Out back, I hurry past the lawn chairs circled around the fire pit and the two massive barbeques the fire station puts to use for family meals and fundraisers and make a beeline for the dumpster at the edge of the graveled area. I find the small folder full of identical clues taped to the back almost immediately and for a moment consider reading one and tossing the rest of the clues into the dumpster to throw the other hunters off the trail.
But I can’t. Cheating isn’t me. I’ve suffered for other people cheating, and I’ve watched people I love get hurt by cheating. I can also hear Olivia in both my lizard head and in my elephant heart, reminding me that cheating and foul play cast ugly shadows over this beautiful earth we’ve been given. Prizes—especially magical ones—require fair play.
Besides, there’s nothing Beatrice hates more than a cheater, and I love her too much to let her down, even if she’ll never find out about it.
So, I grab a single clue and skim it quickly.
It’s a great day for a song or a dance. Squint into the bright lights when you get your chance. Pro tip: Love songs are sure to turn a gray sky blue, but watch out or you might catch a buzz before you find this next clue.
Oh! I know this one!
I hope.
I think.
How much has Happy Cat changed since I’ve been gone?
Surely not much. And even if there are other places in town now where a person might “catch a buzz,” I’m positive none of them have karaoke except The Wild Hog. And “squint into the bright light when you get your chance” must mean we all have to perform a song to get our next clue.
A wave of sadness momentarily hits me again as another unbidden memory pops into my head. Colin’s office had a family holiday party last year, and since he worked so late that day, I had to take Beatrice to meet him. When I got there, he invited me to stay, and how could I resist my stiff and proper but oh-so-irresistible boss handing me a hot buttered rum?
I couldn’t.
And as I hovered near the back, I watched Beatrice convince him to sing karaoke with her.
When Mr. Stuffy took the stage to perform a horribly awkward version of “All I Want For Christmas Is You” with his daughter and the amazing voice I didn’t realize he had, I knew I was well and truly in love.
I shake off the memory. It’s time to move. If I’m the first person to sing for my next clue, I’ll have at least a two- or three-minute head start over the person behind me. Maybe more if I make sure no one follows me to Jace’s bar.
Slipping out through the back gate into the alley, I circle around to the main drag, poking my head out first to make sure I’m not being observed as I dart across the street into the bushes on one side of the park, then taking the most direct route to the bar without anyone else realizing where I’m headed. As I drop to my hands and knees, crawling through the shade beneath the prickly limbs, grateful I wore leggings and tennis shoes instead of my sundress, I swear I hear Beatrice’s laugh. She has the best laugh—full and free and jam-packed with joy that lifts my heart every time I hear it.
But of course, I’m imagining things.
Wishing for things I need to stop wishing for.
Beatrice is an ocean away, and it will likely be a very, very long time until I see her again. If I ever see her again—which I might not, if Colin is cranky about the way I left or hires a better nanny who Beatrice loves so much she forgets about me entirely by the time school starts up next year.
The thought makes my “allergies” act up again, and by the time I emerge from the other end of the row of bushes, there are tears in my eyes. Scrambling to my feet, I swipe the backs of my hands across my cheeks, roll my shoulders back, and jog toward the bar.
I have to stop thinking about Beatrice and Colin. I have to stay focused on the task at hand. And once I win, I’ll stay focused on cleaning up my house and getting resettled in Happy Cat. At least I won’t have to worry about running into my evil, sheep-screwing ex-husband. Steve went to prison for setting fire to my factory, with my sister in it, and won’t be bothering me—or any farm animals—anytime soon.
And I swear, that’s the exact thought running through my head as I push through the door into The Wild Hog to see my ex sitting at the bar, laughing with a woman in a fluffy white jacket and even fluffier blond hair eerily reminiscent of a sheep’s spring fleece.