Skylar’s twin sister Mads called while I was driving to the convention
center. “Are you really going over there? I can’t believe they’re going to continue
this pageant.”
“So you heard about the murder?”
“Yeah. Skylar told me last night when she got home. It’s awful.”
“Yes, but you know how it is. The show must go on! Surely you can’t be
that surprised.” I was only beginning to understand the importance of these
competitions to their participants, and I could picture pageant moms dragging their
glitzed-up toddlers over the dead bodies of fallen competitors. The way zombies
climbed over each other to get to the top of the pile in movies—only prettier.
“Are they sure it was a murder? She didn’t just have a heart attack or
something?” I could hear the anxiety creeping into Mads’ voice, and I didn’t blame
her. Our little town was supposed to be safe. Murders didn’t happen here. That was
the sort of thing that happened in the city across the bridge, not in our sleepy little
bedroom community.
“That’s what they said, Mads, but I don’t think you need to worry. If it was a
murder, you can bet it was personal. Certainly not the doin’s of a mad man or a
serial killer. If Heather Morgan was murdered, it was by somebody who knew her
and had something to gain from her death. This was no a random act of violence.”
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