Adjusting her grip, she also pinched my nose closed. “Really, no.”
I held my breath until sparks lit my vision, but she didn’t back down. I was forced to go in for the kill, which is to say I pulled out the churros and dangled them in front of her nose, trading their lives for mine. She couldn’t grab them fast enough, and her eyes crossed with pleasure when she inhaled from the top of the bag. We collapsed on the poured-concrete drive, leaned against her car, and got high on sugar together.
“I really hope this doesn’t blow up in all our faces,” she said around a bite of dough.
“Me too.”
“Just know I’m on your side if this goes south.” She gathered my hands in hers. “He might be my brother by blood, but you’re my sister by choice. Plus, once you gain back the weight you lost, we’ll be the same size again, and I can borrow your clothes.”
“I have holey jeans and ratty T-shirts. You’ve got plenty of those.”
“You’re Dame Woolworth,” she reminded me. “You’re going to have to buy some nicer clothes. Camouflage is the only safe way to move unseen within the Society. Those are the outfits I’m going to pilfer from your closet.”
“I haven’t spent any of my money,” I admitted. “It doesn’t feel real.”
“Wait until you start swiping that debit card.” She leaned her head against my shoulder. “It’s hard to dismiss boxes and garment bags as imaginary, and should you ever doubt, all you have to do is reach out and pet them.”
“I hate shopping.” I pursed my lips. “Maud always bought my fancy clothes.”
“No, she didn’t.” Amelie was laughing softly. “She hated shopping too. She always palmed the job off on her sister. Literally every stitch of clothing you wore to any Society event you attended was handpicked by Clarice Lawson.”
I jerked so hard, I jostled Amelie and sent her crashing into my lap. “How do you know?”
“Please.” She snorted and made herself comfortable, resting her head across my thighs while she stargazed. “Her driver would pull in, she would lower the window and snap her fingers at Boaz and say, ‘You there. Boy. Run these parcels in to my sister, won’t you?’”
My jaw came unhinged as I tried to picture her gall in ordering around another person’s child.
“She would tip him twenty bucks and remind him the tree marked the property line and he should stay on his side of it.” Amelie linked her fingers at her navel, and they jumped with her laughter. “That’s probably why he started peeing on her tires whenever she came over if the driver stepped away to smoke.”
“Are you serious?”
“As the grave.”
Absently, I raked my fingers through her hair. “Boaz hates the High Society, doesn’t he?”
“Yep.”
“He’s never going to get over it, is he?”
“Nope.”
I thumped her in the forehead. “How is this going to work?”
She swatted my hand and sat upright before I tried it again. “He doesn’t see you as one of them.”
I didn’t see myself that way, either. “But I am.”
A door shut behind us, and footsteps rounded the vehicle. “What are you doing out here?”
Matron Pritchard wore an ensemble any librarian would envy. Crisp white blouse, emerald A-line skirt with matching cardigan and sensible shoes. She crossed her thin arms over her narrow chest, toyed with the strand of white pearls at her throat, and waited for an answer.
“We have to work tonight,” Amelie said in a prim voice. “We wanted to chat before we part ways.”
“You have a cellular phone,” Mrs. Pritchard replied. “I know. I pay the bill each month. Perhaps next time you could use that instead of cluttering the driveway. It’s unseemly to sit out here alone.”
The hand Amelie had braced on the concrete tightened into a fist. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Pritchard left without looking at me or speaking to me. Business as usual.
Tonight was a night for revelations, it seemed. “You hate the Low Society, don’t you?”
“Yep.”
“You’re never going to get over it, are you?”
“Nope.”
Telling her I don’t see you as one of them wouldn’t be a comfort in the same way the reverse was true for me. That line had kicked off way too many old fights, and we hadn’t had a real one since my return. I wanted that trend to continue.
“I’m going ghost hunting tonight.” Not the smoothest segue, but it was the best I had to offer.
“Timmy?” She embraced the topic change with a winged eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I brought supplies.” I patted my bag. “I’m going to protect myself.”
“How’s the girl?” She grunted as she stood. “Merida?”
“Close.” I joined her and dusted off my pants. “Marit. And she’s fine. Or she was fine when her dad left me a voicemail yesterday.” I intercepted her questioning look. “No, I didn’t visit her at the hospital. She’s a daddy’s girl, and he blames me for what happened. I think he was trying to use the ghost to spook me off since he pegged me as Cricket’s spy. Now Marit is calling me her hero, and he’s stuck with me. That doesn’t mean I want to rub his nose in it.”
“Good call.” She shook her head. “Assuming you want to keep the job.”
“Of course I do.”
“Of course you do,” she repeated, then she cleared her throat. “Do you need any help?”
“Something tells me dining room security is going to be airtight on the Cora Ann. I doubt Mr. Voorhees lets me or anyone else back in there until the investigation is concluded.” I had a plan, but I wasn’t sure it would work on water. “Maybe take me to see the Whitaker Street lamppost after? I want to scout the area.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was palpable. “Sure. We can do Whitaker.” Her good mood returned in a blink. “That reminds me. We’ve got another dead zone. The sign at The Movie Rack has gone out.”
“Wow.” I counted back in my head. “That place has been closed for like ten years.”
The consignment shop that moved into the space never replaced the overhead sign. They just propped their own in the windows and let that be advertisement enough. The strip mall manager killed the power to the sign, at their request, but that didn’t stop it from blinking on at dusk. He claimed it shared a breaker with the ones for the laundromat on its left and the Mexican restaurant on its right, and that’s why he couldn’t deactivate one without the others going dark too.
“Yep.” She toyed with the handle on her door before shooting a glance over her shoulder at the house. “Hey, I gotta go. Mom is in rare form tonight. That means you gotta go too.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. There was a reason our trio always hung out at Woolly. Two, actually. Amelie called them Mom and Dad.
“We meet after work to search for hotspots gone cold.” I stuck out my hand. “Do we have an accord?”
“We do indeed.” She shook on it. “We can grab takeout from the Waffle Iron while we’re there.”
“I like the way you think.” One of their pecan waffles would more than make up for the pancakes I missed out on earlier.
“Only because it’s also the way you think.” She twirled a finger in the air. “Poh-tay-toe, pah-tah-toe.”
“Toh-may-toe, tah-mah-toe?”
“Exactly!” She blew me a kiss and slid behind the wheel. “This is why we’re best friends.”
“Well, that and no one else would have us.” I waved. “See you later.”
A curtain rustled in the window nearest me, and it took a full second to remember the Pritchard house wasn’t Woolly to be sending me messages.
“I’ll be on my way,” I told whichever of Boaz’s parents watched me through the split in the fabric.
Paranoia and I were on good terms. Friendly even. But the Pritchards had never treated me like an out-and-out leper. Socially, they couldn’t afford to even after I was released from Atramentous. No, they didn’t get aggressive in their dislike of me until I got reinstated. What did that mean? And should I ask Amelie or let it slide?
Undecided, I headed for the garage and did a quick check for kittens. Finding none, I pulled on my protective gear and drove Jolene to the Cora Ann.