Chapter 35
Alyssa pushed through the Party Barn’s door on Sunday morning, registering the chime. It was the same one that had dinged when she was in high school, but the sound made her happy. It sounded cheerful and optimistic. Ding! Here comes fun.
The day went downhill from there.
“So Roberta’s sick again,” Janet said.
“She called in at least? So that’s … good?”
Janet shook her head. “She’s actually sick. But it gives us a problem because tonight is Krystelle Rohrbach’s Christmas party.” She batted her eyelashes.
“That’s a Valentine’s Day party.”
“No, she called yesterday and wanted to add an event in December—because, of course, it’s not a busy month for us. And she wanted it for this weekend. It’s a party for kids from her school.”
“That’s a little tight,” Alyssa said, frowning.
“Yeah, but she threatened to cancel her other party if we weren’t ‘professional enough’ to pull this off. So I said yes. Possibly without getting the details first.”
“Janet.”
“Anyhoo,” Janet said breezily, “with Roberta out of the picture, you’ll need to staff it tonight.”
Alyssa sighed. “Sadly, I can do that.”
“A caterer’s taking care of the food and drink. We just do table service and decor.”
“Christmas themed?”
“Yes.” Janet moved off toward the storeroom, then paused at the door. “Oh, one more thing: you have to dress like an elf.” She swung the door shut fast behind her.
Alyssa stood in the store, staring after her, then shouted, “You can kiss my tinsel-draped butt!”
Someone cleared their throat, and she turned to find an elderly man in an overcoat. “Hanukkah napkins?” he said.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
For the rest of the day, she sold glittery green tree-shaped confetti and napkins with poinsettias and spools of plaid ribbon as the pine-scented jar candle at the checkout filled the room with cloying cheer. When the sun was low enough to glare off the cars in the parking lot so it blinded you if you stood by the cash register, Alyssa snuffed the candle out. Janet sat cross-legged on the floor, shoving inflatable Rudolphs on a shelf. She looked over at Alyssa, one eyebrow raised.
“I have Christmas in my lungs,” Alyssa said. She made a fake hack.
“Your lungs are atheists?”
“Apparently. I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“And you blame the candle?” Janet said.
“Yes.” She drummed her fingers on the counter. “My mother sent seven texts today.”
“Were they supportive reminders of how much you are loved?”
“They were not. They did question whether my education was worth the expense considering where I now work.”
“We should do something socially inappropriate to get her back.”
“I could wear white pants.” She jutted a finger at Janet. “Not winter-white wool. I’m talking straight-up white linen.”
“You brute.” Janet pushed the last Rudolph onto the shelf and stood, rolling her neck. “Have you checked the elf costume?”
“I wore it last week at the Children’s Hospital, and it didn’t need cleaning. I’m good to go. But you wedged this party into our December schedule. I think you should distribute elvish cheer tonight.”
“The Rohrbach woman specifically asked for you. Said you’d want to see the kids or something.”
Alyssa gave a soft snort. She liked kids, but she’d rather be home with a magazine or a book. Or she could watch TV, but not a hockey game, because she didn’t think about hockey or players or jawlines or where a vein wrapped around his left wrist and snaked over his hand. There were a lot of things she’d like to stay home and not think about.
But money was good, so while Janet stayed to close the shop—they were open until eight o’clock through New Year’s—Alyssa went home with the elf costume on a hanger in a bag, heated leftovers, and then shoved her legs into red and white horizontally striped tights. The costume came with green shorts and a green vest over a white blouse, and a red hat with a large jingle bell that she put on at home so she could bobby pin it in place at the right angle. The curly-toed shoes rode in a box of decorations she was taking to Krystelle’s.
Alyssa let the GPS get her there and was glad to have it. Krystelle’s house was in a subdivision full of doctors and other random monied people. The streets twisted past Greek Revival and Georgian homes, and one pillared monstrosity that seemed like a set rejected from Gone With the Wind when the director decided not to be that pretentious.
Alyssa parked around by the triple garage and carried two boxes of party supplies up to the side door. She had to knock with her knee. Krystelle answered in a green blouse and black velvet skirt, swinging the door wide. “Come in! You can set your things down on the counter.”
The interior of Krystelle’s house was more tasteful than the exterior. She’d had someone do it, but it was still a little too much—more mirrored surfaces and gold faucets than Alyssa thought were strictly necessary. Not her house; not her business. She put the boxes down where Krystelle pointed and slipped on her elf shoes with their curved, jingly toes, then went off to consult with the caterer. Party Barn was supplying the plates, and she stacked them beside a serving dish that smelled divine.
“Little sausages?” she asked the caterer.
He shook his head. “Portabellas stuffed with maple-glazed sausage.”
“Pretty fancy for a kids’ party,” she said, stringing a garland of Santa faces along the front of the table.
The caterer poured ice into a wine bucket, then stabbed two bottles of rosé into it and topped off the ice. “This isn’t a kids’ party,” he said, giving her a curious look.
Alyssa looked at the beverage table. There were three more wine buckets. This was not a kids’ party. Alyssa did an emergency mental run over the decorations. They were heavy on traditional Santa and elf themes, and all in red and green, but people often liked that at Christmas. Some people were disappointed by a burgundy, gold, and ivory scheme. The caterer was looking at her. “Krystelle said it was for her kids’ classmates? She spoke to my colleague,” Alyssa added. Not my fault.
The caterer shrugged. “We were told food and beverages for sixty adults.”
