“Oh, Casey!” He straightens. “Perfect timing. Fari and I are scouring Amazon for costumes. Can you clarify—since it’s a murder mystery party but, like, only a few days before Halloween—are we supposed to be dead-looking seventies icons, or just seventies icons who happen to be dead?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Half the people didn’t know it was a surprise, and half the people didn’t know it was a birthday, and well more than half thought Miriam meant the Halloweeny kind of murder, with fake blood and zombie eyes and gashes in your flare jeans. Brijesh swears he never heard her say “surprise” over the phone, but it all works out when everyone shows up to Sasha’s swanky Upper West Side apartment in their disco best.
By everyone, read: exactly fourteen people, because that’s the number of character cards in the murder mystery party kit Miriam ordered. Even after all the plus-ones she gave out （Benny brought his boyfriend and Fari brought a thirty-three-year-old insurance agent she’s seeing）， Miriam still had to invite three nursing friends to meet the quota.
When I walk in the door, the first thing I spot is a bowl of sherbet fizz, plus a pitcher of a premixed Tom Collins cocktail. A sign hanging over the front entryway reads THE NIGHT DISCO DIED. Star confetti pieces are strewn all over the floor. An electric disco ball is projecting colored lights onto each wall and, incongruously, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” is blasting from a soundbar.
“John Lennon, I must apologize,” I mutter under my breath.
“Surprise!” Ellie 1 shouts at me as I walk in.
Ellie 2 hisses at her, “It’s not a surprise anymore, dumbass.”
Miriam has two nursing friends named Ellie. One has red hair and green eyes. The other is so petite, half the hospital must think she’s a runaway sick kid who found scrubs in the bathroom. They’re matching tonight, dressed up alongside Miriam as Charlie’s Angels, but the Ellies also have fake blood splattered on their skin. At least, I hope it’s fake. They work in a hospital, but … I really hope it’s fake.
The third nurse, Hector, is dressed as a cop. （He scored that character card because he has a real mustache.）
All three of them greet me at the door while Miriam rushes off to change. We just came from dinner as planned but gave up on the surprise element days ago.
Sasha is leaning against her kitchen counter in flares and platforms. “What a shock to see you’re in town after all,” I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes. “I told Mir you hate surprises.”
“And I told Casey that sometimes she doesn’t know what’s good for her!” Miriam shouts from the half bath. She emerges seconds later in full costume—black crop top, shiny leggings, finger pistols to boot.
“How was that going to work, anyway?” Miguel asks. “You guys coming to our place when we were supposedly out of town?”
“What the fuck do you mean, our place?” Sasha asks him.
Miguel, dressed as some ambiguous movie star, blushes and grumbles something before he walks into the living room.
“I admit, the plan could have used some fine-tuning,” Miriam says. “Problem is, Casey’s always the one who does that shit.”
“It’s the thought that counts,” I say cheerily.
Sasha pulls me into her bedroom so I can change into my outfit: a chrome-white dress, flower crown, and sash that says BIRTHDAY BITCH.
“Can I talk to you?” Benny asks when I make it back to the living room. “Tracy asked for a copy of my résumé today. Completely out of the blue, zero context given. I was scared to ask, and now I’m freaking out about why she’d want—”
“Casey!” Jude says, hugging me. Saving me. My stomach bottoms out when I spot Alex over Jude’s shoulder. He smiles, but every atom in my body has stuttered to a standstill. Is Tracy already job hunting for Benny?
I’ve met Jude, Benny’s boyfriend, exactly once, at a brunch drag show Benny invited me to before he banned me from coming to any more. （He said it gave him cross-pollination career panic.） “Can you please tell Benny to chill, and that Tracy loves him, and she’s probably just putting him up for a pay raise or something?” I am spared from lying through my teeth when Jude turns to Sasha, eyeing her drink. “Are you drinking Fireball out of a Healthy Habits water bottle?”
“It’s Jack Fire,” Sasha says.
Jude laughs. “You’re violent. I like you.”
That’s when Fari walks in with the insurance agent. She introduces him to us as Alfred, and he starts an ill-timed thirty-minute conversation with me like this: “So, Casey, what are your career goals for twenty-five?”
To have one, I think. When I look over at Benny fifteen minutes later, he’s half-drunk and jovial, but I can’t get rid of the protectiveness for him swelling in my gut.
Spot a solution Tracy can’t.
There’s still time. I’m not going to solve anything tonight, but there’s time.
When I manage to get within five feet of Alex, I’ve already gone through a drink and a half. He follows me over to the punch bowl, where I’m topping myself off.
“Hi.” His fingers brush mine as I pass over the drink ladle. He’s wearing a tie-dye T-shirt, light-wash jeans, and boots.
“Hi.” I bite my lip, stifling a giggle. “Where did you acquire that outfit?”
“Would you believe it? This is what I wore to Lollapalooza in high school.”
“Nice try, but I’ve already seen how sparse your closet is.”
“Which is why I had to procure the ensemble from Aunt Jane’s,” Alex says. “Are the cowboy boots doing it for you?”
Kind of. “In your dreams.”
He leans closer, looming over me. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar? You better hope for the sake of this game’s longevity that you aren’t the killer. We’d collectively out you in seconds.”
“I can be deceptive when I have to be,” I say, frowning. Almost like I’m trying to convince myself that it’s true.
Alex looks across the room. “Am I meant to stay away from you tonight?”
My mind tumbles over itself. “What?”
He clears his throat. “Fari and Benny are here.”
Oh. I look over at the coworkers in question. They’re laughing with Miriam and Sasha, who are no doubt telling them my most mortifying college stories.
I guess it wouldn’t matter if …
No. Bad idea.
It doesn’t matter, Devil Casey says. The people they’re screwing are here, too, and Brijesh already knows.
“Your face is doing somersaults,” Alex says. “I wish you could see it.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Only stay away from me if you’re the murderer.”
Freddy Rollerblades up to us, catching himself on the table. He’s wearing a white jumpsuit, his chest on full display. “Hello, lovebirds.”
“Your chest hair looks great,” I say.
“That’s not going to convince me to look the other way while you commit murder.”
“Gather up, you drunk hoes!” Miriam shouts from the coffee table.
Sasha swats at her. “Bro, get off, this isn’t the Phi Sig basement.”