“Sleazy,” the sheriff repeated.
“Not exactly criminal,” I mumbled.
“No, not exactly, but it’s something.”
Seeming not to know what else to say, the sheriff offered a stiff bow that was both ridiculous and somehow endearing. He paused for a moment, then locked eyes with mine as he moved toward me. “Miss Green, you really are beau?—”
My breath caught.
His mouth was only inches from my lips and I wanted to close the gap.
Before either of us could move, Summer, wearing a pale gray gown, burst through my unlocked door. “Do you have an umbrella?” She halted mid-sentence when she saw the sheriff standing close to me.
“I have one, but we’ll need to share,” I said too brightly, practically jumping away from Sheriff Strong. I grabbed my boots, slipping them on before I could even consider those flimsy flats again.
Summer seemed surprised by my selection.
“Don’t say a word. It’s muddy out there.” I caught my phrasing, remembering that the weapon of choice for the killer had likely tromped through the same dark earth I’d be traversing. I looked from my shoes to the sheriff, wondering if I could trust him with the new intel I’d discovered that day. I decided to try. “I wanted to put a name on your radar. Cathy Peabody?”
As he turned I waited for his reaction, which I hoped would tell me what I needed to know: whether this woman’s name had been entirely wiped off the system.
“It already is,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
TWENTY-SIX
After we reached the open door of the Rose Palace, Summer and I turned right and walked down a long veranda with a high glass ceiling that let in the remnants of sunlight. The distant mountains gave edges to the clouds, and lights in the topiaries lined the windows, twinkling and shimmering like stars peeking through a waxy green sky. We lost the sheriff at some point as he peeled off to speak to one of his officers.
The man standing guard at the door took our names and we were each handed a box with a label:Open Me, Property of Finch Jewelers. Mine contained a long strand of pearls with a diamond-crested rose in the center, and Summer slid on an emerald bracelet.
“Are these the party favors?” Summer joked.
The man standing guard answered with a rote statement he’d likely repeated all evening. “The Finches generously arranged for accessories to be provided. Please return at the end of the dinner.” He spoke without inflection and while somehow barely moving his mouth.
I looped the strand over my head a couple of times. “Fancy,” I said as I wondered how much money this strand was worth.Probably enough to pay several months of my mortgage, but for better or worse, I was no thief.
“I could get used to this,” Summer giggled.
After bejeweling ourselves, we entered a spacious banquet hall and saw the Gilded Age come to life: a vaulted entryway, ornately carved crown molding, gold-painted accents, a crystal chandelier. It was the epitome of gaudy wonder.
Jemma approached as if she’d been watching for us. She wore a pair of amethyst earrings and motioned to our right. “We’re seated through that door. All three of us are at the main table.” She took a sip of champagne. “The winner for every show has always been seated there on the night of the dinner, though it’s not always a Gilded Age theme.”
“I can’t believe I made it to the main table,” Summer said, eyes wide with wonder.
“I can’t either,” Jemma said in a tone that was so matter-of-fact it somehow didn’t seem offensive. Jemma studied me. “You, too. You’re doing surprisingly well. Your authenticity at the morning tea—I could tell that Miss 1962 ate it up, and of course, Katie Gilman is a fan. I heard she helped you get ready this evening?”
“How do you know?—?”
Jemma lifted a shoulder with a single seed-pearl studded strap. “Everyone’s watching everyone at this point. This is when it gets fun.”
A bell rang, and we were asked to take our seats. As we entered the room, the women around us glided to their upholstered chairs, most of them passing the center table with a look of longing. One of the girls from earlier—Piper—rolled her eyes as Jemma, Summer, and I pulled out our seats and sat at the same table as the judges.
I looked at my name, heavy with calligraphy:Miss Dakota Green of Aubergine, Contestant. Only a moment later I noticedthat Charlie was pulling out the chair on my left. Even seated, he was nearly half a foot taller than me, and this close, I noticed how long his eyelashes were. He rested his hand only inches from mine and I could feel the heat radiating from him, though perhaps I was the only one who sensed it.
Control yourself, Dakota.Focus on the prize.
“Miss Green, so good to see you this evening,” Dr. Bellingham said from across the table, lifting a glass in my direction. “You look as fresh as the evening breeze.”
The sheriff’s hand curled into a fist, but he didn’t say anything.
