The Tiara on the Terrace
Page 25
Officer Carter turned even pinker. “That’s right, sir.” He winked at us.
“We all make mistakes.” Officer Grady fixed Ms. Sparrow with a steely gaze. “But some of them are unforgivable.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
We Are Family
The next afternoon we all gathered for a town picnic on the lawn in front of the Ridley Mansion terrace. The white catering tents fluttered in the breeze under the bright-blue sky, the “125th Anniversary” brown bunting still hung from the mansion balconies, but the mood felt casual—like the Winter Sun Festival had changed out of its frilly dress and slipped on a comfy pair of jeans. Just like I had.
Rod had too. He waved and came over as soon as he spotted me by the buffet table with my family.
“No blazer this time?” I asked.
His ears turned red as he shook his head. “Nope. No skirt for you?”
“Maybe another day.”
“We look nice, though, right?” He grinned.
“Gorgeous,” I smiled back. We were both quiet a moment, taking in the scene around us. A small brass band was playing oldies on the terrace. A bunch of adults drifted over to dance near them. Trista’s sister, Tatiana, was running around on the lawn with a bunch of other little kids. Grandpa Young and his VFW buddies were chatting under the white tents, trying not to turn up their noses at the all-vegan menu Harrison Lee had arranged in honor of Mr. Steptoe.
The Luna Vista police officers who had guarded Lauren Sparrow in the mansion living room were hanging out not far from them. It seemed like years ago, not just the day before, that they’d shuttled her off after her confession and Officer Grady had stayed behind to explain to us and our parents that she would be undergoing a full psychiatric evaluation before they did anything else. “Pretty Perfect is pretty far from it,” he’d muttered.
Rod and I headed over to the buffet line, and I nodded to the spread on the table. “Mr. Steptoe would’ve liked this picnic, don’t you think?” I asked.
He laughed. “No doubt about it.”
Grace and Trista grabbed paper plates and joined us, looking rested and happy. Maybe they’d gone to bed while it was still light out, like I had.
“You didn’t stay up late playing TrigForce Five for eight hours or something?” I teased Trista. She shook her head. “I was going to. But it seemed kinda boring, actually!” She jerked her head toward her little sister, who was now running around with Pookums on the mansion lawn. “I hung out with Tati,” she said. Then, lowering her voice to a real, actual whisper. “I let her put make-up on me.”
“Seriously?” My voice pitched up an octave.
Trista laughed. “Wasn’t the first time.” She made a face. “She likes to play beauty salon.”
Harrison Lee walked past us with a plate of food towered so high, I was worried it’d spill over. He beamed when he saw us, and told us to be ready for a casual ceremony after the cutting of the Luna Vista anniversary cake. “We’d like to honor you four,” he said. “I mean, as long as I was never one of your suspects.” He winked.
“Well, we did see this one email . . . ,” Grace said sheepishly. Harrison Lee’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she told him about our suspicions that he was dipping into the festival accounts.
“Cash gets low when all the flower deliveries pour in at once,” he said, chuckling. “But I better be on my best behavior around you ladies, huh?” He took a big bite out of his garden burger. “Mm-mm-mm,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Food tastes so much better now. Glad the doctors ordered me off those energy drinks that did me in.”
“Energy drinks?” I asked, realizing I hadn’t seen Lee carrying around his purple thermos since he got back from the hospital. I laughed. “We were worried you’d been poisoned!”
“Pretty much was poison,” he muttered. “Serves me right for trying to get a little extra energy boost to juggle everything.”
“We all can push things a bit too far, can’t we?” a voice rang out behind us. It was Barb Lund. Lily stood next to her in jeans and a red cardigan. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders, and she wasn’t wearing any make-up for once. As they both waved, my stomach twisted. Officer Grady and our parents had assured us she didn’t hold anything against us, but it still felt like Ms. Lund must’ve etched our names in stone on some central Watch List nationwide after what she’d gone through.
After an awkward silence, Grace, Trista, Rod, and I started blubbering apologies all at once. She waved them away. “Please,” she said. “It was a wake-up call. I was cray-cray enough for you to think I was a murderer? Maybe something’s finally sunk through this noggin.” She tapped her head with one finger. “My darling daughter’s told me a thousand times and I was too busy shouting in my own megaphone to hear it, but you know what? Not everything’s under my control.”
Lily tossed her arm around her mom. “Especially forklifts,” she said, eyes dancing.
