even lingering. Perfect gentleman. Or I’m not hot enough for his tastes. Either way. “I wanted to ask how it went with the detective. What did she ask you?”
I take a deep breath, exhale into the most casual posture and tone I can manage. “Oh, nothing major. She needed to corroborate all the sexts Tipton sent Emma that I found on her second phone. Needs it all on the record for when it goes to court. You know.”
Tyler’s face falls at mention of the sexts, and immediately I feel like an asshole for being so casual about it. An apology doesn’t seem like enough, so instead I deflect, change the subject.
“James Dean, right?”
“What? Oh, uh, yeah. It’s my dad’s. Some old Halloween costume.”
“Quite the theme you picked for the party.” I can’t help ribbing him gently. Tyler’s shoulders go stiff, and his mouth hardens into a straight line.
“It’s to help everyone process their grief. My grief. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”
He reminds me of one of those fire-and-brimstone preachers who used to be on television, firm and fervent in his conviction. I sense it’s best not to argue, so I simply offer a tight smile. Avery appears behind him, nostrils flaring.
“Tyler, you perv, get out of here!” She boots him from the doorway and rushes in, shutting the door behind her. When she motions for me to turn around, I obey, and she zips me up. “See, totally fits.”
Immediately I spring for the bathroom to check for myself. It feels really tight on top. My eyes practically bug out of my head. “Avery, my boobs are falling out of this!”
“Yes, it looks great.” She appears behind me, hairnet and wig in hand. “Now for this.”
I have no choice. Tonight, I will be Marilyn Monroe.
People start trickling in at eight, and lucky me, one of the first guests to arrive is my least-favorite Ivy. Margot makes clear from her just-sniffed-poo-under-my-nose expression that the feeling is mutual. Unlike Avery, she has not forgiven me for my sleuthing. Which sucks, because I really want to grill her about Tipton. She had to know that Emma was hooking up with him, which makes her the prime suspect as his blackmailer, or she might be aware of who else knew. I’ve had one drink, and already my blood is thrumming with that old drive. I know I’m supposed to be playing it cool, but the party is the perfect opportunity to gather more information. Everyone will be getting ass drunk and will be off their guard.
“You came all the way from New York?” I ask Margot, who is dressed in a tightly cinched trench coat and has artful smudges across her cheek and brow. I guess she’s Éponine from Les Mis, which is so on brand for the musical diva that I nearly laugh. I try to make friendly conversation as she scoops herself some special punch. Because, yes, at Avery’s party there is punch, and other classy drinks like gin fizzes and champagne.
“I’m staying at an Airbnb in town,” she replies breezily, like that should have been obvious. “New York is overcrowded and so passé. You know people have to wear adult diapers to Times Square? It’s gross. Of course, my parents always have a reservation at the Crowne Plaza, but I’ve done that so many times.”
Typically, I spend New Year’s Eve in my living room with my mother, wearing our pajamas and goofy hats, sipping sparkling apple cider and stuffing ourselves with cookies. Approximately half the time, Mom falls asleep before the ball drops, and I ring in the New Year to the dulcet sounds of her snoring.
“I invited Sierra to stay with me, but she says Los Angeles is perfect this time of year, and she just got back,” Margot says. “And why are you here?”
“Had an appointment with the police,” I answer matter-of-factly. It wipes the derision off Margot’s face.
“Shit. Is everything okay?” She bites her lip. Is this my window? No. She’s too sober. The bear trap is on a hair trigger. I say the same thing I said to Tyler earlier, and she visibly relaxes.
“Good. I’m glad they got that bastard.” She hands me the glass of punch. “You probably need this.” I’m too surprised not to accept. She pours herself another. Then we clink our glasses in solidarity and drink. We make small talk for a good five minutes, mostly about Princeton, though Margot is distracted, disengaged. Milo McNamara walks in dressed as