Chapter 7
SEVEN
After we proved that we could manage the moves to the opening song, Lacy gave us a few minutes to grab sparkling water and mingle before our “bonding” got underway.
A couple of days ago, I would’ve guffawed at the ridiculous waste of time that the choreography had been, but I’d enjoyed being a part of something bigger than myself as I’d waved my arms and swayed from side to side.
I’d missed that kind of connection, and I wondered if perhaps that feeling of community was what these contestants were actually chasing. That and a lot of money.
Lacy came down from the stage and pulled me to a corner of the ballroom while other women chatted and air-kissed. One even slid off her heels and hat for a moment and began doing jumping jacks. With such a spectacle, I could barely focus on Lacy.
“Where is DeeDee?” Lacy asked.
“No idea. I haven’t seen her since I got here.” I bit my lip. “I talked to her last night. Do you think she’s okay?”
Lacy’s eyes scanned the room. “She’s fine. She must be.”
“I’ll go and find out which room she’s in,” I offered.
Lacy checked the schedule. “No, don’t go. The judges are already watching from that corner.” She nodded to three people on the periphery of the room, one of whom was the elderly woman who’d been taking note of me. “I’ll ask someone on security detail to find her.”
“Okay…” I hesitated, torn between my role as a contestant and my concern for my aunt. “But let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
I told myself not to worry, but it wasn’t like her to disappear, especially not when ladies in poufy dresses needed her help. Not that we were poufed yet, but we would be soon enough.
Just then another man in uniform entered the door to the ballroom, and I froze for a second.
He was one of the finest men I’d ever laid eyes on.
He was solid without being entirely made of muscle, like a sexy, impenetrable wall.
He had a cleft chin covered in day-old stubble, a uniform that hugged him in all the right places, and he’d nestled a hat beneath his arm.
But it wasn’t just his appearance that drew my eyes.
He had a quiet intensity about him, as if his real strength resided deep inside a place that he rarely revealed.
“We can ask the sheriff if he’s seen DeeDee,” Lacy said, pointing in the man’s direction.
I closed my lips and forced my eyes to the floor. I hadn’t had this kind of reaction to a man in… ever. I couldn’t start now.
“What?” Lacy noticed my weirdness. “Oh, so you do like the look of him?”
I ignored her and forced myself to take the necessary steps toward him as if his presence didn’t bother me.
“Hi, hello, um, sir,” I started, almost tripping over those simple words. I swallowed and started again. “We’re… we are looking for the MC who’s supposed to be running this event. Her name is Deanna—DeeDee—Green. Have you or your… your officers spoken with her this evening?”
The man’s face barely moved as his eyes scanned the assembled crowd, practically ignoring my presence. “Quite the coincidence. I’m looking for the same person.”
The response was not what I’d expected. My mouth went dry, and Lacy had to step in front of me. “Why are you trying to find DeeDee?”
The man didn’t turn to either of us as he answered, “That information is classified.”
I decided to start again, putting on my brave face. “I’m Dakota Green.”
His eyes flickered to me, widening a fraction before he extended his hand.
I reached out to find a surprisingly soft one that swallowed mine. I thought of what Lacy always said: Soft hands, hard—
“Charlie. Charlie Strong.”
“You are,” I breathed, before I could stop myself.
The faintest hint of a smile played about his lips.
A tuft of hair emerged from the collar of his shirt in a David-Harbour-minus-the-mustache, aka Hopper of Stranger Things, kind of way.
I’d always envisioned sheriffs as… well, old.
If they were young, then they were trim, close-shaved men who wore polos and loafers when they were off duty.
One of his men approached and addressed him. “Fingerprinting is finished, sir. We got what we needed, including one witness who says she saw an older woman fleeing the scene at about the right time.”
At the officer’s words, a few disparate pieces fell into place. “Wait. Does Aunt DeeDee… Are you thinking that she has something to do with the missing crown?”
The sheriff looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time, and something sparked between us. It almost felt like attraction, but was more likely animosity.
“You might be able to answer that question better than I can,” he said.
I took a step forward, planning to say something super witty like, Now you wait a minute there, partner, when I tripped, stumbling into him chest-first.
Great, Mr. Sexy-Deep-Well-of-Emotion officially knew I was only a B cup.
He righted me, practically with his pinky, and I attempted to reclaim some of my dignity. “My aunt and I… we… neither of us would ever have anything to do with steal—”
Lacy must’ve sensed that I was moving toward the shaky ground of suspicion if I hadn’t already reached that destination because she tugged at my arm. “Dakota is a contestant—only arrived around, what?” Lacy looked at me. “Four o’clock or so?”
I kept my head held high and nodded.
“The Green Girls aren’t thieves,” I said.
He frowned. “Shouldn’t it be the ‘Green Women’?” he asked, catching me off guard with his apparent feminism.
“Yes, well. It’s just that my mom, she was alive and then… so now she’s dead…” Oh God. This was coming out all wrong.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he hurried to say. Those dark eyes seemed to really mean it. “She called you three the Green Girls?”
I nodded again.
He studied me and ran a hand through his dark hair. It was just long enough to curl slightly at the ends. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”
I knew the feeling.
