Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
I spotted the sheriff in the Color Gallery and ran up to him.
“Nice swimsuit,” he said as he glanced at me appreciatively.
“I made it myself out of duct tape and super glue,” I quipped. “I only have a minute, but I need to show you something.”
He glanced back and forth and then led me behind a glass case and through a door that was visible, but just barely. We stood inside a small room with a cabinet filled with dishes and drink supplies.
“A butler’s pantry,” he explained. “According to the blueprints, there are two more of these on the first floor.” He pointed to the objects I’d brought with me. “What’s all that?”
“I found them in Katie Gilman’s room,” I said, as I spread everything out in front of him like a sacrifice, explaining as I went.
When I finished, he pulled out his walkie-talkie and requested the presence of two of his officers before he began snapping photos of the evidence.
“Good work,” Charlie finally said, his hazel eyes fixed on mine. I was fairly certain that he wanted to thank me properly, but that would have to wait.
I hurried to change back into my ballgown, and as I followed the other ladies onto the stage for the announcement of the Centennial Queen, I thought about Katie holding up the ring—likely her ring—and allowing the sheriff to take it as evidence against my aunt.
I pictured Katie lifting her glass at the Gilded Age dinner, toasting to justice.
I imagined her studying Mr. Finch’s writing.
I could practically see her getting rid of evidence at the back of the property.
My pulse sped and my muscles tensed as I considered the magnitude of deceit that this woman had employed to fool us all.
“After difficult deliberation among the judges,” Aunt DeeDee began, as she stood center stage, “we have our top three contestants in this year’s Rose Palace Pageant.”
Light applause. My heart beat a steady rhythm that began to increase.
“These women embody the core principles of the pageant,” my aunt continued. “Confidence, comportment, and conversation—and they look great in their costumes. Each of the three women I’m about to ask to step forward will take home one of the top prizes in tonight’s contest.”
Applause again. My mouth went dry.
“Now, ladies, please step forward when I call your name.”
All of us fanned out across the stage as music blasted through the speakers, and I tried to keep the humming in my chest at bay.
A teary-eyed Summer stood with her hands clenched, and Jemma’s expression seemed almost hopeful.
While they thought about their prospects, my attention was split between anticipation of potentially winning and wondering how the next few minutes would play out.
The music swelled and two staff members dressed in black made a show of rolling a locked, clear box onto the stage.
Aunt DeeDee took the key from them and opened it. “Now for the moment we’ve been awaiting all evening.” She reached a hand into the box. “Inside these envelopes are the names of the women who have stolen the hearts of the judges—and of all of you, no doubt.”
A few audience members let out soft hoots of excitement and two people actually called my name.
“Our first finalist is…” An electronic drumroll sounded as Aunt DeeDee opened an envelope. Her face lit and her voice pitched up nearly an octave as she read, “Dakota Green.”
Cheers broke out, and despite having worked toward this outcome the entire week, I froze.
I’d scored high enough to be a finalist?
I’d accomplished the Four Cs? Had Jemma and Summer been right in saying that I’d unexpectedly proven myself to the judges this week?
Had Aunt DeeDee and Mr. Finch been correct when they’d said that I would be a breath of fresh air?
Apparently so. I’d fulfilled my mantra: You just need to place.
Music sounded and then cut out seconds later, and the girl next to me—Nina—had to push me forward. I staggered to the front and gave my best beauty queen smile, trying to hide my shock.
Aunt DeeDee reached inside the box and took out the next envelope. “Our second finalist is… Jemma Jenkins.”
Another round of clapping, this a bit more robust. Music played again. Seconds passed to build anticipation.
Aunt DeeDee reached for the final envelope. “And our last finalist in tonight’s competition is… Gina Kominski.”
As applause sounded again and Gina walked toward us, Aunt DeeDee motioned to a staff member, who ushered the three of us front and center.
I glanced at Summer, who stood behind me, tears glistening in her eyes.
She gave me a big thumbs up despite the disappointment she must have been feeling, and I realized in that moment how genuine her praise and concern for me had been.
If I won first place, I would make some kind of donation to her and her fiancé’s goals of working with children.
I clenched my jaw, put on a smile, and turned to Jemma, who looked like she was actually happy to be standing here next to me.
Time stalled, and for a brief flicker of the lights, each woman on that stage and on the judges’ dais and in the crowd was connected in a kind of beautiful in-between.
Maybe we were all aspiring queens in our own right, or maybe we were regular women trying to get through each day.
Regardless, we felt a mixture of fear and anticipation and joy and sorrow because whoever won would take the crown from all the women who didn’t win, but whoever won would also be the new queen of a hundred-year-old tradition.
“We have had so many fine contestants over the years, and the centennial is a celebration of that grace and beauty,” Aunt DeeDee said, looking at the audience before turning to us.
