It wasn’t as if the chief thought Derrick was going to start brandishing deadly weapons if Amber got too personal with her questions, but it calmed her nerves to know the chief was planning for the worst-case scenario, just in case.

  “I’ll be next door,” Chief Brown said, finally relinquishing his hold on the recording device. It reminded Amber of the mics she saw occasionally dislodged from the waistbands of celebrities on talk shows.

  Carl wrinkled his nose. “It’s too bad there isn’t a pub next to the Sadler building, huh, boss? You’re stuck doing your sting operation in the Milk Bowl. Ugh. I don’t have a problem with healthy stuff or anything but, like, everything in there has wheatgrass in it. Just ‘cause we like cats in Edgehill doesn’t mean we have to eat like them, am I right, boss?” He gave the chief a playful nudge with his elbow. “A pint of Cat Scratch IPA would be sa-weet though. Too bad you can’t have that instead.”

  Chief Brown just stared at Carl while he rambled on, face expressionless and mouth pressed into a straight line. “Out.”

  Carl blinked rapidly, then glanced at Amber. “What’d I say?”

  In a stage whisper, she said, “I think drinking on the job is against the rules.”

  “Oooh,” Carl said, thunking himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. “That’s right, that’s right.”

  “Paperwork, Carl,” the chief said.

  “Yeah, okay, sure,” Carl said, grinning. “Good luck, Amber! Get something on him so we can nail that bastard to the wall!”

  The chief pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Carl saluted and left, unfazed.

  Amber smothered a smile.

  “Please don’t encourage him,” the chief said.

  “Oh, he’s harmless. Enthusiastic,” said Amber.

  “Unprofessional.”

  “He’s young. He’ll outgrow it.”

  The chief harrumphed. Then his gaze shifted to her chest before quickly looking away. “I … do you need help getting the wire on? There aren’t many women working today, but I could ask Dolores.”

  Dolores had to be Sour Face. Amber imagined her hands were as cold as ice cubes. She was mortified just thinking about it. “No, I’ll be okay. We can test it out before I go in, to make sure it works.”

  He pursed his lips, eyeing her. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Your … ability would tell you if something wasn’t right here, wouldn’t it? You can sense danger?”

  What did he think she was, psychic?

  She tried not to laugh at herself.

  Yesterday, she’d told Chief Brown about seeing maybe-Derrick behind Melanie’s house. How he’d shushed her. How she and Nicolette had chased after him. And she’d finally given him the note Nicolette had found on her car. She appreciated his concern, if nothing else. It was better than the alternative.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she said. “If he’s responsible for this, I wanna help nail the bastard to the wall.”

  The chief let out a bark of laughter that surprised them both.

  Smiling, Amber walked out of the interrogation room, device clasped firmly in her hand.

  Amber had enough time to pop into the Milk Bowl and use their restroom. She needed it partly to splash cold water on her face and to give her wild-eyed reflection a pep talk. But she also needed the privacy of a stall to get the device properly installed on her person. Because the Edgehill station’s tech wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art, Amber didn’t have an earpiece to allow for information to be transmitted to her from the chief while she was talking to Derrick. All she could do was turn the thing on. She did that now, sliding the little tab from off to on, and watched as a small green light illuminated on the black box.

  She removed her shirt and wedged the wire under the bottom of her bra. It took some finagling, once her shirt was back on, to get the little microphone to stick out of the space between two of her buttons.

  “Hello?” she said softly.

  Her phone pinged.

  “Hear you loud and clear,” the text said.

  Amber stepped out of the stall and checked her reflection again. The microphone was half the size of a dime, but the gray head might as well have been a manhole cover on her chest, for how conspicuous it looked.

  Flicking her gaze to the bathroom door, Amber thought of her magicked blackboard. It was a spell about rearranging what was already there. A manipulation of concrete materials. Glamour spells—her sister’s forte, not hers—didn’t manipulate anything but a person’s perception of a thing.