Barb laughed. “And golf carts.” She turned back to us. “Yep. Festival Schmestival, I think it’s time for me to take a step back. I’m officially retiring. No more Grand Pooh-Bear. Sayonara, Floatator. Adios—”
“We got it, Mom,” Lily said, her cheeks turning the same shade as her red cardigan.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is I can go overboard.” Barb let her arms slap to her sides.
“The Festival will do that to you, I guess,” Jardine Thomas chimed in as she, Sienna, and Kendra joined us with their own full plates. Jardine looked at us apologetically. “I was a royal pain, wasn’t I? When I saw you guys headed for that cliff, all I could think was that my last words were commanding you to get me some herbal tea.” She shook her head. “Kinda looking forward to being a commoner.”
“It’s a pretty good life,” Lily said quietly, shooting her mom a knowing look. “People were talking about a Willard Ridley curse on the Festival. Maybe it was a blessing.”
“In serious disguise,” Trista added.
Barb laughed, then turned to Rod. “Now where’s that cutie-patootie dad of yours off to?” she asked Rod. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You see, I’m thinking he did a bang-up job getting those floats in order without me. I’m going to try to rope him in to take over.”
Rod ducked away quickly, pretending to go off looking for his dad. Meanwhile I was pretty sure he was going to give him a heads-up. I had a feeling that was one warning about Barb Lund that Mr. Zimball would listen to.
As Jardine and rest of the Court gathered around Ms. Lund to welcome her back, Marissa lingered behind Kendra, laughing with Danica and Denise. She flicked her blue eyes up and down my outfit, as usual. This time, though, she gave me a little wave after, even adding a half-smile. “That was really awesome yesterday,” she said. “For real.”
“Wasn’t it, though?” Sienna said. “What’s it called again? Tai chi? I’ve got to get my coach to look into working that into the Riptides’ practices.”
Danica and Denise ran over to put in a request for the band to lead us all in a game of “name that tune” that I prayed would be rejected. The Court spread out, mingling, accepting compliments politely—just like Ms. Sparrow had taught them. I suppose she’d passed along some good lessons, too. I even saw Jardine listening patiently to Anna Sayers, who I swear was still talking about her idea for a sea-creature backpack as a beauty accessory.
Behind us we heard a happy burst of yipping. Pookums was prancing in circles with Tatiana on the lawn near the band.
“You know, Pookums really seems to have turned a page,” Grace said, not recognizing the double meaning.
I broke into a grin. “I hear that can be the path to a new you,” I said.
“I thought that was horse poo,” Grace replied.
“Both are, I guess.” I shrugged. Pookums raced from Tatiana to Kendra, as if she wanted Kendra to join the twirling game.
Grace laughed. “I guess there are lots of ways to be yourself,” she said.
Just then the band kicked up into a blaring,
upbeat version of “We Are Family.” I looked to the dance floor and spotted the Yangs and my parents laughing and raising their hands in the air. If it were any other day, Grace and I would have probably denied knowing them, let alone admit they were related to us. Right behind them Grandpa Young was seriously busting a move with Barb Lund. She was bumping her hips around like she was grooving to that conga song and clapping her hands above her head.
“Young! Yang! Bottoms! Zimball!” she yelled, motioning us over. “On the dance floor. Let’s see you shake those tail feathers!”
Grace raised her eyebrow at me. “Should we?”
I smiled mischievously. “Looks pretty ‘awesome possum,’ if you ask me.”
“Heck, yeah,” Trista exclaimed from behind us, strutting past. Grace and I followed, and as we all rushed by Rod, he laughed and linked arms with me. Pretty soon we were bouncing and spinning and Trista was doing her wild shaking dance. Grace and I did our jumping jack can-can move from the dance party that she and I’d had in my room. Grace looked right at Jake and waved goofily, not even caring how silly we looked.
As Grandpa Young and Ms. Lund twirled toward us, I held up his dog tags and asked if I could keep them longer. He nodded yes to the beat of the music as everyone around us sang out the song’s bouncy “We are fam-i-lee!” chorus. Then he cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted: “Did they come in handy?”
Grace and I looked at each other.
“Definitely!” we chorused back, and he saluted us. Grace laughed and tugged me off the dance floor to get another brownie. As we stood off to the side, brushing brownie crumbs from our chins, we looked out over the picnic. Half the crowd was on the dance floor by then, faces beaming as they shimmied and hopped around. Laughter rang out everywhere.
