Tourists and Edgehill residents alike were in and out of the Quirky Whisker all morning. In addition to the news that the mayor’s daughter snuck out during a storm and hadn’t been heard from since, the rumor mill was spreading stories at varying levels of ridiculous about what might be going on in the Deidrick household behind closed doors.
Henrietta Bishop had come in for her usual weekly supply of sleepy tea—three days early—and then casually asked if Chloe was pregnant and had run off with the father of the baby once the mayor forbade the girl from seeing the boy again.
Dina Regrath, the manager of the Catty Melt, came in under the guise of buying one of Amber’s animated cat toys for her son, and then asked if it was true that Chloe had a drug problem and that she’d been taken to rehab in the dead of night, the runaway story fabricated to save face.
There were theories about the mayor’s past catching up with him—everything from escaping the mob to being a fugitive from a heinous felony. There was a rumor that Chloe’s mother Shannon hadn’t died sixteen years ago and had actually been in hiding. Maybe Shannon had been in prison until last night and kidnapped Chloe, someone said. Maybe she’s part of a cult that the mayor didn’t approve of, so he stole her away when she was a baby, but Shannon and Chloe have been in touch for years, and her mother finally showed up to bring her home, someone else suggested.
These were all bits of rumors and speculation Amber had heard over the years about the mayor and his mysterious past, but to hear them all again in one afternoon was exhausting.
She knew dozens of people had come to her shop because Amber had been one of the last people to see Chloe, and because Amber and Kim had been the ones to find the girl’s car. Amber wondered if Kim’s phone had been ringing off the hook. She worked as a teller at Edgehill Savings and Loan, so Amber assumed not as many people could come in to pepper her with questions as they had been doing with Amber.
Just before noon, Betty Harris from Purrfectly Scrumptious across the street stopped by. Amber was always happy to see the woman, but if Betty—the queen of usually accurate Edgehill gossip—threw another wild theory at her, Amber might scream.
With Lily and Daisy Bowen helping the last few customers in the shop before they closed for lunch, Amber was free to chat with Betty.
The woman gave Amber a scan from head to toe and then offered Amber one of her signature tongue clicks. “You look beat, sugar. You okay? Everyone and their mother has been through this shop of yours today.”
Amber groaned. “I’m about ready to pass out.”
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.
With a sigh, Amber shook her head. “No, but thank you. They’re all just worried about Chloe, and since they can’t harass the chief or the mayor, they’re asking me every conceivable question instead.”
“You and that chief sure turned the tide on your rocky relationship,” Betty said.
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Amber said. And once you confess to him that you’re a witch and that’s why weird things have a tendency to happen around you.
Betty smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast to the deep brown hue of her skin. “Well, I’m sure the chief appreciates you fielding the nonsense so he and his officers can focus on finding that poor girl.”
Amber wasn’t sure if it was the barrage of loopy theories she’d heard today, or if she had just begun to doubt her earlier conviction that Chloe was okay, but dread had been creeping in all morning. Sure, the chief had said that teens ran away all the time, but Amber couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—had happened to Chloe.
“You hear the mayor called an emergency town hall meeting for tonight?” Betty asked.
Amber blinked. Somehow, even with all the visitors she had today, no one had mentioned that. “No. What time?”
“Six sharp,” she said. “You want to ride with me and Bobby?”
“That would be great,” Amber said. “Thanks.”
After giving Amber’s arm a light squeeze, Betty headed for the door. “We’ll pick you up around five-thirty; we’ll be right out front.” The bell above the door chimed as she pushed it open. “And I may or may not have an Oreo Dream waiting for you.”
Amber salivated at the mere thought of it. “You’re the best, Betty.”
Her smile was wide. “Oh, I know.”
As promised, at five-thirty, Betty and Bobby pulled up outside the Quirky Whisker in their old, tan Chevy truck. Betty said it was Bobby’s pride and joy even though it wasn’t remotely practical for a town like Edgehill. But, as she had said once, “When you’ve been married as long as we have, you pick your battles.”
The truck ran well enough—though it was a bit bumpier than Amber was used to, as if the wheels might rattle right off the thing at any moment—and both the body and the inside were pristine. It was clear how much Bobby loved it.
