Twenty seconds passed as my thoughts slammed into one another and my mouth ran on autopilot.
“Now, a… a little… um… a little conditioner goes a long way—something I’ve learned from my own… uh… beautification process this week.” I swallowed and wiped off the soap. I dripped a nickel-sized dollop of leather conditioner onto a brush, keeping one hand on the saddle as I nearly rubbed a hole into the leather. “Do y’all know how hard it is to look like the ladies on this stage? I do. And so do my hair extensions, my fake eyelashes, and my push-up bra. As of last Monday, I was a stable hand, and I cannot seem to get rid of the dirt, so I’m a bit likeWeird Barbie: I’m fancy, but I’ve also been played with outside for too long.”
I recalled what Lacy had said in Katie Gilman’s bio on the first night here: she’d worked at the estate as a maid and worked her way up to the position of Savilla’s nanny. When she’d been a maid, she must’ve had some kind of tryst—or encounter—with Mr. Finch that had left her pregnant with Savilla.
The sharp edges of the past few days began to fit together into a seamless mosaic. It was like I could see a continuous thread running through the past, present, and near future.
“If your saddle has silver fittings, you’ll want to… uh… be sure to add a bit of… of polish, not only for the… the shine, but also for long-term protection.”
I saw the sheriff listening to me from the very back of the ballroom, and then I glanced at Katie Gilman, who now sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her ample bosom. I thought of my first night here, how she’d found the pinky ring in my aunt’s drawer. Mr. Finch’s words from the first day came back to me all at once:It’s my personal design,he’d said.Later, Dr. Bellingham had referred to the design as a judges’ ring, which presumably meant that only the judges received them.
Only the judges, which included Katie Gilman. What if it was her ring? She’d been a judge for years, so she would’ve had the very same design as all the other judges. What if she’d taken off her own ring, held it up to the light, and fooled me and the sheriff? How far had she gone to hide who she’d once been? Had she also worked with Dr. Bellingham in order to win the 2001 pageant, and later excised herself from the archives?
Katie Gilman had no idea that, as I performed my odd talent, I was on to her. She had no idea that she was fast becoming a primary suspect in Mr. Finch’s murder, at least in my mind.
I needed to let the sheriff know about the message on the saddle immediately, but I couldn’t exactly leap off the stage.
“Saddles don’t really get worn down with age. In fact, once you break them in, you can enjoy them for the rest of your life. You can probably even pass them on to future generations for… for both practical and sentimental value. And”—I couldn’t help myself—“if you share the same great backside, your child might be able to use the exact same saddle for years to come. After all, family sticks together. Mothers, daughters…” I rambled as I looked from the sheriff to Savilla Finch, who was watching me with an amused but puzzled expression.
I ran through potential motives again, but this time those of Katie Gilman.
Money, for sure.
Revenge against the man who’d taken her daughter from her, yeah.
Love for a child, definitely.
This was a crime of passion, just not the typical definition of the word. Still, a mother’s love was its own kind of passion, a passion that could justify anything. Even murder.
As I finished my talent portion of the show, Aunt DeeDee came back to the stage and waved an arm in my direction. “Give it up for Dakota Green, everyone.”
To my utter astonishment, people applauded and kept applauding as I packed up the saddle and cleaning gear. A few even stood up and, at one point, whoops issued from somewhere in the back as I waved to the crowd and made my way to the wings.
I couldn’t believe it. Not only had I possibly solved a murder, I’d actually entertained this crowd.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I was thinking about Katie Gilman and the best way to get a message to Sheriff Strong when, backstage, a practical stranger undid my gown and helped me out of the yards of tulle. I shimmied into a red swimsuit with ruffles that Jemma had told me were intended to visually increase the size of my bust.
Summer rushed around backstage, telling each girl to bend over and flip her hair upside down before she quickly sprayed it, while Nina reminded all of us to add a bounce to our step. I was surprised to realize something I’d never seen from my seat in the audience: these women were acting like a team. Only one of us could win the crown, but we were all in the competition together.
I slipped on my shiny black heels and glanced at myself in one of the rows of mirrors, surprised to see that the ruffle-effect was working. Despite the fact I hated that showing off my body was the goal, I had to admit that I was elongated and curvier than I’d ever looked in my entire life, the stretchy fabric hugging my hips and the red hue complementing my sun-kissed skin. Almost like a beauty queen. I only hoped I sounded like one too as I mentally prepared for the interview that would take place while scantily clad.
Jemma hurried toward me and grabbed my left breast.
I yelped and she put a hand over my mouth.