“But to answer your question, yes, your aunt may be involved.” His hands fell to his side, and an invisible shield moved across his expression.
His jaw clenched in a way that showed he meant business, and I sensed that he struggled to live in two worlds: whether to be official or personable. He’d chosen official. I didn’t like it.
I was about to try to find the words to tell him what he could do with his speculations when Lacy checked her Fitbit.
“Oh, shoot.” Lacy began to pull me away. “Looks like it’s time to bond. We’ll see you soon, Sheriff.”
When we were out of earshot, I scowled in the man’s direction. “That’s the guy you wanted me to keep an eye out for?”
Lacy raised her eyes to the ceiling. “He’s nicer when he’s not investigating a crime.”
“A crime?”
“The missing crown.”
“Right. Well, he’s a real gem, a peach—a catch and a half.”
“He certainly isn’t at his best.” Lacy hit her hand rhythmically against her side as she considered what to do next. “Okay, so we have to do this bonding thing.”
“And then we’re finding Aunt DeeDee,” I finished for her.
Lacy gave a curt nod before she took to the stage, put on her best smile, and tapped a finger against the microphone at the podium. “Before we continue, I’d like to officially introduce our judges. Would the three of you please come to the stage?”
Women issued excited gasps as the trio waved from the edge of the room and began to make their way to the dais. A middle-aged man and two women—one rather round and nearing fifty; the other willowy and slightly stooped and well into her eighties—climbed the steps.
Lacy put on her best smile for them and signaled first to the man with the handsome face and head of salt-and-pepper hair who stood in the center.
He waved and let his eyes settle on each contestant as if readying for a feast. When he reached me, he paused for a brief moment, and I could almost see him quarrelling with my aunt.
Ew. This was the man that Aunt DeeDee had warned me about.
“Many of you know the renowned Dr. Bellingham as a New York plastic surgeon,” Lacy said as if the judge wasn’t giving off creep vibes.
“He’s won numerous awards for his medical work with women all across the pageant scene.
This is his fourth consecutive year acting as a judge, though we could count this as his seventh year since he served a three-year stint dating back to 1999.
All that to say, he knows this pageant inside and out. ”
He’d served as a judge back in 1999 and then left the pageant for more than two decades. Why such a lengthy hiatus? I eyed him more closely.
“You can call me Jimmy,” the man said, taking over the podium as if he was about to mansplain his own name.
“I’ve been lifelong friends with Mr. Finch, who”—he paused and scanned the room—“must be overseeing final details for the party this evening.” He stopped and breathed in the aroma of the women surrounding him.
“Can I just say I’m delighted to be back at The Rose among the most beautiful women on the East Coast?
I’m also excited to offer a twenty-five percent discount on all procedures scheduled by contestants by the end of the calendar year. ”
Those two statements sounded contradictory to me, but the other women didn’t seem to notice as they pinched eyebrows with pointer fingers and rubbed at noses with pinkies, considering possibilities.
This man had to be the one doing important work like butt lifts and cheekbone implants on Savilla and her ilk. Dr. Bellingham turned his head to Lacy in thanks for the introduction. He placed a hand on her shoulder and slid it down to the small of her back. She inched away.
“Next we have Ms. Katie Gilman,” Lacy said after scooting out of Dr. Bellingham’s reach, “who proudly worked her way up from housekeeper to nanny to business owner to pageant judge. Welcome, Ms. Gilman!”
Elegant and classy, Katie Gilman wore platform heels and had her hair pulled into a tight bun.
Her premier women’s boutique in town—Beauty & Baubles—carried many of my aunt’s signature designs and was known for inclusive sizing, boasting that they could fit anyone from size two, like Aunt DeeDee, to twenty-two, like Ms. Gilman, and beyond.
Savilla beamed and waved at Nanny Kate—as I’d grown up knowing her. Not for the first time did I wonder if Savilla had been a pleasure or a pain to raise. She hadn’t been a bully or a mean girl, but she had been a ringleader, popular for her family’s wealth and influence.
“Katie has been a specialty boutique owner for the past ten years in our very own Aubergine, and she says that the purpose of her business is to make women feel good about their bodies with the bespoke clothing and accessories she carries in her stores. She’s happy to be serving as judge for her ninth year. ”
Most of the women at this pageant—contestants and staff alike—were thin, some almost waif-like, but Katie Gilman had a full figure, a buxom chest, and heavy hips.
Although she hadn’t been born in Aubergine, she’d invested enough time and energy into the pageant, the town, and the Finches that she was more than welcome as a judge.
Katie, wearing a tailored, peach-colored maxi dress with a three-quarter-length white shrug, curtsied.
“And finally,” Lacy said, motioning to the elderly woman onstage, “we have the winner of the 1962 Rose Palace Pageant, Doris Davis. She’s been working with the show in some capacity since she won decades ago, but we’re so happy to have her with us this year as a judge, because the centennial is all about remembering the past as we look to the future. ”
Miss 1962, wrinkled and stooped, was the woman who’d been watching me. She wore an expression that said she could take any of us any day, her thin lips only faintly smiling.
As I watched the three judges watch us, I was reminded of the incestuous nature of this pageant. The Finches kept their judges close to home: an old friend, a previous employee, and a former queen. I just had to convince them that I belonged there.