The Beauty Queen
by Terry Wright
Young girls parading across the stage sent chills down Sandy’s
spine, the excitement of the beauty pageant running through her blood like
wildfire. It had been five long years since she’d attended one of these affairs,
but the lure had become too strong to ignore any longer. Her tragic past had to
be put behind her.
Standing just
offstage near the podium, she could smell a mix of perfumes, feel the thunder of
applause and the heat of stage lamps.
Mr. Shepler,
the pageant’s aging announcer, read the names of this year’s contestants for
Little Miss Arkansas, six to eight year old girls, primped to perfection,
wearing flowing gowns and makeup and strutting a somewhat awkward but practiced
gait. When he finished, the girls stood together for pictures. He turned to
Sandy, standing just behind the curtains. “It’s good to have you back.”
“I’m a little
nervous.”
“I remember
when you were up there,” he said as cameras flashed. “You were nervous then,
too.”
“A lot has
happened since then.”
Mr. Shepler’s
eyes saddened. “It must’ve been horrible losing your daughter that way. She was
destined for stardom.”
“Like I
was—once.”
He looked up,
eyebrows arched. “Victor’s been good to you, I trust.”
She didn’t
answer him, but scanned the girls, their bright smiles and nervous twitching.
Some were better poised than others, the result of constant prodding from their
mothers, mothers insistent on winning, mothers who chose to live vicariously
through their daughters. Mothers like Sandy.
“He didn’t
want me to come here.”
“I should
think not.”
Sandy pushed
back a lock of flowing black hair. “Beauty pageants have been a big part of my
life, a lot of what made me who I was back then, before Renee died. I have to
put my life back together and go on. He doesn’t understand.”
The
photographers finished.
“Excuse me.”
Mr. Shepler quickly returned to the podium. “Ladies and Gentlemen. You have met
the contestants. Please wish them well.”
The audience
applauded.
Again, Sandy
looked over the faces of those little girls, their bright eyes glistening in the
lights. They were so…
As her eyes
fixed on a little blond girl, the blood suddenly rushed to Sandy’s head. Her
next breath came in a rush. Though she was standing in the shadows behind the
curtains, she thought the child’s eyes were locked on her, staring pleadingly as
if the rest of the place was vacant. Those big blue eyes, her long blond hair
cascading over her shoulders, her lips painted red: how could it…? My God.
Renee.
As suddenly as
she came to that realization, a horrible stench filled the air, a smell of decay
that made her stomach turn sour and nearly revolt. Then she felt a presence, a
kind of pressure on her chest. Looking right, she saw an old man standing next
to her, someone she hadn’t heard approach and his sudden appearance gave her a
fright. She stepped back, aghast.
Tipping his cowboy
hat, a flurry of dust swirled from his long brown coat. His face looked sickly
pale, his cheeks sunken and weathered. Scraggly gray hair hung down to his
shoulders. He looked out of place at this formal affair.
Sandy gagged.
“Go away!”
“Didn’t mean
to startle you, ma’am,” he said in a voice like sandpaper. “Name’s Justin
Graves. But you can call me Justice.” He extended a bony hand.
She wouldn’t
give this old bum a split second of her time. It was beneath her high society
constitution to even converse with the likes of him. She looked again at the
child resembling her dead daughter. Who could she be?
“Pretty thing,
isn’t she,” Justice said. “Her name is Suzie May.”
Forgetting her
social status, “How would you know?” Sandy barked at the old man, irritated that
this unsightly creature would even look upon a child so beautiful.
“She’s an
orphan.”
“Are you her
kin?”
With cold gray
eyes, Justice looked at Sandy harshly. “I’m her friend. She has no family but
desperately wants one.”
“Why are you
here?”
“Same reason
as you—for the beauty queen.”
Sandy folded
her arms across her chest and stuck her nose in the air. “I suggest you leave
before I call the authorities.”
“I’m a
homicide detective. Is that enough authority?”
