be Modeling and Interview. In the afternoon there was Beauty and Crowning.
Skye’s gaze swept Room 102. Monday through Friday it held Laurel High’s Home Ec class. Cubicles had been made by rolling in portable blackboards. Since their group had two contestants, they had been assigned adjoining spots. Skye quickly pushed the center divider against the wall to give them more space.
Even though she knew that the pageant was being held in a high school, Skye was disappointed to see how drab everything was. If these girls were going to exhibit themselves, shouldn’t there be some glamour involved? This setup reminded her more of her Scholastic Bowl team than a beauty pageant. Not that she approved of these contests.
While Skye was brooding, the girls changed into their costumes for Modeling. They led Skye and Trixie to the backstage area, where they were supposed to wait for their cue. A dozen eight-, nine-, and ten-year-olds milled around in a space not much bigger than a spare bedroom. Each of the girls was fussed over by one or two adults. The whole scene reminded Skye of an anthill.
Skye watched as a tiny, raven-haired beauty dressed in a red-and-white-striped halter top jumpsuit, red bolero jacket with ruffles at the wrist, and white hat, stood as her mother made last-minute adjustments.
The girl finally shook her mother away, protesting, “Get off me. You’re always hanging on me.”
The mother took the girl by the upper arms and shook her. “This is for you, it’s not for me. We went to McDonald’s. I got you the whole Pretty Kitty kit. We stopped and bought you the little box with the key. So now all you got to do is walk through this itty-bitty dance.”
The girl stuck out her lip and started to cry.
Skye turned to Kristin, who had been watching the same scene. “Do you feel that way?”
“No, me and Iris like to dress up and go to the pageants, but lots of kids don’t really want to.” Kristin put her hand in Skye’s. “Lots of moms are real mean if their kids don’t win. But Mom and Aunt Ginger are okay. They swear a little sometimes at the judges, but they don’t yell or get drunk.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Skye squatted to Kristin’s level.
“If you ever want to quit doing this and your mom won’t let you, tell me. Okay?”
“Sure.” Kristin swung their joined hands. “We better get in line now. It’s about to start, and I’m number two.”
Skye checked that Trixie had Iris, who was number eleven, and they moved into position. Each girl had three minutes to strut her stuff in front of the judges. The music started, and the first contestant moved on stage.
This girl wore a silver leotard with a cape that had the U.S. flag done in sequins across the back, a Statue of Liberty crown, and silver shoes.
Skye watched in fascination as the ten-year-old pranced gracefully around the stage on three-inch heels. She herself could hardly wear two-inch pumps without falling on her face.
Kristin was next, dressed in a sleeveless hot pink dress, matching hat, and muff. The outfit had marabou trim around the neckline, hem, and accessories. Kirstin moved across the stage in rhythm to the music, twirled in front of the judges, and winked.
Skye let her mind wander as the other girls performed. She was startled out of her reverie by Trixie tapping her on the shoulder. “A woman wants to know if Iris will trade numbers and go on next. One of the contestants just got here, and she needs to have the last spot so she has time to change. Is that okay?”
“If Iris is ready, go on and trade. It’s no big deal.”
“She’s all set.”
A few moments later Skye watched as Iris danced onto the stage. She swirled her blue jacket like a cape and popped her sunglasses on top of her head without missing a beat. Skye was sure Iris would win this portion of the competition.
The girls wanted to change clothes, but Skye wanted to see the rest of Modeling, so Trixie volunteered to take them back to the dressing room.
Skye found a seat in the rear of the auditorium just as a buzz spread through the audience. She craned her neck to see what was happening. The curtain parted, and Linette Ingels strutted out. The little blonde was dressed in silver Spandex tights with a white fur jacket and a white-and-silver circlet holding back her hair.
The audience gasped as she started her act. The sinuous movements reminded Skye of a striptease, and when the little girl peeled off her jacket to reveal a plunging neckline and backless top, Skye heard herself exhale.
The lady sitting next to her poked her in the ribs with an elbow. “Can you believe Lorna Ingels’s gall, having one sister perform when the other’s barely cold?”
“It sure is a surprise,” Skye agreed. “Is that a typical costume for Linette?”
“No, in fact, that looks a little like one Lorelei wore in the last pageant—just made smaller.”
It was only ten-thirty, the girls had finished with their interviews, and Beauty didn’t begin until after lunch. Skye checked the dressing room and found Iris and Kristin playing Hungry, Hungry Hippo, and Trixie reading the latest Charlaine Harris mystery.
“Are you guys okay?”
They all murmured yes without looking up.
“I’m going to poke around. I’ll be back at noon, and we can eat lunch. Okay?”
As Skye left the dressing area, she heard laughter and animated voices to her right. A couple doors down, a classroom was crowded with women and girls. Up front, a man with his back to the room was working on the hair of a nine-year-old girl.
Skye wiggled her way through the crowd. “Vince, what the heck are you doing here?”
He whirled around. “Skye, what the heck are you doing here?”
Her brother, Vince, was one of the handsomest men Skye had ever met. He was also charming and a talented hair-stylist. Why he remained in Scumble River was a mystery to Skye, who had escaped for several years before being forced to come crawling back.
“I’m chaperoning the twins’ daughters,” she said.
“I’m doing hair. The contest organizers pay me to be available, and the moms pay for the appointment.” He twirled the little girl in the barber chair. “What do you think?”
Skye bit her tongue. The only substitute for good manners was fast reflexes. “She certainly looks . . . perfect.” Skye thought that the little girl looked like a Barbie clone, only less animated. “How do you get her hair that big?”
Vince smiled thinly, obviously not fooled by Skye’s words. “That’s called the ‘pageant pouf.’ To get that effect you need extensions.”
The little girl jumped off the chair, and another one took her place. At six-foot-two, Vince towered over his tiny customer. He tightened his ponytail and narrowed his green eyes. Muscles bulged as he flexed his shoulders.
Skye knew he was about to go into a creative trance. “If you get a lunch break, come eat with us. We’re in Room 102.”
He nodded distractedly, and Skye moved away.
As she walked the hallways, she saw several familiar faces. From what she overheard, the whole pageant was buzzing with talk of Linette Ingels’s performance so soon after her sister’s death.
“Skye!”
That sounded like Charlie’s voice. Was everyone she knew here? Skye turned back to the door she had just passed. Sitting in what was normally the teachers’ lounge were a group of men and women eating boxed lunches. Charlie held center court.
He motioned her to a chair at his side. “What are you doing here? You usually preach against exploiting little girls.”
When her cousins had asked her to take their daughters to this contest, Skye had felt a momentary tug of conscience. She had been talking against the whole pageant idea for many years, but the lure of investigation had been too great, and she had stomped down that little voice.
“Well, the twins were in a bind,” she told Charlie. “They had already paid the fee, but it turned out both Gillian and Ginger had to work. So I said I’d take the Iris and Kristin so the girls wouldn’t be disappointed.”
Charlie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pursue the matter.
