Maybe this was how he’d climbed the ladder. Stepping on other people’s fingers as they clung to the rungs.
“Thank you, I’ll consider it,” I said as sweetly as I could. “But tonight I’m here to focus on—”
“I hear your family is closing the Afton Scottsdale.” He talked over me, eyes keen. “Is that true?”
I hadn’t been to the Afton Scottsdale in years—all the light reflecting off the dyed blond hair, giant veneers, and garish jewelry in the area hurt my eyes. “I have no idea,” I said. “That’s probably a question for my dad. He’s the one in charge.”
That keen glint in his eyes again. “Is he?”
What even kind of question was that? “Yes. He’s over there.” I turned to point at my parents’ table, but they were no longer at their seats. Maybe they’d decided they’d shown their faces enough not to lose them and fled. “Well. You probably have his number; you can text him. Anyway! You received a number of scholarships to help you through college and business school, right?” He didn’t interrupt me this time, which was encouraging. “I imagine you’re very grateful to the people who gave you access to those opportunities you wouldn’t have been able to get ahead without. Imagine how good it would feel to pay that forward.”
“I’m sure. I’ll consider it and get back to you,” he said, a little sourly. His eyes landed on someone over my shoulder. Maybe my dad. “Ah, there you are. Come—”
I beat it before I could get sucked into some boring conversation about the family business. Two of my golden geese hadn’t laid any eggs so far, but there was still number three, my parents’hedge fund manager, Jack Wohl… who, I had to admit after three full circles of the room, was nowhere to be found. I could only hope that he’d suffered some kind of bathroom emergency or wardrobe malfunction, that he was somewhere in the wings and would reemerge later. Because the alternative was to admit that the gala might be a bust.
ThatIwas a bust. Because what would it say if my very first gala was a bust? If this organization and goal that I’d spent all year working on fell flat? If I failed the kids I’d been promising to help? God, I couldn’t even think of their faces. What if I’d spent all year doing my best to become a better person and my best wasn’t good enough? I could practically see Libby and Kitty and John snickering behind a pillar. Silently and with solemn faces, because they were too well-bred to actually snicker in public.
No. That couldn’t be what happened. It couldn’t. Because even the thought of abandoning the kids and heading out to party with Millicent and Coriander—who, I thought with an unpleasant lurch in my stomach, were also nowhere to be seen right now—didn’t feel good at all. Which meant I’d progressed as a person, right? That I was better?
What did better mean, anyway?
“Pomona!” someone cried, clapped me on the shoulder, pulled me into their circle. “Tell me about your…”
My worries faded as I circled the room again, made conversation, solicited smaller donations that would add up to multiple scholarships. Things were going fine. My first gala would be a success. Nothing bad would—
A scream echoed through the room, silencing all the chatter with the force of a slap. My head whipped in its direction.
Just in time to see the body tumbling from the second-floor railing and landing, with the most horrific squelch I’d ever heard, atop the hanging murder peacock.
CHAPTER
Five
So it was safe to say that I’d been wrong. Something bad, something terrible, had happened. But that wasn’t the thought whirling around my head as I waited, with the rest of my guests, to talk to the police, Gabe’s arm wrapped around me like a blanket.
It was,This again?
Knowing one murder victim had been enough for one lifetime. Being involved in one murder investigation had beenquiteenough for one lifetime, thank you very much. I still had nightmares about it. They’d lessened with time, but I wasn’t sure they’d ever completely go away.
At least they’d mostly replaced the stress dreams I used to have about finally getting that invite to the Met Gala only to discover I’d shown up without my clothes and that the theme wasnotNaked Glory.
Gabe pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay,” he said into my hair. A chilly breeze followed it, making me burrow deeper into his warmth. Everybody from the gala who hadn’t disobeyed the police and made a run for it or who wasn’t dead was currently gathered outside on the steps of the New York Public Library, drawing stares from tourists walking by.
“You don’t know that,” I said into his neck. It was easier toargue with him when I wasn’t looking him in the eye. “Who was it? I can’t find Vienna. I can’t find—”
“It was definitely a man,” he said. “I definitely saw that before everybody started screaming and running out and the police told us to leave. An older man. With gray hair.”
I pulled back from Gabe’s shoulder, scanning the crowd. “I don’t see my dad,” I said, panic swelling in my chest, threatening to push my heart out my throat. What if this was my last interaction with my dad? Me sitting him next to someone he hated? And he—
Oh. There he was. Off in the corner talking to my mom, Nicholas, and Jessica. A shiver of relief ran down my spine. Not enough to go talk to them, but it was there all the same.
“See?” Gabe’s voice was a rumble all through me; his arms were strong and warm around me against the chill of the air. “It’s not your dad. Take a deep breath through your nose.”
I took a deep breath through my nose. It didn’t help. It just made me want a hot dog, because there was a hot dog cart stationed on the sidewalk nearby and I’d barely managed to choke down any of my mediocre chicken. Maybe for my next gala I should have the hot dog cart guys cater.
IfI had a next gala. “I can’t believe someone was murdered at my first gala.” I clenched my fists, wanting so badly to scream but knowing that I couldn’t. People were probably taking photos of me now, waiting for me to do something crazy. “I just… I can’t even. My life is ruined. My nonprofit is ruined. Nobody’s going to donate to my cause now.” I glanced frantically around, seeking out Libby, Kitty, and John. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably they’d left their names with the police and gone home, because you could do that when you had more money than God and a family tree that included multiple presidents, governors, and senators (the piddly House representatives didn’t even merit a mention).
“First of all, we don’t know that the victim was murdered,” Gabe said. “It’s unlikely he was murdered, statistically. Heprobably drank too much champagne, leaned too far over that too-low second-floor railing, and had the bad luck to land on that monstrosity.”
