Chapter Eighty-Five Kiersten
Chapter Eighty-Five
Kiersten
Kiersten suddenly felt as though she’d been thrust into an advertisement for something she was not qualified to sell. Hipness, maybe. Or youth. Or cellulite-free thighs.
Young women wandered through the house, teetering in impossibly high heels, while cell phones recorded each step, raised above the gathering by long skinny arms or with selfie sticks, snapping photos of everything .
. . the buffet, the other guests, the balloons spilling around the fireplace mantle, teapots filled with flowers, a young woman dressed like the Mad Hatter, and another like the Queen of Hearts.
Small groups posed for pictures, knees bent, lips puckered, cheeks sucked inward. And on the backside of the house in a white tent, she spotted Aspen wearing a blue dress with a white apron, her long blond hair held back with a headband, a picture-perfect Alice in Wonderland.
A waiter appeared holding a silver tray filled with champagne flutes containing a red liquid. A little tag hung from each flute with the words Drink me spelled out in Edwardian script.
“Champagne punch?” he asked.
Kiersten immediately grabbed one and took a long sip. Rosamund and Piper did the same.
“This is good,” she whispered. Like Kool-Aid, with a kick.
She cast a furtive glance at the woman standing beside her in a short, low-cut Queen of Hearts dress and instantly felt out of place.
Her own dress, her favorite, purchased a few years ago at Ann Taylor for a Rural Hospitals Medicaid Reimbursement conference in St. Cloud, Minnesota, suddenly felt dowdy, like something her grandmother would wear to church. During Lent.
It was as though she’d traveled through time and space and had somehow become a freshman in high school again, a freshman who had wandered into a party with all the cool seniors.
But unlike high school, the cool kids here were cool not because they were old, but because they were young.
She raised her flute and took another sip as her gaze darted around a room filled with unfamiliar faces. Her heart sank down into her sensible shoes. She’d lost Rosamund and Piper. They were probably making small talk with George and Amal Clooney. Or a lesser Kardashian.
She drained her champagne glass and grabbed a second one from a tray offered by a waiter who magically appeared at exactly the right moment.
So far this party was terrible. The punch, however, was terrific.
But she wasn’t here to have fun. She was on a mission, like Trixie Belden, her favorite literary sleuth. She just needed to find Aspen. Ask questions. Figure out if Grammy and Grampy were here or at home.
Craning her neck, she spotted her target in the center of a little group taking selfies beside an archway made from giant playing cards. Aspen’s eyes widened when she saw Kiersten. She excused herself from the other guests and came forward.
“It’s a really lovely party,” Kiersten said, suddenly aware of a slight difficulty in pronouncing the word really. “Guess you didn’t have to worry about numbers.”
Aspen frowned, although absolutely no wrinkles appeared on her Botoxed forehead as she did so. “What do you mean?”
“Your father-in-law.” She gestured in the direction of Chip’s house with her champagne flute. “He said you were concerned . . . that nobody would show up.”
It suddenly seemed very important to emphasize all the words.
“He asked us to come by and . . . make sure you had a full house.”
“Really?”
Kiersten nodded emphatically. Then she frowned. “Wait. So you didn’t . . . invite us?”
“Um. This is like . . . so awkward.” Aspen wrinkled her nose in adorable embarrassment, like Cinderella slipping her foot into the glass slipper her ugly stepsisters couldn’t cram onto their enormous feet. “I actually didn’t ask him to invite you. But I’m, like, so glad you came anyway.”
Kiersten’s mouth went dry as a trickle of fear slid down her spine.
Chip lied.
With effort, she managed to re-reorganize her face into a mask of polite nonchalance. “Is this a special occasion?”
“I’m trying to produce a lot of cool content right now while we’re in negotiations for this HGTV show. I figured everyone loves Alice in Wonderland, right?”
“It’s a great idea for a party,” Kiersten said with a somewhat wobbly smile. She was supposed to ask her something. Something important. But it was so hard to focus.
“Yeah. Super-cool visuals. Anyway, I’ve gotta circulate, but thanks so much for coming. Did Rosamund and um . . . what’s her name again?”
“Piper?”
“That’s right. Piper. Are they here too?”
“They’re here too,” Kiersten repeated, working hard to smile through the layers of worry building inside her gut with each word Aspen spoke.
“Are Grammy and Grampy here?” she asked, articulating each syllable with fierce concentration.
Aspen shook her head. “Grammy’s been under the weather lately. She hasn’t left the house much since the Harvest Festival. It’s such a bummer. I made her the cutest Queen of Hearts costume.”
She hasn’t left the house much since the Harvest Festival. Since the day she and Richard read Dottie’s diary.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Kiersten said, slurring slightly.
“I’m sure she’ll be up and around soon,” Aspen said. “Anyway, I need to mingle, but thanks again so much for dropping by. And sorry about the confusion. I’ll send a personal invite next time. Enjoy the punch,” she added with a smile, “since you have the luxury of walking home.”
Kiersten nodded, then clenched her champagne flute so hard her knuckles turned white.
Was Margaret in danger too? Was Richard planning to kill her the same way he’d killed Dottie?
A waiter appeared beside her and offered another glass of punch. It was like he had a sixth sense and knew exactly when her glass was empty.
She grabbed it and took a short sip. She had to find Piper and Rosamund.