frantically texting. Others headed for the door, only to be warned land lines were in scarce supply—the entire town was here, clinging to their seats.

  Except for Brad, who stormed the stage—wielding a deadly-looking knife.

  Josh didn’t have time to wonder if Amber was reading minds or Willa was whispering in her ear. He was closest to the weapon. Before the photographer could rush the stage, Josh side-kicked Brad’s knee. In the same movement, he grabbed the knife-wielding arm. In a perfect world, he’d have the leverage to flip the larger man to the floor.

  The world being imperfect, Brad didn’t stumble as planned. He hacked with his knife instead of going down.

  As Josh located the pressure point in Brad’s elbow, finally bringing him to his knees, piercing pain slashed through his side.

  Thirty-three

  Chaos. Blood. Agony.

  Flashing, angry impressions of a knife, a porch, a falling body.

  Humiliation and satisfaction and a scarf around a woman’s throat. . .

  Different, pleasurable images of a sun goddess in silk and lace. . .

  The latter joy-filled vision distracted from the horrors of Brad’s angry mind. Amber recognized herself as Josh saw her, but his agony overrode the pleasure.

  The roar of the audience faded beneath these more immediate sensations.

  Head exploding with confusing scenes and emotions, she clung to the image of herself as goddess to keep from screaming at the sight of Josh bleeding and in pain. She grabbed the shawl from Sam’s shoulders and dropped down beside him, pressing the cloth to his side to staunch the blood. She clenched her molars, but that didn’t keep tears from leaking as he flashed his crooked grin and attempted to help her hold the makeshift bandage.

  He saw her as a goddess! Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Brad’s mind intruded, clouded with rage and projecting a devastating video of violent acts. Amber squeezed her eyes closed in hopes of shutting out the horror—or halting the tears.

  Men rushed to hold Brad down. Vaguely, she recognized the red-haired woman screaming curses and trying to beat her way through the crowd. The woman who had called herself Susan was Tessa, and Brad was her lover. Amber glanced over to see Val and Sam rushing to restrain Willa’s hysterical VP.

  Finally squeezing the violence out of her head, reassured that no one else would be attacking them, Amber held onto Josh and tried to make sense of it all.

  But Josh was all she could think of. “Willa is here,” she warned him. “Don’t you dare die and join her or I’ll come after you myself. You’ll get no rest ever again.”

  He managed a chuckle. “Not dying, promise. Hurts like hell, though. Tell Willa to perform for the audience and distract them.”

  “Not funny. You tell her.” But Amber glanced around at the blinking Lucy sticks. Even the stage lights were flickering again. The suitcase skittered across the stage, aiming for Brad. One of the policemen kicked it back, and Willa created an angry tornado that would have sent papers flying if Sam hadn’t grabbed everything on the table. Amber hadn’t been lying. Willa was definitely here and in a state of fury.

  “Walker, don’t take Brad away,” she shouted as the police chief wrestled the photographer into cuffs. “Someone bring me my stick, please.”

  “What are you doing?” Josh asked anxiously, trying to prop up on an elbow.

  “No clue,” she replied as the town’s wiry nurse practitioner broke through the mob. “Let’s just see what happens. Brenda is a healer, so let her do what she does best.” She leaned over and kissed him.

  Then taking the stick Sam handed her and using it as a crutch, Amber pushed to her feet and let the local nurse take her place. The stick practically vibrated in her hand, but there were so many agitated people projecting so many thoughts. . .

  Walker watched her with his flat eyes narrowed. He motioned men to step back as Amber approached. She’d seen flashes of Brad wielding that knife on a woman, yanking a scarf—the one around Willa’s neck? She focused on the knife on the floor as she poked Brad with her staff. “You killed Sarah with that same knife,” she said with conviction. “She told Tessa she knew where the phone was and wanted to reach Willa’s cloud account before the police did. There was information in there on you, wasn’t there? Information that caused her to fire you. I’m betting you helped Dell with his pornographic film.”

  Brad glared and said nothing, but his terror provided the mental image she needed.

  “He took pleasure in killing Sarah,” Amber told Walker. “He enjoys killing. He’s done it before. If I remember correctly, he was here with Tessa for Josh’s news conference the day Sarah died.”

  In the background, Tessa screamed, and the telltale wind picked up.

  Aaron arrived carrying a plastic wine glass with Brad’s name on it. “Amber is right. He was thinking of killing Tessa because he fears she’s losing it.”

  The stage lights rattled and went out. Amber hoped someone had switched them off in fear they’d fall. The rest of the gallery remained illuminated from the normal overheads.

  Amber swung on Tessa. A uniformed sheriff’s deputy held her now, waiting for orders. He looked a little wild-eyed at the weird wind and situation, but he didn’t flinch when Amber approached.