Grace slung her arm over my shoulder.
“I guess it wasn’t the best Festival yet,” she said.
“Not even close.” I squeezed her shoulder. “But it sure ended well.”
A plane rumbled high above us. We watched as it stretched its white trail in the sky over the flat, blue Luna Vista Bay in the distance.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you all day . . .” Grace smiled at me. “Last night I was reading about the coolest code.”
“Yeah?” I said, as her smile grew wider. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Acknowledgments
A rousing Winter Sun Festival cheer for the parade of people who helped me bring this story to the page: Annie Berger, who warmly welcomed Young & Yang and lent such patience, enthusiasm, and insight as we shaped their story; Rosemary Brosnan, whose confidence in me bolsters my own; Andrea Martin, my sleuths’ original champion, who made sure their second adventure was the best it could be; and—of course—the excellent team at HarperCollins Children’s who labor with love to bring my stories to young readers. The Royal Court queen of agents, Jennifer Laughran, deserves a diamond tiara for making it all possible in the first place.
A Coral Beauty rose for McCormick Templeman—genius, guru, dear friend—who ensured I finished this book sometime within the twenty-first century, and who reminds me daily about what really matters.
I’d like to raise my glass to the James Thurber House for their generous support. If living in a Victorian mansion for a summer weren’t already inspiring enough, the always-effervescent Pampleton-Thurbers and the ghost made it twice so. Thank you.
A special Royal Court wave to my fan Ali Flynn, who wisely suggested this story needed a little dog—and to Penny Cummins Dorfman, Pomeranian extraordinaire, in memoriam, for inspiring me with her unparalleled joie de vivre.
I wish I could host a Beach Ball for all who offered me their expertise as I was writing: many thanks to Marc Fiedler for police procedure tips, to Andrew Koenig for his “pretty perfect” cosmetics know-how, to my students at Westridge School—especially Hannah Kim—for coining some classic awkward slang, and to Emily Pipes, Bridget McDonald, and Maureen Sprunger for enriching the Winter Sun Festival with their fond Tournament of Roses memories.
I’m showering my friends and fellow writers with buckets of confetti and gratitude. Thanks to Melanie Abed, Tania Casselle, Cecil Castellucci, Alison Cherry, Brandy Colbert, Hilary Hattenbach, Kara LaReau, Cindy Mines, Elizabeth Ross, Sarah Skilton, and Claire Wright-Coleman for their tireless encouragement and guidance, not to mention to Melle Amade, Ingrid Sundberg, and Hayley Finn for early inspiration.
The booksellers, librarians, and teachers who connect kids to books deserve their very own parade of appreciation.
Lastly, a standing ovation for my mom—eagle-eyed proofreader, patient listener, and confidante—and to my husband, Kai: a marching band serenade, fireworks display, jet flyover, full-stadium Ola, and chorus of vuvuzelas still wouldn’t be enough fanfare to express my gratitude. Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz. Danke.
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About the Author
Photo credit Konrad Tho Fiedler
KRISTEN KITTSCHER is a former middle-school teacher and the author of The Wig in the Window, which garnered a starred review from School Library Journal and was hailed by Kirkus as a “thrilling debut mystery.” The 2014 Thurber House Children’s Writer-in-Residence and a graduate of Brown University, Kristen lives with her husband in Pasadena, California—home of her inspiration, the Rose Parade. You can visit her online at www.kristenkittscher.com.
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Books by Kristen Kittscher
The Wig in the Window
The Tiara on the Terrace
Credits
Cover art © 2016 by Marcos Calo
Cover design by Angela Navarra
Copyright
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and places, and all dialogue and incidents portrayed in this book, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
THE TIARA ON THE TERRACE. Copyright © 2016 by Kristen Kittscher. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kittscher, Kristen.
The tiara on the terrace / Kristen Kittscher. — First edition.
pages cm
Sequel to: The wig in the window.
Summary: Best friends and amateur pre-teen sleuths Sophie Young and Grace Yang go undercover at their town’s annual festival and parade to catch a murderer before he or she strikes again.
ISBN 978-0-06-222798-0 (hardback)
EPub Edition © December 2015 ISBN 9780062228000
[1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Murder—Fiction. 3. Festivals—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.K67173Ti 2016 2015015555
[Fic]—dc23 CIP
AC
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15 16 17 18 19 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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