The pool of congealed grease on the cold slice of pizza in front of me ripples as my uncle slams his fist down on the dining room table.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” he fumes.
I’m not used to this side of him. Dad was the one who inherited the temper, quick to explode when people merged into his lane without a signal or Gram denied a request for something he wanted. But Uncle Arbor has always been calm, the perfect diplomat for the Rosetown Council.
Now, he is nothing close to calm. Neither am I.
“Frank, there must be something we can do. They have to understand these are extraneous circumstances.”
Hours ago, Leo dropped me off a few blocks from Uncle Arbor’s house and I trekked the rest. When I walked through the front door to Daisy’s pensive face and my uncle’s rare rage, I knew what Daisy had blubbered over the phone to Leo must be true.
Apparently, someone on the board of directors for Rosewood Inc. called Uncle Arbor to inform him that with Gram dead, her position as chair of the board was open. Per their guidelines, if an heir to the seat isn’t declared within two weeks of Gram’s death, they have the authority to take it upon themselves to appoint a new one.
We knew this, supposedly. But we didn’t think they’d be sticklers about it.
“I have already requested an extension,” Frank says gravely. “It was denied.”
“Why?” I ask. “Rosewood Inc. would have never survived without Gram. They love her, and they should love us.”
Discomfort crosses Frank’s face. After I got home, Uncle Arbor phoned every member of the board. Only one answered, offering to meet him tomorrow morning in Boston. Frank arrived an hour ago—the same time as the pizza—and we’ve been talking in circles since.
Uncle Arbor wipes a hand down his face. His own slice is untouched. “There’s been tension on the board lately. Some members are frustrated with the way the new factory is being run, the choices Gram was making, the lack of big-brand collaborations. They felt she was an antiquated presence and wanted her to step down ages ago.”
Daisy looks at me as if to say, You really didn’t know that after living with her for a year? But I didn’t. Whenever Gram and I talked about Rosewood Inc., it was always good things. More fashion-focused than business. And even those conversations were rare. I knew we were in a lull for luxury-brand collabs, but that happens to all fashion companies, especially as a coat company in the summer. Besides, all it takes is one influencer raving about a product to blow you back up again.
But the fact that the board was already trying to weasel Gram out and now she’s dead? If any of them had been at her party, I would have assumed they killed her.
“And nobody can name the replacement aside from her?” Uncle Arbor asks.
Frank shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. Which means as of Sunday, two weeks since the declaration of Iris’s passing, if a new chair isn’t named somehow, the board will proceed with their choosing.”
“Who would they choose?” Daisy has been unusually quiet at the other end of the long table, two pieces of crust left on her plate. She seems . . . subdued. Different from how she was on the FaceTime call with Leo. Her phone isn’t near her, instead beside Uncle Arbor’s stack of papers and contracts he whipped out when Frank arrived. This is something we definitely can’t risk her sharing with her followers.
Frank clears his throat. He hasn’t sat down at all, instead standing across from Uncle Arbor at the other head of the rosewood dining table. “Well, from my understanding, a board reorganization would take place. Someone currently on the board would likely be appointed as chair, and then they’ll probably pick a new board member from within the company. But only if Iris has yet to appoint someone new.”
“How can she do that, Frank? She’s dead.”
There’s a cavernous silence following Uncle Arbor’s declaration, his voice cracking on the fatal last word. I have yet to see him actually cry, but right now, he turns his back to us, shoulders rigid. Daisy swaps a wide-eyed glance with me, but then she must remember she hates me, because she rips her gaze away and scowls at the pizza crust on the plate in front of her.
“It’s, admittedly, a very concerning situation,” Frank finally says. “If it’s any consolation, I believe one of the potential new board candidates is Elloise Claremon.”
“Ell?!” If I was drinking water, I would have spat it halfway across the room. “You’re shitting me.”
“No, Miss Rosewood, I am not shitting you.” He supplies air quotes around shitting. “Now that she’s graduated, as Iris’s mentee, she’s a worthy team member. They also like that she’s a Rosetown native. I would have thought that’d bring some comfort.”
