“I am not at liberty to say,” Aunt DeeDee answered again firmly. “But all of this is why Mr. Finch closed the hotel to the public more than two decades ago. He wanted to keep things quiet. He intended to reopen, but never did.”
Aunt DeeDee had known something for a long time, something that she’d had to keep quiet and bury within herself in order to keep her job and her place in the pageant world. My aunt had layers I hadn’t even imagined.
I took a deep breath, choosing my next words carefully enough to avoid the same trained response she’d been giving me. “But… what if I… got it wrong? It feels like there are things I still don’t understand.”
Aunt DeeDee tilted my chin, so our eyes met. “Then I trust you’ll figure that out too. But, for now, it’s time to win some money.”
She was right. I wanted to know the truth, but in the next few hours, I also needed to place in the pageant.First things first, as Momma would say.
I sat in front of Aunt DeeDee and let her do the work of turning me into royalty, straightening my hair before pulling it into an updo with soft tendrils lining my cheeks and carefully applying all of her makeup magic to bring out my best features. Within the hour she was forcing me into some kind of torture device that was a precursor to the floofy yellow gown that wouldmake me look like a cross between Belle fromBeauty and the Beastand a Twinkie.
Pageant perfection.
“Hold still,” Aunt DeeDee commanded as she clasped a lace-up corset around my ribs and began to tug the edges together.
“Oh my Lord,” I screamed as she fastened me in. “How am I supposed to breathe in this?”
“You’re not,” Aunt DeeDee answered. “You can breathe after you win.”
The preparations continued for another forty-five minutes until Aunt DeeDee sprayed my face with sealant.
“My eyes look all shimmery,” I said, taken aback by how good I looked. I thought she’d already prepped me at the house earlier this week, but this was a whole new level. I was almost… queenly.
“You look like me on the night I won,” she said, her eyes welling. “I told your momma you could do it.” She sniffled and checked her watch. “I suppose people will be lining up outside the Main Ballroom any minute, so I better get going.”
Aunt DeeDee wiped under her eyes and ran a hand across my off-the-shoulder sleeves before turning me toward the mirror, standing behind me like I was a bride on my very yellow wedding day.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, leaning her cheek against mine. “Your momma would be proud.”
“I don’t know about that…”
Aunt DeeDee brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know she would. You’ve reconnected with people, you’re helping bring justice, and even if you don’t win the grand prize tonight, we’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, Aunt DeeDee, for everything,” I said.
“Anyhoo, I need to get to the ballroom.” Aunt DeeDee’s usual levity returned. “I’m back on as the MC, thank goodness. Lacymight’ve peed her pants if she had to run the show behind the scenesandtake center stage.” She pretended to kiss my cheek but didn’t touch my makeup-clad skin with her lips. I surprised myself by returning the air-kiss. “You’ll be great, and I’ll be rooting for you. Unofficially, of course.”
I had fifteen minutes to myself before I needed to make my way to the ballroom.
I’d been musing all afternoon on the cutout of Miss 2001, of the quote about Cathy Peabody’s daughter from the library book, on Savilla’s strange connection to the original winner.
I’d also been listing Dr. Bellingham’s potential motives for killing Mr. Finch:
Money, maybe, though he’d need to bypass Savilla and Glenda Finch—to reach the millions for himself.
Revenge. He could’ve been angry at Mr. Finch for whatever happened all those years ago to make Cathy Peabody disappear.
Love, perhaps.