  Amber did a quick spell that manipulated the mesh head of the microphone to resemble a tiny flower. Now it looked like a very small decorative pin.

  “Still with me?” she said out loud.

  Her phone in her hand pinged almost immediately. “Perfect.”

  “Okay,” she said, running her sweaty palms down the length of her shirt. “Let’s do this.”

  It wasn’t one of Amber’s better pep talks, but it would have to do.

  She strolled confidently out of the Milk Bowl’s bathroom. Chief Brown and another officer—one closer to his age—sat at a table near the door. Amber vaguely remembered him being introduced yesterday as “Garcia.” The chief’s laptop was open. He had his headphones on, back facing her, while Garcia read a book. A plate of what looked like rice cakes was on the table, alongside two small glasses filled with a sludgy dark-green liquid that could only be pulverized wheatgrass shots. Amber’s nose wrinkled. Maybe Carl was right.

  The chief didn’t look behind him as she walked past, but Garcia looked up from his book for long enough to nod at her slightly before resuming his reading. Amber let her gaze skip over them as if they were mere pieces of furniture. A text came through just as she stepped outside.

  “Remember,” the text said, “if you run into a quagmire, let me know.”

  Amber nodded to herself and slipped her phone into her purse without replying.

  The Sadler Accounting office was the next building over and it took her all of ten seconds to reach the door, the company’s name written in a crisp white font on the glass. As she pushed it open, she was greeted with warm air tinged with the scent of cinnamon. A three-wick, rust-colored candle sat on the reception desk, the flames dancing slowly in their glass enclosure. A cheery receptionist—a girl who couldn’t have been older than eighteen or nineteen—stood when Amber entered the lobby.

  “Hi there,” she said. “You must be—” she glanced down at something Amber couldn’t see, surrounded as she was by the tall barrier of the desk “—uhh. Oh shoot.” The girl winced and bit down on her bottom lip, then looked back up, big brown eyes wide. “Amber Blackwood? Mr. Sadler’s noon appointment?”

  Amber wondered why the girl looked two seconds from passing out. “Yep, that’s me,” she said, absently gripping the handle of her leather over-the-shoulder bag. The inside of her forearm bumped against something misshapen in her purse. She’d almost forgotten all about the peacock toy she’d made for Sydney.

  “Okay. Uhh …” the girl said, frantically scratching the side of her nose with her pointer finger. A nervous tic, clearly. “Just have a seat and Mr. Sadler will … uh … be out to see you shortly.”

  The girl’s behavior wasn’t helping Amber’s own nerves. She perched herself awkwardly on the edge of a blue-gray chair, purse placed on top of her knees, which were tightly squeezed together.

  When Amber had devised this plan with the chief, it had made perfect sense. Just have a set of questions to work into the conversation. She hadn’t accounted for the panic she’d feel when she had a wire strapped to her. The chief would be able to hear everything she said. Could he hear how hard her heart was beating? The sound would surely drown out everything else.

  What if she was so nervous, that once she was actually talking to Derrick, she started to blurt out nonsense? What if she panic-confessed to being a witch? What if she couldn’t say anything at all?

  She wasn’t sure the chief would react well to her confession, considering how mystified he was by her supposed psychic abilities.

  Amber tried to calm herself by taking in her surroundings and breathing deeply. She imagined the chief wincing at every one of her gusty exhales, but her phone didn’t light up with text messages begging her to stop.

  The lobby had enough room for three gray-blue chairs—one of which she was currently perched on—a potted plant with browning edges, and a water cooler. The clock on the wall next to her slowly tick, tick, ticked away the seconds. Amber wasn’t sure what to ask Derrick to make it sound like this was a meeting solely about her business. She had no desire to expand. It was too risky to ship charmed toys all over the country. All she would need was a toy’s magic-infused disc to malfunction and cause a problem.

