Chapter 35
BECCA
Iwake up to the bed already cold. Sam often starts his day early, especially in the summer, to beat the heat. I stretch and head out to start the coffee maker before I can pretend to be human. As I move to the pot, I see a note.
Didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye. Thank you for the best night. Coffee is brewed, and I brought the trash cans back in. Love you —S.
That damn thoughtful man. I hate waking up in the morning and having to perform a human action to make my elixir of life. I pour myself some coffee and take a seat on the couch. My phone pings, and I check the message.
Nessa
Zentrology night still on at your house, Becs?
Phi
It better be - my skin needs some extra love from all the stress I am under on this big case.
Tonight’s theme, provided lovingly by Nessa as always, is “Glow and Guidance.” We start the night by each pulling a card, then move on to a full-on skin-care routine. The guidance card is supposed to help direct us to what we need more of.
You bet! I have the face masks ready to go!
Mack
Awesome - I raided the samples bin at the uber expensive cosmetics store Reece loves the other day and can’t wait to try all these overpriced products.
After confirming the time details, I set down my phone and enjoy my cup of coffee, which I didn’t make. I run through the mental list of supplies I have to gather and feel a familiar sense of dread over how much this night will cost.
I take a deep breath in, holding for five, four, three, two, and one, and exhale for eight. I picked up this strategy on some random Insta account for anxiety, and it helps.
I know the girls are bringing supplies, and that I don’t have to buy a significant amount. But the apprehension of spending money is hard to overcome at times.
I remember asking my mom for a fresh orange one day at the store, and she told me we had a coupon for canned pears, which was what we would have to get. I don’t blame my mom; we had to make do with what we could. But the anxiety of those moments from such a young age never truly leaves you.
The Lily Drive house hasn’t closed, so my commission check hasn’t arrived. I know Sam has been making deposits, but I have been paying down the cabin as fast as I could with that.
Against my better judgment, I check my bank account to double-check the amount. My eyes bulge at the additional $3,250 I didn't expect from Sam. I check the spreadsheet and find a variety of new entries:
$1,892.23 - Finished Hawthorne Deck early, saved on labor
$473.28 - Returned unused fence materials
And my personal favorite
$250 - Poker night at Jared’s, wiped the floor with the new guy (in for $20)
I laugh at his updates, loving the consistency of him still showing up. But then I realize, with a bit of panic, that I don’t know how Sam has been depositing the funds into my personal account. His name is nowhere associated with it. The familiar fear creeps back in.
Could he take it?
Before I spiral, I pick up the phone and call him.
“Hey, baby, how did you sleep?” He asks with his silky swagger.
I jump right in. “I saw the additional money in my account this morning. How do you actually deposit it? My account is completely separate from any joint account we had. Did you get access to it?” I hate the accusation lacing my tone, but I can’t wrangle it in at the moment.
Sam pauses before answering, “I’m sorry, I should have told you. No, I have zero access to that account, never have, and I never will. But babe, come on, you know how I did it.”
I stop and think for a moment. “Oh my goodness … did you let yourself get objectified by Mrs. Reynolds to deposit money in my account?!”
Mrs. Reynolds is the local Cascadia bank teller, over seventy and reads smutty romance novels between customers.
She hits on Sam every time he walks in, swearing he has been in one of her romance covers, The Builder and the Beauty.
To be fair, I checked it out after she recommended it, and it definitely could have been him moonlighting in the past.
“I, uh, may have let her squeeze my bicep if she let me deposit the funds to your account.”
I burst out laughing at the imagery of Sam leaning his bicep over the counter, turning beet red through the process.
“I think you made her entire year with that one!”
Sam chuckles. “Naw, next time Jared comes in wearing his glasses, she will forget all about me.”
I don’t quite believe him, but she does have a thing for Jared and his “nerdy-hot” vibe, as she puts it. Mack told me Mrs. Reynolds swears he was the star of the Nerd in the Nude book she read last year.
“Listen, I have to go, but have a great night with the girls. Buy the extra fancy cheese that smells horrible, but you love, even if it isn’t on sale.”
I smile, teary-eyed that he even recognized my spending pattern. “Thank you, I will.” We hang up, and I feel the guilt ease away as I head to the store for a night of pampering myself and my friends with no budget in mind.
“Mack told me elderflower is for healing,” I say, handing her a glass of elderflower spritz.