“She’s not a Rosewood,” Uncle Arbor argues, thank God coming to my defense. “It’s a company under our name for a reason, Frank. That’s because it’s ours. It’s more than just coats—it’s our legacy.”
“Unfortunately, my hands are tied. Once Saturday passes and the two weeks are up, the fate of Iris’s position lies with the members of the board. It’s a powerful role that needs a powerful person at the helm. I’m sure they’ll appoint someone more than capable.”
I want to argue that I’m a powerful person. Or I can be. But less than eight hours ago, I was sneaking around a museum—pretty poorly, might I add—looking for clues and riding around in a pedo van because I don’t even have a license. I’m in borrowed clothes, and I had to break into my own property with my name on the sign the other night because I’m banned. Powerful people don’t jump through the hoops I’m currently nosediving through.
“I’ll be in touch with further updates. I am sorry.” Frank sees himself out as my uncle stews.
I stare at my pizza slice. Maybe if I’m lucky, whatever Gram’s clues are leading to will say something about who she wanted to take over her position as chair. I need to figure it out by Saturday.
It’s no time at all. We’re still stuck on the most recent clue. When I left the others, Caleb had to catch a bus back to Creekson, Leo had to go home before his parents showed up, and Quinn’s mom wouldn’t stop calling her to go help at the Ivy.
“I’m going to go to Boston now,” Uncle Arbor says abruptly. From the table, he slides papers into a briefcase sitting on one of the chairs. “If I go tonight, maybe I can convince the board member there to meet with me for a late dinner. He went to the funeral yesterday and mentioned the hotel he’s staying at. I’ll just show up and see what I can—”
He’s interrupted by his phone ringing. “Hayworth?” he answers it. “Listen, I already told you that I’m not willing to comment on—”
Uncle Arbor cuts off, listening to whatever Mr. Hayworth has to say. I can’t hear anything discernible, but the color leeches out of Uncle Arbor’s face until he’s bone-white. “Excuse me, what happened at the Petunia Conservatory? No, of course I didn’t know that. And no, I don’t have a comment! Jesus, Hayworth, stay out of it and let the police do their jobs.”
“What was that?” Daisy and I ask at the same time once he hangs up.
“There’s been a break-in.” His voice is taut. “The conservatory. It’s a mess, according to Hayworth. He wanted to know if I had any commentary to add.”
“But I was—”
“Do you see why what you’re doing is damaging?”
His burning gaze trains on Daisy, cutting me off. And good thing, because I almost just admitted I was in the conservatory lot earlier today, which might have opened up questions.
“You’re airing all our dirty laundry to the rest of the world. Hayworth is treating this whole thing like the revival of his career. He’s there now trying to rig up some story of how your videos and someone vandalizing the conservatory are connected.”
“Well, maybe they are,” Daisy argues. “And I’m not airing our dirty laundry—the people want to know the truth.”
“Stop. No. More. TikToks. It’s adding fuel to the fire, and now I have to go be the one to put it out. I don’t need tomorrow’s paper sending the town into a frenzy thinking we’re trying to sabotage Rosetown landmarks or whatever ridiculous story Hayworth spins.”
He strides toward the door leading to the garage, pausing before stepping out. “I’m going to stop by the conservatory so I can update the council and make sure everything’s under control. Then I’m heading to Boston. I’ll be back by tomorrow morning, hopefully with good news. Are you two okay here for the night?”
I don’t feel okay at all, my entire future in shreds. But I nod, and so does Daisy. With a final good night, the door shuts behind him. A few moments later, the hum of his Mercedes fades away.
Daisy grabs her phone and bolts upstairs. I stare at the table, spiraling. Why would anybody wreck a Rosetown landmark? And the conservatory isn’t even all that nice, just a big greenhouse overgrown with flowers. It seems unbelievable that anyone in Rosetown would do it, but it’s equally unbelievable that any of the tourists coming to town thanks to the sudden press around Gram’s death would, either. Nonetheless, the timing is weird.
