The trick was not to touch anything. Because Effie could always tell. Especially if you touched her books. She always knew if a book was in the wrong place.
Bonnie gently cracked the door open. Even though she knew full well that her sister wasn’t home, she glanced around to make sure Effie wasn’t about to pounce up from her readingchair or out from under the bed. Of course, Bonnie wasn’t trespassing, not really. She was just availing herself of better humidity conditions. Like how she sometimes came in here waving her phone about her head under the guise of getting a better phone signal.
Effie’s room was the spiritual opposite of Bonnie’s. The bed was tidily made, her clothes were put away, and there were far too few cushions. Although the pothos that grew above the reading chair was in magnificent shape, Bonnie thought, slightly jealously. But it was easier for Effie to tend to something than it was for Bonnie – her job let her keep regular hours, and she barely went out otherwise. Honestly, there was no excuse for hernotto have thriving houseplants.
Bonnie plugged the curler in, propping it up on a dinner plate to avoid scorching a hole in the ornate desk. No sparks, no crackling, which seemed like a good sign. She frowned in indignation at the round mirror propped up against the window alcove. What on earth were you meant to do with a mirror so lacking in dimensionality? Although that explainedso much, truly. Effie had never seen her full reflection. Little wonder she got about in the outfits she did.
While the curler heated up, Bonnie poked about, looking for any evidence of Effie’s dalliance with Theo – because there wasdefinitelysomething going on between the two of them. Bonnie couldn’t figure it out. Effie was like a holly bush – endlessly prickly in her defensiveness. It was nearly impossible to get close to her. Their mom had been the only one she’d truly opened up to, and without Lyra’s mediating force, Effie was just getting sharper and more irritable.
Bonnie tapped her bottom lip, trying to make sense of it. Effie’s room gave away no secrets – there were a few books of poetry on the desk, but that was no surprise. Effie loved pretentious things. And everything else in the room seemed so boringly Effie. The tidy bookshelves. The vintage brassquail sculptures, a gift from Tessa. The three-wick Paris-scented candle that had never been lit, a gift from Bonnie. The single tub of lip balm that Mom had given her after her lower lip split during a particularly bitter winter.
It was time to go straight to the source.
Glancing around again, just in case, Bonnie pulled out the diary her sister had kept under her mattress since the two of them had been small. Not the very same one, of course. The volumes had come and gone over the years, although Bonnie wasn’t sure what her sister did with the completed ones. This volume, decorated with golden curlicues and imprinted with floral designs, seemed so small. It was barely bigger than Bonnie’s hand.
Biting her lip, she glanced at it, willing a breeze to come through the room so that the book might open of its own accord. No luck.
Whoops, oh no. She’d dropped it.
Gravity, you cheeky thing.
The little volume landed spine-up, open just a few pages from the front.
Well, she had to pick it up now.
As she did, the last entry in the book caught her eye. It was from the day before Mom’s death. Effie, a dedicated, lifelong diarist, hadn’t written anything since then.
Bonnie swallowed. Maybe her sister wasn’t infallible after all. Maybe therewassome emotion in there under all the snide looks and curt comments.
Without reading that last entry, she returned the diary to its rightful spot, smoothing the comforter so that it was wrinkle-free. Then she set to work touching up her hair, drifting into that familiar meditative state as she twirled curl after curl around the hot wand. She thought about her sister and all the time she’d been spending with Theo. As frustrating as Effie was, she was still Bonnie’s sister, and Bonnie didn’t wantto see her hurt. Embarrassed, sure. Put in her place a little, absolutely. But not hurt.
Setting down the curler, Bonnie jutted her face in front of Effie’s tiny mirror, trying to get a proper glimpse of her hair. Itseemedto be sleek and glossy, with the waves curling loosely as she’d intended.
Take that, evil frizz charm.
She unplugged the curler, letting it cool down. All right. It was time to head back to the Flamingo Room and raid her closet for her pinkest, most fabulous outfit.
‘Welcome to Pink Wednesday!’ called Bonnie as the front door swung open for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Her throat was hoarse. In between calling out names for the hexed drinks she’d been pouring, she’d been having an extremely high-energy discussion with Bowow Walker, who was clad in mismatching pinks that clashed so hard theyalmostworked. They were discussing Madame Destinée’s latest horoscopes, which had specifically warned Leos about blood being thicker than rivalry.
‘Mine said that the frenemy of one’s frenemy was one to watch,’ said Bruce Dickens, who was seated at the bar in a too-tight fuchsia T-shirt. ‘I’m watching you, Bowow.’
‘Oh, shut it, Bruce.’ Bowow whacked him with one of Uncle Oswald’s agate coasters. She put on her reading glasses to examine it. ‘These are charming, actually. Does your uncle have anything for dogs? I have a Pomeranian with a dicky hip. And a German shepherd with terrible anxiety.’
‘He does indeed,’ said Uncle Oswald, who’d just now oozed in the door. Wearing green, of course. ‘For your Pomeranian, I recommend a combination of onyx and rhodonite, with a touch of aventurine for the connective tissue. Just bring that coaster over and I’ll honour the discount.’
‘Discount? Don’t threaten me with a good time, hon.’
Uncle Oswald smiled smarmily. ‘Any time spent at Behindthe Curtain is a good time. I just wanted to stop by a moment in support of my wonderful niece, but I’ll be heading back across the square shortly, should you care to join me.’
‘Done, and done,’ said Bowow. She finished her drink and gave the counter a cheerful slap. ‘Let me powder my nose, and then I’m all yours.’
With Bowow gone and Bruce having turned to chat with another barfly about the karaoke numbers they had planned for later, Oswald pulled up a seat in front of Bonnie, popping his hat down on the table and grinning his usual oily grin. The tips of his fingers had a purple tinge to them, as though he’d been painting.
Bonnie fought the urge to recoil. There was just something about Oswald that left a bad taste in her mouth. Even though he hadn’t ever done anything especiallywrong. In fact, he’d been true to his word. For every customer Bonnie sent his way, he set aside a portion of his profits, and he was prompt about paying as well. Bonnie was actually beginning to make a dent in her bills.
‘I see the new recipes are quite the hit,’ he noted, counting the purple drinks around the room while Bonnie poured his usual mint julep. ‘And overall, people seem more even-keeled. Wouldn’t you think?’
Bonnie slid his drink across the bar. ‘Sure. And the drinks are popular, which is the big thing.’
