Page 88 of Any Luck at All

Adalia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. And I’m not sorry. Not for one second. They weren’t mine anymore. They were tainted after Alan claimed them.” She sobered. “Just likeIam. I can never go back to New York. My reputation is ruined.”

Georgie’s heart broke for her. “But what about your art show? The one you were telling me and Lee about?”

“A lie Alan told me,” she said, tears filling her eyes again. “To keep me too busy to notice what he was doing.”

Georgie was going to find the best lawyer to destroy Alan Stansworth, but she couldn’t do it until tomorrow. Tonight she was going to baby the crap out of her sister. “I think we need wine. And I have some leftover pizza.”

“Wine?” Adalia asked with a wry grin. “Shouldn’t we be drinking Buchanan Beer?”

“About that. There’s plenty I need to tell you too, starting with what really happened in this house after the séance.”

Adalia’s eyes lit up, like she knew she was about to be the recipient of some high-quality gossip, and they both slid off the bed. But they didn’t get very far before the high-pitched screech of a cat came from the backyard. “Jezebel!”

“Jezebel?” Adalia asked. “Do I want to know?”

There was more screeching and the sound of metal clanging against something.

Georgie made a face. “Something tells me you’re about to find out, whether you like it or not.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Part of River wanted to text Georgie, just to make sure Adalia had gotten in okay. He felt anxious for her, knowing how badly she wanted things to work out with her sister. He took out his phone to turn on the ringer, something he habitually kept off now that his number was common knowledge, and saw there were several texts from Finn.

He ticked his hand against the phone, thinking about ignoring them like he had the others, but it had occurred to him earlier, at Eye of the Tiger, that things might not be going so well for Finn. That maybe he was having a hard time too. And sure, he was the one who’d made the decision to sell, but even so…

He clicked through.

River, I know you’re mad, man. But I need to tell you something. I think you’d want to hear it from a friend.

OK, I could practically see the expression on your face when you read that. But I AM your friend, like it or not.

Holy shit, I just saw Jezebel.

Another text came through while he read that last one:I’m on the move. Still have that crate from when Maisie suckered me into fostering that tiny dog with the bladder issue. Stay tuned.

Leave it to Finn to write a book while chasing a cat. Well, there was no ignoring that. Or at least Aunt Dottie would never forgive him if he did, and Beau would probably start showing up in his dreams for not-so-encouraging reasons.

So he put Hops in his crate and headed over to Flint Street for the second time that night.

His phone buzzed again on the seat beside him, and when he checked it at a red light, he saw Finn’s latest text:I think she’s heading to Beau’s. Plan is to intercept once she gets there.

Which meant River would have to go there too. Finn didn’t even know Georgie had moved back in.

Should he warn her?

Absolutely, yes. The one party crasher guaranteed to ruin a heartfelt reunion was a pissed-off cat who’d gotten accustomed to a life of freedom. Well, he could only hope the sardines would pacify her.

He clicked Georgie’s number just as the light changed, putting the call on speaker, but it rang through to her voicemail.

Hopefully that wasn’t because she was busy chasing Jezebel—or hitting Finn over the head with a cast-iron frying pan. Sure, he was pissed at the guy, but he didn’t want him injured or dead.

He pulled up in front of Beau’s house later, parking the car behind Georgie’s—at least she’d gotten home safely—although perhaps it would have been better if she and Adalia had gone out somewhere. He’d only just set the emergency brake when he heard someone bellow in the backyard, followed by a familiar atonal shriek.

He bolted around back, pausing a second to take in what he was seeing.

Someone had flicked on the outside light, giving him an all-too-clear view. Finn had climbed up the back porch, stalking Jezebel, and apparently he’d managed to get the open canvas pet carrier over and around her, like putting a glass jar over a spider. Only now it was bucking around as if she truly were a miniature panther, spraying sardine oil everywhere, and Finn didn’t have a great hold on the carrier, or her, because Adalia had just attacked him with some sort of projectile. Was that a crystal?

He wasn’t sure, but he started running toward the porch. If Jezebel got out of that bag right now, things were unlikely to go well for any of them.

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