Page 50 of Sugar & Shadows

“This is our HQ,” I explained, holding my arms out in front of the group of rolling whiteboards. “A war room.”

“Are we going to war?” my mom asked.

“Yes,” Nina quipped with a fist pump. “With Birch Hollow.”

“No war,” I warned my new ally. “Strategy.” Pointing to my cell, I said, “On the phone, we have Meg.”

“Jackson, don’t stick a pretzel up your nose,” she chided rather than greeting us.

“Meg is NSA.”

“I’m retired,” she said wearily.

I rolled my eyes. We had this fight at least once a month.

“She can find anything and do anything. And most importantly, no one will ever know.”

“Can you hack into the school’s computers and give me an A in PE?” Harper asked. “It’s bullshit that it actually counts toward GPA.”

A crashing noise made the line go staticky.

“I’m going on mute,” she responded. “But text me tomorrow. I may get bored after baby music class.”

“This is Harper Fleury,” I said. “Director of social media.”

Harper’s cheeks pinked as she tucked her hair behind her ears. She’d made good use of the phone I’d given her, averaging four Instagram reels per day, using cute statues and random yummy food in town as content. We were already getting a dozen or so comments per post.

“Nina Dunne,” I said, gesturing to the young salon owner. “Business owner, information broker, and resident Gen Z specialist.”

“Laurie Monroe.” As I pointed to my mom, she adjusted her baby pink cardigan and straightened her shoulders. “Librarian, research, and keeper of the files.”

“And me.”

At the sound of a voice from the doorway, we all turned.

An elderly woman stood on the threshold, small and stooped, with a leopard print cane and fiery red hair.

“Marigold,” my mother said, jumping to her feet. “We’re closed for the night, but I can check you out.”

“I’m not here for books.” Marigold adjusted an expensive handbag looped over her arm and shuffled in. As she sat, she lifted her chin, her cloudy eyes full of determination. “I’m here to help. And believe me, you’ll want me on your team. I’ve got all the inside information and ninety years’ worth of gossip from around this town. You need to blackmail someone?” She arched a penciled-on brow. “I’m your girl.”

Nina gave her an appreciative nod.

This woman, who did not wait for an invitation, pulled out a notebook and a pen with feathers on the end, then looked up at me. “Let’s get to work.”

I opened my mouth and shut it, scanning the expressions of the other women in this room. I chose my teams carefully and the last thing I needed was the old lady gossip network spreading information about what we were up to.

“I’m old. I don’t have much time left,” she said, focus fixed on me. “This place has been my home my entire life. I owe everything I’ve got to this town. Bitsy and the mafia have only made matters worse. The youth will save us. So I’m here to support you. To do my part.”

A rejection speech had already formed in my head, yet I couldn’t force the words out. It was as if she’d put me under some kind of spell. This woman had balls. And we could not neglect the elderly demographic. They held more power than I wanted to admit.

“I’ll be your woman on the inside,” she went on. “The spy. I volunteer at the preschool and play bridge at the Senior Center every Wednesday. Bitsy Bramble rules with an iron fist, and it’s high time we try some new things. I know your reputation, Sabrina, and I’ll be discreet.”

I looked around at the other women.

Nina was smiling. My mother too.

“I’m fine with adding her to the team,” Meg chimed in. “The air fryer is dinging and these kids need their nugs, so I’m muting again. But I’m still listening.”