Chapter Three
A few minutes later, McKenna walked out of Madame Tara’s with Mr. Johnston in tow.
“I’m not sure, but what kind of a hair day are we having today, little lady? The flower is throwing me off a little.” His voice was good-natured as McKenna drove them to her next errand, with the kitten curled on his lap in the passenger seat.
“Oh, we noticed, did we?” McKenna said, smiling.
She explained about Lindsey, and from there the conversation flowed. By the time she rolled up in front of Mrs. Harold’s house, also known as the cantankerous aunt, Marvin had told her about his family in Jamaica, the chili trees he grew in his garden, and his love for the opera.
She grabbed the bouquet and stack of crocheting books—her gifts for the day—and took the kitten from Marvin before she inhaled a deep breath.
McKenna couldn’t help it, but Mrs. Harold’s rather vulgar-sized grey and drab mansion looked like the kind of house that would hold someone prisoner in the attic only to haunt the halls at night. She was certain that even the stiff peaks of her hair shivered.
Mrs. Harold kept very limited staff, and they were as sour as their employer.
Here goes nothing.
“If you see something coming your way, just duck,” she whispered to Marvin as a pinched-faced maid led them to Mrs. Harold’s study. She planned to win this woman over, no matter what it took, only so she could check it off her to-do list.
“You again,” the older woman spat at McKenna. “What is that monstrosity on your head, girl? I always knew you were not right in the head,” she said, undisguised displeasure in her voice as she tapped McKenna’s cemented locks with her cane.
Mrs. Harold better watch out, or her hair might fight back.
But then the older woman’s icy eyes narrowed on Marvin. With her bony fingers, she shifted her cane from McKenna's head and poked Marvin in the chest. “Who is this?”
“My world,” Marvin said, with such wonder, that McKenna glanced at him. He looked truly captivated, which made it difficult to believe he was putting on an act.
“Are those sapphires I am looking at?” Marvin continued, “Dancing in a celestial light, mesmerizing the onlooker and enslaving the heart. Or am I looking at a clear summer’s day, waves of crystal blue showering me with a kiss of sweetness, enthralling me with the embrace of exquisiteness? Madame, you’ve enchanted me.”
McKenna held her breath, not knowing what to expect from the stiffly dressed woman.
“Hmph,” Mrs. Harold said. “Tell me more,” she added, her face remaining in its resting choleric state, but there was a slight pink flush in her cheeks. She then turned to McKenna. “You may go,” she ordered. “You may stay,” she said to Marvin.
Well, well, well.
And she thought Mrs. Harold needed happy pills when she just needed a Marvin Johnston.
After setting down the flowers and the books on an old Victorian table, McKenna managed to hide her glee until she got to her car, the kitten still in her arms, and this time without Marvin. She’d booked the gentleman for the afternoon and would arrange a car to take him back to Madame Tara’s.
Next up, the musician—first name Ultimate, surname, Beat. This one should be easy. The heartthrob teen pop star had his ego bent out of complete shape a few months ago when one of her bosses, Ledger Mayfield, to be precise, told him to his face that he sounded like a Chihuahua whose balls were being used as a pin cushion.
Except now, Ledger’s niece wanted Ultimate Beat to perform at her sixteenth birthday, but the singer was still a little butt hurt, apparently.
Okay, so maybe she didn’t exactly tell his manager who she worked for—after he’d almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of her, probably because of her hair—and didn’t correct him when he assumed she was a reporter. How else was she going to get in to see his client otherwise? Needs must and all that.
Ultimate Beat, with his piercings and tattoos and chain mail outfit, took one look at the kitten in her arms and melted at McKenna’s feet. Of course, he would. After stalking his socials, she discovered he was still mourning the loss of his childhood pet, and the kitten McKenna had found bore a spooky resemblance to Ultimate’s cat, Freya, of whom she had seen countless pictures online.
“A gift from Ledger Mayfield,” McKenna said sweetly, watching the singer stiffen at the name before she handed over the kitten to him. She didn’t need to say more, and before long it was a done deal. Ultimate Beat would be performing at Rose’s birthday party, and Ledger would once again be in his niece’s good graces.
She smiled all the way to her car yet again, eager to check the musician off her list. She couldn’t wait to get home, take off her bra, eat a carton of ice cream, and watch her favorite reality series.
Oh right. She still had to sort out her hair. Lindsey had sent her a hundred messages throughout the day, and she’d let her cousin know for the hundredth time it was all right. She’d survived the day just fine, hadn’t been arrested for obstructing everything in sight, and there was nothing to forgive her cousin for.
McKenna then sent Madame Tara a message to make sure everything was on schedule. The ladies were supposed to be heading to their respective venues about now. And then she drove herself home, but not before stopping for pizza, which would serve as hers and Lindsey's dinner since her cousin was on her way to McKenna’s apartment to dunk her head in conditioner.
As soon as she got home, and while she waited for Lindsey, she started to send another message to Madame Tara after receiving no reply from her, but just then a notification from the Madame herself popped onto her screen.
She skimmed the words.
Oh shits.
No. No. No.
This couldn’t be happening. She called Madame Tara, and it went straight to voicemail. She probably couldn’t answer her phone because she was otherwise engaged, possibly with her head in the toilet.
Madame Tara, Azura, Sonya, and Elara had come down with food poisoning. Something they’d eaten at the office earlier on.
Food poisoning.