Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
With her stepmother’s recovery expected and her father’s body discovered, Savilla Finch arrived back on-site and officially declared that the pageant would proceed as planned.
A gaggle of girls dressed in workout gear did not look like they were doing the scheduled interview prep as they lifted light weights and strolled the gardens. Summer was among them.
“At least the money is still up for grabs,” one woman, who I was fairly certain was named Piper, said as I trailed behind the three contestants.
“Winning is not about the money. It’s about being a role model,” Summer reminded the other two as she lifted a five-pound dumbbell over her head.
Maybe-Piper laughed as she halted and lunged forward, swinging her arms. “Spoken like someone who already has plenty of money.”
“We all have money,” said a third girl who marched in place. “But my actual concern is… do you think it’s safe to stay here?” I couldn’t see the woman’s face, but I could hear the fear underpinning her words. “I’ve been wondering that since Mr. Finch disappeared… and now…”
Maybe-Piper jumped in again. “Someone is after the Finches, not us.”
The ladies went quiet, seeming to weigh the wisdom of the sentiment.
“But what if the killer is here? Among us?” the third girl asked, this time with a tremor in her voice.
“What if the killer is one of us?” Maybe-Piper laughed and turned to each of her compadres before noticing me listening in. “What if it’s her?” She pointed at me. “You know what they say: Families that steal together, kill together.”
Summer swatted at her hand. “Not funny, Piper.”
Definitely-Piper was joking, of course she was, but she now stared at me with a condescending smile.
If I hadn’t overheard the conversation, I would’ve assumed her distaste for me sprang from the flyaways sticking out of my ponytail and the mud splatters covering my jeans, but it felt more personal than that.
Like she knew that with my aunt in jail I was an easy target for laughs—or for compassion from the judges, which could be even worse.
So maybe some of the contestants didn’t have a heart, but I reminded myself this had to be the exception to the rule.
Summer took her dumbbells and peeled away from the girls, who strutted to the other side of the garden where they set down their weights and began to bend into yoga poses. “She didn’t mean it. We’re all just nervous and trying to find a way to make all of this less scary.”
I attempted to shake off the comment. Did the other contestants actually think my aunt was guilty?
And that I might know more than I was letting on?
Or were they just jealous that I was performing surprisingly well despite no previous pageant experience?
Was the pageant world that cut-throat? I couldn’t bring myself to ask the questions out loud.
“How are you feeling after… everything?” Summer asked.
“Ready to see Aunt DeeDee,” I answered. “You?”
“Ready to win,” Summer said. “Or support the winner. Either is fine.”
I believed that last part when Summer said it.
“Oh…” Summer’s eyes lit up and she dropped the weights at her feet.
“I found something that I thought might interest you. It’s about Miss 2001.
” She took a book from a workout bag that had been slung across her back.
“From the library. I was in there this morning, looking for something to read, and I came across this.”
I took the slim, bound-canvas volume that fit in the palm of my hand.
It was titled The Twenty-First Century Queen, and when I opened to the cover page, I saw that it had been published by Aubergine Press, the same publisher who ran the weekly newspaper.
Instead of one single author, there were multiple contributors.
“It starts talking about the 2001 pageant on page twenty-two,” Summer directed.
I opened it and skimmed the first full paragraph.
Unlike the first seventy-five years or so of the pageant’s history of blue-blooded contestants, today’s girls come from all backgrounds and all walks of life…
“I’m not sure if it’s anything you don’t already know,” Summer added. “But I recognized the year and thought it could be useful.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, relishing every detail I could find about Miss 2001.
I continued reading.
At the Miss 2001 competition, I spoke with a young woman named Cathy Peabody, who grew up in the nearby mountains on a farm with her family. Instead of blue-blood, she’s from a blue-collar family, but she hopes to one day work on the Parisian runways.
After that, the writing switched focus to other young women before coming back to quote Peabody.
