My phone screen flashed with Tyler Fitzgerald's bizarre text message: "I saw dog poop next to your car. I tried to warn you but you left too fast. Hope you didn't step in it!"
I stared at the message, baffled. First parasites, now dog poop? This man definitely had issues.
Ignoring the text, I turned my attention to the Ricardo mansion looming ahead. The normally quiet estate buzzed with activity - workers hauled flowers, decorations, and furniture through the grand entrance. Old Mrs. Margaret's 86th birthday banquet preparations were in full swing.
As I stepped inside, a maid hurried past with an armload of fresh linens. The usually serene foyer had transformed into command central for what was clearly the social event of the season.
"Miss Juliana!" Mrs. Peters spotted me from across the hall. "Thank goodness you're here. The mistress has been asking for you all morning."
"Is everything okay?" I asked, concern creeping into my voice.