Amber locked up her shop and hurried to the truck idling on Russian Blue Avenue. As she let herself in, Betty slid to the middle of the brown leather bench seat.
“Hey, sugar,” Betty said.
“Hey, guys. Thanks for picking me up,” Amber said, shutting the door with a rattling clang.
“Of course,” Bobby said, pulling out onto the street. As the truck bounced amiably down Russian Blue, he said, “How you doing? Terrible business, this situation with the mayor’s little girl.”
“I’m okay,” she said. “Worried like everyone else.”
“Our niece ran off a few months ago,” Betty said. “Girl is fifteen. Got upset with her parents over something and just up and disappeared for three whole days. My sister was beside herself.”
“Where had she been?” Amber asked, watching streetlights slowly click on as dusk approached.
“An estranged cousin’s,” Betty said. “Oh, before I forget!” She hinged forward to pick up her monstrous purse off the ground. She plopped the thing in her lap, then rummaged around until she found what she’d been looking for: a small pink box.
Amber took it and peered through the plastic window on top. Inside sat a single cupcake. The frosting was a perfect swirl of vanilla sprinkled with Oreo crumbles. “You angel.”
Betty and Bobby both laughed.
“Give it a try,” Betty said. “I tweaked the recipe recently. I’m thinking of using it as part of my entry for the Best of Edgehill competition at the Hair Ball.”
Amber didn’t have to be told twice. She peeled off the little round sticker holding the box closed. The Purrfectly Scrumptious logo featured a cartoon rendering of Betty and Bobby’s Maine coon, Savannah. Her fur was thick and gray, her whiskers full, and the hint of a little pink tongue rested against an upper lip, her eyes closed in feline delight.
The scent of sugar, chocolate, and cream filled Amber’s senses as she flipped open the lid, and she briefly closed her eyes in delight, too.
Then she cut a playfully offended look at Betty. “You’re not trying to butter me up so I put in a good word with the committee, are you?”
“Darn tootin’ she is!” said Bobby, laughing.
Betty swatted at his arm. Then she wagged a finger at Amber. “It’s only fair since you’ve been fraternizing with my competition!”
Amber snorted. “I am not fraternizing with anyone! Besides, your competition is not even talking to me right now, so you’re safe on that front.”
“Oh, sugar,” said Betty, patting Amber’s knee. “I’m sorry I made fun. I didn’t realize …”
“That’s okay. Now hush so I can try your cupcake.”
Betty laughed again.
Removing the chocolate cupcake from the box, Amber peeled down a portion of the paper wrapping and then took a giant bite of both cake and cream frosting. Once she’d bitten down, she realized the cake was a swirl of both chocolate and white cake, little pieces of Oreo mixed in. Amber groaned. “Betty. This is amazing.”
“Yeah?” she asked, as if she didn’t know her cupcakes were so good they were nearly criminal.
“I told her as much, but she doesn’t listen to her stuffy old husband,” Bobby said, but he was smiling to himself.
“Yes, really,” Amber said. “Definitely bring this one to the gala.”
Betty nodded, satisfied.
They chatted easily about nothing in particular until they reached the Edgehill Community Center, which had only just been cleared of its “infestation” a week ago. Amber still had no idea what the chief had said to the mayor to convince him that what had attacked the people attending the junior fashion show last month had been insects, but Frank had bought it, closed the community center down, and had it fumigated.
Only the chief, Amber, Willow, and Aunt Gretchen knew that the real culprit had been weaponized magic.
The lot was half full when Bobby pulled his truck in, cruising slowly past the steady stream of people walking in the opposite direction to the center’s front door. Once he’d parked, Amber brushed off her shirt to make sure she wasn’t covered in chocolate crumbs. As the trio walked to the center, Betty looped her arm through Amber’s, a gentle hand patting Amber’s forearm.
The front door’s peaked white awning, supported by four columns, had a banner hanging from it as it always did on nights like this. “Town Hall Meeting Tonight!” it said, swaying gently in the light breeze.
The oval-shaped hedges dotting the small front lawn in intervals stood vigil amongst the patchy grass. While Amber and Jack had gone through the staff’s side door of the redbrick building on the day of the junior fashion show, today she strolled in through the propped open white doors with everyone else.
