I went to my bed early that night, feeling as if I'd been run over by a steamroller. LuAnne had weighed on my mind all afternoon, and even the chatter and laughter of the contestants had not distracted me for long. All I could think about was what LuAnne might be spreading around town, to say nothing of wondering where Sam and Little Lloyd were and what they were doing. It had not been a pleasant day, and the night wasn't shaping up to be any better.

I'd missed Sam when he was upstairs in Coleman's room, but that didn't compare to the emptiness I felt with him away and gone who knew where.

When the phone rang, I snatched at it, my heart speeding up a notch. "Sam?"

"Hey, sweetheart. How're things going?"

"Awful. You won't believe what's happened now. LuAnne all but guessed, and she suspects the worst. She accused us of just living together, Sam, simply because it's not convenient for us to attend a reception in our honor."

"Now, Julia," he said, in that placating tone that infuriated me. "She can guess and suspect all she wants, but that doesn't change anything."

"Well, I tell you what's a fact. I want something changed. I'm tired of living like this, not knowing if I'm Julia Murdoch or Julia Springer, which, by the way, she called me. So what have you found out, and when will you be home, and where are you now?"

"We're in Pigeon Forge at the Ramada Inn. I'll go to the Wedding Ring Chapel in the morning and see those folks. Then I thought we'd spend a little time at Dollywood-"

"Dollywood! Sam, we don't have time for playing around. You have business to attend to, and you ought to stay at it."

"Julia, I have Lloyd with me, remember?" He stopped, and I realized that the child was hearing every word Sam said.

"Well, yes," I said, toning myself down. "I guess he wouldn't understand if you got that close to a theme park and didn't visit it. But, Sam, please don't fiddle around too long. We need to get this matter settled. Because, I'll tell you another thing, the longer it drags on, keeping me in a state of constant anxiety, the less I'm thinking that being married is worth all the trouble."

"Don't say that, sweetheart. You'll break my heart."

"Then get a move on." I just had absolutely no sympathy for people who say they want something, yet won't move heaven and earth to get it.

Sam's soft laughter came over the line, and he said, "I have a plan, Julia. After Lloyd goes on a few rides, we'll head on to Nashville. I've finally made contact with Sonny Sutton's manager, and-"

"Sam, you don't have time to be chasing after singing stars. What are you doing?"

"Hold on, Julia. Sonny wants to talk to as many of us who had dealings with Kincaid as he can. Strength in numbers, I guess. Anyway, he has more resources than we have, at least here in Tennessee. I have an appointment with him, so I'll see what he's found out, and what he plans to do. From the way his manager talked, Sonny's mad as thunder and ready to take some kind of action."

"You mean, like a class-action lawsuit?"

"Well," Sam laughed, "if we could find somebody to sue, maybe so. But if I can't settle this business with Sonny's help, right there in the state capital, I'm coming home. Start thinking about where and how you want to get married again."

My spirits sank, for this was the first time that Sam had expressed any doubt about the legitimacy of our original wedding. Lord, we'd have to redo it in secret, for there was no way in the world I was going to make public the fact that carnal knowledge had already been had.

"I just want you home, and all this over. Two more days, and maybe . . . oh, but you can't come home then. You have to stay away through Saturday, or LuAnne will have my head."

He laughed again. "We'll find something to do until you let us come home. Now, you want to speak to Lloyd?"

Of course I did, and had a nice conversation with the boy. He was excited about visiting Dollywood again, so soon after sharing in our honeymoon there.

When Sam took the phone back, I asked, "Is Little Lloyd getting enough sleep? Is he eating right?"

"We're going to get a good night's sleep, and don't worry about his meals. We had corn dogs for lunch and hamburgers for supper."

"That is no way to feed a child, or yourself. Your systems will be all torn up if you keep eating that way. Find a cafeteria or something that serves vegetables. I want you both in good health when you get home."

"I'll take care of him, Julia. But I want you to stop worrying about us, and stop worrying about LuAnne, too. It's not worth getting all upset over something she might say, and probably won't. You and I know that we're married in God's sight, and that's all that matters."

"No, that's not all that matters. We may well be right in God's sight, although I have my doubts about that, but the people in this town don't have his vision."

"I know, and that's why I'm over here, miles away from you before we've celebrated our one-month anniversary. Now, Lloyd," he said, turning away from the phone, "I want you to cover your ears. I've got some sweet things to say that might embarrass you." Then he turned back to the phone and went right ahead and said them, disregarding the fact that any child will perk up as soon as he's told not to listen. But in spite of the fact that Sam had an audience on his end, I enjoyed hearing what he had to say ever so much.

