It shatters violently. Glass tumbles like a waterfall. Everywhere, a horrendous sound that echoes around the town common. Mannequins fall. Stubborn shards stuck to the top of the casing fall a few seconds later like an afterthought, as if they’re melting icicles of death.

“Ho-ly shit … ,” Lucky mumbles.

What.

Have.

I.

Done?

My chest hardens like cooling lava as shock floods my limbs. This isn’t just any old window. It’s a local legend. People come from miles to see the live models who pose in it every fall and the lavish orchid displays at Easter. Every December for almost a hundred years, people have gathered around this sidewalk to see the unveiling of the annual holiday display.

OH MY GOD. I RUINED CHRISTMAS.

I don’t have time to wallow in this realization, because when the last big shard of glass falls, shattering on the concrete with a terrible crash, an even worse sound follows on its heels:

The store’s security alarm.

It roars to life, a sleeping bear that’s been poked, emitting a harpy-like screech that sounds as if it’s a civil defense siren warning the entire town that an atom bomb is incoming.

Panic roots me to the sidewalk. RUN! I tell my legs. FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, RUN. But all I can do is stare in a stupor at the broken window.

“Josie!” Lucky shouts, pulling my arm. “Get out of here. Come on. On my bike.”

But it’s too late. A security guard appears from nowhere, beaming a flashlight over the broken glass … and then into our faces.

I’m toast.

Chapter 4

BEAUTY POLICE, ALWAYS ALERT: A no-frills carved wooden sign with a giant open eye guards the lone law enforcement station. Six double jail cells can accommodate up to twelve prisoners comfortably—but rarely is more than one cell in use on any night. (Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)

Chapter 4

The Beauty Police Department is a model of small-town efficiency. An hour after my shortsighted moment of rage went sideways and fell on its ass, I’ve already been scared straight, given a Breathalyzer test, and hauled off in the back of a cruiser to await my fate here. Any moment, I’m sure I’ll be mugshot-ed like a badly behaving popstar after a drunken weekend of strippers and fast cars in Miami.

But I’m not alone. They hauled both of us into the station.

Me and Lucky.