“Ready to win,” Summer said. “Or support the winner. Either is fine.”
I believed that last part when Summer said it.
“Oh…” Summer’s eyes lit up and she dropped the weights at her feet. “I found something that I thought might interest you. It’s about Miss 2001.” She took a book from a workout bag that had been slung across her back. “From the library. I was in there this morning, looking for something to read, and I came across this.”
I took the slim, bound-canvas volume that fit in the palm of my hand. It was titledThe Twenty-First Century Queen,and when I opened to the cover page, I saw that it had been published by Aubergine Press, the same publisher who ran the weekly newspaper.Instead of one single author, there were multiple contributors.
“It starts talking about the 2001 pageant on page twenty-two,” Summer directed.
I opened it and skimmed the first full paragraph.
Unlike the first seventy-five years or so of the pageant’s history of blue-blooded contestants, today’s girls come from all backgrounds and all walks of life…
“I’m not sure if it’s anything you don’t already know,” Summer added. “But I recognized the year and thought it could be useful.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, relishing every detail I could find about Miss 2001.
I continued reading.
At the Miss 2001 competition, I spoke with a young woman named Cathy Peabody, who grew up in the nearby mountainson 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.
After that, the writing switched focus to other young women before coming back to quote Peabody.
“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.”
“Her child?” I asked. “But contestants can’t have kids. It’s in the rules.”
Summer looked over my shoulder. “She probably meant a future kid.”
“But it says ‘a better world for her.’ Like she already has a daughter.”
“Could be a figure of speech, but who knows?” Summer shrugged and began doing high kicks, antsy to finish her workout.
“Right. Maybe,” I agreed.
“Can you just get that back to the library when you’re done with it?”
“Sure,” I said.
She gave me a one-sided air-kiss. “Remember that tonight’s all about comportment and costumes, so be ready, okay?” Summer’s brown eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. “I’ll swing by to see if you need help with any finishing touches, but it will take me a while to freshen up.”
“Sounds good.”
I watched her walk away and then scanned the other fifty-odd pages of the short book as I made my way back to my cottage. Cathy Peabody wasn’t mentioned again.
When I reached my room, I glanced at the clock. We’d missed breakfast and lunch, and now evening was fast approaching. Lacy had texted to say she’d notified the sheriff and the hospital about our findings and then been called away for another tent emergency.
I started digging through one of my bags to find a melted protein bar when a knock sounded at my door. It was Katie Gilman.
“I don’t have much time, but I saw you across the garden with the other contestants. I have no idea what those gals said to you, but I could see that it wasn’t great.”
“Thank you,” I said, wishing my body language wasn’t so transparent.
Katie looked behind her as if perhaps she shouldn’t step inside, but then she put one foot across the threshold. “Listen, hon. I’ve known your aunt… well, forever… and since I don’t think it’s technically against the rules, I wondered if you needed any help getting presentable for this evening. It’s an important event, lots of points at stake.”
Help?I wasn’t sure what Ms. Gilman was offering, but I probably needed all the help I could get.
“With your makeup,” Katie said, answering my unasked question. “At the Gilded Age dinner. Certain contestants are seated with the judges, and I may have shuffled things around a bit to get you at the main table.” She smiled. “When I saw Lacy running around with boxes of who knows what over by the 1930s tent, I thought I should come check on you.”