“I’ve had more
than my share of homicide detectives.”
“I know.
That’s why you won’t call anyone.”
Staring at the old man, she found it hard not to vomit from the looks and smell of him. “What do you want?”
“Justice for
Renee.”
“An intruder
killed her.”
“That’s not
what she told me.”
Sandy turned
her head away. “You’re crazy, old man.”
“She told me
what happened in that house on Christmas Eve.”
“She’s dead,”
Sandy snapped, glaring at him now. “She couldn’t have told you anything.”
Justice opened
the flap of his coat, revealing rotted flesh, bleached white rib bones and three
bullet holes. “Believe me now?”
“That’s
disgusting. Has anyone told you it’s not Halloween?”
“The land of
the dead is a mighty big place,” Justice said. “Those who check in, never check
out. Some are there that shouldn’t be and some should be there that
aren’t.”
“What are you
getting at?” Sandy spat, wishing the old man would just go away.
From his dusty
pocket, Justice removed a silver barrette studded with red jewels. He held it
out to her in the bony palm of his hand. “Renee wants you to have this.”
Sandy couldn’t
breathe. Her daughter had worn that barrette on the night she died. It was the
one item of jewelry she was buried with. Sandy had clasped it to a lock of her
hair just before the coffin lid was closed and sealed. How had this filthy man
gotten it? She grabbed the precious barrette from his hand. “Where did you get
this?”
“Suzie May
needs a home, Sandy. You and Victor have the resources and power to adopt her.
It would please Renee if you’d let her wear that barrette.”
Looking again
at the child standing on stage, Sandy suddenly realized that she could have her
daughter back. Together, they could compete in the beauty pageants and maybe
even make it to the big one, Miss America. Suzie May could hold the title of the
beauty queen, a title Renee didn’t live to achieve. Sandy’s life would be
complete. She looked at the barrette in her hand and then at the old man who
claimed to have talked to Renee. “How is she?”
“She forgives
you.”
“And
Victor?”
“Never.”
Mr. Shepler
parted the curtain. “Come on, Sandy. They want you to say something.”
She looked back at Justice. He was gone.
“This
is Suzie May,” Sandy said, leading the child into the breakfast nook.
Victor
turned in his chair, looked the girl up and down, and then went back to his
morning paper, the financial section. His status as President and CEO of
Brandish Microwave had put him in an enviable position, giving him access to the
corporate elite, the Mayor’s office and even a few State Senators. He had
learned several years ago that knowing the right people could come in handy. His
high social status meant being invited to all the right parties where he could
hobnob with the powerful people in his community, the lawmakers and politicians
that gave a person rank just by knowing them. This connection also afforded him
an upper hand in the business world and kept the money rolling in. Last thing he
needed was another child in this house, especially someone else’s. “Take her
back to the orphanage.”
“But
you said…”
“I
said I’d meet her.”
Suzie
May climbed into a chair next to him, put her elbows on the table and her chin
in her hands. Batting her eyelashes she asked, “Why don’t you like me?”
Victor
looked up from the paper. He couldn’t believe the resemblance, almost a perfect
look-alike to Renee, a slightly different curve to her ears, a brighter smile.
“I like you just fine.”
“But
not as much as her?”
“Who?”
“Renee.”
Victor
looked accusingly at Sandy. “What have you told her?”
“I
want to adopt her,” she said.
“Are
we going to take in stray dogs, too?”
“I
need her.”
“You
need what she can give you,” Victor said, folding the paper. “The answer is
no.”
Sandy
leaned on the table and whispered. “I’ll tell.”
His
stomach cramped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’m
bored, Victor.”
“You’ll go to jail.”
“And
so will you.”
“Would
you ruin everything?”
“How
many years must I endure this isolation? It’s time to get on with my life. Suzie
May is my only hope. She’s bright and cheery…”
“And
smart,” Suzie May injected.
“And
she needs me as much as I need her.”
“No.”
“Then
I’ll ruin you, Victor.”