Daisy pounds down the steps seconds later, her small Chanel backpack slung over her shoulder. She pays me no attention, striding across the kitchen toward the garage door.
“Where are you going?” I follow her into the garage. “We should stay—”
I drop off, staring at the new vehicle in the garage. I knew Gram gifted Daisy the White Rose, but actually seeing it here sends a jolt through me.
Daisy notices. “At least you got the ruby.”
“Not yet,” I counter, the hollow of my throat bare.
“Check your bed. Our ‘inheritance’ was left here earlier.” She says inheritance sourly.
I turn to do just that, but her voice stops me before I get past the doorway. “Wait!”
She stands with the door to the White Rose open, brown eyes unsure in a way that throws me. Staring at her now, without her face twisted with sarcasm, I’m reminded of how much we look alike despite our different builds and hair lengths and eyes. We could be sisters.
And that’s how we acted when we were little. We were inseparable, all pinkie promises and secrets for two. My parents even had me stay back with her in kindergarten so we could be in the same grade. With my birthday in two days, I’m the only prospective senior already turning eighteen.
Friday. Just one day before I might lose Rosewood Inc. forever.
“Do you think Frank is being real with us?” Daisy’s eyes are cautious, like she almost hopes I’ll say no.
“I don’t know. It sounds like he’s trying to advocate for us.”
She grimaces. “Doing a shit job. I bet he could make the Rosewood Inc. board give us time if he really wanted to. Maybe he wants us out of the picture. I mean, it’s fishy, right? Gram randomly changes her will, and he’s the only one who knew about it.”
I lean against the doorframe, churning her words over in my mind. “You think he forced her to?”
“Maybe,” Daisy murmurs. “I definitely would if it weren’t for that one line in her will. The receiver will be determined at a later date under privately specified circumstances.” She takes a breath. When she exhales, it’s like I can see her walls physically lowering. “Do you remember the Christmas that Gram got us the sewing machines?”
I nod.
“She made us think we didn’t get any gifts. All that was sitting under the tree were two blank pieces of paper. But they weren’t blank, were they? She wrote in invisible ink.”
I cough to cover the gasp of surprise that of course Daisy would remember this now. I’ve had countless other interactions of Gram’s games throughout the past year, especially her riddled notes. I nearly forgot about this one—the game that started it all.
“It was a clue,” I say.
She nods. “And it led to another clue, and another, and another. All over the manor, until finally, we went into the garage and there was our actual gift. She just made us think we didn’t get one, but we had to play her game.”
“I remember,” I say, chest hollow at the warmth of the memory. Daisy’s quiet for a long moment. I know she’s waiting for me to talk, but I don’t know what to say. She’s far too close to the truth for comfort. I cross my arms in front of myself as if it can shield her from seeing the map piece in my pocket.
“I guess I just wish this was another one of her games,” she finishes.
I laugh, the sound loud and cruel in the concrete garage. But it’s only because I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond without giving away literally everything. “Yeah, if only.”
Daisy scowls, and whatever moment we were having is over, like a light flickering out. She shakes her head, climbing into the red leather interior of the White Rose and slamming the door closed.
“So that’s it?” I ask as she turns on the car and starts pulling out. I follow her into the driveway. “You’re just going to ignore all of this and run off?”
“It’s better than staying here with you,” she sneers through the open window.
I know I just shut her down, but I don’t want her to leave. Don’t want to be alone in this big empty house that’s not even mine. Desperation makes me yell after her. “I hope Kev’s good at least!”
The White Rose screeches as she pulls a U-ey, heading straight for me. I’m almost 100 percent sure she’s going to run me over. Her threat when she caught me in her room plays in my head. You will regret it. I certainly have some regrets now.
She swerves at the last second and stops so her door is right next to me.
