Mama laid a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “It’s time to get back to what matters and not fool around with these stories.”

Ever since Ruth could talk, she had never been afraid of asking any question. Until now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN RUTH

CHAPTER NINETEEN

RUTH

Thursday, June 22, 1950, 11:00 a.m.

The next few days ambled along as summer heat took hold of the days. Carlotta rarely appeared before noon, and when she did, she had her camera with her. She was never shy about asking for a picture and yesterday had grouped Talley and Ruth with Dora, Jessie, and Bonnie. The mainland girls had been charmed by Carlotta’s easy manner and dutifully lined up, not a sneer between them. Next she’d turned her camera to the mothers sitting by the pool, and they, too, were delighted, each of them sitting up taller and thrusting out their chests slightly as they smiled. The evening shows doubled with each performance, and to accommodate the crowds, Mama placed all the restaurant chairs by the pool.

Ruth hadn’t found the courage to speak to Carlotta. She delivered her lunch each day, and they talked about Whiskey, her sketches, and Carlotta’s life on the showboat. But there’d been no mention of babies in pink blankets.

Now as Ruth stood in the towel hut, she watched Ann Manchester marching across the pool deck toward her mother and knew it was trouble. No one rushed toward Mama with such purpose with a compliment or a kind word. Ruth continued to fold towels but slowed her motions as she listened.

“Edna, I’m missing several pieces of jewelry,” Mrs. Manchester said. “I left them on my dresser last night, and they aren’t there now.”

Mama’s shoulders straightened as they did when facing a challenge. “When did you notice the pieces were missing?”

“When I woke up this morning.”

Mrs. Manchester had staggered away from last night’s performance early. It was becoming her nightly routine now that Mr. Manchester had arrived. He hadn’t followed her back to their room but continued to drink and watch Carlotta. “Are you sure you haven’t mislaid them?”

“I did not lose them. I put them in the same spot every night,” she said tightly.

This type of drama played out in different versions every summer. Missing watches, shoes, earrings, necklaces—people on vacation were out of their normal routines and made more mistakes than normal.

“Would you like me to help you search your room?” Mama asked. “I’m very good at finding lost things.”

“I’ve been through the room twice, Edna.” Mrs. Manchester’s tone tightened with each word.

“But I know the rooms very well,” Mama insisted. “I’ve touched every nook and cranny in the bungalows over the years. I can tell you where the floors creak, windows stick, and the door hinges squeak.”