“You’ll do as you’re told.”
“I
shouldn’t have listened to you.”
“If
you hadn’t…”
“I
want Suzie May to live with us. If I can’t have her, I’ll see to it you lose
everything.”
Six
months had passed. Sandy’s high society lifestyle was now in full swing.
Preliminary competition on the local level had brought Suzie May up on the
registry as a serious contender for the beauty queen’s crown. Victor hadn’t
spoken with her much, kept his distance, a situation Sandy had accepted and
preferred.
For
the first time since Renee’s death, the Brandish mansion was aglow with
Christmas lights. Harry Tilden, a hoggish man with a long white beard and Santa
costume, passed out presents to children bussed in from the orphanage. Victor
snapped photos of the whole affair, all with Suzie May as the center of
attention. Her laughter haunted him. He downed another rum-laced eggnog.
“Go
easy on that stuff,” Sandy said and knelt beside Suzie May and her friends for
another picture.
Victor
aimed the camera. “It’s your party,” he said and pushed the
shutter button.
“Ho.
Ho. Ho,” Harry chimed.
The
children squealed.
Victor
sat back in the easy chair, his eyes on Suzie May, this unbelievable child with
all Renee's wit and charm , vibrantly alive on this Christmas Eve, as happy as
his daughter had been. Wearing a red and green dress that sometimes exposed her
panties, her eyes often made contact with his and set his heart to racing. That
yearning in him began to rise, that terrible secret he had kept from the world
and from Sandy for the longest time. He threw down a glass of rum straight up
and closed his eyes.
When
he awoke, the house was dark, except for Christmas lights blinking around the
window. Victor looked at his watch. The glowing dial read 2:00 AM.
He got
up and somewhat drunkenly walked down the hallway toward his bedroom. Noticing
Suzie May’s door slightly ajar, he stopped short and grabbed the doorknob. But
before closing it, he peeked inside. By the dim streetlight, reflecting into the
window through a haze of falling snow, he could see her lying on her back,
spread-legged, the sheet covering only one foot, her nightgown hiked to her
waist, her panties glowing. He looked out the window again, completely confused.
A white Christmas in Arkansas—how could that be? It was coming down like a
blizzard. Thinking she’d freeze uncovered like that, he stepped into her room
and tiptoed to the bed.
But
before he pulled the sheet over her, he stood there a moment, watching her
breathing peacefully. A silver barrette in her hair sparkled with red jewels.
That wonderful feeling inside him welled up, a desire he couldn’t control. Ever
so gently, he put his hand on the inside of her thigh.
Her
eyes popped open. “Not tonight, Daddy. Please don’t make me.”
“Hush,” he said, wondering why she had called him Daddy. “You’ll wake
your mother.”
“But
it hurts when you do that.”
“I’ll
be gentle.” He took off her panties and touched her private place. She tensed.
“Please don’t.”
“YOU
BASTARD!” Sandy’s voice screeched through the room as the lights came on. She
stood in the doorway with a golf club, his favorite long-range job, clutched so
tightly in her hands her knuckles were white. “GET AWAY FROM HER!”
She
lunged forward, swinging the club. Victor ducked out of the way. The club came
down on Suzie May’s skull with a crack. Her body went into spasms, her legs and
arms flailing uncontrollably.
“Oh my
God! Look what you made me do!” Sandy cried out, dropped the golf club, and
rushed to her adopted daughter, who had suddenly fallen limp. Clutching the
child, she looked up at Victor. “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
“I
only touched her,” he said, backing away. “But you killed her. They’re going to
lock you up for life this time.”
“It
was an accident,” Sandy wailed as she hugged the dead little girl to her breast.
“My God. I didn’t mean to. It was you—you made me do this. Christ! It’s
happening all over again.” She cried hysterically. “But this time they’ll
understand—when I tell them you’re a pervert.”
Victor
couldn’t tolerate talk like that. He was rich and powerful, had friends in high
places. If word got out he was a pedophile, a child molester, he’d be ruined.
