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“So you put on one of the staff costumes.”
“There were dozens of people running around in those hoods. I walked the drink out, set it down, and disappeared back into the crowd.” She looks at me. “Nobody noticed me. That was sort of Clawdia’s specialty, too.”
My stomach knots.
“She wasn’t supposed to drink it in front of everyone,” Kitty says. “She never did. She carried those drinks around for show and waited until she thought nobody important was watching before she finished them.”
“But that night she drank the whole thing.”
Kitty’s expression goes still. “Every last drop.”
And I stood there opening night, watching that hooded figure fuss with the orange peel, thinking someone took an awful lot of care with Clawdia’s cocktail.
Turns out I was watching her daughter serve her a death sentence.
She takes a step back, glancing at the party around us, at the people dancing and drinking and celebrating.
“Good night, Bizzy,” she says, and her voice is suddenly flat and cold. “I think I’m all through here.” I could have been in Paris by now, she muses internally. But I wanted one more night. One more silly celebration.
Kitty pivots on her heels and bolts into the crowd.
She drops the purple cocktail, and the glowing liquid splashes across the grass as she bolts toward the edge of the rave, straight for the woods beyond, her pink heels punching into the lawn with every frantic step.
“Kitty, stop!” I chase after her, trying to juggle both Fish and Duchess while Sherlock scampers by my side.
Hurry up, Bizzy, Duchess shouts. She’s going to get away!
She’s not going anywhere, Fish yowls as she jumps from my arms and flits ahead as fast as lightning. Duchess uses my chest as a springboard and takes off after her.
We enter the woods and I pick up my speed.
Kitty is fast, even in heels, but I’m faster.
I shoot forward and catch her by the ankle. She pitches onto the grass with a shriek, while one glittery pink stiletto launches into the night.
She tries to scramble to her feet, but I’m right there, grabbing her around the middle and hauling her back down before she can get her legs under her.
She bucks hard, nearly throwing me off.
“Oh no, you don’t!”
I catch one of her wrists. She twists, kicks backward, and almost catches me in the shin.
She’s getting away! Fish bolts in and sinks her teeth into Kitty’s ankle.
Kitty shrieks. “YOUR CAT BIT ME!”
“She has excellent instincts.”
Sherlock barrels in from the other side and clamps his teeth around the sleeve of Kitty’s costume, planting all four paws and pulling for all he’s worth.
I have the murderer! I HAVE THE MURDERER!
You have her sleeve, Fish grunts as Kitty jerks me sideways.
It’s attached to her! Sherlock growls back.
Kitty gets one knee underneath herself, but I shove her flat again, wrench her arm behind her back, and swing a leg over her hips before she can buck me off.