  Scarlet the dragon had originally had a tiny disc implanted in her throat that had been overlaid with a fire spell so she could breathe tiny balls of fire—only to be used in elaborate demonstrations at the Here and Meow, of course. Selling fire-breathing dragon toys to children was a recipe for disaster. And arson.

  The first time Amber had tested out Scarlet’s new ability, the dragon had let out a huge blast of flame that not only melted the dragon immediately, but set the curtains in Amber’s apartment on fire. She figured that was the real reason Tom no longer trusted her animated creations.

  She felt someone’s gaze on her now, and found the receptionist watching her from behind her desk. From Amber’s spot in the lobby, all she could see of the receptionist was her forehead and wide eyes.

  What on earth was the matter with the girl?

  Just then, the door into the lobby from the other side of the reception desk swung open. Derrick strode out with a gym bag slung over his shoulder, a pair of sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt, and a ball cap on his head. Absolute certainty hit her like a truck. It had definitely been Derrick outside Melanie’s house Sunday morning.

  Amber immediately jumped to her feet. Derrick stopped dead in his tracks.

  He was even more handsome in person. For a brief moment, she understood what had taken Melanie in. The physique, the confident posture, the chiseled jaw.

  They stared at each other.

  The receptionist shrank so low into her shoulders, Amber was surprised she hadn’t pulled her head completely into her torso, like a turtle.

  “Uhh … hi, Miss Blackwood,” Derrick finally said. His gaze darted from his receptionist to Amber and back again.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sadler,” the girl squeaked, then bit down on her thumb. “I … I must have …”

  Glancing at Amber, he held up a finger, and then said, “One … one second, okay?” When he turned back to the receptionist, he leaned over the top of the desk, just slightly, and then quietly gave the young girl a dressing down.

  Amber couldn’t hear most of what was said, but she caught snatches of it. “Cancel” and “forgetful” and “warning” made it to her ears.

  Amber’s phone buzzed in her purse, but she didn’t dare take it out.

  Finally, Derrick turned and offered Amber a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry about that, Amber. My assistant forgot to cancel today’s meeting. I …” He glanced down at himself, and though it was clear that whatever he said next would almost assuredly be a lie, he soldiered on anyway. “I have an appointment elsewhere.”

  They both knew his only appointment was with a treadmill.

  “It won’t take very long.” Amber couldn’t not talk to him now, not when she had an increasingly warm battery-powered listening device strapped to her, a police chief listening in from the place next door, and a very intricately designed toy in her bag. No, he would talk to her. And he would talk to her today. “I’m really anxious to start working with an accountant before the Here and Meow. It would be the best time to advertise my expanding business. I need to set up an online store and I don’t know what all this might cost …”

  Derrick hadn’t spoken, but at least now he didn’t look like a sprint for the door was inevitable.

  “Besides, if you can’t meet with me today, I’ll have to go to Welson and Howell.”

  That was a name the chief had given her when he’d briefed her on what topics to cover during her chat with Derrick.

  The man’s lip curled. “You’d go to Marbleglen?”

  “I’m desperate,” Amber said, adding a helpless shrug. “But if you’re too busy because of your impending—” she gave him an elevator scan “—appointment, I can leave.” She made a move like she was heading for the door.

  Derrick sighed, then shook his head, wincing slightly. “Come on back.” Then he turned to his receptionist. “Cancel everything else on my schedule if you haven’t already done so, Ashley. After the weekend I had, I … I just can’t, okay?” He shot another tight-lipped smile at Amber. “Right this way, Miss Blackwood.”

  Derrick opened the door he’d come out of earlier, his gym bag now held at his side rather than flung over his shoulder. Amber followed behind him, her thoughts a jumbled mess. She was glad the chief’s listening device wasn’t hardwired to her brain. The questions and topics the chief had suggested were flitting around her strategies for getting the peacock toy out of her bag and into Derrick’s hands. Once she got him to hold it, could she ask him, pointblank, if he had killed Melanie? Whatever she asked, he would have to answer. Would her magic, and the use of the code word, be enough to save her, should Derrick retaliate?