The small auditorium was filled with folding chairs facing the stage across the room. An aisle was created between the two columns of chairs, and a good deal of the seats were already occupied. Edgehill had an active community; residents loved their feline-obsessed town and the meetings often had a healthy turnout, regardless of what was on the agenda. Today, though, Amber suspected the room would be at capacity.
Amber, Betty, and Bobby were wandering down the middle aisle looking for a seat when someone called Amber’s name. It was Kim Jones, who stood next to a waving Henrietta Bishop. Amber saw Henrietta’s mass of curly red hair first. Amber waved back and led the Harrises toward her friends. Amber sat between Kim and Betty, Bobby taking the aisle seat. Henrietta leaned forward to see down the row and greeted Betty and Bobby.
“Oh my God, Amber,” Kim said in a stage whisper. “How many people have been calling you?”
“Nearly every person in town has shown up at my shop today. I called you at lunch to check on you, but you didn’t pick up,” Amber said.
“Amber. Oh my God, I nearly chucked the thing in the river!” she whisper-hissed.
Betty leaned forward to address Kim. “There were so many Nosy Nancys coming and going from Amber’s shop today, I almost put up a barricade so no one else could get in!”
Henrietta winced. “I was totally one of those Nosy Nancys.”
“Oh, I was too,” said Betty.
“You actually bought something though, Hen,” said Amber. “And Betty brought me a cupcake, so all is forgiven.”
Kim frowned. “I want a cupcake.”
“You know where to find me, sugar,” Betty said. “And you usually do every Friday.”
Kim gasp-laughed. “How dare you share my cupcake addiction with the world!”
Betty just grinned at her.
Within twenty minutes, the Center, as Amber predicted, was full, with even more people standing in the back and along the outer walls once there were no more chairs available. When the mayor stepped out onto the stage, everyone gave him a warm round of applause. Amber wasn’t even sure why; she supposed everyone just wanted him to know that they cared about him and Chloe both.
As the mayor approached the podium in the middle of the stage, he raised and lowered his hands, gesturing for the crowd to quiet down. Hundreds of chairs creaked as people settled in.
“First, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight—and on a Friday night, no less.” The crowd clapped again. “As you all know by now, as of last night, just a little over twenty-four hours ago, my daughter Chloe snuck out of the house and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. In a town as small and close-knit as ours, you know how rare it is for someone to completely slip everyone’s radar. None of her friends have seen or heard from her. No one has seen her around town. I’m her only known living family, so it’s not as if she’s with a relative somewhere.”
Betty placed her hand on Amber’s knee just long enough to give it a sympathetic squeeze.
“Last night, after six in the evening, two residents found Chloe’s abandoned car. Her purse, coat, and umbrella were found inside. The only item missing is her cell phone. The phone appears to be off, as we have been unable to track its location so far.
“A missing person report has been filed. The chief and his officers are hard at work trying to find where Chloe might be.”
There was a commotion off to the right. Chairs creaked under shifting bodies. Voices rose. Someone was loudly shushed. And then a man stood up on the right side of the room and stepped into the aisle a few rows back from where Amber sat, waving away the people around him trying to get him to sit back down. Amber recognized him instantly: Victor Newland.
“How are we supposed to trust that you can keep our children safe, Mayor Deidrick, if you can’t even protect your own daughter?” Victor shouted into the silent auditorium.
Frank froze, his features so rigid, they might as well have been carved into stone. “Please have a seat, Mr. Newland.”
Victor did no such thing. “Melanie Cole is the first homicide Edgehill has had in decades. And only a year into your term. Less than a month ago, a maid was killed while having the audacity to think she was safe at work. And, in this very room, while friends and family cheered on their talented, creative children, a … swarm of exotic insects …” He looked around the room then, expression one of exaggerated disbelief, his arms out wide. He got a smattering of chuckles in response. “A swarm of insects sent dozens of people to the hospital. Two residents had their cars set on fire by a band of hooligan teenagers from Marbleglen. Even people from other towns see that things are falling apart here in Edgehill, Mayor Deidrick. Now we’re seen as an easy target. These are all problems that started when you took office.”
