I kept my head held high and nodded.
“The Green Girls aren’t thieves,” I said.
He frowned. “Shouldn’t it be the ‘Green Women’?” he asked, catching me off guard with his apparent feminism.
“Yes, well. It’s just that my mom, she was alive and then… so now she’s dead…” Oh God. This was coming out all wrong.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he hurried to say. Those dark eyes seemed to really mean it. “She called you three the Green Girls?”
I nodded again.
He studied me and ran a hand through his dark hair. It was just long enough to curl slightly at the ends. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”
I knew the feeling.
“But to answer your question, yes, your aunt may be involved.” His hands fell to his side, and an invisible shield moved across his expression. His jaw clenched in a way that showed he meant business, and I sensed that he struggled to live in two worlds: whether to be official or personable. He’d chosen official. I didn’t like it.
I was about to try to find the words to tell him what he could do with his speculations when Lacy checked her Fitbit.
“Oh, shoot.” Lacy began to pull me away. “Looks like it’s time to bond. We’ll see you soon, Sheriff.”
When we were out of earshot, I scowled in the man’s direction. “That’s the guy you wanted me to keep an eye out for?”
Lacy raised her eyes to the ceiling. “He’s nicer when he’s not investigating a crime.”
“A crime?”
“The missing crown.”
“Right. Well, he’s a real gem, a peach—a catch and a half.”
“He certainly isn’t at his best.” Lacy hit her hand rhythmically against her side as she considered what to do next. “Okay, so we have to do this bonding thing.”
“And then we’re finding Aunt DeeDee,” I finished for her.
Lacy gave a curt nod before she took to the stage, put on her best smile, and tapped a finger against the microphone at the podium. “Before we continue, I’d like to officially introduce our judges. Would the three of you please come to the stage?”
Women issued excited gasps as the trio waved from the edge of the room and began to make their way to the dais. A middle-aged man and two women—one rather round and nearing fifty; the other willowy and slightly stooped and well into her eighties—climbed the steps.
Lacy put on her best smile for them and signaled first to the man with the handsome face and head of salt-and-pepper hair who stood in the center. He waved and let his eyes settle on each contestant as if readying for a feast. When he reached me, he paused for a brief moment, and I could almost see him quarrelling with my aunt.
Ew.This was the man that Aunt DeeDee had warned me about.
“Many of you know the renowned Dr. Bellingham as a New York plastic surgeon,” Lacy said as if the judge wasn’t giving off creep vibes. “He’s won numerous awards for his medical work with women all across the pageant scene. This is his fourth consecutive year acting as a judge, though we could count this as his seventh year since he served a three-year stint dating back to 1999. All that to say, he knows this pageant inside and out.”
He’d served as a judge back in 1999 and then left the pageant for more than two decades. Why such a lengthy hiatus? I eyed him more closely.
“You can call me Jimmy,” the man said, taking over the podium as if he was about to mansplain his own name. “I’ve been lifelong friends with Mr. Finch, who”—he paused and scanned the room—“must be overseeing final details for the party this evening.” He stopped and breathed in the aroma of the women surrounding him. “Can I just say I’m delighted to be back at The Rose among the most beautiful women on the East Coast? I’m also excited to offer a twenty-five percent discount on all procedures scheduled by contestants by the end of the calendar year.”
Those two statements sounded contradictory to me, but the other women didn’t seem to notice as they pinched eyebrows with pointer fingers and rubbed at noses with pinkies, considering possibilities.
This man had to be the one doing important work like butt lifts and cheekbone implants on Savilla and her ilk. Dr. Bellingham turned his head to Lacy in thanks for the introduction. He placed a hand on her shoulder and slid it down to the small of her back. She inched away.
“Next we have Ms. Katie Gilman,” Lacy said after scooting out of Dr. Bellingham’s reach, “who proudly worked her way up from housekeeper to nanny to business owner to pageant judge. Welcome, Ms. Gilman!”
Elegant and classy, Katie Gilman wore platform heels and had her hair pulled into a tight bun. Her premier women’s boutique in town—Beauty & Baubles—carried many of my aunt’s signature designs and was known for inclusive sizing, boasting that they could fit anyone from size two, like Aunt DeeDee, to twenty-two, like Ms. Gilman, and beyond.
Savilla beamed and waved at Nanny Kate—as I’d grown up knowing her. Not for the first time did I wonder if Savilla had been a pleasure or a pain to raise. She hadn’t been a bully or a mean girl, but she had been a ringleader, popular for her family’s wealth and influence.
