Even the waitstaff was in costume. The waiters had on black turtleneck sweaters and Beatles wigs from the cover of the With the Beatles album. Bartenders wore bright pastel military jackets with braids and brass buttons from the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album.
Everyone looked fabulous.
Everybody but me.
“Can’t Buy Me Love” played as I passed the Strawberry Fields dessert buffet. Paige’s Yellow Submarine cake was the centerpiece, surrounded by hundreds of rich, sumptuous desserts—all of which I desperately needed at the moment.
Apparently Vanessa didn’t need a chocolate boost to get her through the rest of the evening, because I didn’t see her there.
I pushed on, and calliope music drew me to the Mr. Kite event area. The whimsical circus theme of “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” featured dancing horses, fire eaters, jugglers, stilt walkers, trampoline, and acrobats. The Hendersons were dancing and singing, but no Vanessa.
A group of partygoers wearing blue ponchos and black hats from the Help album passed me as I made my way to Penny Lane. Here, Lyle and his construction company had built the façade of a town and populated it with cutouts of a barber, banker, fireman, and a pretty nurse selling poppies from a tray.
Still no Vanessa.
There were over two hundred guests here, plus half that many in the support staff, so realistically I could roam the grounds for hours and not find her. My anger was winding down—plus everybody was glaring at me—so I decided to take a break.
I passed the stage where the two Cirque du Soleil performers were dancing to “Lady Madonna.” The woman’s cutaway top exposed her huge pregnant belly, and both she and her male partner had on bright yellow rain boots. I didn’t get it, but the audience seated around the stage loved it.
I caught sight of Sheridan. It looked as if Muriel had put together a Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds costume for her. The full-length dress was sky blue and covered with crystals. Her hair was colored white and whipped into a massive updo to represent, I suppose, a cloud.
Beside her stood her husband, Talbot. He looked as if he were John Lennon and had just stepped off the cover of the Abbey Road album, wearing a white suit and sporting shoulder-length hair and a full beard.
No way did I want either of them to see me in my hideous costume.
I knew Eleanor and Rigby were here somewhere. I hoped they wouldn’t spot me—they’d probably eighty-six me if they saw what I was wearing.
I endured more glares, stinky looks, and a few outright sneers as I made my way back to the service wing. I desperately needed a chocolate fix—it was the only way to salvage this evening.
I ducked into the room where the desserts had been prepared. A number of people were still working. I grabbed two slices of Black Forest cake, went to the employees’ lounge, and collapsed at a table.
Luckily, I had the place to myself. I devoured the cake, as anyone in my position would have, and was contemplating going back for more when I caught sight of a tote bag hanging from one of the hooks on the other side of the room, partially covered by a sweater.
Huh. Something about it looked familiar.
I sat there for a minute waiting for the chocolate cake to turbo boost my brain cells.
Nothing turbo boosted.
Another minute passed, and I decided that if I was going to figure out why that tote had caught my eye I was going to have to get another piece of cake. I got out of my chair and headed for the door.
Then it hit me.
I spun around and looked at the bag again.
Oh my God. That tote was a Coach bag from several seasons ago when, for unknown reasons, the designers had thought women would actually want to carry a bag covered with huge fuchsia flower blossoms.
Then something else hit me.
I’d seen that bag at the Hollywood & Highland Center when I’d gone there for the ransom exchange. Belinda had been carrying it.
So that could only mean that—oh my God, Belinda was here.
The Black Forest cake kicked in big-time.
Somehow, she’d gotten past security onto the grounds and into the service wing. From here, she had access to the entire estate—the party, the main house, everything.
Since Paige had told me earlier that Belinda hadn’t accompanied her to the party to help with the cake, I could think of only one reason for her to sneak into the event.
I yanked my phone out of my pants pocket and called the guy who headed up security.
“Where are the Beatle collectibles?” I asked when he answered.
“On display near the serenity garden,” he said.
“Double security on them,” I said. “I think someone may be trying to steal the bobbleheads.”
It was the only reason I could figure that Belinda would be here. Apparently, she intended to take the bobbleheads again.