Frank’s hands were balled into fists, but there wasn’t even a hint of a twitch in his stone-like features. His intense gaze was homed in on Victor like a laser. Perhaps he hoped if he glared at him long enough, it would incinerate the man where he stood.
“And now,” Victor said, shrugging dramatically, his tone falsely concerned, “the mayor’s daughter is missing. Maybe she was kidnapped, maybe she ran away. Maybe he staged this whole thing to garner sympathy points because no one trusts him to keep us safe anymore.”
“I would never hurt Chloe,” Frank finally snapped, a finger jabbed in Victor’s direction. His tone was so fierce and sharp, Amber heard several intakes of breath around her. Very few had seen the quick shift from a calm Frank Deidrick, to a furious one. “How dare you even imply that it’s a possibility. You lost a mayoral race. I lost my daughter. Sit. Down.”
The room was so quiet now, Amber was sure she’d be able to hear Kim and Betty blink—but of course they were so startled, their eyes were stuck open.
“I’m only saying what everyone else here is thinking,” Victor said, not needing to raise his voice. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the auditorium. A chorus of boos—much louder than the smattering of laughter he’d gotten earlier—followed him out the door.
Creaking filled the room again as people turned back in their seats to face the now crestfallen mayor standing on the stage, his shoulders sagging just a bit, as if his display of anger had zapped what energy he had left.
“We’re on your side, mayor!” someone called out.
An upswell of agreement followed. It bolstered Frank a bit.
“I called this meeting because I wanted to ask for your help,” Frank finally said. “At eight a.m. tomorrow morning, we’re going to conduct a search of the woods around Blue Point Lane. That’s where her car was found. We’re looking for anything that might give us an idea of where she is or what might … or what might have …” He cleared his throat. “What might have happened to her. It will be muddy out there, courtesy of the storm, so keep an eye out for anything that might have gotten buried in the mud. Things of interest might have been washed farther out than we might anticipate since the rain was so heavy last night.
“If you would like to participate—if I haven’t lost your trust—you can meet us on Korat Road. I know this is a lot to ask—to give up your Saturday morning—but I hope to see you there. We’ll be coordinating outside the Sippin’ Siamese; the folks there are supplying us with refreshments, too.”
“We’ll find her, mayor!” someone called out.
“I hope you’re right,” he said, bowed slightly, then walked off stage.
Amber had been woken by one of her usual Kieran Penhallow nightmares and lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. It was just a little after 3 a.m. This time, rather than reliving the way Kieran had lifted Amber by her throat, his magic a physical thing, Amber had watched from afar as Kieran did the same to Chloe. The girl kicked and thrashed in the air. Amber tried to run for her, but she was caught in sucking mud. Mud that turned to quicksand, pulling her under until it covered her head. She had woken with a gasp. It had startled Tom, who hissed, sprang off the bed, and then underneath it. Alley, who had been asleep with her head on Amber’s shoulder, had lightly pawed the side of Amber’s face as if to ask, “You okay?”
“I’m fine, Alley,” she’d said, her voice a little hoarse. “Just another nightmare.”
Alley had seemed satisfied with that and had gone back to sleep.
Every time Amber closed her eyes, she saw Chloe again, thrashing and scared.
So around four, Amber got up and continued work on a series of cat toys she was tasked with making for the Hair Ball. They would be used as part of the centerpieces. The theme of the gala was “springtime,” in honor of the Here and Meow happening in May, so Amber’s creations were all playful kittens, most featuring a ball of yarn. Some lay on their backs with the yarn clutched in their paws. Some balanced on the yarn with all four paws, or just one or two. She called those her yoga cats. Some had yarn balanced on their heads, while others sat with yarn draped over heads and noses and pooled at their feet.
She was keeping them small, no bigger than two inches, and was foregoing enchantments for now. If the Quirky Whisker had been nominated for a Best of Edgehill designation, she’d have been enchanting the daylights out of the things, but at the moment, her life and her magic were in such upheaval, all she could picture were rogue cats darting across tables, launching into the overly coiffed hair of fancy ladies, and doing the backstroke in tomato bisque.
