The Tiara on the Terrace Read Online Free PDF

Trista shotus an odd look from across the room.
    â€œYoung and Yang, report to me immediately at the lunch break,” Barb grunted. She hadn’t even raised her head. How did she do that?
    I was about to mumble an apology when there was a gentle knock at the oak-paneled door. It slid open to reveal Lauren Sparrow. A hush fell over the room.
    The special adviser to the Royal Court and one of the official Festival spokespeople, Ms. Sparrow was always perfectly put together, from the sleek copper waves of her hair to the rose-patterned skirt and tailored silk blouse she was wearing that day. Her features were so delicate and birdlike that sometimes I wondered if she’d invented her last name just so it would match her. If there’s one thing Ms. Sparrow seemed to love, it was matching.
    â€œForgive me,” she said quietly, her face pale and pinched. When she stepped into the light, my stomach dropped. Her mascara was smudged. Lauren Sparrow’s mascara was never smudged. Worse yet, her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed as if she’d been crying. There was no doubt about it. She’d known the person who’d been found on that parade float. And if she knew them, chances were we did too. I squirmed. Grace pressed her knee into mine. I pressed back so hard I think I bruised us both.
    â€œIf I could make a brief announcement . . . ?” Ms. Sparrow asked.
    Barb Lund tossed up her hands as if Ms. Sparrow had cut her off in traffic. “Be my guest! It’s not like we’re doing anything important here!”
    â€œThank you, Barb.” Lauren Sparrow smiled frostily and crossed to the center of the room. Ms. Lund flashed her a look that suggested she’d be releasing a thousand angry scorpions into her bed later.
    Once Ms. Sparrow had taken the power position at the fireplace, she stared down at her shoes, then cleared her throat. It was strange to see her so unsure of herself. Though she’d been part of the Festival for years, she’d recently also become a bit of a local celebrity, thanks to the line of skin-care products she’d developed called Pretty Perfect. Testimonials from some big Hollywood stars in nearby LA had made the brand really popular. So, on top of being “pretty perfect,” Lauren Sparrow was also pretty rich.
    Ms. Sparrow drew in a deep breath before she finally spoke. “As you’re aware, we’ve had an emergency here at the Festival. I’d like to thank the Festival leadership”—she tilted her head stiffly in Ms. Lund’s direction—“for ensuring such a smooth evacuation. It seems there was a problem testing the campfire feature at the Girl Scouts of America float,but I’m relieved to tell you the misfire caused no damage or injury.”
    A ripple of relief ran through the room. Grace and I traded puzzled looks. We were both pretty sure that murder counted as injury.
    Ms. Lund stood up from her plush armchair as if it were a throne, ready to send us back to work. Lauren Sparrow held up a hand. “I’m afraid, though, we’ve made a terrible discovery as a result.” She bowed her head and smoothed down her skirt before looking up at us again. “I am heartbroken to share that our Festival president, Jim Steptoe, has passed away.”
    What little air was left in the room rushed out of it all at once. The bright-pink roses on Lauren Sparrow’s skirt spun before me like a kaleidoscope pattern as I tried to take in her words. Passed away. She made it sound like Mr. Steptoe’s death had nothing at all to do with Kendra’s shrieks or the police crawling all over the Girl Scout float—and certainly nothing to do with murder. He had simply tiptoed off when no one was looking, never to be seen again.
    â€œThe float barn will be closed while the police conduct a very thorough investigation.” Ms. Sparrow raised her voice above the murmurs. “It goes without saying that this is a