Page 1 of Catch Me (Townsend Legacy #4)

I vy

“You’re going to kill it at this new job. You deserve this!” my best friend, Mya, says before clinking the glass against mine.

My stomach muscles tighten, but I smile and take a sip of my lemon drop to finish the cheers.

We’re in the new but trendy club Vibrations in the heart of Los Angeles .

Mya insisted we come to celebrate my new job.

The entertainment law firm where Mya works as a junior associate, represents one of the club’s owners and she was able to get us in tonight as soon as I heard the news that I’d gotten the job at InTuition Pictures.

“Thank you,” I tell Mya, suppressing all of the what-ifs.

What if she’s wrong?

What if fleeing my parents’ home in Michigan and moving out here to Los Angeles was the biggest mistake of my life?

What if my new job as the assistant to the assistant of costume design at a major film studio doesn’t work out?

“Honestly, thank you for helping me get my foot in the door in the first place,” I say. “It’s only because of you they even talked to me. I’m sure once they checked out my resumé and lack of degree that?—”

Mya holds her hand up. “Don’t even go there. You have your degree … two degrees,” she adds.

Yeah, but not the right ones.

Another doubt I choose to keep to myself, knowing she’ll just tell me to stop beating myself up for not finishing my degree in fashion design.

It’s not your fault your parents put you in such a terrible spot , Mya told me when I’d hesitated over applying to the job in the first place.

Shaking those doubts off, I throw back the last of my lemon drop.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mya shouts over the music.

“Anyway, my wand curls are still holding up, which means we haven’t danced enough,” I joke as I rise to stand on my four-inch stiletto boots, a gift to myself after I found out that I got the job.

I extend my hand to Mya before looking over her shoulder, noticing the man approaching our table.

“Sorry, Jason, but your fiancée and I deserve a dance or two.”

“Or three!” Mya shouts as she rises to her feet.

Jason chuckles and leans in to kiss Mya on her cheek. “I’m just the designated driver,” he replies good-naturedly.

“You’re more than that, baby,” Mya says. “You’re also the purse holder and drink watcher.” She points at our drinks before handing him the black clutch in her hands.

Jason volunteers to take mine.

My heart squeezes at these two. Despite the extreme wealth Jason comes from, he’s still humble enough to allow Mya her shine. Not for the first time, my heart longs for something I can’t put into words.

“Let’s go,” I say once a song by my favorite female rapper starts booming through the speakers.

I can’t remember the last time I went out to a nightclub. It’s typically not my scene. In college, Mya, Ari, our other bestie, and I had our nights out, sure, but even then I didn’t go out as often as many other college students.

The demands of completing multiple degrees at once impeded my social time. In the two years since finishing college, I’ve been trying to recover mentally, which was difficult to do while living at home with my parents.

I also struggled with being separated from my two closest friends since Mya was here in L.A. while Ari moved back home to North Carolina to be with her long-term boyfriend after she dropped out of school.

In the two months since I’ve lived in Los Angeles, this is the first time I’ve gone out aside from Saturday morning hikes and the occasional dinner or outing with Mya.

“This was what I needed,” I say two hours later as Mya, Jason, and I leave the night club.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright to get home?” Jason asks me with his arm around Mya, which makes her smile up at him approvingly.

“Positive,” I reassure and then pull my friend into a hug.

“Let’s have dinner this week sometime before your job starts,” she insists.

I don’t start for another two weeks, but Mya’s career often has her working late into the night or weekends.

“Definitely,” I reply at the same time a silver sedan pulls up. “That’s my ride.”

“Did you check the license? Make sure he says your name first,” Mya calls out behind me.

“Yes, Mom!” I yell back.

“I got your mom,” she says, making me burst into laughter.

“Ivy Sterling?” the driver of the Uber asks.

“That’s me.” I wave to Mya then give her a thumbs-up.

Seconds later, I’m in the backseat scrolling through my phone. A message in the group chat from Ari has me grinning. Mya sent her a picture of the two of us while at the club.

Ari:

It’s about time you got out! You two look gorgeous btw.

How did I get the two best friends in the world? Compliments come easily from both of them. Part of it is because they both know what I’ve been through the past two years, but they’ve been like this since I met them during my freshman year at university in New York City.

Mya’s the oldest of us, three years ahead of me, and two years ahead of Ari.

I reply with a heart emoji to Ari before turning to look out of the window. Despite the late hour, the streets are filled with people, and the city remains lit up from businesses and streetlights.

While it’s not the same vibe as New York, it’s much different than the suburban life I grew up in and had to move back to after my disastrous graduation.

Though doubts still war in the back of my mind, a small smile begins to tip the corners of my mouth as I gaze out at my new home. I’ve finally got a job in a career field I chose.

Not something my parents insisted I pursue.

My life might just be coming together.

“Oh shit. What’s happening here?” The driver’s words pull me out of my musings.

“What’s …” My question trails off at the sight of the flashing lights from the firetrucks and the police sirens in the distance.

“Which house … Are they in front of?” My mouth isn’t computing what my brain has already comprehended. The main house on the property I’ve lived on for the past two months is up in flames.

Thick plumes of smoke spiral out from the front room window, rising into the night sky.

“Oh my god,” I murmur. “Ms. Baldwin!”

