Chapter 2 - The Woman Rosie’s Mother Never Talked About
Hank took Rosie home before awards were announced.
He did not care whether she had been disqualified.
Rosie did.
For exactly eleven minutes.
Then she sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter eating vanilla ice cream while still wearing her pageant dress.
“Did I lose because you have tattoos?”
Hank stopped washing the spoon in his hand.
“No.”
“But Miss Victoria said girls with fathers like you don’t represent them.”
Hank turned off the faucet.
“Miss Victoria was wrong.”
Rosie stared into her bowl.
“She was nice to Madison’s daddy.”
Hank knew Madison’s father.
Bank executive.
Country-club blazer.
Perfect smile.
Victoria had personally escorted him to reserved seating.
“She was,” Hank said.
“She was nice to everybody’s daddy.”
Hank pulled out the chair opposite Rosie.
“Hey.”
She looked up.
“Sometimes grown-ups decide what somebody is like before they know them.”
“Because of clothes?”
“Sometimes.”
“Tattoos?”
“Sometimes.”
Rosie considered that.
Then quietly asked, “Did Mommy know mean people?”
Hank looked toward the crown pin on the table.
“Probably.”
Lila had known plenty.
She had been stubborn, funny, organized to an almost frightening degree, and completely incapable of letting someone mistreat a waitress without saying something.
But she had never talked about Victoria Blake.
That bothered him.
After Rosie fell asleep, Hank inserted the memory card into an old laptop.
It did not immediately reveal a cinematic collection of secrets.
Most files would not open.
Some were corrupted.
Several were spreadsheets with abbreviations Hank did not understand.
There were scanned bank statements.
Tax forms.
Donation reports.
Names of young pageant contestants.
Scholarship amounts.
At the top of one spreadsheet was an organization Hank vaguely recognized.
MIDWEST CROWN YOUTH FOUNDATION.
The nonprofit affiliated with Victoria’s pageant system.
Hank searched Lila’s email.
He had kept access after her death because there were still medical bills, insurance questions and family accounts tied to it.
Searching “Midwest Crown” brought up forty-seven messages.
Hank stared.
Lila had worked with them.
Not as a contestant.
As a volunteer bookkeeper.
Four years earlier.
One email from Victoria read:
Lila, please stop creating problems over timing differences. The money is all staying within the program.
Another:
You agreed we needed flexibility during the sponsor transition.
And another:
If you keep talking to board members independently, you are going to destroy something that helps hundreds of girls.
Hank leaned back.
He remembered that period.
Lila had been working evenings after Rosie went to sleep.
She said she was helping “a girls’ scholarship thing.”
Hank never asked much.
He had been trying to keep his repair shop alive after losing a commercial fleet contract.
Their marriage had been good.
But tired.
Money tired.
New-baby tired.
Two-people-trying-not-to-worry-each-other tired.
Then Hank found the last email.
From Lila to Victoria.
Three years earlier.
I won’t change another number.
Victoria replied:
Think carefully about what you’re admitting to before you threaten me.
Hank read the sentence twice.
Admitting.
Not accusing.
He opened another spreadsheet.
Several scholarship awards were highlighted.
Next to them, Lila had written:
POSTED BUT NOT PAID.
Another note:
VICTORIA SAYS HOLD UNTIL SPRING.
Another:
WHY IS EVENT RENTAL COMING FROM RESTRICTED SCHOLARSHIP ACCOUNT?
Hank felt his stomach tighten.
The crown pin was not just jewelry.
It had belonged to someone with access.
Someone Victoria apparently believed had taken information when she left.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
Hank almost ignored it.
Then answered.
“Hank Mercer?”
“Yes.”
A woman spoke.
“My name is Dana Ellis. I was on the Midwest Crown Foundation board with Lila.”
Hank sat straighter.
“How did you get my number?”
“Victoria called me.”
He looked toward the memory card.
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“What did she want?”
Dana hesitated.
“She asked whether Lila ever gave me copies of the scholarship accounts.”
Hank looked down at the pin.
“So she remembers my wife.”
“Oh, Hank.”
May you like
Dana’s voice changed.
“She remembers exactly who Lila was.”
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