I studied the blue velvet hat and Dorothy’s stunned face and wondered how many thirty-year-olds celebrated their birthdays sober at a Wizard of Oz–themed party? I settled the hat on my head, angled it a fraction, and then fished out my phone. Holding it up, I mugged for the camera, snapped, and posted. It was not vanity, but business. The more posts I put up, the higher the impressions my photography business received. Customers like to see you as real, accessible, and fun.

Clare’s laugh rang in my ears. “You look ridiculous, you know? Times when it pays to be dead.”

Hearing Clare’s voice was comforting. It’d been a while since my sister had piped up, and it was nice to know my former partner in crime was riding shotgun tonight.

Brit chose the Glinda the Good Witch hat and settled it on her head. Perfect fit.

I smiled at her, reminding myself again that when our mother died suddenly (suicide, overdose), Brit had been fifteen, and Clare and I had just turned twelve. Our dad had needed the help, and firstborn Brit had stepped into the role. She was so good at it, no one had ever asked if she liked it. And when Clare died, Brit was devastated. She compensated by throwing herself into her college and then law school studies. To this day, she never sat still.

Kurt settled the Tin Man’s silver hat on his head. “How do I look?”

“A perfect fit,” I said.

“Tin Man needed oil, and I’m in asphalt, an oil-based product.”

“Are you still with your dad’s asphalt business?” I asked. “In high school you said you’d rather die first.”

“It’s a good gig,” he said. “The pay is great, and we all have to grow up eventually.”

“So I hear.”

A flurry of laughter echoed outside the banquet room, and when we turned, a petite brunette stepped into the room, carrying a gift bag covered in clowns. My dislike of clowns had always been well known, and the bag choice was meant to be a joke. Ha ha.

“Jo-Jo,” I said. Jo-Jo, the bestie to team MC, had hosted the New Year’s Eve party where Clare had been last seen. Once the cops and media learned her parents hadn’t been at home during the party, there was enough fallout to drive them from Richmond.

Jo-Jo had married Brit’s high school boyfriend, Jack, two years ago. It had been a surprising combination. The bad boy married the cheerleader, but after thirteen years, the old labels shouldn’t have mattered as much. Jo-Jo and Jack now had the house in the suburbs, and odds were, they’d have a kid on the way within the year.