Leave Tomorrow Behind (Stella Crown Series)

by Clemens, Judy

  Claire considered this, then shrugged. “That was nice.”

  Amy checked her watch. “The pageant is in about an hour. You’re going, right?”

  For a horrible second, I thought she was talking to me, then realized she was asking her daughter. I inched away, finally far enough from the others that I turned and ran.

  That had been too close.

  Way, way too close.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “It’s not fair,” Miranda said. “All week we’ve been doing everything you want to do, and nothing I want to do.”

  “Then why didn’t you want to just stay home? I could’ve gladly done that, and then we both would’ve been happy.”

  She glowered at me.

  “It can’t be that bad,” Nick said. “Can it? How bad can a pageant for teenagers be?”

  “Nick, Summer is going to be there.”

  He winced. “Right.”

  “You two are the biggest babies,” Miranda said. “You can’t spend an hour or two supporting Taylor and Daniella, and all of the other accomplished young women, because you’re afraid of one teenage girl?”

  “She’s half silicone,” I said.

  “And the other half, air,” Nick added.

  “With a smidge of chemicals in places I don’t want to think about.”

  “So?” Miranda frowned. “It’s not like she’s a killer robot or anything.”

  Nick made a face. “Are you sure? I think she’s a Stepford daughter. Except scarier.”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled. “We. Are. Going. I promised Daniella.”

  He looked back at me pleadingly. “You’re not letting her kidnap me?”

  I wanted to. I was chicken that way.

  “He’ll be surrounded by beautiful young women,” Miranda said. “You want to risk that?”

  “They’re just girls,” I reminded her.

  “But their mothers aren’t. And they’re also…beautiful.”

  That was stretching it. Summer’s mom was certainly not in that category. I would assume most of the other pageant moms were all about artificial enhancement, as well. But Taylor’s mother, well, she was the category if you were talking about beautiful and nice and perfect. And who knew how many others of those there might be?

  “Fine. I’ll go, just to protect Nick’s honor. But I’m not going to watch.”

  Miranda smiled and strode ahead.

  “My honor?” Nick said.

  “Sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “I’m not sorry. I’d like to see you protect my honor. Could be entertaining.”

  I slugged his shoulder, and we trudged after Miranda.

  The pageant was being held on the smaller stage rather than the main grandstand. I guess they weren’t expecting a huge crowd, especially since they were competing against the lawn-mower race, and, well, you can imagine how popular that would be. We got seats about halfway back, on the aisle, which was great, so I could make a run for it, if I had to. The stage was set up with deep red curtains, and a huge chandelier hung from the rafters. I hoped it was fake, because if it was really made of glass and fell, it would kill whoever it landed on.

  Daniella was already there, seated in the second row with Amy, Claire—who made no secret that she’d rather be anywhere else, Bobby, Randy, and, of course, Zach. That poor guy had been kicked so hard by Cupid, his ass was going to be one gigantic bruise when he fell back to Earth. Or, wait. Cupid shoots people, right? Whatever. Daniella saw us arrive and waved. Miranda about fell over returning the greeting, so I kept my response minimal.

  “You sure they’re sisters?” Nick murmured.

  I could see his confusion. Where Daniella was fashionable, classy, and perfect, Amy was merely…sweet. Amy looked absolutely fine, of course, but Daniella, next to her sister, was like a full-fledged chocolate-fudge milk shake compared to a non-fat, lactose-free, vanilla smoothie. Edible, but not something you’d walk a hot mile for. I would have felt sorry for Amy, but she didn’t look like she did. She was smiling and laughing and sharing secrets with Daniella. A farmer comfortable in her own skin, rather than pining after her sister’s. I liked that.

  All around us were more people who seemed like they belonged there, rather than in the dairy barn. Parents of the contestants. Sponsors. Lots of people in clothes too clean to have been worn around the fair. Who knew if they’d even been on any other part of the grounds, or if they’d shot in solely for this one event? I couldn’t exactly see women in tight, shiny dresses and high heels taking advantage of the pony rides. Or daring to eat something that might have a fraction of grease involved.

  My eyes snagged on Summer’s mom, and I whipped my head back around so fast I about gave myself whiplash.

  Nick followed my line of sight. “Ah. The lovely Ms. Moss.”

  “Sherry,” I reminded him. “She wants you to call her by her first name because you’re so close.”

  I took a chance and looked again. Today Sherry wore a dress that should have been on an eighteen-year-old—if anyone—and her hair looked freshly colored, now so bright it was a toss-up whether it was supposed to be blond or that white old people grow into if they’re lucky. Her lipstick was at war with the hair in the brightness contest, and I averted my gaze before my retinas went bad.

  “Know who took Rikki’s place?” Nick indicated the young woman at what I presumed was the judge’s table.

  “No idea.” She looked the part, though. Gorgeous. Young. Fashionable. All smiles.