“My child will grow up in a different kind of world than even I did,” Ms. Peabody said. “I’m here at this pageant to create a better world for her.”
“Her child?” I asked. “But contestants can’t have kids. It’s in the rules.”
Summer looked over my shoulder. “She probably meant a future kid.”
“But it says ‘a better world for her.’ Like she already has a daughter.”
“Could be a figure of speech, but who knows?” Summer shrugged and began doing high kicks, antsy to finish her workout.
“Right. Maybe,” I agreed.
“Can you just get that back to the library when you’re done with it?”
“Sure,” I said.
She gave me a one-sided air-kiss. “Remember that tonight’s all about comportment and costumes, so be ready, okay?” Summer’s brown eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. “I’ll swing by to see if you need help with any finishing touches, but it will take me a while to freshen up.”
“Sounds good.”
I watched her walk away and then scanned the other fifty-odd pages of the short book as I made my way back to my cottage. Cathy Peabody wasn’t mentioned again.
When I reached my room, I glanced at the clock. We’d missed breakfast and lunch, and now evening was fast approaching. Lacy had texted to say she’d notified the sheriff and the hospital about our findings and then been called away for another tent emergency.
I started digging through one of my bags to find a melted protein bar when a knock sounded at my door. It was Katie Gilman.
“I don’t have much time, but I saw you across the garden with the other contestants. I have no idea what those gals said to you, but I could see that it wasn’t great.”
“Thank you,” I said, wishing my body language wasn’t so transparent.
Katie looked behind her as if perhaps she shouldn’t step inside, but then she put one foot across the threshold.
“Listen, hon. I’ve known your aunt… well, forever…
and since I don’t think it’s technically against the rules, I wondered if you needed any help getting presentable for this evening.
It’s an important event, lots of points at stake. ”
Help? I wasn’t sure what Ms. Gilman was offering, but I probably needed all the help I could get.
“With your makeup,” Katie said, answering my unasked question.
“At the Gilded Age dinner. Certain contestants are seated with the judges, and I may have shuffled things around a bit to get you at the main table.” She smiled.
“When I saw Lacy running around with boxes of who knows what over by the 1930s tent, I thought I should come check on you.”
I wanted to tell her I was fine, but we both knew that wasn’t true. My independent streak hadn’t served me well this past year. I did need her—and the rest of my community, small though it might be.
“Can you do hair too?” I asked, running a hand through the strands as I slid my scrunchie out of the ponytail.
Katie’s face softened as if she was relieved to have me ask.
“I think a high-set updo would be just the thing.” She rushed inside, sat me in front of her, and got to work quickly, using a hodge-podge of supplies that Aunt DeeDee had given me and that Lacy had left behind, as well as bobby pins and rhinestone clips she’d brought with her.
“What did you think of the Jewels and Gems party on the first night?” Katie asked as she combed a coconut-scented oil through my hair.
“I didn’t stay for long.”
“I understand. The soiree was rather anticlimactic with everything else that day,” she said, pinning pieces of my hair to my head before she plugged in a straightener.
“I came down with Mrs. Finch for a few minutes at the very end but, honestly, I was exhausted. That night, I slept like the dead.” She put a hand over her mouth.
“I guess I shouldn’t use phrases like that in our current situation.
” The product in my hair steamed as she worked.
“Can I ask you something? About Savilla?”
“Sure,” I told her.
“Did you see her with anyone in particular that night?”
“No, but she mentioned wanting me to meet Dr. Bellingham.” I didn’t add that I went to my aunt’s office to find out information instead. The way Katie’s hand fluttered nervously made me realize she was concerned for her former charge. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just… before Savilla left for the party, I thought I heard her tell her stepmother that she was planning to spend time with Dr. Bellingham afterward. I wanted to step in, to tell her to stay away from him, but when Mrs. Finch didn’t say anything, I didn’t feel it was my place.”
I could sense her question of whether or not she’d made the right call by staying silent.
“Why do you think Savilla wanted to meet with him?” I asked.