Alyssa ran into the kitchen, her toes jingling. “Krystelle?” The host was in a powder room off the kitchen, door open, freshening her lipstick. “I think there may be a misunderstanding with the party,” Alyssa said, smiling thinly. She did not want to look incompetent in front of Krystelle “better than you” Rohrbach. If she had the same job she’d had back in high school, at least she could do it well. “We thought this was a kids’ party, but the caterer’s putting out wine.”
“No, it’s for adults,” Krystelle said. She pulled out a compact and patted her forehead.
“You wanted me in an elf costume, though?”
Krystelle turned. “Oh, it’s adorable! Everyone’s going to love it.”
“Your kids’ classmates?”
“No, my classmates. Well, ours, I guess. It’s just a little impromptu reunion of our graduating class. When you’re not working, feel free to mingle and catch up. Everyone will love to hear what you’re doing these days.” Krystelle smiled brightly. “Just because you’re the help doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.” Alyssa was still processing that her high school class was about to see her in red and white striped tights and shoes with tips that curled. She wasn’t ready to add “the help” to that. Krystelle looked out the window, and Alyssa followed her gaze and caught headlights up the street. “Guests!” Krystelle said, clapping her hands. She smoothed her dark green silk blouse. Alyssa was wearing green too, but the effect was very different.
Alyssa ran into the front rooms and strung up a garland of stockings and some twinkle lights by the time the doorbell rang. Krystelle’s husband, Trace, answered it. He was wearing dress pants and a white shirt with a candy-striped tie. “Come in!” he boomed. It was Jake Turner, who had been quarterback of the football team and captain of Quiz Bowl and was not, it turned out, any less dreamy than he had been in high school. A willowy redhead with porcelain skin and huge eyes was on his arm. She wore a deep emerald sheath dress and black heels, and looked amazing. Alyssa glanced back at the Santa garland she’d strung on the front of the food table. Turning made the bell on her hat jingle.
“Alyssa?” Jake said. “Hey, how are you?” His handsome brow furrowed. “Is this a costume party?”
“No,” Alyssa said brightly. She was going to stab Krystelle with a candy cane and stuff her body up the chimney so Santa could find her rotted corpse. As the party wore on, Krystelle got in more little digs, and Alyssa thought of more Christmas-themed murder methods. Trampled by reindeer? Strangled with curly ribbon? Poked a thousand times with the business end of an ornament hook? Krystelle could meet a deadly but festive end.
That wasn’t how the evening turned out, however. There wasn’t much for her to do after the initial setup, which she accomplished before the guests arrived, so she spent as much time as possible hiding in the kitchen. Krystelle regularly herded her into the living room or asked her to check on the napkin supply, forcing her out among the guests. She got roped into conversations about the art teacher who’d been arrested on drug charges the year after they graduated, and the secretary who decided at age fifty to get in shape, and then swam the English Channel at age sixty-two.
Just a couple years ago, Alyssa had attended the five-year reunion in a blush-pink linen outfit with wedges that worked perfectly with her purse. She had been an associate at Stacey’s Interiors, one of the top interior design firms in Detroit. Now, Krystelle held Alyssa’s upper arms from behind while she explained to everyone that Alyssa was back at her high school job! The Party Barn! And it would be great if people hired her because it looked like she really needed the work. Then Krystelle gave her a little shake and Alyssa’s hat jingled.
Alyssa avoided her former classmates by hiding in the kitchen. What would Nick do in this situation? He sure wouldn’t be standing pressed against the counter on the far side of the refrigerator, to avoid detection. For one thing, even a big stainless steel model like this one would do nothing to hide his bulk. Also, she’d seen him take on Stacey. Krystelle was nothing compared to the agency owner. Krystelle was mean, but she wasn’t as smart as Stacey. Or as talented. Alyssa thought about that for a moment. What exactly did Krystelle have going for her? Money. And … absolutely nothing else. She was still the same selfish, unpleasant person she’d been in high school.
Alyssa might not be working her dream job now, but she had trained for it and could do it again someday. And right now she was working with a dear friend, doing things she genuinely enjoyed. Was she challenged? No. But she still found joy in her work. Good grief, she was a grown woman who got to play with balloons and plan parties all day. And there was a man in her life who was artistic and thoughtful and kind. He’d remembered how she liked her coffee. He’d sent flowers like those he’d seen her admire in a painting. And he’d been brusque at Vanessa’s party because he’d been hurt that she hadn’t checked in after the plane’s engine fire. That meant he cared. You couldn’t get upset with someone you didn’t care about.
She was not upset with Krystelle, she decided in that moment. She wasn’t worth it. Alyssa went to where she’d stashed her bag and pulled her phone out. She texted Vanessa.
Alyssa: If you still need someone for those rooms at your church, I’d be happy to help.
There. She was done hiding from her past.
Krystelle’s husband poked his head in just then. “Need you out front for a minute,” he said. Alyssa nodded and dropped the phone back in her bag. She straightened her felt vest and strode into the living room. Her old classmates—the ones who would attend a party hosted by the Rohrbach-Arnolds—were starting to line up in front of the fireplace.
“Alyssa! Get in here!” Krystelle called. Alyssa moved over to the group and saw the photographer when she was past the eight-foot tree. He motioned her in, and she stood in the back row, hiding behind Elizabeth Frantini.
“What’s this about?” Alyssa whispered, leaning down over Elizabeth.
“Krystelle gets all her parties in the gossip column of the newspaper,” Elizabeth said. “She’s so well connected, and the society reporter just loves her.”
“The newspaper?” Alyssa said in horror, right as the photographer snapped the photo.
“Well, it’ll be on the website too,” Elizabeth said.