“I’m just smoothing out your padding,” she said, as her hand worked fast to unwrinkle the insert. “You don’t want to be lopsided.” She gave me one last look. “Knock ’em dead.”
A few minutes later, I was standing under the bright lights, vaguely hearing the other contestants answer questions about what they’d do if they won—everything from “open an emu sanctuary” to “donate the proceeds to childhood leukemia research”; where they saw themselves in five years—“um… modeling forPlayboy?” to “working to make solar energy affordable”; and what had been their biggest struggle—“not being chosen forThe Bachelor” to “facing my mental health issues head-on with intensive therapy.” Like I said, containing multitudes.
When it came to my turn, the question was, “If you could make one wish for every person in the entire world, what would it be?”
I took a deep breath and began. “My one wish would be for each person to have someone in their lives to love and support them. An entire community for each person would be even better. Loneliness needn’t be an affliction if we open ourselves up in transparent and authentic relationships.
“I’ve been surprised these past few days by how much I’ve connected with the contestants here. These women are strong and capable; they have dreams and plans to enact as soon as they leave tonight.” I gave a nod of affirmation to the rows of women on each side of me. “What I thought might be one kind of experience has become something else entirely: a way to really see other people, a way to connect with people who are different than me, a way for me to belong.”
It was true. If I had one wish for myself, it would be to bring Momma back, but knowing that was impossible, I would go withthe next best thing: having people to love and who loved me—and also some cash to keep Momma’s house and start over.
As soon as the interviews ended and everyone took a brief break, I found Aunt DeeDee fixing her face before she needed to usher the ladies into the very last part of the evening: the judges’ decision. The audience had a half-hour intermission while they deliberated.
“I need the master key,” I told her.
Aunt DeeDee’s eyes held a question we didn’t have time to discuss, so instead, she pulled a key card from her cleavage and placed the warm plastic in my outstretched hand. That was one way to keep track of things. “You best be quick about it. I have a good feeling about who’s gonna win.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a quick hug.
“What’s that for?”
I didn’t know exactly, but it was just so good to see her back where she belonged, all dolled up and running things. “I’ll be back before we go onstage next.”
She didn’t remind me of the schedule. Instead, she squeezed my shoulder, trusting me.
I took the door that connected to one of the main hallways before scurrying to the elevator bank in the lobby. A few staff members milled about, their eyes wide as they watched me, the escaped bathing beauty, rushing past them.
Katie had told me on my first night that her room was on the fourth floor of the residential wing, right next to my aunt’s, in the old nursery. That’s where I would look.
I pressed the elevator button several times, willing the lift to come quickly. When it arrived, I rode it up to the fourth floor and hurried down the hall, watching for the décor to signal that the residential quarters were up ahead.
I passed my aunt’s room and stood in front of Katie’s door. I held my aunt’s key card to the sensor, the lock clicked, and I stepped inside, quickly pulling the door shut behind me.
The room was not what I’d expected, more like an homage to a child who’d once lived there than a once-a-year hotel stay. I imagined that the room likely looked exactly as it had when it had been Savilla’s, with a rocking chair and pink-maned rocking horse in the corner, sparkly dress-up clothes secured to pegs in the wall, and games like Hi-Ho! Cherry-O and Chutes and Ladders stacked on a bookshelf. The only thing signaling that this was no longer a nursery were the scattered dresses and beauty paraphernalia.
I noted a few hair products on the edge of her dresser, then opened a drawer of her cabinet to find a silver box that had once held an assortment of perfume bottles. Taped to the lid was the same kindergarten class photo I’d found in Miss 2001’s folder in Aunt DeeDee’s office, except this time two figures had hearts drawn around them: Savilla and her nanny, Katie Gilman. At the bottom was written the wordsMy Girl. I untied the pink bow holding the box together and opened it to find keepsakes. A locket of fine baby hair, a child’s tooth, and drawings signed by their creator in a childish scrawl. Savilla had written her name with a backward S. I was definitely on the right track.
In the closet was a row of hangers and a couple of remaining gowns. Other than that, it was bare. I couldn’t see the full top shelf of the closet, so I stood on tip-toe and ran a hand along it until I felt a canvas bag. I pulled it down to find a black sack with a label that readDr. Jim Bellingham.
Inside, I found a bottle of pills prescribed to him, as well as a Polaroid camera. Lining the bottom were photos of my aunt’s sash. These pictures didn’t have any kind of message on them, which meant they must have been extras, the ones the perpetrator hadn’t needed in order to frame my aunt. The factthat Dr. Bellingham’s bag was in Katie Gilman’s closet meant that either he or she had likely taken the photos and deposited them in my room, which meant the two of them had been working together.
I thought about Katie Gilman dropping off beauty supplies the night that Aunt DeeDee had been taken into custody. She’d come inside to check on me, and I may have run to the bathroom while she was there. I blinked hard, trying to remember, but the lack of sleep was catching up with me. I suppose she might have deposited the photos upstairs in my bed before giving me a hug and reassuring words. What an idiot I’d been.
The message scribbled across the bottom of the photos I’d found in my bed—SHE KILLED BOTH OF THEM—repeated in my mind.
I’d known that was a lie from the very beginning, but now I could confirm the lie: Miss 2001 was very much alive—and it appeared that she was involved in framing my aunt. My stomach turned. I’d trusted this woman, and she’d betrayed the person closest to me.
Next, I went into Katie Gilman’s bathroom. Hanging over the side of the shower was a pair of stockings, a bra, and a set of pajamas. On the vanity, a curling iron had been turned off but left plugged into the wall, and makeup, perfume, and moisturizers were scattered next to the sink.
Taped to the back of the bathroom door was a handwritten list on a piece of lined paper torn from a yellow legal pad, the letters slanted. I read the contents carefully.
Meet with Deanna for marketing review
Savilla—Meet & Greet ideas?
Ask GG to send thank you notes to sponsors
Update Rose Palace accounts
