Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
As I observed the smiling Savilla, I tried to see a crack in her armor, but she was very good at giving the visitors and contestants what they wanted: a young heiress—and now makeshift judge—ready to ascend to the pageant owner throne.
When I accepted there was no way I was getting Savilla alone, I finally excused myself during a break in the late afternoon, set aside for visitors to grab an early dinner at one of the numerous upscale food trucks parked in front of the estate and for contestants to prepare for the grand show.
Hair and makeup would happen in our individual rooms, but backstage would also be lined with rows of well-lit mirrors and beauty supplies for in between the main events: the opening dance routine in our ball gowns, talent, swimsuit, interview, and presentation of the crown.
“Dear, you look exhausted. I thought you were going to rest.” Aunt DeeDee laid out my dress and assessed her makeup tote.
“Did you know?” I asked, resting my head against the back of the couch.
“Did I know what?”
“That Miss 2001 is Savilla’s biological mother?”
“I see you visited the 2000s,” she said as she fluffed the bottom of the gown. “No one else said a word about that cutout. I was almost offended, going to all that trouble to bring it from the back of the property for nothing.”
I waited for her to add more. When she didn’t, I asked again. “Did you know?”
Aunt DeeDee plugged in the hair straightener and curling iron and motioned for me to hold out my nails for inspection. She gave me a pointed look as she gripped my hands. “I am not at liberty to say,” she answered firmly. “I signed a nondisclosure agreement that I cannot violate.”
“What?” I frowned. “When?”
“I am not at liberty to say. I signed an NDA.”
The phrases sounded like a troubling rhyme. “Is that one of those things that lawyers train you to say?”
“I am not at liberty—”
“Okay, I get it. You can’t tell me.”
“You’re brilliant, Dakota. It’s right in front of you, all you need to do is put the pieces together.
” She gave me a sad smile, but I knew she believed in me.
“I have no idea if Dr. Bellingham was working alone, but I do know that, in the past, some things have happened at The Rose, things that have only been speculated about in Aubergine. A missing pageant queen, a secret child…”
“Then Cathy Peabody is—”
“I am not at liberty to say,” Aunt DeeDee answered again firmly. “But all of this is why Mr. Finch closed the hotel to the public more than two decades ago. He wanted to keep things quiet. He intended to reopen, but never did.”
Aunt DeeDee had known something for a long time, something that she’d had to keep quiet and bury within herself in order to keep her job and her place in the pageant world. My aunt had layers I hadn’t even imagined.
I took a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully enough to avoid the same trained response she’d been giving me. “But… what if I… got it wrong? It feels like there are things I still don’t understand.”
Aunt DeeDee tilted my chin, so our eyes met. “Then I trust you’ll figure that out too. But, for now, it’s time to win some money.”
She was right. I wanted to know the truth, but in the next few hours, I also needed to place in the pageant. First things first, as Momma would say.
I sat in front of Aunt DeeDee and let her do the work of turning me into royalty, straightening my hair before pulling it into an updo with soft tendrils lining my cheeks and carefully applying all of her makeup magic to bring out my best features.
Within the hour she was forcing me into some kind of torture device that was a precursor to the floofy yellow gown that would make me look like a cross between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and a Twinkie.
Pageant perfection.
“Hold still,” Aunt DeeDee commanded as she clasped a lace-up corset around my ribs and began to tug the edges together.
“Oh my Lord,” I screamed as she fastened me in. “How am I supposed to breathe in this?”
“You’re not,” Aunt DeeDee answered. “You can breathe after you win.”
The preparations continued for another forty-five minutes until Aunt DeeDee sprayed my face with sealant.
“My eyes look all shimmery,” I said, taken aback by how good I looked. I thought she’d already prepped me at the house earlier this week, but this was a whole new level. I was almost… queenly.
“You look like me on the night I won,” she said, her eyes welling. “I told your momma you could do it.” She sniffled and checked her watch. “I suppose people will be lining up outside the Main Ballroom any minute, so I better get going.”
Aunt DeeDee wiped under her eyes and ran a hand across my off-the-shoulder sleeves before turning me toward the mirror, standing behind me like I was a bride on my very yellow wedding day.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, leaning her cheek against mine. “Your momma would be proud.”