We'd barely cleared the breakfast dishes, during which we suffered through the noisy arrival of the Pruitts the second day Sam was away, when Etta Mae Wiggins showed up. I wondered when the woman worked, since she seemed to be at my house every time I turned around. But apparently, her home visits to shut-ins and the elderly could be arranged to suit her personal schedule.

Hazel Marie spread her papers and folders out on the kitchen table. "Everybody sit down," she said. "There're some things we need to figure out."

"Hazel Marie," I said, "don't you think it'd be better to work at the dining room table? You'll probably be in Lillian's way in here."

Before Hazel Marie could answer, Lillian chimed in. "You not in my way. 'Sides, I like to hear what all y'all got goin' on. That YoShandra Washington, she in my church, an' all us gonna be there to see what she win."

"Oh, she's a beautiful girl," Miss Wiggins said. "All she needs is a good showing in the talent category, and she'll be a contender."

As Hazel Marie nodded in agreement, Lillian frowned and said, "Well, I don't know 'bout no contender, but she sho' know how to strut herself in front of that marchin' band. I jus' worry how she do without no band behind her."

"She'll be fine, Lillian," Hazel Marie said, shuffling through a pile of papers. "I need to get organized. I can't find a thing."

"Let me have them," I said, reaching for a stack. "And you go on with your meeting." She had the papers in such a mess that I wasn't sure I'd ever get them straight. But it gave me something to do.

"Oh, good," Hazel Marie said, pushing more sheets to me. "Well, here's the thing, Etta Mae. I'm worried about the girls' talents. We have an original dance, which could be awful. And a baton-twirling act that could set the place on fire, if the dance doesn't. No offense, Lillian, but we don't know how good Shandra Washington is with burning batons. Then there's Ashley Knowles, with all that hair and green nail polish, who says she's going to play the guitar. What if she comes out with some sort of heavy metal something that nobody'll like?"

Miss Wiggins frowned. "From the way she looks, it's more likely to be something edgy like grunge rock. We'd better head her off, Hazel Marie, 'cause, believe me, those judges won't go for grunge."

"What?" I asked, suddenly picking up on the conversation. "I know she looks unkempt, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her grungy."

Hazel Marie and Miss Wiggins stared at me, then looked at each other. Hazel Marie sputtered, giving Miss Wiggins an opening to laugh out loud. The two of them sat there, laughing their heads off.

"Oh, Miss Julia," Hazel Marie finally managed to say, "grunge is a kind of music. You know, the kind that Smashing Pumpkins plays."

"Well," I said with some asperity, "I wouldn't want anything to do with such as that. So I hope you put a stop to it before I have to listen to it." I went back to my job of stacking pages in order, trying to ignore their amusement at my expense. "You might not believe it, but I've heard about that so-called music, where bands throw things and break things and set off fireworks and I don't know what all. So, if that girl wants to get up there on stage and throw food and smash pumpkins, I say you ought to put your foot down right now. There're children all over the world who go to bed hungry every night."

Both Hazel Marie and Miss Wiggins laughed so hard they had to put their heads on the table. I didn't let it bother me. I know what's acceptable and what's not, even if nobody else does.

Miss Wiggins finally straightened up and wiped her eyes. Then she tried to make amends for her behavior. "You're right, and we'll make sure it doesn't come to that. Actually, I don't think Ashley'll do anything too in-your-face. She's so self-conscious, she can't even look you in the eye. Besides, she'd need a band to really get into it."

"Well, I for one," I said, "could do without any of that hip-hop music, whoever plays it."

Hazel Marie grinned, then consulted her notes again. "What about Bethany? A classical piece on the piano? I don't know classical from a hole in the ground, so I won't know whether she's doing it right or not."

"Oh, you'll know," Miss Wiggins assured her. "But the one that worries me is Tasha McKenzie. An original poem? With emotion and graceful hand gestures? Talk about awful. That could take the cake."

"That one worries me, too," I said, somewhat surprised to find myself in agreement with my rival. "The one you probably don't have to worry about, though, is the Peavey girl. If she can sing anywhere near as well as her father, she'll win the talent category. Don't you think, Hazel Marie?"

