Page 57 of Bad Luck Club

“What a douche,” Maisie said with feeling, having heard about the David saga in more detail.

David apparently wanted to date someone more exciting than an actuary, whose very career had to do with death and bad luck.

“Harry, my friend, you are better off without him,” Adalia agreed, raising her lemon drop martini for a toast. The glasses clinked, and a little of Harry’s drink slopped over the side of his. “You need to find someone you can be yourself with. Someone who appreciates knowing the death potential of everyday activities.” She darted a look at Blue. “Now, what’s the scoop on my brother and Blue? We know something happened, and neither of them are talking.”

Blue gave Harry an intent look. A very clear do-not-talk look, but the alcohol had taken over.

“Well,” Harry said, “your brother dresses like he’s a sleeper agent trying to blend in.”

Maisie laughed, lemon drop martini spraying from her lips, and covered her mouth after it was too late.

“Gross,” Adalia cried out, but she said it almost merrily, laughing too.

“Harry nailed it,” Maisie said between laughs.

Blue found herself smiling—it was funny—but she also knew she needed to nip this in the bud, fast.

“I need your help. All of you,” she said.

They turned her way, perking up, even though they were much tipsier than she was. Thank goodness for Uber.

“Finally!” Maisie said. “You’re even worse at asking for help than I am.”

“For non-dog-shelter-related things,” Adalia said. “You’re pretty brutal about strong-arming help for the shelter. But yes, obviously, Blue. We’re there for you one hundred percent. And if my brother did something stupid, I won’t kill him—I draw the line at that—but Iwillmaim him. Or glitter-bomb him. That would be funnier.”

“What’s up, Blue?” Harry said. “What can we do? I can help you disappear in five hours.”

A rush of warmth washed over Blue. She hadn’t even told them why she needed help, and yet they’d immediately offered up their services.

This was something she’d never had before coming to Asheville.

“So, my alimony money is drying up, and I realize I don’t know how to run a profitable business.”

Maisie’s eyes widened. “I suddenly wish I had less to drink.”

* * *

Despite all of her friends having been a little tipsy the previous night, they’d given her good advice. Adalia had been working on a lot of social media for the brewery, and apparently she’d been waiting not so patiently to be asked for advice. Maisie had plenty of feedback too, from the work she and Iris had been doing to promote the shelter. And Harry had offered up the name of a business accountant friend of his who could help her with her books. The only well-meaning advice she hadn’t found useful was Adalia’s suggestion that she discuss everything with Lee. Yeah, right. If he refused to talk to her or even acknowledge he’d received her challenge, he wasn’t about to offer up his business skills to keep her studio running.

Now, as she approached Dottie’s purple bungalow, taking in the random patch of turquoise that had been painted haphazardly on the siding, she steeled herself for a more direct inquisition. Because Dottie wasn’t the sort to let herself be led away from a topic someone else found disagreeable.

She knocked on the front door, and Dottie shouted from inside. “Come in, dear. Don’t stand on ceremony!”

So she let herself in. No one was in the front room, so she followed the sounds of movement to Dottie’s kitchen, where they’d had tea on her last visit. Three teacups sat in front of one chair, a fourth in front of the other.

“Oh, are other people joining us?” she asked, startled.

“No, dear,” Dottie responded, tucking her freshly dyed pink hair behind her ears, “those are for you.”

Well, at least she’d be hydrated.

She let Dottie usher her into the chair and took a startlingly blue petit four from the dish offered to her.

“Interesting,” Dottie said speculatively, eyeing Blue’s selection as she lowered into the chair across from her. She proceeded to fill all four cups of tea, but at least she poured slightly less liquid in each of them.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about the owl you saw in my leaves last time, Dottie,” she admitted. It was easier to admit that to her than it would be something else. The older woman clearly took it seriously too, hence the three cups.

“Three and seven are both important numbers. Lucky numbers.”

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