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

panicked eyes on mine. My head felt light, and Harrison Lee’s voice sounded warped and far away, as if he were talking underwater. The Court finalists—their ankles crossed, their smiles like grimaces—looked like a row of plastic puppets.
    There was nothing to worry about, I told myself, even as my heart pounded and a trickle of sweat slid down the back of my neck. The police had discovered some missing piece of the puzzle. That’s all. They knew how Mr. Steptoe had died, and it wasn’t at the hands of some deranged killer. Or poor Mr. Katz in his horse-turdy suit. Or even Barb Lund, whose arms were so tightly crossed that she looked as if she were trying to keep herself from throttling someone that very second. It had been an accident. Pure and simple. So what if the police had said the force would need weeksto investigate? They might’ve made a mistake. It’s not like bodies showed up in parade floats every day on their watch. Besides, we’d heard one snatch of conversation only minutes after they’d arrived. Things had changed.
    Obviously.
    â€œThe envelope, please!” Harrison Lee bellowed, chuckling at his own corny imitation of an Academy Awards host as he took the list of Royal Court winners from the Brown Suiter next to him. The contestants sat up as if tugged by an invisible string.
    Lauren Sparrow straightened in her chair, too. Her program was neatly tucked halfway into her leather handbag and she wore a relaxed smile. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen that flash of surprise on her face at all.
    As the cranes on the news vans hinged outward, elbowing their way in for close-ups, I felt queasy as I remembered how worried Lee had been about the press. He’d practically begged Officer Grady to wrap everything up faster because of the Festival. But the police would never rush to give us “closure” if a murderer was on the loose, would they? My head started to throb.
    Lee prepared to announce the Royal Court’s first new princess. “Siennnn-na Connnnn-nors!” he boomed.
    Trista had to rip off her headphones and fumble for thesoundboard levels as a chorus of ear-splitting shrieks rose up. Shocked, Sienna tottered on her heels toward the podium. One of the previous year’s princesses who was wrapped in a tight gauzy dress that reminded me of a mummy—or a patient recovering from full-body surgery—pressed a bouquet into her arms. Sienna might have been surprised, but the rest of us weren’t. She was everything the Festival could want in a princess and still managed to be ridiculously nice. The genuine, fun kind of nice. Not the boring kind people pull off because they have no opinions.
    As Lee turned back to the crowd, Kendra was already smoothing down the folds of her dress, ready to stand. She blew a kiss to someone in the crowd—possibly to her sister, Marissa. Possibly—and even more likely—to her dog.
    Harrison Lee drew in a noticeably longer breath before he announced the next Court member. “Allow me to introduce . . . Princess Lily Lund!”
    A stunned hush fell over the crowd as they put it together. If Lily was princess, she couldn’t be queen. If Lily wasn’t queen, then—
    The crowd broke into an awkward cheer while craning their necks to look for Barb. I whirled around to see her expression for myself.
    She sat like a statue, her feathered bangs ruffling in thebreeze. She wore a look that . . . well . . .
    A look that could kill.
    Meanwhile, Lily stood stiffly on the terrace clutching her bouquet of flowers so tightly to her chest I wondered if the rose thorns were drawing blood yet. She struggled to keep her smile, but when the camera swept across her face, I saw her glasses were misting up with tears. My lap buzzed with a stream of exclamation-point-filled texts from Grace. As I leaned to catch her eye across the aisle, I saw Lauren Sparrow cheering, her quick claps reminding me of