Chapter 2
The Woman Behind the Curtain
Arthur never finished his accusation.
Before he could name the person responsible, every light above the runway suddenly went out.
The theater plunged into darkness.
Someone screamed.
Glass shattered.
And then I heard Evelyn cry out.
"Maya!"
I ran.
Security guards shouted for everyone to remain seated, but the audience was already moving.
Phones illuminated frightened faces.
I pushed past a cameraman and climbed onto the runway.
"Evelyn!"
"I'm here!"
Her voice came from behind the judges' podium.
I found her crouching beside a fallen microphone stand.
Blood trickled down her wrist.
"What happened?"
"Someone grabbed me."
"Who?"
"I couldn't see."
She was shaking.
I helped her stand.
Then the emergency lights flickered on.
Nia was standing near the curtains.
Diane had disappeared.
And Arthur was lying on the floor.
"Arthur!"
I dropped beside him.
His eyes were open, but his breathing was shallow.
A deep bruise was forming near his temple.
The envelope was gone.
"The paper," he whispered.
"Forget the paper. We need an ambulance."
He caught my wrist.
"Find the original."
"I saw you holding it."
"That was a copy."
I froze.
"What?"
He struggled for breath.
"The real one is with someone I trust."
Before I could ask another question, paramedics rushed onto the stage.
They lifted him onto a stretcher.
I followed until a security guard blocked the hallway.
"Only family members."
"He was attacked!"
"Ma'am, step back."
I pulled out my phone and showed him the threatening message.
"Someone deliberately shut off the lights."
His expression changed.
"Where did you get that?"
"An anonymous number."
He called another guard.
Within minutes, two police officers were taking my statement.
The theater had become a nightmare.
Contestants cried in dressing rooms.
Reporters crowded the exits.
The broadcast had stopped without explanation.
And somewhere inside that chaos, Diane Whitmore had vanished.
Evelyn found me beside the backstage stairs.
Her injured wrist had been wrapped.
"I need to go home," she whispered.
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
She stared at me.
"Why?"
I showed her the photograph.
Her face drained of color.
"My mother?"
I nodded.
The picture showed a young woman in a silver evening gown, standing beside a much younger Diane Whitmore.
Behind them was a banner advertising the National American Beauty Competition of 2003.
Evelyn touched the screen.
"I've never seen this picture."
"Neither have I."
She enlarged it.
Her mother's name was printed beneath the photograph.
ROSALIND BROOKS — NATIONAL FINALIST.
Evelyn's lips parted.
"My grandmother said Mama never made it to nationals."
"Apparently she did."
Evelyn looked at the message again.
"Ask Diane about the fire."
Her eyes filled.
"My mother died in a house fire."
"I know."
"But that was after the competition."
I swallowed.
"Maybe those things weren't separate."
She pulled away.
"Don't."
"Evelyn—"
"Don't turn my mother's death into a conspiracy."
Her voice cracked.
"I just won something I've worked for my entire life, and I don't even know if I'm allowed to celebrate."
I reached for her hand.
"You're allowed."
"Then why does everything feel so wrong?"
I didn't have an answer.
A door opened behind us.
Nia stepped into the hallway.
Her crown was gone.
She had wrapped a black shawl around her shoulders.
Without the spotlight, she looked exhausted.
"Can we talk?" she asked.
Evelyn stiffened.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Please."
Nia glanced toward the guards.
"Not here."
I folded my arms.
"Why should we trust you?"
"Because Diane told me Evelyn had been disqualified for lying about her application."
Evelyn flinched.
"I never lied."
"I believe you."
Nia's eyes filled.
"She showed me documents. She said you had hidden information about your family."
"What information?"
"Your mother's pageant history."
The hallway went silent.
Nia continued.
"Diane said your mother was involved in a scandal. She told me the eligibility committee had removed you before the final judging."
I stared at her.
"And you never questioned it?"
"I did."
Nia looked ashamed.
"She threatened to expose something about my father."
Evelyn stepped forward.
"What does your father have to do with this?"
Nia hesitated.
Then she pulled a folded photograph from her purse.
It showed Diane with a handsome young man outside a hotel.
On the back, someone had written a date.
June 14, 2003.
"My father's name is Raymond Walker," Nia whispered.
"He worked security for the pageant twenty-three years ago."
I felt a chill.
"What happened to him?"
"He died when I was eight."
"I'm sorry."
Nia shook her head.
"No. You don't understand."
She turned the photograph over.
"Before he died, he told my mother that he had witnessed something terrible at the competition."
Evelyn gripped my arm.
"What?"
Nia began to cry.
"He said a contestant was supposed to win. But Diane wouldn't let her."
I looked at the photograph on my phone.
Rosalind Brooks.
Nia followed my gaze.
Her expression shattered.
"Oh, God."
Evelyn whispered, "It was my mother."
Nia nodded.
"I think so."
Before we could speak again, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman's voice whispered.
"Stop asking questions about 2003."
"Who is this?"
"Someone who knows what Diane is capable of."
"Then help us."
A long silence followed.
Finally, the woman spoke.
"Ask Evelyn's grandmother why she stopped looking for Rosalind's missing baby."
My stomach dropped.
"What missing baby?"
But the call ended.
I turned toward Evelyn.
She was staring at me.
"Maya," she whispered, "my mother only had one child."
I couldn't speak.
Because the caller had just suggested something impossible.
Something that could change everything we knew about Evelyn's family.
And when my phone vibrated again, the next message made me feel physically sick.
May you like
THE BABY DIDN'T DIE.
SHE'S STANDING RIGHT BESIDE YOU.