"Yes, I do," Hazel Marie said. "But here's the thing. We need to have a talent run-through. I mean, let's get the girls to meet us at the auditorium, and tell them they have to do their talent just as they plan to do it on the big night. That way we can see what and how they're going to perform, and if their choices are appropriate."

Miss Wiggins nodded, but her mind was on something else. "I tell you what, Hazel Marie, I'm worried about the Knowles girl. She is just pitiful looking, if she'd ever get that hair out of her face long enough to see her. She's going to need one heavy-duty makeover."

"I know," Hazel Marie said, hesitant, as always, to speak ill of anyone. "And I've been thinking about her. It'll take a lot of work to bring her out, and I think she knows it. That's why she's so retiring and all. She knows she doesn't stack up with the other girls. I just wonder why she agreed to enter in the first place."

"I can tell you that," Miss Wiggins said. "One of her uncles or cousins or something is a deputy, and he works the third watch. I heard he twisted a lot of arms till they made her their representative. She lives with her grandmother right across from me, and there're several uncles who really look out for her. And I'll tell you something else. I, for one, wouldn't want to cross any of them."

"She seems like a nice girl," Hazel Marie said. "But she's so shy, I don't know how she'll do in front of an audience."

"Well, that's her problem, not ours." Miss Wiggins twisted her mouth, then went on, "But if she can't do it, I hope she'll drop out before we get too far along."

"Oh, I hope she won't," Hazel Marie said. "We'll keep encouraging her, and maybe she'll surprise us. But back to the rehearsal. What we have to do is be honest, regardless of whose feelings get hurt. If we think a girl needs to pick out another song to play or sing, we have to say so. I just want this to be a real pageant, with beautiful girls and outstanding talents, and not some amateur night with karaoke."

"I don't know what karaoke is, Hazel Marie," I said, "but there's no way you're going to get around amateur night. Amateurs are what you have."

Miss Wiggins grinned at my comment, which I didn't appreciate. She said, "Well, you know me, Hazel Marie. I'll say what I think, and I, for one, am about ready to take Tasha McKenzie down. That girl is downright spooky. And the rest of them? They better start appreciating what we're telling them, since all we want is for them to do their best."

"I'm sure that's true," I said. "But what ought to concern you is that their best may not be very good."

"Well, then," Hazel Marie said with a sigh, "maybe the other categories will take up the slack. Talent only counts twenty percent, anyway."

"Why, Hazel Marie, it'd be awful if the winner only came up to eighty percent. Seems to me, anybody who wins should make in the nineties, at least."

A heavy clomping on the back stairs interrupted our discussion, as Willie Pruitt clamored into the kitchen.

"Whoa," he said, grinning his gap-toothed smile as he pulled up short. "Sorry 'bout that. Didn't know y'all was down here."

"Good morning, Willie," I said. "You're getting close to finishing up there, aren't you?"

I might as well have been talking to the wall. Willie's eyes lit on Etta Mae Wiggins, and there they stayed. He just stood there, breathing in and out, his carpentry errand apparently flown from his mind.

Of course, Miss Wiggins noticed it, for she lifted her chest, tightly encased in a pink T-shirt, to give him a better view of her attributes. Then she went so far as to swing around in her chair so he could see her trim ankles-one even had a bracelet on it, which he certainly noticed. Cocking her curly head and giving him a sultry look, she smiled right back at him. It may have been an unconscious reaction to an appreciative pair of eyes, but that just shows what kind of person she was.

"Ma'am," Willie said, nodding to me as he edged around the kitchen counter toward the back door, "I don't think I ever seen so many good-lookin' women in one place before. Y'all about made my heart stop."

Well, he may have said "y'all," which is always plural as any Southerner knows, but he was thinking in the singular. Miss Wiggins, to be exact, and she knew it. She gave him back, stare for stare and smile for smile, confirming my belief that she'd go after anything in pants. Not that Willie Pruitt was just anything. He was, in fact, a healthy, well-made specimen with an easy way about him, notwithstanding that missing canine tooth and the fact that he was covered in sawdust, splotched with paint, and about ten years younger than she was.

"Miss Wiggins," I said, seeing my chance to further the attraction. "This is Mr. Willie Pruitt, who is as fine a carpenter as I've ever come across. He has steady work and makes a good living. I'm sure you'll enjoy getting to know him. He's here every day."

There, I thought, as Willie grinned wider, stumbled over his own feet on his way to the door, and mumbled, "Glad to meet you." If that didn't get her sights set on somebody besides Sam, I didn't know what would.

