The salty-sweet smell of dill and batter filled the air as I crouched behind the fried-pickle stand, my stomach tight. “This is our moment,” I whispered, gently stroking Lucy’s silky fur. My little skunk and I had spent months training for this day, and now it was time to show Sugarland what we could do.
Lucy’s nose twitched as I ruffled the little tuft on her head and gave her a quick peck.
“You missed,” a familiar voice teased. I looked up to see Ellis Wydell, my handsome boyfriend, tapping his cheek.
He deserved a little love too, I supposed. After all, he was pulling double duty that afternoon as skunk handler and beauty consultant.
Could I pick ’em or what?
I straightened and kissed his cheek, feeling his weekend stubble. “You’re both spoiled.”
“Happily,” he replied, his dimples deepening as a pair of my grandmother’s church friends winked at us and tittered as they strolled past, rose perfume wafting in their wake.
The smell always reminded me of her.
It seemed half of Sugarland, Tennessee, had gathered in the town square for the annual Pet Parade and Festival. Wagging tails and excited barks mingled with the sizzle from food trucks and chatter from vendor booths. Bright striped tents housed the town’s biggest adoption event of the year, lining up all the way from Main Street to the stately old city hall.
Best of all, the entire shindig benefited the Sugarland Animal Sanctuary. I couldn’t have been prouder of my town or the turnout.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this popular,” Ellis said, nodding to Nancy Tarkington from the mayor’s office, who was making balloon animals for the kids in the circle drive behind us.
“I should have known you’d make an unfairly handsome prince,” I said, tugging on a gold button on his Disney ensemble. His royal blue coat accentuated his broad shoulders, while the fitted white pants showed off his athletic build. A gold sash across his chest completed the look. “This is what happens when you let Lucy pick your costume.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t help but admire his chiseled jawline. “Anything for my girls.”
We’d snagged a private moment near the historic library with its imposing front columns and weathered brick walls. On the left side, under an arched window, a Civil War cannonball was still lodged in the foundation.
It was the perfect backdrop for Lucy’s agility contest debut.
We’d already marched in the parade, Lucy bouncing along in her fairy princess costume, wings bobbing with every step.
But she already had a reputation as a town beauty.
Now it was time to showcase her talent.
“Let’s go,” Ellis said, leading the way around the grandstands to the grassy center of the square. Jumps, tunnels, and weave poles dotted the lawn under the watchful eye of our town founder, Colonel Ramsey Larimore, as he sat atop his horse, immortalized in Tennessee limestone.
I gave Lucy a final once-over, making sure her tiara was secure. “You’re going to do great.” She’d nailed every run on our backyard practice course. I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “And don’t forget our surprise trick at the end.”
That was sure to wow the judges.
“You’re sure she needs the wings?” Ellis pondered in the tone he usually reserved for more official matters.
It was his analytical nature that made him Sugarland’s finest police officer.
“She’s been training with them.” Plus, they looked great on the jumps. I’d selected my sparkly green tank top to match. But I’d kept the rest of my outfit simple—white capris and sneakers. Lucy was the star.
I smoothed the cowlick behind her ear. “She’s ready.”
“Almost.” Ellis reached into his pocket and then tied a big pink bow onto Lucy’s tail, his large hands surprisingly deft. “For luck,” he said, stroking her head.
Gorgeous.
She swished her tail happily.
I scooped her up and linked an arm through Ellis’s as we headed for the starting line. “My grandma always said, ‘When it doubt, put a bow on it.’”
A burly fellow with tattooed arms strolled past, his eyes widening at Ellis’s princely attire. “Who knew Sugarland’s toughest lawman had a soft side?”
I did.
And I loved every bit of it.
The festival’s happy buzz carried us along. I waved to Mr. Hartley, the library director. He’d taken over when Sheila Ward retired. I grinned when I saw Jude Donovan from church. She made the best cheesy chicken and Ritz cracker casserole on this earth—then I spotted Mrs. Hummerman at the check-in table. The head judge clutched her clipboard, her wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose like they were afraid to get too close to her beady eyes.
I shot her my brightest smile. “It’s a beautiful day to race.”
She glanced at Lucy’s number 13, her mouth twisting. “I still say nobody wants to see a skunk in this competition.” She smirked when she saw my mood falter. “Skunks are smelly vermin. Even ones who dress in lace and bows.”
Ellis shot her a long look. “I think you’ve confused judging with being judgmental.”
Lucy tensed, probably because she felt me do it.
I pasted on a smile, determined not to let Mrs. Hummerman get to me. “I appreciate all the work you put into this competition.”
And I did.
“Kill them with kindness,” I told Lucy once we were out of earshot. It was my mom’s favorite saying. Though at this rate, one more sugary smile from me and Mrs. Hummerman might keel right over.