  Beside her were two other judges, one a tall, black-haired woman with skin so pale I thought maybe someone had drained her blood without telling her. The other was a man, African-American, gorgeous in that way Lenny Kravitz was in the Hunger Games movies. Almost unreal. In a sparkly way.

  Music began playing, the crowd hushed, and yet another well put together woman strode onto the stage. She wore a shiny black dress, off the shoulder, ending just above her knee. Wait…was she competing? She looked a little old.

  “Isn’t she gorgeous?” Miranda exhaled.

  Yup. It was official. I really didn’t belong in that crowd.

  “Welcome to today’s pageant, ladies and gentlemen,” the woman said, revealing two rows of impossibly perfect teeth. “My name is Madison Wilkins, from the local NBC affiliate, and I am honored to be with you all for this very exciting day.”

  Polite applause. I checked around the room and discovered a cameraman in the back corner.

  “We’ve all been waiting for this event for a long time. Today will decide which young woman will have the amazing opportunity to represent this county in the Lovely Miss Pennsylvania pageant, spreading her goodwill and virtue throughout our glorious state. What an honor. What an experience.”

  What a load of crap.

  “Before we get to our main event—”

  Uh-oh.

  “—I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of those who have given so much of their time in support of this wonderful organization. But especially I would like to recognize our judges, who by the end of the summer will have spent at least fifteen days judging the contestants in our region, and who will move on to judge at the final event. Mr. Terence Williams, CEO of TW Designs, stand, please, will you Terence?”

  The audience clapped politely.

  “Mrs. Bridget Trapp, former Lovely Miss Pennsylvania.”

  The tall, deathly pale woman rose, and the audience clapped some more.

  “And, finally, our newest judge, Valerie Springfield, who was kind enough to step up to fill dear Rikki Raines’ shoes. Valerie is another up-and-coming vocal artist from Lancaster, and we are so glad she can be here with us.”

  An awkward silence, followed by even more awkward applause.

  Valerie Springfield? Wait. Austin had told me about her. She was the one who had been in the papers as having a war with Rikki over some actor. The war that had ultimately convinced Rikki to keep her relationship with Austin a secret. She allegedly also thou
ght Rikki was keeping her from becoming a star. Can you say, “motivation for murder”?

  “Of course we are so sad to be missing our friend and sweet judge, Rikki Raines,” the emcee continued, “and we pray that her killer will be brought to justice in record time. Let us please observe a moment of silence in honor of our fallen friend.”

  A deathly quiet, during which only two children screamed or said, “What’s happening, Mommy?” and “Pretty lights!”

  “And now,” the woman said, “for a pre-pageant surprise! Please welcome the finalists of our region’s Junior Lovely Miss Pennsylvania pageant!”

  Wild applause.

  “Junior?” I choked.

  “Sure,” Miranda said. “They’ll show off the younger girls first. It’ll be adorable.”

  Ho. Ly. Crap.

  A parade of little kids, all primped and dressed up and made up like they were twenty-five, trounced across the stage, singing and dancing and generally making me want to heave. What was wrong with parents who would do this to their children? They should be doing Tess-type things, wrestling with Queenie, playing with kittens, and running barefoot in the grass, with their hair in tangles. Not prancing around like little prom queens.

  To keep myself sane, I glanced around the room. Lots of parents and grandparents, a few teens, organizers, and…Gregg. What was he doing here? He stood in the back, flanked by the same two goons I’d seen with him the other night, before Nick and I found Rikki. He was wearing his suit again, instead of the farmer clothes. His arms were crossed, and he was scowling. Until the emcee lady approached him. Then he was all smiles. They shook hands, and she gestured toward the judges’ table. Of course. Gregg had supplied Rikki’s replacement. The other “up-and-coming” vocal artist. I wondered just what she’d done to catch his eye, since according to Austin she recorded under a different label.

  I took a better look at her. Valerie Springfield. Not as homegrown-looking as Rikki had been. Her face looked almost sculpted, with perfect skin that could only come from a bottle. Her clothes fit a little too snugly, and her eyes held a hard shine not present in Rikki Raines’ photos. She sat back in her chair, legs crossed, expression unreadable as she watched the eight-year-olds pretend they were more worldly than they were. Or, at least, than they should have been.

  How much of a rival had she been for Rikki? Enough that she would kill Rikki to take her place? Not at the pageant, nobody cared that much about these things, did they? But at the record label. Or in the life of that zombie actor.

  I glanced at Gregg again, hoping to get another clue from him. But he wasn’t paying attention to Valerie, or the goings-on up on the stage. Instead, when the emcee’s focus left him, his eyes darted around the room, until they landed on Daniella. She didn’t see him, or the way his eyes burned as they rested on her. I was glad Mrs. Gregg wasn’t there to see the display. His attention eventually shifted to the stage, and finally to the judge’s table, where he watched Valerie watching the girls.