Chapter 23.

After discussing the rehearsal longer than I wanted to hear about it, Hazel Marie told us about the advertising campaign she'd started.

"I'll pick up the tickets from the printer today," she said, "and drop some off at the sheriff's department and at several places downtown. Ads in the newspaper and on the radio are already running. Plus, I've got fliers and posters stuck in shop windows all over town. The girls need to pitch in and get the word out, too, so we'll have a big crowd."

"Let me take some posters," Etta Mae said. "I'm all over the county, and I can put them in stores out there. And sell some tickets, too. Some of my shut-ins and senior citizens will buy them."

"How're they going to get to a beauty pageant?" I demanded. I could picture Miss Wiggins wrangling a few dollars from elderly dodderers who didn't know the time of day, much less one contestant from another.

"Oh," Miss Wiggins said, airily, "I'll borrow a van and take as many as can get in it."

"Well," I said, somewhat taken aback, "that would be commendable." Then I sat back and kept my mouth closed. If Miss Wiggins was willing to pick up a van full of senile and disabled people, and get them to their seats, I didn't need to criticize her.

"Now," Hazel Marie said, looking straight at me, "I've scheduled the girls to come over first thing in the morning, one at a time, so we can prepare them for their interviews with the judges and for the questions the master of ceremonies will ask. Etta Mae has to go see a patient, and I have to check on the printer's, so would you write out a few practice questions?"

"Hazel Marie," I said, about overcome with exasperation. "You know I don't know what you want. What kind of questions, anyway? Somebody has to help me."

"I'll help," Miss Wiggins said eagerly, which was just the kind I could do without.

"I will, too," Hazel Marie said. "But I'd like you to make up some general questions that they might be asked. That way, we can see how they respond, and what kind of presence they have when they're put on the spot."

"Well, give me a hint of what you want."

"Oh," Miss Wiggins said, "you can ask about their ambitions and their platforms. You might include some questions on current events, too, though when I was that age I didn't listen to the news. Don't much now, either."

"Well," I said with a sigh, "I'll try, but don't expect much."

I spent the rest of the day writing out questions for the contestants, having no idea in the world what I was doing. And not much interested in the task, either. My mind was whirling with thoughts of LuAnne out there somewhere, telling tales right and left. Who knew where and what the gossip was at this very minute while I was trying to occupy myself with thoughtful questions for young women who didn't have a thought in their heads?

Hazel Marie answered the door the next day when Miss Wiggins rang the doorbell again, and there she was with Miss First Watch, Melanie Easley. We got ourselves settled in the living room, and Hazel Marie turned the proceedings over to me.

I took a deep breath, determined to take the pageant as seriously as I could manage. "First off, Miss Easley, I hope when you meet with the judges, you'll be dressed for the occasion. I don't want to be critical, but shorts and a halter top just will not do. You should wear a suit or a dress with a jacket. Think of it as a job interview, and remember how important first impressions are."

Her eyes wide and serious, Miss Easley nodded.

"Let's move on, then," I said, reasonably satisfied with her response. "We're going to pretend that Hazel Marie, Etta Mae, and I are the judges, and you've just come in for your interview. You must have good posture, so sit up straight and don't cross your legs. You should speak to the judges in a well-modulated voice-something like, How do you do? I'm Melanie Easley, Miss First Watch'-then take your seat in front of them." I turned to Miss Wiggins. "I don't think it's necessary for her to shake hands, do you?"

"No, it might be awkward," Miss Wiggins said, twisting her mouth in thought. "They may be sitting behind a table."

"Then let's get started." I took my seat between Hazel Marie and Miss Wiggins, so that the three of us were facing Miss First Watch. That made her the focus of our attention, which was the idea.

"Miss Easley," I said in a severe tone, "do you think it appropriate to involve yourself in something as trivial as a beauty pageant when there are homeless and hungry people on the streets?"

Hazel Marie cut her eyes at me, and Miss Wiggins turned to stare with her mouth agape. Miss Easley's eyes were going back and forth, trying to come up with an answer. Or maybe to understand the question.

"Uh, well," Hazel Marie said, "maybe we could change that to something like, What suggestions do you have for helping homeless people?' "

The rewording didn't seem to be of much help to Miss Easley. "Build more houses?"

"Let's try this," I said, somewhat taken aback by the reaction to my question, as well as by the answer to it. "If you win the title, what would you do to assist the sheriff's department in its public awareness program?"