The contest forms never specified dogs only. They didn’t even require contestants to be mammals. I’d half expected to see Mrs. Kroter’s cockatoo weaving through the poles. That bird was wicked smart. Almost as smart as my skunk.
And in a few seconds, we’d show Mrs. Hummerman and everyone else exactly what skunks could do.
The scoreboard was done in multicolored chalk on a slate board framed with silk daisies. Bree from the animal rescue stood proudly next to her creation. I gave her a wave.
She wore her trademark cat-eye glasses and a vibrant yellow tank top she’d knitted herself. Everything Bree did, she did with her whole heart.
The top three scores stood out, each marked with a gold star:
Biscuit (Corgi) 9.92
Princess Pawsome (Golden Retriever) 9.95
Sir Barksalot (Poodle) 9.99
The announcer’s microphone crackled.
“Next up, Verity Long with Lucy!” Pete from Rural Radio boomed. He paused. “Lucy is a… Is this right? Skunk.”
Ellis squeezed my arm. “Show them what two princesses can do,” he said, planting a quick kiss on my head.
The crowd in the fold-out grandstand erupted in cheers as Lucy and I took our places at the starting line. Up close, the course loomed larger—the jumps higher, the tunnels longer—far more challenging than anything I could have rigged in my backyard.
I suddenly wished we’d trained harder.
But no. We had this.
I clutched Lucy close as her little paws started pumping. She wanted me to put her down.
“Soon,” I promised.
“Verity!” my friend Maisie called from the back row, her wild gray hair barely contained in a long braid. She held up a poster board that read Skunks Rule, Poodles Drool! in stark black-on-white.
I waved at her, then spotted a real-life gangster in the crowd. Well, a dead one. He appeared in semitransparent gray, wearing the same 1920s pin-striped suit he’d died in. Frankie lived on my property with me, ever since I’d accidentally trapped him there. When he lent me his power, I could see the ghostly side of Sugarland. Over the years, we’d solved murders, uncovered long-buried crimes, and even unearthed a trove of lost pirate loot.
“Let me know if you need any help!” he hollered. “I got a way with the judges,” he added, patting the holstered revolver under his jacket.
Naturally.
Frankie had lived—and died—thinking gangland shakedowns solved all life’s problems.
“I’m good,” I mouthed, sparing a grin for his sweet Victorian ghost of a girlfriend, Molly, who cuddled next to him.
I held Lucy still while the referee attached a timing chip to her collar.
Right in front of Molly sat Mrs. Gremmelter, my old high school lunch lady. Like Frankie, she appeared as she’d died, which had probably been at or after work since Mrs. G sported a hair net and a crisp white smock and pants in the afterlife. She chatted animatedly with Miss Felicia, my late Sunday school teacher, whose Hang in There cat T-shirt and ankle-length skirt were a familiar sight.
The living instinctively gave the ghosts a wide berth, creating pockets of emptiness in the stands. Still, there were more vacant seats than I’d expected, the gaps making the crowd feel oddly sparse.
The race official approached with his scanner. Lucy’s new tracker gave a sharp beep, and I glanced at my watch with a pang. The race had run ten minutes over. My sister, Melody, would have been forced to leave by now. The Kids’ Craft Fair at the library had been due to start as soon as the race had been scheduled to end.
My hand drifted to my pocket, closing around the small object Melody had pressed into my palm after the parade. It was her lucky charm, a tiny brass thimble passed down to her from our grandmother. The metal was worn smooth from years of nervous fiddling. My sister was with me in spirit.
The referee raised his hand and pointed to the starting line.
This was our moment.
“Ready, Lucy?” I gave her a gentle scratch behind the ears. “Let’s show them what skunks can do.”
Lucy’s tiny black nose twitched, and she pawed the ground, her eyes locked on the course ahead. She coiled like a spring, ready to prove skunks belonged in any race in Sugarland.
The official raised his flag. “Ready?” He whipped it down. “Go!”
Lucy shot off like a furry bullet, with me hot on her heels. “Weave poles,” I called, pointing ahead. She zipped between them with a grace that would make a border collie swoon.
“A-frame,” I called as she shot out from the last pole, her little legs pumping furiously. Lucy scrambled up and over without missing a beat. The judges scribbled on their clipboards, eyeing both her speed and form.
Mrs. H was the only one frowning.
Lucy would win her over.
As long as I kept up.
I dug deep, lungs on fire as I put on a burst of speed. Lucy pulled ahead as we approached the tunnel. “Through,” I panted. I could’ve sworn she’d never run this fast.
A whiff of something acrid hit me as she vanished into the blue tube. Smoke? I glanced around but saw nothing amiss. The tube shook as she powered her way through and emerged in a blur of black and white.
Time was crucial, but so was accuracy. “Jump,” I gasped, legs burning as she raced for a bar that loomed much higher for a ten-pound skunk than a ten-pound dog.
Lucy cleared it with a swish of her tail.
And the next one.
And the next one!