I scramble for an apology. “Daisy, that was so out of line, I’m—”
“First of all, it’s none of your business what I do with Kev. Second, if you ever used your two brain cells for anything other than stealing my clothes, you’d know that Kev’s dad is our family’s accountant and therefore might have some answers lying around his office as to where all our money supposedly went. Third, you’re one to talk.” She leans out the open window, shoving a finger into my chest. Her brown eyes are like balls of fire in the setting sunlight. “I know that early Tuesday morning you snuck out and met Leo. I have his location and he’s a shit liar when I asked him about it. So if you could stop fucking my best friend, that’d be great.”
My jaw unhinges. “I’m not—” But it’s too late. She rolls the window up and floors it, zooming away with a cloud of dust that leaves me choking on fumes. “We aren’t—He isn’t—We’re coworkers!” I scream into the empty night.
Which is dumb, because that’s exactly the thing I don’t want Daisy to know.
I punt a bunch of daisies sprouting in the lawn and stomp inside, the empty house welcome as I trudge upstairs to the bathroom and kick off my shoes in the hall. Everything feels too close, my clothes clinging to me. I peel them off and crank the shower on as hot as it will go. The steam does nothing to quell my anger. I am not, nor ever will be, fucking Leo DiVincenzi. Daisy can have him.
I’m still shaking with anger as I towel-dry my hair, stepping into my room. I flick on the light and stop short.
“Oh my God.” I dash to the bed, nearly dropping my towel in my haste. With shaking fingers, I open the black jewelry box sitting on the comforter. Inside is the famous Rosewood ruby, as big as my thumbnail and elegant as ever. I carefully take it out and fasten the gold chain around my neck. It’s heavier than I expected. My fingers brush its smooth surface, and I catch my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Just like Gram.
Tears prick my eyes and I look away. That’s when I see the duffel bag on the floor and my favorite cognac crossbody bag, the one I keep my emergency sewing kit in. My things from the manor. Some of them, at least.
Slipping on my favorite leggings and the familiar cotton of an old tee does make me feel better, especially when I tuck the ruby under the tee’s neckline to rest against my chest. If there’s any highlight to Daisy assuming something’s going on between Leo and me, it’s that she must not have noticed us in the church with Quinn, and therefore shouldn’t suspect the hunt. Given that she’s busy snooping through Kev’s dad’s things and assumes I’m an oblivious brat, I should be in the clear. For a moment tonight, when she was reminiscing about Christmas, I had the impulse to tell her about it. Before she accused me of sleeping with her best friend and having two brain cells, that is.
She would have been left a clue if Gram wanted her to know. I’m glad I didn’t tell her. If Gram doesn’t trust her, neither do I.
I turn off the light and climb under the covers, checking for updates from Uncle Arbor and the Goonies Gang, both of which have none. My phone barely has any charge left, but I pull up the picture of the clue I took before Leo dropped me off since he agreed to keep it.
Sometimes, the craving hits just right. Nothing can quite abate, but you know this better than me. My favorite snack might give you more than a pleased stomach, if you only look.
Possibilities run through my mind. The two map sections bordering Caleb’s are mine and Leo’s. In Leo’s, there’s the Rosetown Country Club, known for the best clams casino. It’s Gram’s favorite. But Gram loves food. She adores the French toast at the Trellis Diner and would eat the candied almonds from Williams Grocery by the buckets if she could. There’s also Cocoa’s Chocolatier, where she gets truffles from, like the one I ate the night of the party. . . .
I don’t realize I’ve faded into sleep until I jerk awake, my room cloaked in long shadows. I’ve been out for longer than the few minutes it felt like. I fumble for my phone, the brightness blinding me, along with the alert that it has under 5 percent battery left since I never plugged it in. It’s three in the morning.
I’m sinking back into my blankets when a sound jolts me, the same one that woke me up, I think. The creak of footsteps on the stairs.
“Uncle Arbor?” I ask the dark softly, shaking off the grogginess of sleep as I sit up.
But I know it’s not. It’s different from Uncle Arbor’s heavy steps or Daisy’s nearly soundless tread. Fear clasps its fist around my heart, and suddenly I am very awake. The footsteps come closer, at the top of the stairs, down the hall. Outside my door.
The knob turns.