“I got it from here,” I yell at the Uber driver as I stumble out of the car in my heels. I struggle to pull the mini dress down against my thighs as low as it will go before running toward the crowd that’s gathered outside of the one-story home.

“Hey, you can’t pass this line,” one of the police officers holding the crowd back sternly scolds me.

“I live here. W-Was … Is she okay?” Tightness grips a hold of my chest, but I fight to focus. “Ms. Baldwin,” I tell him. “She’s the owner of this house. Is she okay?”

The officer’s eyebrows raise, and something passes through his eyes before he glances over his shoulder. I follow the direction he’s looking back to the house that’s about a hundred meters from us.

Smoke billows out of the front and side windows.

My stomach plummets.

“Please,” I beg the officer. “Her bedroom is at the back of the house. I—” Fear clogs my throat. “Sh-She was going to bed around nine-thirty tonight.” I know that because it’s the exact time I was heading out to meet Mya.

Ms. Baldwin, my landlady and one of the kindest people I’ve met since moving to Los Angeles, is in her early eighties. But she’s spry for her age and still keeps active. I remind myself of the times I went with her for a walk at a local park and all of the quilting meetings she goes to.

Ms. Baldwin could’ve made it out of the house. If she smelled the smoke. Or the smoke detector woke her up.

“Is she okay?” I ask the officer.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I peer over his shoulder at the vehicles and people behind him. A group of firefighters direct a powerful stream of water from their hose to the house. Police officers yell at neighbors who’ve come outside of their homes to get back.

In the midst of the chaos, I spot an ambulance. The doors are open, but the inside is empty, from what I can make out.

If there’s an ambulance that’s a good sign, right? That means there’s someone to save.

The thought relieves me a little. I search around for the paramedics. Maybe they’re working on Ms. Baldwin right now.

“Where is she? Do the paramedics have her?” Though I don’t mean to, I push at the officer, my physical need to find her breaking past my mental inhibition to not put my hands on a police officer.

“You can’t?—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” a second officer intervenes. “Ma’am, come with me,” he instructs. A hole opens up, and the first officer allows me to pass through.

“Ms. Baldwin?” I ask, running to catch up with the second officer who’s now walking farther away from the crowd. “She owns this house, and she was in there tonight before I went out.” A pang of guilt assaults my stomach.

Maybe if I’d been here, I could’ve stopped this somehow.

“You said you live here?” The officer’s voice is business-like, but it does hold a hint of something akin to sorrow.

“Yes.”

“Can I see some I.D.?”

I rummage through my clutch and pull out my wallet. “Here’s my temporary license. I just moved to California two months ago. I’m waiting for my permanent license in the mail.”

He shines his flashlight on the temporary license and frowns before nodding.

“Has she been taken to the hospital already?” I take my I.D. back. “If you let me know which one I can call an Uber.”

Ms. Baldwin doesn’t have any living family members, and the thought of her being alone in the hospital sits like a weight on my chest.

“We haven’t moved the body yet.”

It takes nearly a half of a minute to process his words.

“Th-The body?” my voice wobbles.

The officer’s eyes widen as if he wishes he could take back his comment.

“Shit.” He clears his throat. “I meant … it’s too early to confirm anything without a proper identification.” He pauses. “But there was someone found inside, and I regret to inform you that they are deceased.”

A sound of pure agony wrenches free of my lips before I clamp my hands over my mouth. My mind spins, and a wave of dizziness overcomes me. It was only a few hours ago that I saw Ms. Baldwin.

She insisted that we have dinner together once I told her about the new job. She prepared a delicious baked ziti, and as we ate, she told me about her days as an actress turned seamstress once she got married.

After dinner, I hung out in the separate she-shed that she’d built years ago on her property. Ms. Baldwin rented it out for considerably lower rent than I would’ve paid for a traditional apartment in L.A.

Once I was ready to head out for the night, I went over again to show off the sequined, dark blue, strapless dress she said looked beautiful against my brown skin tone.

Before leaving, I promised to take her out to lunch with my first paycheck. She laughed and waved with one hand and tucked Ms. Shelby under her left arm …

My thoughts trail off.

“Ms. Shelby,” I blurt out.

The officer looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Her cat. Ms. Baldwin had a cat. Ms. Shelby always sleeps in her bed. Did she?—”

I can’t get the words out. Ms. Baldwin loved that cat. She would have been devastated if anything happened to her.

“Is she …”

“We’ve got the flames under control,” someone says behind me.

I spin to face a firefighter, noticing his arms folded against his body with a smoked-stained blanket covering something.

“The medics are about to take off. But we need to find something to do with this.” The firefighter removes the blanket to reveal a grey ball in the firefighter’s arms.

I gasp, my heart racing at the stillness.

The sound must jar her because Ms. Shelby’s eyes open, revealing her pair of cerulean irises.

“Ms. Shelby,” I cry, unable to stop the tears.

She meows, lifting her head in my direction, as if she also needs the connection. I take Ms. Shelby from the firefighter’s arms and hold her to my chest. She meows before laying her head against me.

The poor thing trembles and it’s not because she’s cold.

It’s as if she knows she’s lost her owner … for all intents and purposes, her mother.

“It’s okay,” I mumble, walking away from the officer and firefighter. “It’ll be okay. I promise,” I tell her although I’m not certain I can trust my own words.