The Tiara on the Terrace by Kristen Kittscher Read Free Book Online Page A

“He was just nervous about the media and the police.”
    Grace sat up straight. “Now you two are thinking. You’d think he’d be at least a little sad. I mean, how long had he worked with the guy? Ten years?”
    â€œHe’s got motive, too.” Trista said.
    I put down my soggy ham sandwich and studied her. She looked distant, and her eyes darted back and forth as though she were reading an invisible page. The back of my neck prickled. “Yeah? What are you thinking?” I asked.
    â€œThink about it. Mr. Maxwell got rich after his term as President. Moved into that ridiculous spread on the bluffs with the tennis courts,” Trista continued. “All that press from the parade? It’s no accident he opened up two more Preppy Plus stores. Maxwell’s sales went through the roof, but no one even remembers who the Festival VP was that year.”
    Grace’s hair fell across her face as she leaned forward. “So true. Harrison Lee could rake in a ton of cash. He could put away those giant cardboard chainsaws for good. Who needs cheesy late-night ads when you have months of free publicity? And his body language this morning? Supersketchy. The liar’s trifecta. Nose touch, neck scratch, and the collar pull!”
    â€œThat so?” Trista’s eyebrows shot up.
    I had no idea what a trifecta was, but I didn’t feel like asking. My lunch bag crackled as I shoved my half-eaten sandwich back inside it. I was starting to wish I’d left Grace to hang out with Marissa and discuss more supercute short-shorts together.
    â€œI thought Ms. Sparrow was acting odd, too,” Grace said. “Did you notice she called Mr. Steptoe ‘Jimmy’ during her announcement?”
    I chuckled. “Are you saying Steptoe was her loverrr ?” I asked, drawing out the word. I was desperate to lighten the mood.
    Grace laughed. “Maybe. Though I cannot picture them together at all!”
    â€œThey say opposites attract.” I shrugged. Ms. Sparrow was smooth and elegant and liked everything to be perfectly in place. “Jimmy” was goofy and kind of clumsy, and his gray hair was always messy.
    â€œShe’d be, like, trying to slick down his hair every day,” Grace said. “You know, yesterday I actually saw her rearrange some books in the mansion foyer bookshelf so they were in order of height. And she’s not even in her own house.” She paused. “What if he dumped her, and she couldn’t bear it?”
    â€œPossible, I guess,” Trista said. “She sure didn’t kill for money. She’s loaded now that all those celebrities are flipping out over Pretty Perfect stuff.”
    Grace lowered her voice and looked toward the mansion. “Everyone’s a suspect,” she said. “It’s just a question of motive and opportunity.”
    An uneasy feeling rolled through me as Trista and I followed Grace’s gaze to the mansion. The afternoon sun reflecting in its windows almost looked like flames.
    Trista pulled off her napkin bib and folded it neatly next to her. “Maybe you’re right about this royal page business, Grace. Awful lot of suspects for a nice dude,” she said.
    â€œSure are,” Grace said, eyes flashing. She clapped her notebook shut with a smack that made me jump. “It’s a good thing the police are not alone.”

Chapter Six
The Tiara on the Terrace
    N ews of Mr. Steptoe’s death spread so fast that by the time I was back home, Grandpa Young had already gotten the full rundown at the Veterans of Foreign Wars club where he spent most of his time. “Fine man, that Steptoe,” Grandpa had said, strands of thin gray hair wriggling up with static as he clutched his baseball cap to his heart. “Died in the line of fire. Wearing his brown suit, I heard.”
    Even though Grandpa had never been a Festival bigwig, the parade was really important to him. He’d