When early morning sunlight crept in through her window, warm light spilling across her window bench seat, she decided to shower, get dressed, and walk to a coffee shop for a caffeine pick-me-up. She preferred Purrcolate’s coffee but seeing Jack Terrence right now would do nothing to help her already frayed nerves, so she’d need to come up with another plan.
After she was ready, she fed the cats an early breakfast—to Tom’s great pleasure—and went downstairs into her shop. She pulled her closed sign down and took it with her behind the counter. Checking once over her shoulder to make sure there wasn’t anyone wandering around Russian Blue Avenue on this chilly morning, she turned back to her small chalkboard, swiped a hand over it, and watched as the message changed.
Her bespectacled cat logo now sported a detective’s cap and held a magnifying glass. The handwritten message said, “Participating in the canvass for Chloe Deidrick. Join us outside the Sippin’ Siamese. Shop closed today until further notice.” The sign’s wooden edges tapped lightly against the glass as she hung it back up.
She left her purse upstairs, taking only her wallet, cell phone, and keys with her, and let herself out of her shop. She had just turned the key in the lock when she heard someone behind her.
“You’re up early.”
Yelping, she whirled around to find Connor Declan standing on the sidewalk. “Goodness, Connor! You have got to stop sneaking up on me.”
He held up his free hand, the other wrapped around a steaming cup of what she guessed was coffee. It was from Purrcolate; she could see the pointy cat ears protruding from the top of the “o” from the space in between his fingers. “Sorry! I was just taking a walk to kill some time before the search this morning. I usually go for a run on Saturday mornings but I couldn’t get myself to go today. Guess I’m just full of nervous energy.”
Amber narrowed her eyes. Connor’s house and Purrcolate were both southwest of her shop, and the spot where Chloe disappeared was decidedly closer to both of those locations than the Quirky Whisker. Why was he taking a walk on this side of town at six in the morning, and why had he appeared just as she was leaving? She mentally shook her head. She was being paranoid.
Then she remembered her magicked blackboard and wondered if he’d seen anything. She involuntarily looked over at her sign, the cat on her logo now dressed like a feline version of Sherlock Holmes.
“Plastic toys, elaborate chalk drawings …” Connor said. “You didn’t major in art in college, did you?”
Amber hadn’t gone to college at all. She’d graduated high school and immediately started working. She pinched and scrounged and worked three jobs for a while—some in Edgehill, others in Belhaven. The job that changed her life was becoming an assistant to the elderly Janice Salle. Back then, when Amber was an exhausted and still-grieving twenty-two-year-old, Janice had been the owner of the Quirky Whisker, but under a different name. She sold curiosities as well, but hers had been decidedly lacking in magic. Janice didn’t have any living family left, and with her failing health needed all the help she could find. Amber did everything from stocking shelves and putting in orders to refilling their inventory, balancing the books, and cleaning the store at night. The upstairs had been nothing more than a glorified storage area then.
As Amber had gotten more and more competent at the job, Janice gave her more responsibility. A little over a year after Amber started at the shop, Janice passed away in her sleep.
The news was relayed to Amber by Janice’s lawyer that evening—though Amber had already suspected something had happened to the woman when she didn’t show up to the shop that day. What had been the true shock was the lawyer informing Amber that Janice had left her the shop in her will. The building was bought and paid for—Amber needed only to maintain the space, pay the necessary property taxes, and keep the business afloat.
Life had been Amber’s teacher, not art professors at a university.
“I inherited my mother’s artistic nature,” she said to Connor now.
He watched her carefully. She really had no idea what to make of Connor. There had been some semblance of a spark between them when he asked her to come to his birthday celebration last month, but he also had a spark with Willow. A spark that the two had been ignoring since high school. Amber couldn’t get in the way of that—she honestly wasn’t even sure if she wanted to.
“I wonder what else you might have inherited from your mother,” he said, taking a slow sip of his coffee without taking his eyes off her.
She swallowed. He couldn’t possibly know anything about her witch traits, could he? “Meaning?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “You Blackwood women seem to have so many more layers than I first thought. Just curious what else there is to know about you.”
Was he flirting? Was he here for a story?