Nobody of any importance would associate with him, ever again. There’d be jail
time, too—humiliation and degradation. He couldn’t let that happen. He’d beaten
the system once before; he’d beat it again.
Stepping forward, he put his hands on Sandy’s trembling shoulders as she
hunkered over the dead child, weeping. “You’re not going to tell them anything,
you hear? Besides, they won’t care. You killed that little girl, just like you
killed your own daughter.”
“I
meant to kill you,” she wheezed. “Both times!”
“I’ll
tell them you went berserk. They’ll probably execute you this time.”
“E-execute me?” Sandy stuttered.
“I
don’t want to see that happen.”
“They
can’t.” She hugged the lifeless child.
“Yes,
they can. Everything will be ruined.”
“You
deserve it!” she snarled.
“And
you don’t?”
“She
looked up, tears streaming down her face. “What am I going to do?”
“I can
fix this.”
“Like
before?”
“Leave
it to me.” Victor wiped blood off the golf club and returned it to the caddy in
the hall closet. Downstairs in the basement, he jimmied the latch on a window
and toppled over some boxes. Now it would look as if an intruder had entered.
But he still couldn’t believe all the snow on the ground.
From
around one of the boxes, he removed a rope. He could tie it around Suzie May’s
throat to make it look like the intruder had strangled her. From a shelf, he
grabbed a roll of duct tape, which he could put over her mouth to make it look
like she was kept quiet that way. He found the camera and removed the film,
destroying their Christmas memories, memories destined only to haunt them.
He
thought he could fix things just like last time, that Christmas Eve when Sandy
accidentally killed Renee. It had happened the same way, in another city, a
place he had almost forgotten. But he’d learned some valuable lessons back then.
Now, he planned to make another false trail, send the police on a wild goose
chase again. They’ll find a ransom note and wait for the kidnappers to call. In
the meantime, he’ll pretend to discover Suzie May’s body in the storage room,
carry her upstairs, distraught, take the tape off her mouth, the rope from her
neck, give her mouth to mouth resuscitation, get his fingerprints all over
everything and contaminate the crime scene, right in front of the police. Then,
with his power and influence, he would block any attempt the investigators made
to interview him and Sandy. They could get away with it again. He was sure of
it.
Rushing upstairs to Suzie May’s room, he discovered it empty. In panic, he
searched the house, finally finding them in the bathroom. Sandy, grief stricken,
was bathing Suzie May in the tub, talking to her as if she were still
alive.
“Get
hold of yourself, Sandy.”
“I
can’t do this,” she said, crying as she shampooed the dead girl’s hair. “They’ll
know we lied again. We can’t get away with this twice.”
“I
made it look like an intruder got in.”
“I
can’t believe this is happening.”
“You
shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“Why
couldn’t you keep your filthy hands off her?”
“How
the hell did you know I was in her room?”
Sandy
sniffled. “Something woke me,” she said through flowing tears. “The golf club
was in my hand. I heard whispering in Suzie May’s room. It all seemed so
familiar.” Sandy rinsed Suzie May’s hair, careful to keep her face out of the
water. “There’s something wrong about all this. Don’t you see? It’s snowing
outside, for Christ’s sake. It’s Christmas Eve and there’s another dead child in
our house. How…? Oh God!” She looked at Victor with wide eyes. “I wonder if the
old man had anything to do with this.”
“What
are you talking about?”
“The
man at the beauty pageant.”
“I
told you to stay away from there.”
“But
he said he talked to Renee.”
“He
must’ve been drunk.”
“He
was old and scary and smelled awful. I tried to get rid of him. But he gave me
that.” She pointed to the barrette, setting on the edge of the tub. “I’d put it
in Renee’s hair before we buried her.”
“How’s
that possible?”
Sandy
bawled. “He said—he said she forgives me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No,
Victor! You’re ridiculous! Your goddamned sick mind screwed up our lives. Now
two little girls are dead and we have to go through it all over again, the cops,
the press, the lies. I can’t stand it.”
