by Amity Allen
“Whatever, Skylar. Why do you have to be so picky?”
“What?” Skylar shrugged innocently. “It was.”
“Besides everything with Heather dropping dead and all, the thing I couldn’t understand was why those moms don’t take a more positive approach and praise each child for what they did accomplish?” I asked with a frown.
Skylar offered, “It’s a cutthroat business.”
I thought of Heather and silently agreed.
“Each crown we gave out, each sash, each stuffed animal or small scholarship was an endorsement of that child’s skills and effort,” I insisted.
Mads piped up, “Easy, killer. Don’t get all spooled up.” She laughed.
I took a deep breath. She was right. There was nothing I could do about how those people raised their kids. But I could try to figure out who killed their leader.
Wanting to change the subject, I said, “So how does it feel to be the hair and makeup stylist for the Bloomin’ Belles Mega Champion Supreme Superior winner?”
“Wow, did you butcher that. And you call yourself a pageant judge. It’s the Mega Ultimate Grand Supreme,” Skylar scoffed.
“Not anymore. My pageant days are in my rearview mirror.”
“What?” Skylar looked disappointed.
“That doesn’t surprise me half as much as it did to hear that you let Skylar talk you into it in the first place,” Mads said.
I shot Mads an I know right? look, then tried again with Skylar. “But how did it feel to be the stylist of the winner? I mean, in a way, you won.”
“Meh. It was all right.”
Hmm. I thought Skylar would be over the moon planning her takeover of the next pageant. But instead she seemed unfazed. “I thought you’d be happier.”
“I am happy. But mostly happy for Dimples and her mom. They’re the ones that did all the hard work. There’s something a little creepy about little girls being dressed like shrunken-down women, with all that makeup and all that hair. I think I’m just more interested in being a stylist for the eighteen-and-up crowd.”
“That makes sense,” said Mads. “I get what you mean. Having toddlers all dressed up like that. That’s just kinda strange. Babies shouldn’t wear wigs. You know?”
It didn’t surprise me that was Mads’ impression of it all. I’d never seen her wear a stitch of makeup, unless her sister begged her to let her do a makeover on her. When she did, Mads looked beautiful, but the made-up look wasn’t Mads’ style. Mads was a no-frills kinda girl who preferred to draw all day and live in her online world as much as possible.
I suspected it was actually a stretch for Mads’ introverted self to lift her head out of the book or tablet she had her nose buried in and come to work at The Flower Shoppe, but she did it because she had to pay the bills somehow.
“Well you did wonderful with Dimples. She looked beautiful, and she had a special sparkle that I’m sure can be attributed to you.”
Skylar looked up from her nails, which she was now painting a coral color. “Aww, thanks Poppy. That means a lot to me, especially seeing as you were one of the judges and you saw all the contestants.
“You’re welcome,” I said, and for the dozenth time since I’d been home, I wished I had taken Skylar out to Hollywood before my show got canceled. If only I could have gotten her some clients, she might have had a huge start in a stylist career out there. I told her I’d give her the numbers of some people to contact if she wanted to go, but friendship, family, and loyalty were important to Skylar and she didn’t want to leave Mads behind. And now that I was involved in the floral business, she seemed even more tied to this place.
When Skylar and Mads graduated from high school, their grandfather offered to give them some seed money as a present because both of them wanted a career more than they wanted a four-year degree. So instead of helping fund their college education, he helped them start a flower shop downtown. It was perfect because the person who had previously owned one had recently moved to a retirement village and hung a sign that said Gone Fishing on her door.
Mads and Skylar’s little shop had done well and now it was the go-to place for flowers for any occasion for the residents of Fairhope.
“So what’s on the schedule for today?” I asked.
“You mean for the flowers?” Skylar asked.
“No, I mean for Mick Jagger. Yes, of course for flowers. For the shop, silly.”
“We should be getting a delivery today. Daisies, lilies, hydrangeas, and those purple roses that Mr. Johnson likes to buy for his wife, along with some other things.”
“What about arrangements?”
We discussed the various tasks that needed to be performed that day and divvied them up. I took several of the arranging jobs, as Skylar begged off due to her wet fingernails.
We worked until lunch, when we sent Mads to pick up a to-go order of sandwiches from the little lunch shop down the street. We were sitting in the back eating when Skylar checked her phone.
“Oh my goodness, y’all. You are not gonna believe this,” Skylar said.
“What is it?” Mads asked.
“Josephine has been arrested.”
“The police have arrested Josephine for Heather Morgan’s murder,” Skylar exclaimed.
“What?” Surely she was mistaken. Who would suspect sweet, zaftig
pageant coach Josephine? I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely culprit.
“Where did you hear that?” Mads asked.
“Instagram.”
“Instagram?” Social media sure beat the Pony Express for transporting the news.
“Yes, it says here in this news story that she’s suspected of poisoning Heather Morgan, and somebody posted her mug shot.”
“Her mug shot? That’s gross,” I said, thinking there was no dignity for my generation.
“True. She could use some blush.” Skylar turned her phone sideways, giving Josephine’s mug shot a severe appraisal.
“Put that away,” I scolded.