  The other Lucys gathered around, sticks glowing. Teddy, the empath, murmured, “She is losing it. She’s terrified, and she’s feeling guilty as hell.”

  “Brad’s the lover in your cards, isn’t he?” Amber asked conversationally, tapping Tessa on the chest with her stick. She received a violent impression of Brad shoving Tessa against a wall and Tessa’s sexual response. She liked b
eing molested. Sickened by her own memories, Amber had to slam shut the door on that image or she’d dissolve into a quivering ball of hysterics.

  She glanced at Josh for reassurance. He looked pale as Brenda worked on him, but he gave her a thumbs up that she had this. She was a dragon goddess.

  “Brad helped me,” Tessa protested. “He was the only person who ever helped me.”

  The wind howled and Tessa’s red hair stood on end.

  “Willa didn’t help you?” Amber asked conversationally, equilibrium restored as all around her descended into chaos.

  “Willa fired me!” Tessa shouted. “After everything I’ve done for her, spying on her father, having Brad take those photos of Ivan with Dell and his sluts, giving her everything she wanted, she fired me!”

  “Tessa, shut up!” Brad roared, wrestling with the men holding him.

  With Brenda’s healing touch, Josh was on his feet already. Amber anxiously bit her tongue, recognizing the look on his face as he realized Brad had to be Willa’s killer. Before anyone could act, Josh swung his fist at Brad’s midsection. The photographer groaned and slumped in Walker’s arms. Looking stoic, the chief yanked him straight and hauled him out of Josh’s reach.

  A brief look of agony crossed Josh’s handsome features, but just like a character in one of his superhero films, he shook off the pain and nodded at Amber. “Bring the energy, kid. You’re on a roll.”

  Turn on the emotion, got it. Taking a deep breath, trying not to feel his pain, Amber swung back to Willa’s former VP. “On the eve of her wedding, Willa fired you?” she shouted, ramping up her anger, intensifying Tessa’s fear. “She’d spent most of that day firing people, hadn’t she? Including Brad? Did she threaten to send his salary to charity after learning from the auditor that he worked with Dell? And why would she up and fire you for no good reason? Is that how Willa ended up at the bottom of a cliff?”

  And there the image was, full force, Tessa furiously shoving Willa off one of the boulders overhanging the vortex. The fall wasn’t steep or long, but it was rocky. Tess’s rage was almost a physical blow. Amber stumbled backward, letting her stick catch her.

  The cheap glass ball on the table flew, smashing Tessa on the side of the head.

  Tessa screamed as blood trickled down her temple—just as it must have trickled from Willa as she lay unconscious and abandoned on the rocks.

  The deputy continued to hold Tessa while an angry gale whirled around her.

  “You sent Brad back to help her, didn’t you?” Amber demanded, guessing wildly, still seeing the image from the photographer’s mind of yanking a scarf around a woman’s neck.

  Tessa whimpered. “She was alive. I couldn’t lift her. He was the only one still around to ask for help. He told me she was dead.”

  “And so she was, after he strangled her,” Josh said coldly.

  Tessa screamed as the wind whipped her hair and clothes.

  They had a confession. The farce was no longer a farce.

  And the wild fury whipping through the gallery, flinging the memorial wreaths, had the feel of grief and devastation. . . and acceptance. Willa knew she was dead.

  Unless she was sent ahead soon, she could easily become a violent poltergeist.

  The Lucys touched their glowing sticks together and chanted, slowly corralling Willa’s energy. The wind spun and dipped as if it had lost direction. While Tessa wept and Brad ranted, the chant grew louder. Lights flashed, the wind whooshed, and abruptly, the stage fell eerily quiet.

  Amber almost collapsed in exhaustion until Josh caught her, still holding his side with the makeshift bandage. “Let the cops do their schtick, babe. Let’s blow this place.”

  She almost smiled at the classic Jack line. “Abercrombies don’t run, Jacko. Let’s just go home.”

  Thirty-four

  Amber still didn’t have a TV, but her on-line newspaper gave her insight into the public outburst of outrage over Dell and Ivan’s arrests on more charges than she could count. So far, no allegations of molestation had come forward, so maybe she’d been the only lucky one. She’d been a girl after all, not worth a lot.

  The stash of porn films, however, had furious mothers, victims, and the public up in arms. Class action lawsuits were being filed. Several of Crystal’s clients were involved, and she’d been named as an accomplice. Amber could certainly testify to that. The files stolen from Ivan and stored on Willa’s thumb drive and phone had been a treasure trove of information. Crystal and Dell would never work in the industry again, and jail time loomed.