“You
better get used to it. I’m not going to let you ruin me. You’ll do what I tell
you, damn it!”
Without responding, she lifted the body from the tub, wrapped it in a towel, and
dried it carefully. “God—I loved her so much.” After drying and brushing Suzie
May’s hair, Sandy slipped a clean nightgown over the dead beauty queen’s head,
much like a child would dress a doll, struggling to get her arms in the sleeves
and the bow tied just right. With the silver barrette finally in place, she took
the limp child in her arms. “We’re ready.”
With
rope and tape in hand, Victor followed Sandy downstairs to the storage room
where she laid Suzie May on a stack of boxes. He tied the rope around her neck,
tightly, then ripped off a length of duct tape a placed it over her mouth.
Stepping back, he said, “Let’s go. You’ve got a ransom note to write.”
They
locked her in darkness.
Detective Millard wasn’t comfortable with these high profile cases, rich parents
with a kidnapped child: a beauty queen, a celebrity at seven years old. But he’d
secured the crime scene, kept the parents in the kitchen, drinking coffee,
nervously watching the phone, hoping it would ring with news from the
kidnappers. He’d examined the handwritten ransom note, the strange amount
requested for the exchange, the militant group he’d never heard of. The block
letters looked deliberately distorted, drawn awkwardly, as if by a kindergartner
but with more control. Bizarre.
And if
that wasn’t strange enough, last night’s freak snowstorm had left Little Rock
crippled, traffic snarled, roads clogged with vehicles stuck in knee-high
drifts. There wasn’t a snowplow to be found for hundreds of miles. Still, the
media had managed to get through, their vans now lining the street, their
reporters pressing against the yellow-tape barrier, microphones extended to
anyone who would talk to them. TV cameramen stood ready. Victor Brandish was big
news, again.
Finally, the FBI arrived. A bulky agent with a few sidekicks approached Millard.
“Bruce Sorenson,” he said, displaying his badge. “What do you have?”
Standing in the living room, Millard briefed him.
“How
did the intruder get in?” he asked as he inspected the ransom note
skeptically.
“The
basement window was jimmied, but there were no footprints outside in the
snow.”
“How
about the front door?” Sorenson asked. “Any footprints on the sidewalk?”
Officer Neils stepped forward. “None, sir. I was first on the scene, ankle-deep
in snow getting to the front door.”
“We
did a thorough walk around,” Millard said. “Snow still on the fences, and like I
said, no tracks anywhere. Pristine.”
Sorenson looked around. “That means she’s still in this house. Have you searched
every room?”
“Only
the girl’s.”
“Where
are the parents?”
“Right
here.” Victor Brandish entered with Sandy clinging to his arm, weeping, her eyes
red and her face wracked with grief. He seemed to be handling this crisis with
hardened composure.
“Let’s
have a look around,” Sorenson said to Victor. “Basement first.”
Victor
stammered. “Ah—okay. I’ll check the basement while you and your men check the
main floor and upstairs.”
“We’ll
stay together,” Sorenson said sternly.
“It’ll
go faster if we split up,” Victor insisted.
“What’s the rush?”
Downstairs, Victor showed them all three bedrooms, two baths, the rec room and
his workshop. “Nothing,” he said, knowing he had to be alone when he discovered
Suzie May. “Let’s check the main floor.”
Sorenson nodded, and heading for the stairs, stopped suddenly. He was looking
down.
Following the agent’s eyes, Victor’s heart skipped when he saw the silver
barrette on the floor, lying in front of the locked storage room, glowing like a
hot coal.
Sorenson picked it up carefully. “What’s this?”
“Suzie’s barrette,” Sandy said, earning an elbow from Victor.
“She
must’ve dropped it,” Victor said. “She plays down here sometimes.”
Looking around, “I see no child’s toys down here,” Sorenson said, his eyes now
on the door. “What’s in there?”
