“Party time.” Fey sucked in a calming breath as she stood on the front porch of the Leightons’ mansion Friday evening. Taking a mirror from the small purse she was carrying, she checked her lipstick and grinned. “The cream of the upper crust arrives.”
“Uh-huh.” Tripp tried to adjust his bowtie with little success. “The stupid thing keeps twisting.”
“Let me.” Fey straightened it and then said, “Keep your hands off it and it’ll be fine.”
Tripp sighed as he pushed the bell. Seconds later the door opened to reveal a man in full butler’s regalia.
“Welcome madam, sir. May I see your invitations?”
Tripp gave them to him; he thanked them, and stepped aside to let them enter what turned out to be a large foyer.
“There is a buffet in the dining room,” the butler told them, gesturing to his rig