“Yeah, please don’t ‘like’ it,” Mads added.
Skylar shrugged. “Whoops! Already did.”
“Well, at least don’t share it.”
Skylar’s lips formed a thin line that told us she already had.
“What?” She flapped her hands in the air looking like a frightened bird. “I’m sorry. I got excited.”
“Well, when you get arrested, we’re going to share your mug shot and see how you like it,” Mads threatened.
“I hope they let me touch up my makeup first.”
“They won’t,” I assured her. “Do you think Josephine did it?”
“No way,” Skylar said.
Mads continued to stare at her tablet.
“Mads?” I asked.
She glanced up. “How should I know? I haven’t known her since we were in middle school, and I wasn’t there.”
Skylar made a duck face. “True.”
“She did have opportunity,” I said.
“What about motive?” Mads asked.
“That too,” I said.
“You mean over the birth certificate thing?” Skylar shook her head. “I doubt she would murder Heather just because she asked her client to produce a birth certificate.”
“Yeah, it would be more likely for the child’s parent to be the murderer. The one who needed to produce the birth certificate,” Mads reasoned.
“I considered her already. And when I questioned Brittany Gustavez, I found out something very interesting.”
“You questioned Brittany Gustavez?” Skylar looked appalled.
I nodded.
“What did you find out?” Mads asked.
“That Saturday morning, Heather Morgan told Liz Stoner she couldn’t film her reality show about Bloomin’ Belles anymore. She warned the mothers not to cooperate with the production and essentially shut it down.”
“Oh my Lord and Taylor!” Skylar exclaimed. “That show had been in preproduction for months before the actual pageant. How c
ould she do that?”
“I know, right? That’s a big motive for murder right there.”
“That is a big one. What are some other possible motives?”
We racked our brains.
“You’d think if team Gustavez was going to murder anyone, it would be the person who sent that email telling Heather she needed to check her child’s birth certificate.”
“And if someone was going to murder someone to influence pageant results, wouldn’t you think it would be someone murdering their competition, or their child’s competition, I should say? I can’t imagine one of those little girls being savvy enough to poison Heather.”
Mads laughed. “Or maybe you’d poison one of the judges.”
“Hey, now,” I said indignantly.
“Too soon?” Skylar asked.
“Way too soon,” I nodded.
“Right, but it’s just another example of who you might want out of the way for your child to win.” Mads ran her hands together excitedly, pretending to speak as the murderer. “Let’s take out the judge who doesn’t like my little pretty. I see how she was looking at her, giving her a bad score. Let me put some antifreeze in her ice cream.”
I couldn’t help but grin.
“I can’t believe we shared a womb.” Skylar shook her head.
“Me either,” Mads agreed.
“My point is that you’d do much better to off the competition or a judge than you would to kill the director. Unless you knew she was fixing the results.”
I shrugged. “There’s no evidence of that as far as I know. Dimples won, and I had her at the top of my list.”
“Do you know why Josephine’s been arrested?” I was dying to know what evidence the police had against her. “Does it say in the Instagram post?”
“Nope. No clues,” Skylar said.
Frustrated, I did something that, even as I did it, I knew was not a great idea.
I sent Officer Goodnight a text:
Why arrest Josephine?
I didn’t expected him to reply, so I was surprised when a few minutes later, he texted back:
Poppy Parker, I cannot discuss police business with you.
As tempted as I was to text back a frowny face, I controlled myself and refrained.
Clearly they had something on Josephine, but I couldn’t help but believe the police were going down the wrong path if they’d pegged her as a coldblooded murderer. My impression of Josephine was that she was a sweet marshmallow of a girl who barely had the toughness to make it in the pageant industry.
Josephine might be a litterbug, but she was no killer.
That night I dreamed of my mother. I hadn’t dreamt of her in years, though I often wished I would.
Because, as a little girl, I dreamed about spending time with the mother I never got the chance to meet in my waking life, and when I woke up from those dreams I always felt more whole.
“You will find your way with this magic stuff, Poppy,” my mother was saying in my dream from atop a giraffe she was riding. We were at an amusement park and I was riding beside her on a zebra. The two of us were riding through the park’s streets, and no one seemed at all concerned about our animals. They must have been part of the attraction.
“But I don’t know where to start,” I complained.
“Try the Internet. Type in a search for a problem you’re having and see if you can’t find an answer in the form of a spell that works for you.”
“What sort of browser does one use for that sort of thing?” I asked.
“I’ve heard witches have exceptional results from a unique browser called Northern Lights.”
“Really?”
My mother nodded. She was beautiful, just like you’d picture a fairy queen to look—fair-haired, blue-eyed, with a mouth that looked like a cupid’s bow. I noticed she was sitting sidesaddle. She wore a long skirt with a peasant blouse and ballet shoes that had ties that crisscrossed all the way up her legs. A medallion hung from her neck, and even though I strained to see it, I couldn’t quite get close enough to make out the insignia on it.
I longed to be a child again so she could hold me in her lap. Then I’d be able to see the medallion up close, play with it while she read me stories and sang me songs.
But that didn’t happen. Instead we just kept riding.
