“Of course. It was a long time coming.” Amethyst looks taken aback.
“Well, very nice, Amethyst. I’m very happy for you,” Enid says, looking anything but happy. Preston just stares at her and says nothing.
“I would like to read a poem to start off the workshop,” Amethyst says.
“Not now, Amethyst. This is my group, and I have some announcements to make.” Enid immediately jumps up.
“Oh… well, okay.” Amethyst looks pissed. She’s not used to Enid shutting her down like this. I suppose none of us are. I hear Sally’s phone beeping, and she looks down at it and starts typing furiously. There’s a small smile on her face—a smile I’ve never seen before. I notice Quincy looking over at her, scowling like he’s jealous. My heart starts racing.
I grab my phone and text Hunter.
Oh my gosh, I think Sally has a boyfriend. She’s texting someone right now, grinning, and Quincy is looking jealous.
He texts me back immediately.
Can you see the screen? Can you see if it’s Patrick’s name or number?
I type back.
I’m not sitting next to her. I can’t look.
I smile as I put my phone back into my pocket.
I love being an undercover detective with Hunter. I love that we have this.
I feel like we are about to solve the case.
I truly believe that Sally is probably dating Patrick and that Patrick is the reason why she stole the necklace. I know it’s a lot of leaps to make, but sometimes when something just seems to add up—that’s the answer.
“So, I really wanted to thank everyone for being a part of this writing group,” Enid says loudly. “I think it’s something really special. When my husband and I first met, we bonded. We bonded over our love of literature.”
“Really?” Amethyst says loudly. I glance over at her. “Preston always loved Shakespeare, but not much else.” Amethyst snorts.
“And I have always loved writing. I’ve always considered myself a modern-day Emily Brontë,” Enid continues, and no one says anything. Enid’s not as bad a writer as Amethyst, but she certainly is nowhere close to Emily Brontë standards. But I’m certainly not going to say anything.
“And because this writing group has given so much to me, I wanted to?—”
I freeze at her words. There’s something ticking in the back of my brain.
I tune out what she’s saying so that I can think about what made me sit up straight. Preston. Preston was into Shakespeare. Why did that matter?
I look around the room. I don’t know why that suddenly means something to me. And then I look at Amethyst. I think about the first time we met. What had she said to me? She’d said Shakespeare came to her in her dreams. And now I think—either she truly believed Shakespeare came to her in her dreams, and she was crazy. Or that had been a metaphor for something else. All of a sudden, my eyes move to Amethyst, and I see the dangling earrings hanging from her ears. This time, they’re whales. And then I think back to some of the photos I’d seen in the photo album. My heart starts racing, and I grab my phone and text Hunter.
Meet me in the library. Now.
He texts back immediately.
Oooh, are we going to hook up in the library?
No. I think I figured something out.
What?
Tell you in a little bit.
I put my phone back into my pocket.
Amethyst is staring at me now, her eyes narrowed. Does she know that I’m suspicious of her?