“Not much,” she said, then turned away, heading down Russian Blue. She was sleep-deprived and was in desperate need of coffee. Her gut told her this wasn’t a social call. All she knew was that if he found a way to interrogate her about Chloe’s disappearance, she was likely to snap.
As predicted, Connor jogged to catch up and walk along beside her. “The nearest coffee is two miles away. You planning to walk there?”
“Yep.” The exercise and brisk morning air would keep her awake long enough to mainline some caffeine. After the search in the woods, Amber was sure to be so exhausted, the nightmares just might give her a night off.
He jogged ahead of her and whirled around, a hand out. Amber came up short.
“Let me drive you. Consider it a happy coincidence that I happened to be in the neighborhood when—” he started to say, but when Amber crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ve been looping your block for the past half hour hoping I’d run into you before you left for the search.”
“Why?”
“My editor—”
Amber groaned and stepped around him.
“Wait,” he said, and hurried to catch up. “There are several reporters in town from other areas, including a very nosy woman from Marbleglen. My editor wants the Gazette to have the upper hand and land the story before anyone else—especially before Molly Hargrove.”
Amber didn’t know who Molly Hargrove was, and she didn’t care. “We don’t even know if there is a story yet.”
“We have to prepare for the possibility that there is,” Connor said. “The more information we get out to people about what may have happened, the better chance we have of finding Chloe. She might not even be in Edgehill anymore. A thorough, well-researched story could get traction online, and that traction could make all the difference.”
Dang it.
They stared at each other.
“What do you need from me?” she finally asked. “I’ve retold the story a zillion times already.”
He fought a smile, clearly knowing he’d won. “Make this retelling one zillion and one? Being able to use a couple of direct quotes from you would really help. I’ll buy the coffee.”
Amber supposed if telling the story again could help Chloe, she couldn’t say no. “Fine. But I also want a muffin. Maybe two.”
Connor chuckled. “Deal. Jack made these—”
“Not Purrcolate,” she said quickly. Likely too quickly, given the cocked brow Connor aimed her way. “I was thinking Coffee Cat.” She mentally winced just saying it.
Connor wrinkled his nose. Coffee Cat was a bit more hoity-toity than most Edgehill residents preferred, but the place was wildly popular with tourists. They sold elaborate coffee concoctions, artisanal waters, and overpriced snacks and sandwiches. It had opened two years ago, and while most Edgehill residents had been convinced the place would fold in six months tops, it had thrived. And now it was even in the running for Best of Edgehill at the Hair Ball. “Coffee Cat it is. But, uh, my car is back this way.”
His slate-gray Jeep was parked in the lot by her building, taking up the space where she had once parked her own car.
Amber liked to think the inside of one’s car said a lot about them—or at least the current state of their life. The inside of Connor’s car was immaculate. She wondered if his desk at work was this orderly. She imagined him living a minimalist lifestyle, his apartment sparsely furnished.
Amber’s own car had always been in a state of mild chaos.
Once they were buckled in, he smoothly maneuvered them out of the lot and down Russian Blue. Their silence felt charged, but Amber couldn’t say with what. He was, at least, a much more relaxed driver than her brake-happy friend Kim.
What had Connor been like in college? Given his goofy friends—particularly the drunken Wesley Young—she had to imagine he wasn’t as rigid as his car’s interior would imply. Not that she was one to judge.
Coffee Cat was in one of the more business-heavy parts of Edgehill, on Chartreux Way—home to the Milk Bowl, the Edgehill Gazette, and Sadler Accounting, among others. Amber wondered how Derrick Sadler was faring after the events of a couple months past. He’d lost his mistress and his unborn child to his wife Whitney—and now Whitney was in jail. Did he visit her? Did he bring their daughter Sydney? He’d gone from living a double life to being a man on his own, raising a ten-year-old.
Amber couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in town this early in the morning—especially on a weekend. A few people wandered around, but Amber figured many of them were tourists. Most residents likely were trying to catch as much shut-eye as possible before they had to be on Korat Road.
Because of this, parking was exceptionally easy to find, and soon they were walking up the sidewalk to the café. In silence. Still. He’d left his coffee cup in the car; Amber wondered if he would be unable to sleep later, due to all the caffeine he was putting away this morning.