  She and Derrick walked down a narrow hallway, doors on both sides. Amber wondered how many accountants worked at Sadler Accounting. No light shone behind any of the doors. No voices could be heard. Was everyone out to lunch? Amber wondered if any of the employees had left Sadler Accounting once their boss became part of a murder investigation.

  When they reached the third door on the right, Derrick turned the knob on a door labeled with his name, and the words “Head Accountant” written beneath it.

  His office was tidy, the space eaten up by a ridiculously large desk. Given the small room and the narrow hallway, she had to assume the thing had been assembled inside. It wouldn’t leave again unless it was in pieces. It was made of sleek and shiny cherrywood and was shaped like a giant L. It had a hutch on one side, lined with mesh boxes stacked with papers and folders. A large monitor sat on one side of the desk, with a stack of folders and other various papers on the other.

  Derrick motioned for Amber to take a seat in one of the two chairs on the other side of his desk, while he rounded the side of the L’s shorter arm. He dropped his gym bag in an unseen corner and then sat in his black leather desk chair. Peeling off his baseball cap, he placed it on the desk, near the monitor. It was too far away to touch, but close enough that she could see every detail of the roaring tiger’s face, its extended paw, and the words “Roaring Tiger Little League” scrawled beneath it.

  Derrick rolled forward a few inches, redirecting her attention, and placed his folded arms on the desk’s surface. He smiled, strained as it was. “So, what are your main concerns?”

  “Uhh …”

  I’m worried you killed my friend. I’m concerned that your wife is seconds from falling apart.

  “About expanding your business, I mean,” he said, as if he’d read her mind.

  Oh, that. Well, I’m worried one of my spells will misfire and cause a major catastrophe and someone will find out I’m a witch and I’ll be burned at the stake—or whatever happens to witches these days …

  “Miss Blackwood?”

  “Umm … mostly I’m worried about shipping costs,” she said, plucking an answer out of thin air. “When I keep the business localized to Edgehill, I don’t have to transport the product anywhere.”

  He’d pulled out a notepad while she talked and scribbled down a few lines. “Those are valid concerns. Have you …”

  Amber tuned him out then, as he went over things like “projected sales numbers” and “gains and losses.” She mentally sifted through the chief’s conversation suggestions. She also needed to find a logical time to pull the peacock out of her bag.

  As he continued to talk, and Amber nodded where she thought appropriate, she slowly inched her hand into her bag and closed her fingers around the body of the peacock, its feathers closed now.

  “There’s definitely a market for your creations though, Amber. You’re a very talented toymaker. I would be more than happy to help you figure out the best way to keep your costs low.”

  “Thank you,” she said, realizing this was her in. “You said Sydney really liked the duck toy?”

  Derrick leaned back in his chair a bit, smiling. The chance to talk about his love of numbers seemed to have softened him a bit to the idea of chatting with her. “Oh yes. She absolutely loves the duck. We got it for her a couple years ago, so the battery in it has died by now.” His head tottered back and forth as he clearly debated how best to say what came next. “Now, I don’t want to tell you how to run your business, please keep that in mind, but creating the toys so it’s possible to dismantle them enough to swap in a new battery will give your toys more longevity. Sydney has such fond memories of that duck. It often travels with her. But, of course, she’s thrilled to get a new one each year. Maybe your methods are actually ingenious and keep kids—and their parents—coming back for more.”

  Amber managed a tight-lipped smile similar to the one he’d angled at her in the lobby. “I actually brought a new one for Sydney as a thank-you for meeting with me.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t necessary,” he said.

  Amber placed the bird on his desk and formed the question she needed in her mind.

  Derrick’s eyes lit up as if he himself were a twelve-year-old and not a grown man. “Wow, Amber. It’s truly beautiful.”

 

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