Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
Dr. B confessed to framing me but won’t say more yet. Out of the clink. Going to shower off the filth. I’ll see you soon.
I smiled as I read the words. Dr. Bellingham was behind bars—as he should be—and I could get through this day with the knowledge that even if I didn’t win the money, which I very much needed, at least I would go home tonight with Aunt DeeDee.
All is not lost, I could hear Momma saying. Granted, when she’d said those words, she’d just been referred to at-home hospice and the words had come out stilted and slow—and in no way referring to the Rose Palace Pageant. Still, the sentiment seemed fitting.
I took a deep breath. I’d done hard things before, and my resolve had always served me well. I would dress and give Aunt DeeDee a hug. Then, I would polish up my routine and try my darndest to win in the next twelve hours. If that didn’t work, Aunt DeeDee and I would deal with it together.
After the night I’d had, Lacy had slept downstairs in my tiny cottage again. I’d told her every terrifying detail: the maze, the tunnel, a frightened Katie, finding the missing evidence and, most of all, Dr. Bellingham’s twisted grin as the police had led him away.
I showered and left a note for Lacy on the kitchen table as she snored lightly. I decided that before I did anything else, I would make my way to what I needed most—coffee.
Outside, I passed the 1920s tent, where a huge finger rose over the entryway and the words This Way to the Speakeasy stood aloft in blocky gold letters.
Jazz echoed out of the tent, and I could already see a couple of early birds milling about in tasseled flapper dresses.
The day would be sunny and warm, a fitting last day for the pageant, and the mountains in the distance loomed over the estate as if keeping watch.
I passed a pair of Gatsby-era blue and green cars in the center of the 1920s. An info sheet next to them read that this make and model had been the grand prize in the first-ever pageant. I could almost see the contestants sprawling across the hoods for photo-ops in a few hours.
For the 1930s, I spotted two signs at opposite ends of the canopy.
The first was written in a scribbled font: Soup Kitchen.
The second sign read, Talkies Through Here.
A miniature and enclosed Picture Palace had been erected, taking up almost half of the tent.
The theme here seemed to be the persistence of the pageant even during the Great Depression.
When I reached the 1940s, I noticed that one half of the tent space was an open-air beauty salon with period-piece hair dryers, while the other half featured models of planes, tanks, and ships used in the fight against Germany’s world domination.
The national anthem blared across the speakers in a kind of patriotic tribute to beauty and war—an interesting combination.
A few contestants, bright-eyed and filled with adrenaline for the day ahead, stood around the breakfast bar, chatting.
“I wanted to thank you again,” Katie Gilman said, approaching me as I took my first sip of a strong cup of coffee.
She held a plate with a blueberry muffin and sliced strawberries.
She’d showered, and the fear in her eyes had settled into a sort of acceptance of what had happened—or could’ve happened—hours earlier.
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to a thank you of this magnitude, so I dipped my head in acknowledgement and took another sip.
“I talked to the sheriff for a long time last night,” she continued, checking to make sure no one was close enough to overhear us. “I felt so stupid, letting Jimmy lead me out there under false pretenses.”
False pretenses? Jimmy? Had she been expecting a romantic evening? I didn’t want to pry, but I mentally urged her to say more. I tossed out a casual comment that she could expand on if she wanted. “I noticed Dr. Bellingham hanging on Savilla’s every word last night at dinner.”
Katie nodded furiously, her cheeks heating. “That’s why I directed his attentions to me. My God, the idea of him taking her out there to do his dirty work.”
I tried to keep my eyes from widening and waited for her to continue.
“Not that he would be interested in an old biddy like me, but I think he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with Savilla.
When I asked him if he wanted to go for a stroll in the garden, his eyes lit up.
He led me into the maze and then into that terrifying tunnel.
When I saw the blood and the shoe, he told me what he’d done.
Said I was an accomplice now. Told me he wanted my help fixing things on the back side of the property.
He shoved me in front of him and made me walk. ”
“We found a list of names… of pageant contestants,” I said, hoping she could explain.
“He likes to keep a list of top contenders with him. Makes a new one at the end of every day based on the score card.”
“But my name was scratched out at the top.”
She smiled softly and lowered her voice. “Because you were his pick. For winner.”
“Me?” I swallowed hard. “But I barely even spoke to him. He wouldn’t have any reason to—”
She gave me a pointed look. “I know his process. It’s the same one he always uses.”
“What did he want you to help him fix?”
“No idea. By the time he forced me out there, I was a blubbering mess. He left me in the greenhouse for a while, but I don’t know where he went or what he did.
I tried to make myself go back through the tunnel, but when I thought of Mr. Finch and what had happened to him down there… I just couldn’t.”
That, I understood. I’d ridden back in one of the estate’s golf carts with a police escort last night. I never wanted to step foot in that underground tunnel again.
Katie put a hand to her chest as if she needed to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry. It’s… it’s a lot. Before last night I didn’t think the tunnel was in use any longer.
The last time I was down there, Savilla was nine and wanted to be an explorer when she grew up.
She pretended to be the archeologist and made me her assistant.
” She smiled at the memory, but almost immediately, the terror crept back into her features.
“How could he do that to Mr. Finch? To Mrs. Finch?” She studied me, remembering the personal stake I had in all of this.
“And all the while, framing your poor aunt. Thank God she’s out. ”
“Have you seen her yet?” I glanced around. “Or the sheriff?” I wanted to hug DeeDee’s neck and… well, I didn’t know what I wanted to do to the sheriff, but strangely I wanted to see him.
“I left the police station after I gave my official statement. I couldn’t stay awake for another second. Came straight back here and collapsed into bed for a few hours.”
Katie arched her shoulders and pasted a beauty queen smile on her face as she attempted to brighten our conversation again. “Your man is so very… well, so very strong. No pun intended.”
“My man?” I was glad to hear her returning to some semblance of herself, though I knew the trauma of last night would linger. Still, I wasn’t sure what she meant by referring to “my man.”
“Sheriff Strong,” she clarified.
“Oh, he’s not… we’re not…”
“I see.” Katie patted my arm and then crossed two fingers. “We’ll keep hopeful thoughts for a happy ending.”