  The juniors finally finished with a group song and dance number, and the audience responded enthusiastically. Valerie responded by shifting in her seat and pulling out her phone. After viewing it, she glanced up and back, locking eyes with Gregg. He gave her a blank look, and she nodded, so subtly I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been watching so closely. She turned back toward the stage, gripping her pen so tightly I thought it might break and spurt ink all over her too-tight shirt.

  “Wasn’t that lovely?” The emcee was back up on the stage. “Let’s have another round of applause for our region’s Junior Lovely Miss Pennsylvania finalists!”

  Gregg took the opportunity to duck out of the building, which didn’t go unnoticed by Valerie. Her shoulders relaxed, and the pen became no longer in danger of its plastic life.

  “We will take just a short break now to get ready for our Lovely Miss Pennsylvania pageant. Feel free to stand up and stretch, but don’t go far! Our distinguished young women will be ready for your attention in five minutes!”

  The other two judges stood, and the tall woman strode away, while the man’s attention was captured by a round and well-dressed woman who shook his hand vigorously. Valerie stayed in her seat, her mouth tight as she doodled on a paper in front of her.

  Her phone lay on the table. What had Gregg texted to her? Was he giving her judging instructions? How could I get a look?

  A mother behind us tapped Nick on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but are you here as a scout? You just have to be in the modeling business.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, but no, I’m just here for a friend.”

  Her face fell. “You mean one of the girls?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is your daughter in the pageant?”

  “Oh, yes, she is. You’ll see her. She’ll be the second one. But you won’t need me to tell you. She’s the prettiest, and her talent with the baton is simply amazing, so I hope you—”

  “Excuse me,” I said, wrapping my hand around Nick’s arm. “But he needs a minute.” The pushy lady had given me an idea. I pulled him into the aisle, away from the woman’s ears. “You want to help me with something?”

  “Sure. What can I do?”

  I smiled and patted his rump. “Just be your gorgeous self, Babe. I want you at your most distracting.”

  He glanced down at his jeans and T-shirt. “Not exactly model material.”

  “Monster Mom thought you were. And I’m sure the lovely up-and-coming Valerie Springfield will think the same. Miranda? Hey.”

  She dragged her eyes from the stage, where pedestals were being lined up, for the finalists, I presumed. “What?”

  “Can we get your help?”

  She sighed. “As long as I don’t have to leave.”

  “Nope. In fact you can sit right there.”

  “Okay. I guess. What do you want me to do?”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “Pardon me.” Nick approached Valerie while I scooted around behind her. I could tell the instant she saw him, because her posture became suddenly straighter. It was like attraction vibes were going off like fireworks. Or bombs.

  “Hi,” she said. I guess even up-and-coming stars get speechless when faced with utter perfection.

  He smiled, which wasn’t exactly fair, putting that much wattage into it. “Hi. My name’s Nick. I was wondering…my sister’s a fan. Would you be willing to come say hello? She’s kind of shy, and I can’t convince her to come over and talk to you herself.”

  I know, it was a stretch. But why else would Miranda not have come along with her brother?

  “I’d be happy to.” Valerie oozed up from her seat—Nick had the jelly-legs effect—and took his arm. I didn’t attack her, for the good of the cause.

  Nick glanced back at me as they left, and I eased over to the table and slid her phone right off, into my hand. No one noticed. I hid myself in the corner, my back to the room, and touched the phone’s screen. The phone hadn’t gone back to sleep yet, so I was able to get right to the icons without inputting a password, which was a huge relief. I would have been totally screwed if I’d had to deal with that. But the icons. Holy crap, there were so many of them. What they all meant was a mystery. My phone is as basic as they come, no touch screen or fancy apps, so I had no idea which picture to push. I tried several before touching what should have been the obvious envelope icon, which I only then noticed, and the recent texts lined up on the screen. There had been several in the past few minutes—ah, the thrilling life of a young person—but Gregg’s wasn’t there, at least not by name. I scanned the list: Ashley, Marco, Mom, Sunny, Silver, Bee, and the list went on. Had she already erased it?

  I looked at the first text, which was a mishmash of misspelled words and punctuation. I wasn’t even sure what it meant. This Ashley person had to be one of her friends. Marco’s text was a plea to meet him that night at a club called the Roxxy, which I recognized as the name of a Philadelphia dance club I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Mom wanted to know if Valerie was coming home
that weekend. Sunny said—Wait. Sunny. As in Sunburst Studios? I’d found him. The text, which had been sent four minutes earlier and completely fit our timeline, said simply, “Do your job.”

  Her job? Other than being a country star? It seemed he’d stopped in at the pageant solely to give Valerie this message, because he hadn’t even stayed for the event itself. What was Valerie’s job? To rig the judging? To make sure a certain person won? Could she have that much sway, especially without making it completely obvious what she’d done?

  The microphone squealed, and the emcee said, “If you could please find your seats, ladies and gentlemen.”