Then we were riding through snowcapped mountaintops. Yellow wildflowers bloomed in the meadows below and I wanted to go there, but we kept having to climb amongst these awful boulders instead.
“Shouldn’t we get a horse or something?” I asked, fearing a giraffe and zebra might not prove the best choices of creatures for carrying us up mountains.
“You’re right.” She giggled as she wiggled her ears and soon we were both seated atop a pair of white polar bears.
The white fur beneath my legs was more comfortable than the wiry zebra hair. For a moment my mind questioned the wisdom of riding on the backs of bears. Polar bears had big sharp teeth and immense power, so if they didn’t want us on their backs, we were going to be in big trouble.
My mother must have seen the concern on my face, for she said, “No need to worry, Poppy. They are magic bears. You’re perfectly safe.”
We rode along for a while and it felt as though we were growing closer and closer to something, but what it was, I wasn’t sure.
“Where are we going?”
“So many questions, my dear Poppy. You are on a search for the truth. Just enjoy the journey. Answers will come in time.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about exactly, but she reiterated her point by saying, “You are a Seeker of Truth. That is your destiny.”
I nodded and remained quiet after that. I didn’t want to say anything to upset her or risk her possibly leaving. My mother’s presence in my life was so fleeting that I cherished every instant of it.
But unfortunately, before we got to the top of the mountain, I woke up. Glancing around my room, the rays of sunlight beaming through my window brought reality flooding back to me, and it was with a bittersweet feeling that I realized I remembered the dream. It filled me with a sense of joy to have interacted with her, even if it had only been in my imagination while I was asleep, but I was also sad it was over.
I tried a few times to go back to sleep, hoping I could pick up where I left off, but it was no use.
Finally, I gave up and faced the fact that I had to get up and go on about my day alone, motherless. I dressed quickly and when I got downstairs, I gave Aunt Cricket a big hug and kiss.
“What was that for?” She eyed me suspiciously.
“Oh nothing. I just love you, that’s all.” I averted my gaze, moving away quickly so that she wouldn’t see the emotion on my face.
I wasn’t sure what it was about, this magic mumbo jumbo, but whatever this force was inside me, it was awakening not only special powers. It was also awakening my connection with my mother or lack thereof. And bringing up emotions I’d spent years suppressing.
It had been easier to forget her than to learn to live with the fact that I’d never known my mother at all. Being orphaned by my mother was a loss I kept pushed down. It was always with me, but I’d become a pro at squelching it. But lately that old pain had found more and more occasions to bubble up to the surface.
After breakfast, I went to my bedroom and typed “Northern Lights browser” into the search box on my computer.
To my surprise it listed one response, and it was highlighted with a big purple box. Hmm. That looked suspicious, so I searched “Northern Lights virus” and got nothing.
I inhaled deeply then exhaled.
No pain. No gain. Guess I’ve got to risk it so I went back to the previous page, clicked “Northern Lights browser” and held my breath.
Immediately the computer went black.
Cosmic cowpies! It had to be a virus.
But then a big purple box filled the screen, the words “Welcome Witches” filled the screen, and I exhaled.
Wow. Was this reall
y a browser for witches?
It couldn’t be. And why had I opened it right before I needed to leave for work?
Reluctantly, I closed the computer and vowed to get back to it the minute I got back home. Hmm. Maybe I could talk Mads into letting me come home early today . . .
When I got to The Flower Shoppe, Skylar was late, so it was just me and Mads there. She sat at the computer in the back.
“Hey, while you’re there, will you type something into that computer for me?” I asked, too curious to wait until I got back home. I’d been thinking about the Northern Lights browser all the way to work.
“Sure. Just a minute. Let me close down this window . . . okay. Whatcha got?”
“Type ‘Northern Lights browser’.”
Mads’ fingers flew across the keyboard. “Okay. Doesn’t really give me anything. Just a bunch of sites about Aurora Borealis.”
I peered over her shoulder. She was exactly right. That was all that came up. No black screen. No purple box. No “welcome witches” message. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but it didn’t look like Mads would be able to access that unique browser. At least not on that computer.
“They’re really pretty. I’d love to see them someday. You planning a vacation?” Mads asked.
I coughed. “No.”
Just then Skylar strolled in, saving me from more questions. And before Mads had a chance to fuss at her for being late, she burst out with some exciting news.
“I found out why the police arrested Josephine.”
“Why?” I bit.
“She left town after they told her not to. Plus she’d been sitting at the same table as Heather. Apparently just to her right so the police think she had the best chance of putting something in her food or drink.”
I gasped loudly, startling Mads.
“Don’t do that!” Mads fussed. They hated it when I gasped like that. I guess it startled them.
“Sorry. I’m sure there were lots of people around who could have administered the poison. But Skylar, why would Josephine leave town after they told her not to?”
“She said the whole weekend just upset her. She had a panic attack and felt like she had to get back home to Dallas.”
Hmm. I could see how the police might find that behavior suspicious. I hadn’t noticed Josephine had been missing the day of crowning and Brittany hadn’t mentioned it at the bed and breakfast. “What about Allessandra? Wasn’t she supposed to be coaching her?”
