Page 61 of Prime Time Romance

Shit.

“And why exactly are we here?”

Poppy reaches into her backseat and grabs a white plastic bag.

“Luce has been walking around town all week telling people she’s entering my pageant. I am simply going to remind her that the crown is meant for another head. Mainly yours.”

She bops me on the nose before reaching into her bag and pulling out two cans of spray paint.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, already suspecting the answer.

Poppy shakes the cans, the little balls clinking against the aluminum.

“Relax. I’m just going to send her a little message. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

Right. Poppy and Sloan were notorious for their own brand of vigilante justice. Toilet-papering Chad Michaels’s house when he took Luce to prom instead of Poppy. Egging Mrs. Garret’s car when Sloan failed her chemistry midterm, dealing a crushing blow to her GPA.

These pranks may have been funny back on the show, when Sloan and Poppy were in high school, but this is one of those Carson’s Cove quirks that hasn’t aged well.

“Poppy, I don’t think this is a great idea.”

She ignores me and gets out of the car. I follow her down the darkened driveway toward the barn.

“All you have to do is stand over there.” She points to a small shed between the barn and the white farmhouse. “Give me a signal if you see Luce coming. That’s all.”

“A signal?”

“Yes. A warning. Just hoot like an owl or something.”

I don’t like this.

It’s wrong.

But Poppy is also Sloan’s best friend. She’s been there for Sloan through everything. It doesn’t leave me with much of a choice.

Besides, it’s just a little spray paint.

“Fine, but hurry up.”

I creep over to the shed and peek around the corner at the house. It’s a small two-story white building with vertical shiplap and wooden porch beams. It’s cute. I can envision Luce living there.

I watch the darkened windows for a few minutes, listening for any sign from Poppy that she’s done and we can leave. But then a light flicks on, illuminating a small white kitchen and a person who is definitely Luce yawning in front of her coffee maker with a mug in her hand.

My heart hammers hard against my ribs as a silent alarm in my head screams Abort, abort, abort.

I cup my hand around my mouth. “Oooooooo-ooooo, oooooo-oooooo!” My best attempt at an owl call carries through the yard.

My eyes scan the stretch of farm surrounding the barn. Poppy isn’t where I left her. Nor is she in the driveway or near the shed.

There’s no sign of her at all.

My eyes flick back to the house.

I can no longer see Luce in the kitchen.

My already pattering heart kicks up another notch as I get that sinking feeling that things are about to go very wrong.

I hear twigs snapping behind me.