Page 14 of The Stalker Snafu

CHAPTER 5

A Magician

Thursday brought a catering emergency to my and my roommate Teresa’s doorstep.

Yeah, apparently those existed.

But like the life-saving caterers we were paid peanuts to be, we jumped into Teresa’s car and took off for the party as soon as we got the call from our boss.

“We’re a little late,” Teresa warned as she jerked her speeding car into a subdivision while I held on for dear life. I didn’t have my license yet—so I tried not to judge—but I’d seen videos of dogs driving better than Teresa Ruiz could. Luckily, reckless endangerment was the only fault I’d found in my roommate so far. “But Mr. Everton said to just start pitching in wherever we can. They’re two people short. Something about an accident with an ice sculpture.”

My eyebrows rose at that, and I faced the window to do a little recon.

The street was an homage to luxury, with each mansion larger than the one before it. Teresa drove until we reached ones that made me question how much money was too much, and my jaw struggled to stay connected to my body. I might’ve spotted a pond full of swans in one front lawn.

Teresa had pulled her long dark hair into a high ponytail. With the build of an active soccer star and stilts for legs, my roommate made me feel like an out-of-shape dwarf in comparison. I twisted my blonde hair into a quick bun before thinking better of it and doing a ponytail as well. Solidarity.

I shifted in the passenger seat, snagging a spare hair tie from her car’s console and sliding it onto my wrist. “Did Mr. Everton say what kind of party it is?”

Teresa wrinkled her nose as she sped straight over a pothole that sent my butt airborne. “Some spoiled brat’s birthday. The usual.”

I shuddered. Please let there not be macaroni involved this time.

Cars lined both sides of the street as we ventured further, and an obscenely lavish mansion on our right towered over the street. The chatter of a large crowd and sounds of a party in full swing emanated from the back, the black iron gate to their driveway decorated in at least a hundred pink balloons. I swallowed, not bothering to hide my awe. “Well, looks like we found the place.”

Teresa hummed before passing the monstrosity and driving past another six until we found an empty spot to park. While we doubled back on foot, I silently rejoiced that we weren’t required to wear heels for these gigs.

By the time we reached the mansion, buzzed ourselves through the gate, and followed a butler to the estate’s separate kitchen house, Mr. Everton was close to blowing a gasket.

“I need those funnel cakes yesterday!” he yelled to the kitchen staff, wearing a familiar blue flannel shirt. In his early forties, our broad-shouldered boss embraced the lumberjack look with his thick brown hair and bushy beard. While he had his friendly moments, I’d grown used to him running his kitchen with an iron fist. “Premade batter and a deep fryer. It’s not rocket science.”

Teresa and I waited off to the side of the bustling caterers, and I could practically smell the anxiety seeping from their pores.

“Hey, boss,” Teresa called when he paused to catch his breath, earning a squeak from me. It didn’t seem like he wanted to be disturbed. “When you get a sec⁠—”

“Thank God.” Mr. Everton whipped a towel over his shoulder and beckoned us over. We darted closer. “Sorry to call you girls in, but we’re drowning here. Trent and Seamus were just taken away in an ambulance⁠—”

“An ambulance?” I echoed in alarm, sharing a look with Teresa.

“Long story, but they should be fine.” He dismissed it with a wave. “I need one of you doing rounds with carnival appetizers and the other refilling the buffets. Lasagna and veggies. I don’t want to see a single empty chafer tonight.”

A loud series of clangs echoed from the pantry, and Mr. Everton cursed before storming off. I blinked after him, and Teresa turned on me with pursed lips.

“Appetizers involve balancing trays,” she said.

“Which means that’s all you,” I finished for her with a nod. “I get refill duty.”

I stuck my hand out between us like we were in an inspirational football movie’s team huddle, but Teresa had already set off for the servers’ section.

Puffing out a breath, I threw my hand up in the air and whispered, “Break!”

Buffet time.

Weaving between bustling kitchen staff, I opened two closets before finding a hallway leading to the backyard. I tried not to look too closely at the immaculately polished floor or the museum-worthy paintings on the walls. Hallways like this reminded me too much of my parents’ place back in Kansas, and I stifled a shiver as a maid rushed by.

Stepping through the door into the backyard was like walking into an alternate dimension. A carnival had taken over the lawn, full of dazzling lights and splashes of bright color. The yard stretched back further than I could see, and every inch was covered with striped yellow-and-red tents, child-sized rides, and rigged games.

I gaped at a clown troupe peddling by on unicycles. They wore huge red shoes and rainbow hair. Carrying balloons bigger than the children, the clowns handed them out to hordes of smiling rug rats. Fire-twirlers took up in one of the corners. My stomach growled at the decadent scents of cotton candy and kettle popcorn, reminding me of when Noah took me to the pier. A small pen filled with tiny goats made me do a double take, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp of delight.