I hung up, my thoughts swarming like a hive of bees missing its queen. I needed a moment alone to collect myself before searching for Lacy.
As I skirted the edge of the ballroom, trying my best not to talk to anyone else right then, I spotted Savilla with Presley, both of them crying. Savilla’s hunched frame made me wonder if this new death was making her think of her own father’s body being taken away during the pageant weekend this summer.
A pang of sympathy rushed through me at the grief she’d endured these last few months, and I could only hope that tomorrow’s will reading wouldn’t add more fuel to that fire.Maybe I could skip it entirely. Was there a penalty for not attending a will reading? Surely it wasn’t an actual legal summons.
I bit my lip, considering this as an option, but immediately my mind went to Savilla finding out the news that we were blood relatives on her own. That wouldn’t be fair.
No, I had to be there, and I would steel myself for her reaction, which could go a variety of directions. Maybe Savilla would be thrilled that our friendship was now an actual sisterhood, but maybe she would be confused, frustrated—and perhaps even angry—at having to recalibrate her life again, this time to involve a slightly older sister. I wasn’t sure I could deal with those fraught emotions in the midst of a murder investigation.
I slipped out of the ballroom and headed toward the Color Gallery, where the darkened corridor could provide some relief from the sounds and sights, not to mention my own heightened emotions, threatening to overwhelm me.
The hall was empty and unlit. It took nearly a minute for my eyes to adjust to the low light, and as I felt for one of the glass cases to steady myself, I reminded myself to breathe deeply.
Anxiety is strange. It picks and chooses when to rear its ugly head. I’d been fine, steady even, during Brett’s entire CPR ordeal. I’d remained composed while the medics intervened and when Charlie’s deputy arrived. But now, alone in this hall filled with Finch heirlooms, my figurative seams were coming undone.
Not only was I thinking about Brett’s death, but I couldn’t help but ruminate over the real reason I’d come home this weekend. Sure, it’d been for the reunion and to see Charlie and Lacy and Aunt DeeDee, but it was also to figure out what came next for me.
This past week, before I’d had any idea that I would be an eyewitness to the death of a former classmate, I’d receivedtwo key invitations that could change the course of my future: first, the summons to the will reading and, second, an offer of recommendation to a prestigious fellowship on the other side of the country.
I’d performed well in grad school, really well, even earning an A and then an A- in both of the classes I’d taken with one of the toughest professors in the program. In fact, Dr. Thompson had given me the highest academic praise in the form of a head nod and a mumbled “well done” as she’d passed back my midterm exam.
Then this week, Dr. Thompson had pulled me aside to offer me what could turn out to be the chance of a lifetime.
“I can only select one candidate each year to nominate,” she’d said to me. “Even then, there are no guarantees that you’ll be accepted, but if you are, it will require a one-year internship and a three-year fellowship in San Diego.”
Four years of my life lived across the country. Four years of intensive training far from Aubergine. Four years away from Aunt DeeDee and Lacy and… Charlie. My gut reaction had been to refuse her on the spot, but how could I reject such an opportunity without at least considering it?
“I’ll be direct, Ms. Green. Your education trajectory has been nontraditional, but you’re the first student I’ve taught to score a perfect grade on a case study. Your talent shouldn’t be wasted in some small-town practice.”
The dismissal of my life’s goal stung, but her faith in me was undeniable.
“Consider the fellowship carefully,” she had said. “I need your answer by Monday.”
My mind tried to find a place to land, one that didn’t involve the image of my professor’s expectant face or Savilla’s stricken expression. I tried to remember that these weren’t the things I was really anxious about. Or, at least, they weren’t the thingscrippling me with anxiety in this moment. No, it was the image of Brett’s gray pallor and purple lips, the death of a man, one who’d been my age, one I’d known for most of my life. Yes, that’s what was causing the hum in my head and the thudding behind my breastbone.
Using techniques Momma had taught me years ago, I bent forward at the waist, put my cheek against the cool glass of a display case, closed my eyes, and counted the beats of my breath, trying to lower my pulse.One. Two. Three. Four.
After twenty or so seconds, I opened my eyes and released air slowly. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so I could finally see inside the case in front of me. It was empty. That was strange. Last time a case had been empty was when the Miss 2001 crown had gone missing this past summer, a signal that all was not well at the Rose Palace Pageant.
I took another slow breath and moved toward the next case, extending a hand to feel the cool glass again. This one was empty too. I moved faster this time from one case to the next to find the towering gems, looking for the jewels and necklaces, the crowns and scepters. All of them were gone.
Did Savilla know? But of course she would know if every single piece was missing. There had to be a reason. Perhaps a cleaning. Was that a thing? Did rich people send out their gems for a polish and shine?
The sound of voices interrupted me. The tones were a mix of resonant and high-pitched, and they somehow sounded like the very definition of technicolor. But then I heard two I recognized, speaking over them. It was Lacy and Anton.
I trailed slowly through the Color Gallery, and as I approached a room with a closed door, I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard Brett speak.
“I’m on this show because there weren’t many romantic options where I grew up. Well, except for one girl, or, uh, woman. She’s the one I wrote my song about.”
A woman’s voice, strangely familiar, came next. “What’s she like? This girl who got away?”
I could almost see Brett’s dumb grin as he answered. “Super smart, forges her own path, decides she wants something and makes it happen.”
My breath caught as I realized that an old episode ofSmall Town, Big Romancewas playing. I inched closer and put my eye to the crack in the door to see that the room was a kind of miniature theater, complete with red seats and a screen surrounded by brown curtains that had been swept back and tied. Savilla must’ve set up this space as another option for guests who preferred a bit of downtime after a night on the dance floor.
The show continued, the camera now focused on Brett, who sat alone in an oversized chair, answering questions from a speaker off-screen. As I listened, I processed each word as if it might contain a clue.
Interviewer: Did you have a girlfriend back home? And did she compete in the pageant?
