A Starlet's Secret to a Sensational Afterlife by Kendall Kulper

Author:Kendall Kulper [Kulper, Kendall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2023-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DECLAN

I rubbed my skin raw, but I could still feel Henrietta’s lips brush up against mine. My mind kept spinning, a darkened theater playing the same loop of film: Henrietta’s tears, her arms around me, her weight against my chest, the question in her face when she met my eyes, like she was falling and wanted to know if I’d catch her.

What the hell was that? It felt nothing like the ridiculous photo shoots, the “dates” where we barely spoke, the premieres when reporters would ask for a good shot and Henrietta would dutifully turn to me with a smile, lips raised to mine.

No—I had it wrong—that had been Etta Hart. I’d only kissed Henrietta once, just now, and it lit up something inside me I hadn’t even known could go electric.

My thoughts tangled me up so much that it was a while before I realized I was lost. I was spinning around, trying to figure out where to go, when a nearby door opened, letting out a blare of music and—shoot—Mulvey, followed by a hotel bellboy.

Quick, I ducked around a corner, and then I heard his gruff voice ask, “You said she’s in bad shape?”

Is he talking about Henrietta? After a murmured reply from the bellboy, I heard Mulvey say, “Roof? I’ll take care of it.”

Footsteps, going the other way down the hallway, then the sound of the door opening, music blaring, quiet again. Not Henrietta, then, but who was in bad shape? Another girl?

I headed back into the banquet hall, searching for Mulvey. The huge golden chandelier had dimmed since Henrietta and I had left, the ballroom turned over to the band, dancers clustered together on the floor in the center of the room. The few people sitting at tables had their heads bent close to hear over the music, slices of cake set before them. I spotted Mulvey, moving quickly to the exit opposite me, and I made my way after him.

When I got there, I pushed open the door to find another hallway. I looked around, not sure where to go, and spotted a small, ornate sign: BLOSSOM PATIO ROOF GARDEN. The nearby entrance led to a staircase, which I followed up to a landing and a pair of glass French doors, a CLOSED sign hanging on one, the other pushed slightly ajar.

Through the doors, I couldn’t see much: lush greenery made up most of the view, delicate flowery vines that wound around awnings, dozens of small round tables, and a large stone fountain. I put my ear to the door, listening.

Was that...crying? A man, letting out burbling sobs, and another voice, sharp in response.

Holding my breath, I eased the door open and slipped onto the roof, hiding behind a table under one of the awnings. I could hear more clearly now, and I crept closer, staying low, until I nearly reached the edge of the roof.

“...didn’t even mean to!” a man’s voice wailed, and in the dim light I could just make him out:

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