  The phone rang. She’d been ignoring the press calls for days, but recognizing the number, Amber actually picked it up.

  “Your mother ceded guardianship to you,” Amber’s lawyer, said in satisfaction. “With prosecutors breathing down her neck, she’s most likely headed out of town. The rumors are that she helped Dell find some of those kids he filmed. I don’t think the court will argue that you’re Zeke’s best hope.”

  Amber let relief roll over her. Her nephew was in his room, on a computer Mariah had loaned him, blowing up space battleships. He was safe. That was her most important goal. Now, she could work on the rest.

  “Thank you. Is there any chance you can rescue my residuals to pay your fees? You’ve earned every penny, but it will take me a while to find work and repay you.” She scrolled through the emails on her own computer as she spoke. She had options. She’d been flooded with requests for television appearances, some of them even paying gigs. The publicity from Willa’s death provided most of the impetus, she suspected, not her talent.

  “The auditor did his job,” Alicia said. “The prosecutors have impounded Dell’s accounts. I have them going after your mother’s funds. I’ll let you know if what I retrieve doesn’t cover my bill. I’m raking in a lot of new cases because of this publicity, so don’t feel guilty about the delay. You just work on giving that kid a good home, and next time, invite me to the show.”

  Amber laughed as Alicia hung up. There were good people in the world if one could find them. Generally, though, it was only bad people who made the news.

  She twisted her favorite ring around her finger. Did she sell it or take up one of these gigs to earn the deposit for a house down the mountain where Zeke could go to school? How much did she really hate being sucked back into that life?

  The phone rang again, and she checked it anxiously. Josh had been hustled off to the hospital, then to make statements at the sheriff’s office and then to hold press conferences. Now that the coroner had released Willa’s body, he had a funeral to plan, since Ivan’s involvement with Dell had left her father incommunicado.

  She hadn’t heard from Josh in thirty-six hours, except in wild text messages, usually incomplete, when he grabbed a minute for himself.

  Caller ID showed an unknown number. She ignored it and checked her text messages again, reading through Josh’s to reassure herself that he was okay.

  Don’t go. . .

  they’re all insane. . .

  help, they think I’m Frankenstein. . .

  She smiled at that last one, another line from Jack and Ginger, when Jack had to have stitches. She even understood the Don’t go. He was afraid she’d leave like last time, before he had a chance to talk, but he couldn’t find a way to say it in text messages.

  Her cell beeped with another message from Josh.

  Answer your phone!

  The landline rang again with the same unknown number. This time, she picked it up.

  “I’m covered up in lawyers,” Josh cried from the receiver. “Ernest dragged me to LA and I have Willa’s lawyers and Ivan’s lawyers and I need you! Don’t go. Make Cass save my studio. I’m coming back, I promise.”

  “Want me to send a rescue squad?” she asked, hiding her fears with amusement.

  “Please, please. Come off your mountain, charge up your phone, and I’ll direct you. I’ll not be responsible for my actions if I don’t get out of here soon.”

  “I can’t drive.
You’ll have to hire a car,” she pointed out, laughing.

  “I can hire a car,” he shouted. “I have Willa’s fortune and can hire ten cars! What do I do with all this?”

  “Save the world?” she suggested, not wanting to think about how Willa’s inheritance would boggle his numbers-hating creative mind.

  “Yes, exactly. I’ll save myself. Don’t go. Stay right there. I’ll hire an army and be right with you. In a few hours more or less. They’re coming to take me away. . .” The connection broke.

  She smiled through her tears and texted him a dragon image.

  Josh laughed at the dragon image. He tossed the last stack of documents back on the lawyer’s desk. “I’m dying here. I need sleep. I need food. I need a woman who understands me. Ernest, hire anyone you need to help you, but let me go now.”

  “There’s still the funeral,” Ernest protested. “And the press conference where we explain that on the eve of her wedding, Willa chose to clean house and reveal her father, Dell, and their cohorts for what they are.”

  “I’ll call the funeral home, order a heroine’s service. But I will not stand up in front of the media and tell them Willa was a saint. My telling her about Dell put a gun in her hand. She used that audit as the first step in getting rid of traitors and to take over her father’s corporation. I don’t want to be around to explain that to news hounds. I’ll return for the funeral out of respect, but then I think I’ll become a hermit.” Josh pushed out of his chair.

  Willa’s—now his—lawyer stood with him. “You just became a very rich man, Mr. Gabriel. Let me take you out for a drink to celebrate, at least.”

  Josh clenched his side, the only excuse these power brokers grasped. “I’ll pass out. Another time. I’m taking painkillers and going to bed. Ernest?” He lifted his eyebrows at his new CEO, who was now wearing a well-tailored but garishly green suit.