“I don’t know about that…”
Aunt DeeDee brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know she would. You’ve reconnected with people, you’re helping bring justice, and even if you don’t win the grand prize tonight, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, Aunt DeeDee, for everything,” I said.
“Anyhoo, I need to get to the ballroom.” Aunt DeeDee’s usual levity returned.
“I’m back on as the MC, thank goodness. Lacy might’ve peed her pants if she had to run the show behind the scenes and take center stage.
” She pretended to kiss my cheek but didn’t touch my makeup-clad skin with her lips.
I surprised myself by returning the air-kiss.
“You’ll be great, and I’ll be rooting for you. Unofficially, of course.”
I had fifteen minutes to myself before I needed to make my way to the ballroom.
I’d been musing all afternoon on the cutout of Miss 2001, of the quote about Cathy Peabody’s daughter from the library book, on Savilla’s strange connection to the original winner.
I’d also been listing Dr. Bellingham’s potential motives for killing Mr. Finch:
Money, maybe, though he’d need to bypass Savilla and Glenda Finch—to reach the millions for himself.
Revenge. He could’ve been angry at Mr. Finch for whatever happened all those years ago to make Cathy Peabody disappear.
Love, perhaps.
I thought of his fingers laced with Cathy Peabody’s in the photo we’d found on the back of the property, but I could see him holding almost any woman’s hand.
That familiar feeling of missing something crept back into my gut.
In my tiny cottage I lay back on the couch as much as I could in my dress. I thought back to my arrival at the Rose Palace, being dropped at the front steps by Lacy, wandering into the mansion on that first day, chatting with Savilla, the meet and greet, the three judges ascending the stage.
Something inched its way forward. I closed my eyes, seeing that moment in the ballroom again—before Mrs. Finch had come in and fainted and turned the entire show on its axis—when I’d waved my arms as I’d danced next to Savilla.
Her eyes had been warm with nostalgia as the pageant song had played and we’d swayed across the stage, practicing the choreography.
I grew up listening to this song over and over while Mommy and I ran errands, she’d said, and I’d tried to imagine a childhood filled with pageant tunes.
Neither the mention of Mommy or running errands rang true for how she referred to Mrs. Finch, whom she always called, rather strangely, StepMommy.
My mind scrolled back through our school days. Graduation, Junior Dance, Sophomore Social, Freshman Retreat. Backward and forward through the years, I traversed play performances, choir recitals, art shows, Valentine’s Day parties, and end-of-year programs.
Mrs. Finch had been at most events and performances and achievements. Mr. Finch had come to about half. Had there been anyone else? Someone I was missing?
My mind jumped forward to Cathy Peabody’s quote. I sat up and opened the book that I’d dropped onto the coffee table.
“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.”
My eyes roamed back up the page to the only other mention of this woman.
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.
I organized the information in my mind:
Grew up near here
Farm
Blue-collar family
Parisian runways
Wait. That last one. That was it. She’d wanted to work in fashion, likely near home, which could mean in Aubergine. There were only two people with any sense of fashion in this town. My aunt and…
My eyes widened as I saw all of these moments again, this time conjuring kindergarten graduation.
I thought of how Lacy and I had found our class photo in the file for Miss 2001 in Aunt DeeDee’s office, something that hadn’t made sense at the time but could be explained if somehow the winner had been in the photo, standing on the edges, watching and waiting.
That same person had hovered in the background of many of my childhood memories until Savilla had graduated from high school a decade ago and her services had no longer been needed.
That’s when she’d opened her own boutique.
That’s when she’d become a judge at the annual Rose Palace Pageant.
I dropped the book as I realized that I’d known Cathy Peabody, Miss 2001, almost my entire life.
After serving Glenda Finch glass after glass of whiskey on my first night, I’d pretended to admire the paintings in the room.
When I’d asked about the depiction of Miss 2001, the women had gone silent.
I’d thought it was because Savilla and Katie didn’t want me reminding Mrs. Finch that she’d once only been runner-up, but no, it was because all three of them knew that the actual Miss 2001 was in that very room.