Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
I was thinking about Katie Gilman and the best way to get a message to Sheriff Strong when, backstage, a practical stranger undid my gown and helped me out of the yards of tulle.
I shimmied into a red swimsuit with ruffles that Jemma had told me were intended to visually increase the size of my bust.
Summer rushed around backstage, telling each girl to bend over and flip her hair upside down before she quickly sprayed it, while Nina reminded all of us to add a bounce to our step.
I was surprised to realize something I’d never seen from my seat in the audience: these women were acting like a team.
Only one of us could win the crown, but we were all in the competition together.
I slipped on my shiny black heels and glanced at myself in one of the rows of mirrors, surprised to see that the ruffle-effect was working.
Despite the fact I hated that showing off my body was the goal, I had to admit that I was elongated and curvier than I’d ever looked in my entire life, the stretchy fabric hugging my hips and the red hue complementing my sun-kissed skin.
Almost like a beauty queen. I only hoped I sounded like one too as I mentally prepared for the interview that would take place while scantily clad.
Jemma hurried toward me and grabbed my left breast.
I yelped and she put a hand over my mouth.
“I’m just smoothing out your padding,” she said, as her hand worked fast to unwrinkle the insert. “You don’t want to be lopsided.” She gave me one last look. “Knock ’em dead.”
A few minutes later, I was standing under the bright lights, vaguely hearing the other contestants answer questions about what they’d do if they won—everything from “open an emu sanctuary” to “donate the proceeds to childhood leukemia research”; where they saw themselves in five years—“um… modeling for Playboy?” to “working to make solar energy affordable”; and what had been their biggest struggle—“not being chosen for The Bachelor” to “facing my mental health issues head-on with intensive therapy.” Like I said, containing multitudes.
When it came to my turn, the question was, “If you could make one wish for every person in the entire world, what would it be?”
I took a deep breath and began. “My one wish would be for each person to have someone in their lives to love and support them. An entire community for each person would be even better. Loneliness needn’t be an affliction if we open ourselves up in transparent and authentic relationships.
“I’ve been surprised these past few days by how much I’ve connected with the contestants here.
These women are strong and capable; they have dreams and plans to enact as soon as they leave tonight.
” I gave a nod of affirmation to the rows of women on each side of me.
“What I thought might be one kind of experience has become something else entirely: a way to really see other people, a way to connect with people who are different than me, a way for me to belong.”
It was true. If I had one wish for myself, it would be to bring Momma back, but knowing that was impossible, I would go with the next best thing: having people to love and who loved me—and also some cash to keep Momma’s house and start over.
As soon as the interviews ended and everyone took a brief break, I found Aunt DeeDee fixing her face before she needed to usher the ladies into the very last part of the evening: the judges’ decision. The audience had a half-hour intermission while they deliberated.
“I need the master key,” I told her.
Aunt DeeDee’s eyes held a question we didn’t have time to discuss, so instead, she pulled a key card from her cleavage and placed the warm plastic in my outstretched hand. That was one way to keep track of things. “You best be quick about it. I have a good feeling about who’s gonna win.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a quick hug.
“What’s that for?”
I didn’t know exactly, but it was just so good to see her back where she belonged, all dolled up and running things. “I’ll be back before we go onstage next.”
She didn’t remind me of the schedule. Instead, she squeezed my shoulder, trusting me.
I took the door that connected to one of the main hallways before scurrying to the elevator bank in the lobby. A few staff members milled about, their eyes wide as they watched me, the escaped bathing beauty, rushing past them.
Katie had told me on my first night that her room was on the fourth floor of the residential wing, right next to my aunt’s, in the old nursery. That’s where I would look.
I pressed the elevator button several times, willing the lift to come quickly. When it arrived, I rode it up to the fourth floor and hurried down the hall, watching for the décor to signal that the residential quarters were up ahead.
I passed my aunt’s room and stood in front of Katie’s door. I held my aunt’s key card to the sensor, the lock clicked, and I stepped inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind me.
The room was not what I’d expected, more like an homage to a child who’d once lived there than a once-a-year hotel stay.
I imagined that the room likely looked exactly as it had when it had been Savilla’s, with a rocking chair and pink-maned rocking horse in the corner, sparkly dress-up clothes secured to pegs in the wall, and games like Hi-Ho!
Cherry-O and Chutes and Ladders stacked on a bookshelf.
The only thing signaling that this was no longer a nursery were the scattered dresses and beauty paraphernalia.
I noted a few hair products on the edge of her dresser, then opened a drawer of her cabinet to find a silver box that had once held an assortment of perfume bottles.