“It’s
just a storage room,” Victor said. “Besides, it’s locked.”
“Open
it.”
Suddenly, a stench permeated the basement like some kind of dismal fog. Victor
thought he was going to puke. He covered his mouth and nose and looked at Sandy,
who was also grimacing from the revolting odor.
“He’s
here,” she said.
A
raspy voice creaked through the air. “Open it, Victor.”
Sandy
put her hand on her heart. “It’s the old man.”
“Where?”
From
out of a dark corner, Justice appeared to them, his dusty coat drizzling debris.
“Open it!”
“Who
are you?” Victor said, Sandy now cowering behind him.
Sorenson
didn’t look amused. “I’ll break it down.”
“You planted
that barrette there,” Victor spat to Justice. “You set us up.”
“How dare
you!” Sorenson yelled.
“Not you,”
Sandy said, stepping around Victor. “It’s Justice Graves.”
“Who?”
“A dead
homicide detective.”
Sorenson frowned. “Are you people nuts?”
“He’s
right there.” Sandy pointed. “Can’t you smell him?"
“What
are you talking about?”
“That
barrette was in Suzie May’s hair,” Sandy said, her voice an octave higher. “He
must’ve put it on the floor so you’d find it.”
“Shut
up,” Victor barked.
“You
people better open this door,” Sorenson demanded.
Victor
glared at the ghoul, an apparition, ghostlike in form, transparent, wavering
slightly in the air. “You did this.”
Sandy approached Justice, covering her nose. “How could you?” she said, sobbing. “You let us kill that beautiful little girl.”
“I let
you do nothing,” Justice grated.
“Open
this door!” Sorenson yelled.
“She
was innocent,” Sandy cried. “She was a beauty queen.”
“So
were you, once,” Justice said. “Too bad you didn’t know when to quit. Don’t you
know you can’t live through your children? You’re supposed to live for
them.”
Sorenson kicked in the door. As soon as he saw the dead child, the rope around
her neck, the tape on her mouth, and the gash in her head, he fell back against
the door in shock. Victor rushed into the room to scoop her up but Sorenson’s
men stopped him before he touched her.
“Justice! I don’t know who you are,” Victor hollered as the agents cuffed his
hands behind him. “But you’re not going to get away with this.”
“Get
him out of here,” Sorenson ordered.
“I’ve
got connections! I’m rich and powerful!”
“Who
cares?” Sorenson said.
“So am
I,” said Justice. “I can make it snow…and…” He extended an upturned palm toward
the dead child. In an instant, Renee's transparent spirit rose from the body of
Suzie May.
“My
baby,” Sandy chirped.
“Look
at that!” Victor said, still struggling with the agents. “Look at that!”
“Somebody shut him up,” Sorenson said as he checked the child for any sign of
life. “Better call the coroner.”
The
ghostly child floated to her mother who tried to embrace her but only found thin
air. “Suzie May wasn’t real, Mother," she said in an echoing voice. "Justice
made her up, made her just like me so you’d love her. But you didn’t protect
her...like you didn’t protect me...from Daddy.”
“I
didn’t know.”
“You
only wanted me to be your beauty queen, like you were when you were younger. I
just wanted to be a little girl.”
“I’m
so sorry.”
“You
better be,” Sorenson said. “Cuff her, too.”
“Be
sure to tell them what happened to me, Mother.”
“I
will, honey. I will.”
“You’ll say nothing!” Victor yelled.
“Book
‘em. Murder One,” Sorenson ordered his men.
Renee’s spirit floated to Justice, who tucked the ghost child under his arm, her
barrette again sparkling in her hair. “I’ll take good care of her,” he told
Sandy as the agents took her away.
“I’ll
see you in hell,” Victor growled at the ghoulish detective.
“That
you can count on,” said Justice.
The
agents dragged Victor outside where TV cameras rolled.
With a
gust of wind, the ghoul was gone.
The End