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sister Mads called while I was driving to the convention center. “Are you
really going over there? I can’t believe they’re going to continue this
about the murder?”
told me last night when she got home. It’s awful.”
know how it is. The show must go on! Surely you can’t be that surprised.” I was
only beginning to understand the importance of these competitions to their
participants, and I could picture pageant moms dragging their glitzed-up
toddlers over the dead bodies of fallen competitors. The way zombies climbed
over each other to get to the top of the pile in movies—only prettier.
it was a murder? She didn’t just have a heart attack or something?” I could
hear the anxiety creeping into Mads’ voice, and I didn’t blame her. Our little
town was supposed to be safe. Murders didn’t happen here. That was the sort of
thing that happened in the city across the bridge, not in our sleepy little
they said, Mads, but I don’t think you need to worry. If it was a murder, you
can bet it was personal. Certainly not the doin’s of a mad man or a serial
killer. If Heather Morgan was murdered, it was by somebody who knew her and had
something to gain from her death. This was no a random act of violence.”
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