Taped to the lid was the same kindergarten class photo I’d found in Miss 2001’s folder in Aunt DeeDee’s office, except this time two figures had hearts drawn around them: Savilla and her nanny, Katie Gilman.
At the bottom was written the words My Girl.
I untied the pink bow holding the box together and opened it to find keepsakes.
A locket of fine baby hair, a child’s tooth, and drawings signed by their creator in a childish scrawl.
Savilla had written her name with a backward S. I was definitely on the right track.
In the closet was a row of hangers and a couple of remaining gowns.
Other than that, it was bare. I couldn’t see the full top shelf of the closet, so I stood on tip-toe and ran a hand along it until I felt a canvas bag.
I pulled it down to find a black sack with a label that read Dr. Jim Bellingham.
Inside, I found a bottle of pills prescribed to him, as well as a Polaroid camera.
Lining the bottom were photos of my aunt’s sash.
These pictures didn’t have any kind of message on them, which meant they must have been extras, the ones the perpetrator hadn’t needed in order to frame my aunt.
The fact that Dr. Bellingham’s bag was in Katie Gilman’s closet meant that either he or she had likely taken the photos and deposited them in my room, which meant the two of them had been working together.
I thought about Katie Gilman dropping off beauty supplies the night that Aunt DeeDee had been taken into custody.
She’d come inside to check on me, and I may have run to the bathroom while she was there.
I blinked hard, trying to remember, but the lack of sleep was catching up with me.
I suppose she might have deposited the photos upstairs in my bed before giving me a hug and reassuring words. What an idiot I’d been.
The message scribbled across the bottom of the photos I’d found in my bed—SHE KILLED BOTH OF THEM—repeated in my mind.
I’d known that was a lie from the very beginning, but now I could confirm the lie: Miss 2001 was very much alive—and it appeared that she was involved in framing my aunt. My stomach turned. I’d trusted this woman, and she’d betrayed the person closest to me.
Next, I went into Katie Gilman’s bathroom. Hanging over the side of the shower was a pair of stockings, a bra, and a set of pajamas. On the vanity, a curling iron had been turned off but left plugged into the wall, and makeup, perfume, and moisturizers were scattered next to the sink.
Taped to the back of the bathroom door was a handwritten list on a piece of lined paper torn from a yellow legal pad, the letters slanted. I read the contents carefully.
Meet with Deanna for marketing review
Savilla—Meet & Greet ideas?
Ask GG to send thank you notes to sponsors
Update Rose Palace accounts
Hmmm… this didn’t seem like the kind of list that a boutique owner would need to make. It looked much more like a to-do list for a man in Mr. Finch’s position.
The garbage bag was filled with torn pieces of yellow paper. I bent and picked them up, placing the bin on the counter and removing the pieces on top, flattening them against the edge of the sink. The pages had been ripped and discarded, but I was able to see which edges fit where.
I made quick time to assemble them into the proper order until a message emerged.
I regret what I did to Miss 2001. I’m only getting what I deserve from the one who took her crown. To the real jewels…
Oh my God. I’d heard these words before.
Out of Savilla’s mouth as she’d read her father’s letter to the entire ballroom.
Except this letter was unfinished, and around the edges were half-formed words repeated in various iterations: regret with a loopy g and deserve with a swooping d.
As if someone had been practicing to get the look of the words just right.
I pulled out the next piece of paper and the next, arranging them to find the messages not quite as finished, the letters around the edges repeated again and again.
I held up one of the strips beside the to-do list, comparing the handwriting. The script wasn’t an exact match, but it was close enough. Close enough to fool me from a distance. But close enough to fool Savilla and Glenda Finch up close? I wasn’t sure.
Katie Gilman had written these letters, using Mr. Finch’s handwritten to-do list to get his handwriting just right.
I tore the list from the wall and grabbed the strips of paper, throwing them inside Dr. Bellingham’s bag and tucking it under my arm. This, along with the Polaroid photos, was the proof I needed that Katie had been involved in the entire plot—or at least as close as I could get.
As I turned to leave, I spotted something on the ground.
Beneath the edge of the door was a golden high heel with rhinestones running across nearly every inch of the fabric.
This was the other half of the pair that Jemma, Summer, and I had found in the tunnel last night, the heels that Savilla had stolen from Mommy’s closet.
I could hear her saying the words on my first day here.
Mommy. Savilla Finch knew her mother was Katie Gilman, and she’d been wearing the woman’s very gold, very suspicious heels.
The other shoe was about to drop.