“You don’t look like you believe us,” Delilah spoke up.
“I absolutely believe you. I’m trying to match it with what Gio told me.” On this, at least, she could be totally up-front with the women.
“You mean Gio signed one of those first contracts?” Marcie’s face scrunched with puzzlement. “I don’t remember her ever getting a contract related to the pageant.”
“I’m not talking about that, but there was one advertising deal that Gio landed years ago. I’m wondering if something at the Ms. Mustang Valley Pageant, or someone, forced Gio to begin an unhealthy pattern of behavior that led to her eating disorder.”
“If you’re looking for that, just look around, Bella.” Delilah seemed frustrated. “As much as Marcie said the pageants don’t care about that impossible beach-body look, Ms. Mustang Valley winners are always very thin and fit a certain profile.”
“Like what?”
Marcie nodded. “Yeah, Delilah’s right. I’ve never known anyone with an ounce of extra weight to win this pageant.”
“Yet they might win other Arizona pageants, but owe this pageant any financial gains?” Anger surged, making Bella hot and cold all at once. Was this why Gio had never treated herself after landing a lucrative contract that included her face on the bottle of a popular beach-hair-care product? Gio had won the contract from the Ms. Mustang Valley pageant the year she’d been a runner-up for the crown, before the MVCC scholarship had become the sole award. Had she not seen any of the proceeds? As her best friend, Bella felt she should know, but she and Gio didn’t talk about their finances much, if at all. Would Gio’s parents know?
The implication that Ms. Mustang Valley had contributed much to Gio’s pain was clear to Bella, but it still wasn’t enough for her report.
“If you’re trying to find out why Gio had an eating disorder, that’s complicated, honey.” Delilah spoke with authority. “I’ve been there myself, and trust me, it’s not a black-and-white situation. Sure, the pageant might encourage a smaller physique, but it always boils down to personal choice.”
“Does it, though?” Bella wasn’t going to let this sit. “Just as someone with cancer doesn’t have a choice about getting it, the person with the eating disorder doesn’t have a choice in how their brain chemistry works. If they’re encouraged to lose weight in an unhealthy manner, it can trigger a latent tendency.” Bella agreed, a
nd saw that combined with not receiving all the money due her from the hair product ad, Gio had myriad reasons to fall into a depression.
“Right. So how can you prove that the pageant caused anyone’s body dysmorphia or bulimia or anorexia?” Marcie stood. “We have to get back to the stage.”
Bella threw her napkin into her paper bag. “It just sounds odd to me, is all. That the contestants of Ms. Mustang Valley have a higher rate of reported eating disorders than any other pageant in the state.”
As soon as she spoke, she realized she’d gone too far. Either woman or both could easily see that she was investigating the pageant. Yet neither so much as batted a false eyelash as they made their way through the wide, dark high school corridors lined with lockers, back to the staff room and attached backstage. Bella supposed they were back in their mental game, rehearsing the dance steps and thinking about what they had to do next to secure the top spot.
They were near the last turn toward the staff room when a locker door burst open and a huge boom sounded with a bright white flash, reverberating through the floor and Bella’s feet, landing her on her bottom next to Delilah and Marcie, who had also been blown back.
Marcie’s scream sounded far away, more like a squeal, but with her ears ringing and almost blinded by the flash, all Bella could think about was getting away from the explosion.
“This way!” Delilah grabbed both of their arms, tugged them back, away from what Bella now saw was a large cloud. Too late, she realized it was more than an explosion—there was a cloud of something hanging in the air and her eyes began to sting. They’d been gassed.
* * *
Holden heard the explosion at the same moment he saw the locker spring open. He’d been trailing the women on their way back from the cafeteria, annoyed that Bella had gone so far away from the main group all for the sake of her story. Nothing was worth her safety, not when she was the target of a serial killer.
He saw the filmy cloud appear from the locker and immediately went into biohazard-emergency mode.
“Don’t breathe—hold your breath!” He did the same as he raced toward them, reaching the three just as Marcie’s body hit the deck. Bella had scrambled to her feet and begun to run away, along with Delilah, and he pointed toward the end of the hallway as he held his breath and threw Marcie over his shoulder. His eyes burned and teared but he had only to get them to the exit doors, approximately one hundred feet away, and out into the fresh air.
His entire focus should be on the safety of everyone but all he felt in the moment was relief that Bella was okay, or at least would be, once clear of the detonation site. He’d never had such a visceral reaction to a citizen he was supposed to be protecting before.
They barreled through the double doors and an alarm immediately sounded, which he knew would summon MVPD.
Marcie began to cough and sputter as he lowered her to the ground, and Bella immediately supported the woman around her shoulders, squatting down to Marcie’s level.
“You’re okay, hon. Let it out.” Bella looked up at Holden and he wanted to take the anxiety, fear and anger from her. But he couldn’t, no one could, until they found the perpetrator. He didn’t even know if this was the same criminal who’d attacked Bella, or if it was also the serial killer.
The case grew more tangled with each incident. Not unlike his feelings for the woman whose beseeching glance tore at his insides.
“Are you okay, Bella? Delilah?” He checked each response, and nodded at Marcie. “I’m pretty sure it was tear gas. You’ll feel better the longer you’re away from it.” As he spoke, he became aware of the hot sun beating down on all of them, the lack of breeze. “Let’s all move to under the stadium seating.” The rest of the pageant contestants and board were pouring out of the staff room. He suspected the gas was tear gas, from all the reactions so far. It’d be difficult for anyone but the US military to obtain anything more toxic. But he wasn’t going to allow anyone near the detonation site until he was certain.
“Over here, under the bleachers.” He called to them and motioned toward where the other three huddled, in the shade. Sirens sounded and he figured he’d have backup in another minute.
As the women headed toward the football arena he called Spencer.