Two doors down from the accounting office, and next door to the Milk Bowl, a black-and-white awning stretched over the sidewalk, shading the heavy wooden door. In the large plate glass window to the right of the door, a giant white logo took up most of the space. “Coffee” was written in looping cursive and arched over the top of a white coffee cup, a black cat with its paws on either side of its face peeking out from the depths of the cup. The C in the word “Cat” made up the coffee cup’s handle, the rest of the word following in the same looping font.
Connor pulled the door open for her. As she stepped over the threshold and onto the rustic, creaky wooden floor, she was hit not with the scent of coffee, but of sugar and spices. It smelled more like Purrfectly Scrumptious than a coffee shop. The color palette was all warm brown, deep green, and soft beige. The dark-wood counter stood to the right of the space and took up most of the wall. Gleaming planks of wood with wide gaps between them were overlaid on the front of the counter. It reminded her of the side of a log cabin. The walls behind the counter and directly across from the front door were painted with black chalkboard paint. Someone with even more impressive chalk skills than herself had drawn the menu items of the day on the wall, interspersed with drawings of leaping, sitting, and sleeping cats. The wall opposite the door was slowly being turned into a chalk mural of a meadow filled with cats.
The wall to the left was lined with a single dark brown leather bench seat and round wooden tables were spaced out periodically before it. In the available space in the middle of the room were plush deep green chairs positioned in front of small tables.
Amber was very annoyed by how absolutely inviting and cozy it felt, despite the fact that it was her given right as a lifelong resident to despise this place on principle, simply for being the kind of over-the-top artisanal café she would expect to find in a city like Los Angeles or even Portland, not in a tiny town like Edgehill.
“Do you know what you want?” asked Connor, startling her. She had been so taken in by the charm of this snooty place that she’d forgotten all about him.
“Not a clue,” she said, and led them around the maze of chairs and toward the counter where two thirtysomething men with matching ridiculous handlebar mustaches manned the counter. There were two couples in the far corner, near the chalk mural, but no one at the counter.
As Amber and Connor walked up, one of the mustachioed men spotted them and smiled wide, placing his folded arms on the smooth wooden surface.
“Good morning, you two!” he said, even more chipper than Kim when relaying a juicy piece of gossip. “Is this your first time to Coffee Cat?” Then he stood to full height, gaze focused on Amber. “You’re Amber Blackwood, aren’t you? You’re on the Here and Meow Committee? What an honor! We’re so excited to be in the running for the Best of Edgehill. Your coffees are on the house this morning!”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Amber said.
“I insist,” he said, waving away her protests. “I know a lot of the locals are a little reluctant about this place but give me a chance to turn you into a Coffee Catter.” He turned to the side so he could address them and look at the menu board at the same time. “We have your standard choices, of course, but if you want the true Coffee Cat experience, I suggest you try one of our signature mochas or lattes.”
Amber eyed the board. Under mochas, she saw, “Raspberry white peppermint, toasted marshmallow, Black Forest cherry, and strawberry white mocha.” She had no idea how to feel about any of those. The lattes sounded more like dessert flavors than those of a drink. “Brown sugar cardamom, snickerdoodle, spiced pecan maple, caramelized honey, white chocolate toffee nut,” to name a few, as well as ones that were truly baffling, such as “iced oat milk matcha latte,” and a concoction with ginger, cinnamon, and vanilla that was blended with something called “moon milk.”
The man at the counter laughed. “Your eyes glazed over there for a second. How about you tell me if you want something sweet or something with a unique spice array, and I’ll choose one for you.”
Amber was terrified. What in the world was a “unique spice array” and why was it in coffee? “Sweet,” she said.
“Same,” Connor said, though his tone was mildly ashamed, as if he’d just admitted to committing an atrocious crime.
“Coming right up!” the man said and turned toward the machines and ingredients laid out behind him.
Amber and Connor shrugged at each other helplessly and found a spot on the bench seat—Amber in the booth, and Connor across from her in a wooden chair positioned on the other side of the round table. She wiggled out of her belted trench and draped it on the seat next to her.
They both folded their arms on the table’s surface, looked at each other, looked away. Amber slid her arms off the table and sat up straighter, her hands in her lap.