The pride in her eyes was evident. She’d truly believed that with a bit of polish and shine, I would have what it took to win.
“With that in mind, let’s find out tonight’s winner.
” Aunt DeeDee popped out the bottom of the box to reveal a secret compartment containing a scroll tied with a blue ribbon.
She was remarkable at building suspense as she unfurled the paper and read from it.
“Third place this year goes to… Jemma Jenkins!”
Music played, and Jemma took a few reluctant steps forward, hiding any disappointment behind a wide grin as the audience cheered.
Jemma might not have been thrilled with her prize, but a hundred grand would be enough for an off-Broadway production—or to get other investors on board.
Besides, she was not only getting cash. She was also getting a tractor.
When the clapping died down, Aunt DeeDee beamed at the audience. “Two contestants remain and only one can be crowned queen this evening. There’s no doubt that anticipation is in the air.”
My eyes went to the judges’ table. If Jemma was third place, then I would be first or second, which meant enough money to at least cover mine and Aunt DeeDee’s debts. My heart now pounded and my stomach roiled.
“The person the judges have chosen as our Centennial Queen will represent the Rose Palace Pageant for the next year, enjoying all the privileges and fulfilling all of the responsibilities that accompany such a role.” Aunt DeeDee took a deep breath.
“Without further delay, this year’s Rose Palace Pageant Centennial Queen is… ”
Gina actually grabbed my hand, squeezing the blood from my fingers.
I glanced at the middle-aged judge who sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her, oblivious. Katie Gilman: mother, nanny, pageant winner, accomplice to murder.
A drumroll echoed from the speakers as Aunt DeeDee inhaled deeply, choking back a cough to hide her tears as she declared the winner: “Miss Dakota Green!”
The sights and sounds zoomed out and then rushed at me in a seismic wave. Aunt DeeDee had called my name.
I could almost see myself in my gown with the shimmering yellow fabric the color of a moonlight tea rose.
Underneath, I was still the girl who would rather talk to horses than a crowd of people, but I’d somehow returned to myself over the course of the week, relearning how to explore, to observe, to take a chance, to have an adventure.
This often-dusty, boot-wearing stable hand had turned into a pageant queen.
I’d won first place and everything that came with it, and despite the mystery and the murder, relief at being able to pay the debt collectors, to keep Momma’s house, and save Aunt DeeDee’s finances washed over me.
I could restart my life. In my mother’s wisdom, she’d somehow intuited that this pageant would be the thing I needed.
Cheers arose as the audience stood, hollering as they’d done after the talent that I’d expected to bomb but had turned out to be a crowd favorite.
Jemma nudged me from behind, reminding me that I needed to finish this thing, all of it.
After a deep breath to steady myself, I stepped forward.
Aunt DeeDee placed the crown on my head and gave me a long hug.
Tears formed in my eyes and I swiped them away.
I whispered a quick, “I love you,” before stepping back and walking to the center of the stage, where I waited for the clapping to subside.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” I put one hand on my crown and used the other to quiet the room. My Twinkie-colored gown swished at my feet.
“I am honored to accept this crown, particularly because I know the kind of women who stand beside me tonight.” I looked at Jemma.
“Jemma Jenkins is fierce and talented, a loyal companion determined to expose the truth.” A tear shimmered in Jemma’s eye, and she quickly brushed it away.
“And Summer Patel is nurturing and brave, willing to do whatever it takes even if she’s terrified.
” Summer beamed at me. “The women on this stage are beautiful and cunning, bold and resilient, as gorgeous as they are savvy. As women, we must be all of these things in a world which demands such a strange mixture of fragility and strength from women.” I inhaled deeply, turning my attention to the most important matter at hand as I faced the judges’ table.
“There’s also someone very special I’d like to dedicate this crown to tonight, someone who has made a lasting impact on this pageant. ”
I could sense Aunt DeeDee adjusting her dress as if preparing for a grand honor, and I realized she assumed I was talking about her. In a minute, she would be glad that I wasn’t.
“I’d like to give my crown to the real winner tonight, to our very own disappearing Miss 2001, to the beauty pageant queen who thought she could get away with murder…”
Aunt DeeDee gasped, and no drumroll sounded this time.
“… to former winner and current judge, Ms. Katie Gilman.”
Despite the bright lights, I could see the outline of the sheriff hurrying forward just as Katie Gilman stood, eyeing an escape route. I could almost see understanding dawn on her face. The jig was up and she’d lost.
Sheriff Strong approached with his usual steadiness and pulled out his handcuffs, clasping her hands together behind her back. He might not have trusted my instincts when he’d first met me, but we’d learned that we made a decent team.
“Katie Gilman, alias Cathy Peabody, you have the right to remain silent,” the sheriff said, the microphone catching his voice and echoing through the Primrose Ballroom.