“I grew it,” I say, like it’s not a big deal, settling onto the rug with them. The living room smells like the face masks Mack brought and the scented candles already burning low on every surface.
Nessa pauses mid-sip. “You grew this.”
“Yes.”
“In your yard?”
“Where else would I grow it, Nessa? The parking lot at Shop n’ Go?”
She squints at me like I might be lying, as talented as Nessa is at many things, having a green thumb is not one of them.
“I just need to understand the level of effort I’m drinking,” she says, swirling the glass like it’s wine with good legs, when really it’s prosecco and simple syrup.
“It took forever,” I say, tucking my legs under me. “Like nothing is happening, nothing is happening, and then suddenly—boom.”
Phoenix glances up at that, quick, like it hit something, then looks back down at her glass.
Vanessa clinks hers into mine. “To delayed gratification.”
“To patience,” Mack adds, already smoothing something onto her cheek with the focus of a woman who takes skincare seriously.
“To me, not having patience,” Nessa says, taking another sip.
We all drink. It’s light, floral, and dangerous in the way that doesn’t feel like it until your second glass.
Nessa hesitates mid-sip, like she’s debating something. “So, this might be nothing,” she says, glancing between us. “But I was catering that Yarrow fundraiser event last week.”
Phoenix groans. “Those people again.”
“Yeah,” Nessa says. “And I swear I saw Rick there. Like … not as a guest. He was talking to them pretty seriously.”
My stomach tightens, just a little. “Talking how?” I ask.
Nessa shrugs. “Not friendly. More like … cajoling. Trying to persuade them it will work out.”
Phoenix’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t sound great.”
“No,” I say quietly. “It doesn’t.”
Phoenix sets her glass down. "How many texts have you received now?"
"Three. Unknown numbers, but I know they are him. The last one mentioned the cabin property specifically."
"Forward them all to me," Phoenix says, in her attorney voice now, "Screenshot everything. Dates, times, and content. If he's connected to Yarrow and they're interfering with a city inspection that's not just harassment—that's potentially tortious interference."
"So we have something?" I ask.
"Not yet," she says carefully. "But you will. Keep documenting. The moment there's a pattern we can take to someone, you'll have it."
We pause for a moment, letting that information settle before Nessa wrangles us back on task.
“Okay.” Nessa is already shifting forward like she’s been waiting for her moment. “We are not sitting here with glowy skin and good lighting without intention.”
Phoenix groans. “I knew this was coming.”
“No,” Nessa says, digging into her bag and pulling out a deck of cards like she’s about to perform a trick. “These are oracle cards. Unlike tarot, there is no set structure or somewhat rigid meanings. These are more flexible, specifically used for spiritual guidance.”
“That sounds like you prepared that for your podcast,” Mack mentions
“It sounds like the tarot industry is trying to expand into more modern, mainstream forms,” Phoenix mutters.
Nessa ignores both of them, aggressively shuffling like the cards personally offended her. One nearly flies off the table. Mack catches it mid-air without looking up from her face mask.
“Thank you,” Nessa says.
“I’m invested now,” Mack says calmly. “Continue.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing, taking another sip. This feels … right. Having my friends gathered again in my home.
Nessa fans the cards across the table with a flourish that would be more impressive if half of them weren’t slightly bent. The candlelight catches the edges of the spread, making the whole table look more intentional than it probably is.
“Everyone pulls one,” Nessa demands. “We set the tone. We reflect. We grow.” She adds with a flourish of her hand.
“You practiced that too,” I laugh, staring at the deck.
“I care about us,” Nessa shoots back. “And yes, you all are my guinea pigs, you’re welcome, my cute little furballs. Phoenix, you first.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the most resistant, and I need to humble you.”
Phoenix rolls her eyes but leans forward anyway, hovering her hand over the spread.
“For the record,” she says, “I don’t believe in this.”
“Great,” Nessa says. “Then you won’t overthink it.”
Phoenix’s fingers move slowly over the cards. Not touching. Hovering, like she’s waiting for something. When she picks one, she doesn’t flip it right away.
“Don’t get weird about it,” Vanessa says.
“I’m not being weird,” Phoenix says, which is exactly what someone says when they are being weird.
She flips it over as the card catches the candlelight. Nessa leans in immediately.
“Oh.”
“What?” Phoenix is already defensive.
“That’s a good one.”
“Aren’t they all good ones?” Asks Mack, attempting to keep her mask on.
“Not like that,” Nessa says.