It was good, Scarlett had to admit. Very good.

“Meanwhile,” she went on, “I am going to take your brother down to the theater a bit early to see his ideas for the fight again. I will impress on him, in my subtle way, how sad you’ve looked the last few days…except when watching him perform. Spencer will feel both appreciated and guilty and will want to talk to you. Eric will be intrigued by your firm, independent streak and the sight of you pursuing your own art. Also, you will look good. He will see that he needs to step up his game. If you aren’t back on track with both of them by the end of the night, I’ll eat a Happy Meal.”

From Mrs. Amberson, that was a serious threat.

“There will be one final, perfect touch,” she said with a smile. “I will put you on stage to stand in for Hamlet during the fight practice this afternoon. You don’t have to do a thing—just stand there and hold still while they work around you. It’ll free up Hamlet to run his lines, and it will put you in the forefront of the action.”

She snapped her fingers for the check, which the annoyed waiter was more than happy to bring.

“Finish up,” she said. “You need to get a full forty winks tonight, and I’ll give you Charlie to put over your eyes. He’ll help with the swelling.”

It took Scarlett a minute to remember that Charlie was a dead ferret full of beads and essential oils—not some guy who hovered over you as you slept and did things to your face.

“What swelling?” Scarlett asked.

“This is another rule in life, O’Hara,” she said, throwing down some cash. “Always assume you are a little swollen. Lola understands that rule, I guarantee it. The entire beauty industry is based on that truth.”

Mrs. Amberson seemed to be aware of many “truths” floating just under the surface of everyday reality. If she was right, then Scarlett had never had any idea what was going on around her.

Which was a scary thought, but it explained a lot.

A PLAN UNFURLS

Scarlett slept surprisingly well for someone with a dead ferret on her face. Charlie had done a good job of blocking out the light from outside. For once this week, she was rested.

Lola, being Lola, did not make a rude comment about the dead ferret. Instead, she picked it up from where it had landed between their beds in the middle of the night, sniffed it, and said, “Lavender. The real stuff. Told you. It makes a difference.”

“His name is Charlie,” Scarlett explained.

“Whatever his name is, you look much better this morning. A little less puffy.”

“I was puffy?” Scarlett said, touching her face. This was disturbing evidence that Mrs. Amberson may have been right.

“It was probably stress from all that stuff with Spencer. Did that go well?”

“Uh…yes?”

“You were down there long enough. I’m glad that’s fixed. I couldn’t have taken that any longer.”