Will Work for Prom Dress Read Online Free

little piece in the middle of the tray—it gets the audience in the mood.”
    “Ah. I just thought in all black I’d blend in while I’m moving whatever you need me to. Or is it just a matter of placing a dagger or bottle of poison somewhere strategic without people noticing? Anne said I didn’t have to actually act. I’m not an actor.”
    “Oh, I think you can handle this,” the woman chuckled. “So Victoria’s daughter didn’t tell you what you’d be doing? Classic.”
    Her peal of laughter set off a fluttering in my stomach. “Wait. What exactly am I doing?”
    “Simple. Our dead body called in sick.”
    I tried to concentrate on her instructions. They’d be setting down rolls and butter as the show started. Then the salad course. Mine would arrive sans dressing and then a shot would ring out. A spotlight would land on me right as I face-planted into my romaine. I tried to memorize her advice to chow down on the rolls so my stomach wouldn’t growl from the tempting smells as everyone else ate, and to make sure I adjusted the lettuce to leave a decent-sized breathing space so I didn’t get claustrophobic. To dodge the single cherry tomato added for effect as I landed. It was just all so hard toremember when my brain was fully engaged in hating Anne. I tuned back in as the woman finished explaining the story line of the murder mystery.
    “So that’s it. At the end, the main characters will come retrieve you from your seat and do a
Weekend at Bernie’s
routine—you know, the dancing corpse number. Don’t worry, they’re fantastic. Just keep your eyes closed and let them flop your body around. Then, lights will come down and you come back to life to do a proper curtain call as one of our performers!”
    Music swelled from inside the theater as the waiters reemerged with empty trays.
    “Oops, better get in there! Follow this hall to the end and take a left. You can enter the theater from the back.”
    I numbly headed down the hall.
    “Oh, Quigley?”
    I turned, hoping she’d laugh and reveal it was all some elaborate prank.
    “Break a leg!”
    I turned back toward the theater, thinking of the patterned tights I’d admired on my best friend during the drive over. “Yeah. I think I just might know whose.”
    I crouched down and headed toward our table in thedarkened theater as the actors performed an opening number. The silhouettes of three people sat at the table, so at least our dates had arrived.
    I slid into my seat and leaned into Anne, who cut me off. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea, Quigley. I swear. I promise I’ll make this up to you.”
    “You
totally
knew, the set lady told me. Now switch places with me and you do this or there’s going to be more than one dead body at this table.”
    “I can’t,” she hissed back. “We’re already in our places and they said the dead body had to sit in that particular chair. If we move now, everyone will notice and it will wreck the whole show. We need this cash and you know how I feel about acting. Where’s your sense of humor? I thought you’d think this was hilarious.”
    “Oh, really? So why were you apologizing then?”
    I grabbed the last of the rolls from the departing waiter’s tray and took an angry bite.
    “That’s not what I was apologizing for,” she said with a look of genuine remorse. “That is.”
    I followed her gaze across the table to the smirking grin of none other than David Jenkins, the Art King himself. He waggled his fingers at me.
    I was still choking on the bite of roll and trying to breathe as the waiter delivered our salads. Being unable to speak might have been a blessing since my brain in its fury wasn’t forming too many coherent words. T-Shirt, wearing his nicest YOU SAY TOMATO, I SAY TOMATO—IT DOESN’T REALLY MAKE MUCH SENSE WHEN YOU READ IT shirt under a sports coat, offered me his water, while David just laughed himself stupid.
    “Ewww, what is this?” Anne asked, poking at the thick pool of blue