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Monday trying to convince herself that her bluff would work. Nothing made people more nervous than the threat of a lawsuit, and Dundee's Department Store wasn't going to want bad publicity. But no matter how much she tried to encourage herself, she felt as if her dreams for their future were sinking right along with the Bobby Lee .

    * * *
    Monday afternoon arrived. Despite her mental bravado, Honey was nearly sick with nervousness by the time she located Monica Waring's office on the third floor of Dundee's. As she stood in the doorway and peered in, she saw a small room dominated by a steel desk covered with neat stacks of paper. Promotional posters and store ads were lined up on a cork bulletin board that hung opposite the office's single window.
    Honey cleared her throat, and the pageant director glanced up from her desk, which faced the door.
    "Well, look who's arrived," she said, slipping off a pair of glasses with large black plastic frames and rising from her chair.
    There was a smugness in her voice that Honey didn't like at all. The pageant director came around to the front of her desk. Leaning one hip against the edge, she crossed her arms.
    "You're not nineteen, Honey," she said, obviously seeing no need to beat around the bush. "You're a sixteen-year-old high-school dropout with a reputation as a troublemaker. As a minor, you have no legal authority over your cousin."
    Honey told herself that facing down Miss Waring shouldn't be any harder than facing down Uncle Earl when he had a few belts of whiskey in him. She walked over to the room's only window and, acting as if she didn't have a care in the world, gazed down at the drive-in lane of the First Carolina Bank across the street.
    "You sure have been busy digging into my personal life, Miss Waring," she drawled. "While you were doing that digging did you happen to discover that Chantal's mother, my aunt, Mrs. Sophie Moon Booker, is suffering from extreme craziness brought on by her sorrow over the death of her husband, Earl T. Booker?" Slowly, she turned back to the pageant director. "And did you also happen to find out that I've been running the family ever since he died? And that Mrs. Booker—who hasn't been a minor for a good twenty-five years—
    pretty much does whatever I tell her, up to and including slapping this candy-ass department store with the biggest lawsuit it's ever seen?"
    To Honey's amazement and delight, that speech pretty much took the wind out of Monica Waring's sails. She hemmed and hawed around for a while longer, but Honey could tell it was mainly bluster. Obviously, she had been instructed by her superiors to protect the good name of Dundee's at any cost. She asked a secretary to bring Honey a Coke, then excused herself and bustled off down the hallway. Half an hour later, she returned with several pieces of paper stapled together.
    "The producers of The Dash Coogan Show have very graciously agreed to give Chantal a short audition in Los Angeles with the other girls on Thursday," she said stiffly. "I've written down the address of the studio and have also included the information they sent me several months ago about the program. Chantal and her chaperon need to be in Los Angeles by eight o'clock Thursday morning."
    "How's she supposed to get there?"
    "I'm afraid that's your problem," she replied coldly as she passed the material she was holding over to Honey. "The pageant isn't responsible for transportation. I think you'll have to agree that we have been more than reasonable about this entire situation. Please wish Chantal good luck from all of us."
    Honey took the papers as if she were doing Miss Waring a favor and sauntered out of the office. But once she reached the hallway, her bravado collapsed. She didn't have nearly enough money for plane tickets. How was she going to get Chantal to Los Angeles?
    As she stepped onto the escalator, she tried to take courage from the lesson of Black Thunder. There was always hope.

    * * *
    "I