“So … uhh … why don’t you tell me about last night,” Connor said. Amber wondered if the guy did better with talking about his stories than he did making “normal” conversation. That, or Amber just made him deeply uncomfortable. She supposed either one was likely. “Start with arriving at the mayor’s house and then what happened through to finding Chloe’s car. Is it okay if I record this?” He reached into the pocket of his black peacoat—which he hadn’t taken off—and pulled out his phone. He placed it on the table.
Amber stared at it a moment, then nodded. “Sure.”
He tapped his phone a few times, got to the app he needed, then hit record. She went through the whole story again, only stopping briefly when the barista brought them their drinks.
Amber’s came in a small glass mug, the drink inside beige with a half inch-ring of what might have been cream or foam. The lip of the glass was ringed in a thick layer of what Amber guessed was cinnamon.
Connor’s looked more like a milkshake than a coffee. It came in a tall glass, the drink inside a dark brown that was swirled with darker lines of chocolate. A light brown-colored foam filled the top inch of the glass, and a healthy dollop of whipped cream crested high above the rim. The cream was dotted with a cherry and a few chocolate chips.
Though she knew he was mostly listening to her, he was also deeply engrossed in his drink. He had muttered a soft “Oh my God” after the first sip, though she suspected it had been involuntary. Amber’s drink was gone in five minutes flat. She guessed hers had been the snickerdoodle latte and desperately wanted to order ten more.
But she would be vigilant. She would not be a traitor. She was still rooting for Purrcolate, after all, regardless of how things had gone between her and Jack.
When she got to the end of her story, she hesitated. She remembered the mayor’s anger and the hurtful things he’d said to her. Was that the kind of thing to share with Connor? Would it paint the mayor in an unfair light? Especially when she knew what the mayor had said had been fueled by fear more than anything else. She didn’t want Connor to take anything she said and twist it out of context. Yet something about the whole exchange hadn’t set well with her.
“Can I ask that this next part not be on the record?” she asked.
His brows furrowed, but after a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and hit the stop button on his phone. With his glass empty, he folded his arms on the table again. “What is it?”
“Well … Frank was really upset when he got to the site. I mean, it’s completely understandable, given that his daughter was missing in the middle of a storm. But Frank has always been such a mellow guy, you know, and he … he said some really nasty things to me. Got right in my face. I can’t explain it but there was something really off-putting about how … vicious he was. I swear, if he wasn’t the mayor and had a reputation to uphold, he very well might have hit me.”
Connor’s brows shot up. “Really?”
“He apologized as soon as he realized he’d crossed a line with me. He also admitted that he’d gone too far with Chloe and had given her an ultimatum that she clearly didn’t like. Chloe taking off after all that sounds like a typical teenager reaction … but in a storm? I can’t help but wonder if that conversation had been a bit more tense than he let on.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I know he loves Chloe. But …”
“But who knows what things are really like in that house,” Connor said.
Amber nodded.
Had Frank threatened more than Chloe’s access to her phone and internet? Had she run away not to be with this mystery boy, but to get away from her own father?
“Do you know anything about Chloe’s mother?” Amber suddenly asked. She supposed all the theories she’d heard lately had burrowed their way into her mind. “Any idea how she died?”
Connor shook his head. “We’re looking into it. The details around her death are sketchy at best.”
Amber recalled the mayor being nose to nose with her. “Don’t pretend you have some lasting relationship with my daughter just because you’re lonely.”
His words had been meant to wound. He’d searched for Amber’s weaknesses so he could make her feel as low as he did. He had been around her enough and heard enough about her to know she led a fairly lonely existence here in Edgehill. Somehow, the man who would listen to your smallest of problems with attention and compassion, could also be the type of man who could take those same details and throw them in your face.
Had the mayor turned that quick anger onto Chloe during their talk? Had his actions and biting words scared her enough that she’d lied to his face and then crept out a window? Had Frank’s wife been scared of him, too?
Connor spoke up, giving voice to the thought Amber already had forming. “It makes you wonder if Frank Deidrick fled to Edgehill to escape painful memories of his young wife’s death or if he was running from something much worse.”