Place.
Win?
THIRTY-TWO
I got only four hours of sleep that night, but when I woke around 9 a.m., a text from my aunt was waiting for me. It had been sent at 5:30 a.m.
Dr. B confessed to framing me but won’t say more yet. Out of the clink. Going to shower off the filth. I’ll see you soon.
I smiled as I read the words. Dr. Bellingham was behind bars—as he should be—and I could get through this day with the knowledge that even if I didn’t win the money, which I very much needed, at least I would go home tonight with Aunt DeeDee.
All is not lost, I could hear Momma saying. Granted, when she’d said those words, she’d just been referred to at-home hospice and the words had come out stilted and slow—and in no way referring to the Rose Palace Pageant. Still, the sentiment seemed fitting.
I took a deep breath. I’d done hard things before, and my resolve had always served me well. I would dress and give Aunt DeeDee a hug. Then, I would polish up my routine and try mydarndest to win in the next twelve hours. If that didn’t work, Aunt DeeDee and I would deal with it together.
After the night I’d had, Lacy had slept downstairs in my tiny cottage again. I’d told her every terrifying detail: the maze, the tunnel, a frightened Katie, finding the missing evidence and, most of all, Dr. Bellingham’s twisted grin as the police had led him away.
I showered and left a note for Lacy on the kitchen table as she snored lightly. I decided that before I did anything else, I would make my way to what I needed most—coffee.
Outside, I passed the 1920s tent, where a huge finger rose over the entryway and the wordsThis Way to the Speakeasystood aloft in blocky gold letters. Jazz echoed out of the tent, and I could already see a couple of early birds milling about in tasseled flapper dresses. The day would be sunny and warm, a fitting last day for the pageant, and the mountains in the distance loomed over the estate as if keeping watch.
I passed a pair of Gatsby-era blue and green cars in the center of the 1920s. An info sheet next to them read that this make and model had been the grand prize in the first-ever pageant. I could almost see the contestants sprawling across the hoods for photo-ops in a few hours.
For the 1930s, I spotted two signs at opposite ends of the canopy. The first was written in a scribbled font:Soup Kitchen. The second sign read,Talkies Through Here. A miniature and enclosedPicture Palacehad been erected, taking up almost half of the tent. The theme here seemed to be the persistence of the pageant even during the Great Depression.
When I reached the 1940s, I noticed that one half of the tent space was an open-air beauty salon with period-piece hair dryers, while the other half featured models of planes, tanks, and ships used in the fight against Germany’s world domination. Thenational anthem blared across the speakers in a kind of patriotic tribute to beauty and war—an interesting combination.
A few contestants, bright-eyed and filled with adrenaline for the day ahead, stood around the breakfast bar, chatting.
“I wanted to thank you again,” Katie Gilman said, approaching me as I took my first sip of a strong cup of coffee. She held a plate with a blueberry muffin and sliced strawberries. She’d showered, and the fear in her eyes had settled into a sort of acceptance of what had happened—or could’ve happened—hours earlier.
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to a thank you of this magnitude, so I dipped my head in acknowledgement and took another sip.
“I talked to the sheriff for a long time last night,” she continued, checking to make sure no one was close enough to overhear us. “I felt so stupid, letting Jimmy lead me out there under false pretenses.”
False pretenses? Jimmy?Had she been expecting a romantic evening? I didn’t want to pry, but I mentally urged her to say more. I tossed out a casual comment that she could expand on if she wanted. “I noticed Dr. Bellingham hanging on Savilla’s every word last night at dinner.”
Katie nodded furiously, her cheeks heating. “That’s why I directed his attentions to me. My God, the idea of him taking her out there to do his dirty work.”
I tried to keep my eyes from widening and waited for her to continue.
“Not that he would be interested in an old biddy like me, but I think he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere with Savilla. When I asked him if he wanted to go for a stroll in the garden, his eyes lit up. He led me into the maze and then into that terrifying tunnel. When I saw the blood and the shoe, he told me what he’d done. Said I was an accomplice now. Told me he wanted my helpfixing things on the back side of the property. He shoved me in front of him and made me walk.”
“We found a list of names… of pageant contestants,” I said, hoping she could explain.
“He likes to keep a list of top contenders with him. Makes a new one at the end of every day based on the score card.”
“But my name was scratched out at the top.”
She smiled softly and lowered her voice. “Because you were his pick. For winner.”