My heart hammered as we flew through the rest of the course—over the tire jump, across the seesaw. We’d show Sugarland who was the number one pet!
With each obstacle, the cheering from the stands intensified. Even Mrs. Hummerman’s pinched expression had melted into something resembling begrudging tolerance.
We’d take it.
Lucy blazed across the finish line to the click of the official’s stopwatch. I stumbled after her. But she wasn’t finished yet.
With a final burst of energy, Lucy reared up on her hind legs and twirled for the crowd, her beribboned tail fanning out like a feather boa.
The grandstand erupted. Maisie’s Skunks Rule! poster bounced wildly. The ghosts leapt to their feet. Or at least they floated higher than usual.
“Up!” I called, bending down, like we’d practiced. Lucy dashed straight up my back and onto my shoulder. I stood, my heart pounding in time with the applause.
“You were amazing,” I gushed, still catching my breath.
Lucy gave my cheek a nuzzle.
Ellis wrapped us both in a bear hug. “That was incredible! You two just made Sugarland history!”
The judges huddled together with their heads bowed in intense discussion. All except for Mrs. H, who stared us down.
“She looks like she swallowed a bug,” I said under my breath.
“More like her pride.” Ellis stroked Lucy under her chin.
“The lowest score is dropped,” I assured him, wiping sweat from my brow. “We have a chance. Especially if we ran the fastest.”
Lucy took advantage of my distraction to wriggle out of my arms and leap into Ellis’s surprised but steady embrace.
“She’s got good taste,” I said as Lucy nuzzled against his broad chest, her paws kneading his jacket.
My breath caught as Bree posted Lucy’s score. The crowd’s chatter swelled as I stared, hardly daring to believe it.
“Lucy wins!” Maisie shouted, her wild gray hair flying. Lucy sprang from Ellis’s arms to dance in victory circles, and the grandstand erupted in cheers. Ellis swept me into a kiss.
The official ushered us out onto the field, where Miss Sugarland tottered over in her tiara, sash, and impossibly high heels. She presented us with a gleaming trophy and an oversized hundred-dollar check.
“Stand close together now.” Reporter Ovis Dupre arranged us, camera ready. “Big smiles for the Lifestyle section.”
“Wait.” I pulled out the small ribbon Mom had sent. First Place Skunk gleamed in gold on blue.
Miss Sugarland helped me drape it over Lucy.
“I had it handy just in case,” I said, my cheeks warming.
Oh, who was I kidding? My skunk would’ve worn that ribbon either way.
I held Lucy high, her fairy wings glittering. The crowd’s cheers swelled, a tidal wave of love for our little skunk. I caught Ellis’s eye, and his proud smile said it all. My girl had won more than a race.
Then a shout sliced through the celebration. “Fire!”
I whirled. Black smoke trailed from a second-story window of the Sugarland Library.
Melody.
My sister was inside.
The festive crowd shattered into screams. My feet moved before my brain caught up, Lucy squirming in my arms as I raced toward the blaze.
“Verity!” Ellis’s hand clamped my arm. “Stay back,” he ordered, already in police mode. He tore past me toward Detective Marshall and Chief Royce.
I’d stay back when my sister was safe.
I dug out my phone, dialing Melody as I ran.
She didn’t pick up.
I tried again.
No answer.
Sirens wailed, but panicked crowds had flooded the fire lanes behind the tents. Ellis worked to drive people back, clearing a path for the trucks.
Heat slammed into me at the library steps. Thick, black smoke bled from the upstairs windows, staining the sky black. Coughing patrons streamed from the main entrance.
“Have you seen Melody?” I asked Skip Lebowitz and Millie Dryer. I received only shakes of their heads in response.
A chain of children emerged, tiny hands linked, led by wild-eyed librarians counting heads. Parents darted in, snatching kids, adding to the chaos.
I caught Lucas, Melody’s second-in-command, at the end of the line. “Where’s Melody?”
“She should be right behind me.” His terrified eyes swept the crowd. “I don’t see her.”
“Is she still in there?”
“I don’t know,” he said, scooping up a crying kindergartener.
A sickening crack split the air. Fire burst through the roof of the turret that had graced the library’s corner for a century and a half, flames twisting high into the sky.
More sirens wailed in the distance, but still no trucks. My stomach lurched as precious seconds ticked away. An upstairs window exploded in a shower of glass and smoke. Then the first truck whipped a sharp right into the square by the pet-adoption tents. My stomach lurched as its side caught a tent support cable. Metal shrieked, canvas ripped, and the whole mess crashed onto the truck. Firefighters spilled out, yanking at the tangled wreckage. Dogs barked, and cats yowled, fleeing in all directions. Ellis bolted toward the chaos, his princely cape flapping behind him.
I looked to the library as precious seconds ticked by. Smoke billowed down the main stairs.
My heart plummeted with it.
There was no sign of my sister.