Beauty Secrets Cozy Mystery Boxed Set 1

by Stephanie Damore

  It appeared that the investment firm only rented out the lower left side of the building. The other side housed a cigar shop, with a hat boutique upstairs. From the top window, it looked like headquarters for Mardi Gras. Bursts of red-and-silver sequined hats with purple-and-gold feathered accents glimmered in the sunlight, reminding me of Aria’s and my trip to New Orleans a few years back. Downstairs, the cigar shop’s perched-open door let the sweet smell of tobacco roll out and mix with the scent of honeysuckles outside. Now that was a scent they should bottle.

  I resisted the urge to go inside the boutique, and reached for the opposite door. Like the window, the initials SIS had been etched onto the door’s beveled glass. Below the initials, in the same gold lettering, were the words Solid Investment Securities. I had to look twice to make sure I read it right. Roger must have changed the word Siebold to Solid after Eric came on board. I made a mental note and cataloged the scent in case I ever developed my own beauty line.

  A brass bell fastened to a leather strap clanked twice against the top of the door when I walked in. The receptionist looked just as tart in person, with her designer summer suit, black-rimmed glasses, and blunt blond bob. She glanced up at my appearance and dismissed me just as quickly. This woman needed an attitude adjustment.

  Eric’s voice came from the door to my left, and I was thrilled that he was in. My hunch had paid off. I turned and found him in his office, looking as charming as ever. He was standing over an impressive desk with the phone in one hand and the receiver in the other, looking as if he’d stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. His suit was dark and his shoes were shiny. I had no idea where he’d learned to dress, but I was impressed.

  “Yes?” Tart asked me.

  “Me? Oh no, I see who I need. Thanks,” I said.

  “Mr. Perez is busy today and is not meeting with clients,” she snapped.

  “Well, good thing I’m not a client then.” Ooh, burn, I thought. I peeked my head back toward Eric’s office and caught his eye. He smiled and held up his finger, signaling he’d just be another minute.

  I don’t think he even made me wait a minute. It seemed like two seconds later, he was striding across the room to greet me. “Ziva, good to see you,” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Sorry for just dropping by,” I replied.

  “Don’t apologize, you’re always welcome. Step into my office,” he said.

  I resisted the urge to say “Ha!” to Tart and, instead, accepted Eric’s invitation. I followed him without a backward glance.

  Like the lobby, Eric’s office was full of dark-wooded and leather furniture. It appeared to have the original planked hardwood floors too; although, it was hard to tell, as most of the floor was covered by a large burgundy and gold oriental rug. The cognac set and a globe stand in the corner completed the room. Except for a small pile of papers on his desk, the office was clean and clutter free.

  “So, what can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Well, I saw you on the news this morning and heard you mention something about the police tracking a lead? I was just wondering what you could tell me.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” He twisted his lips to the side in thought for a moment.

  “Oh man, you mean it’s not true?” I asked. Crud. Maybe my trip had been a waste of time after all.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. They could be tracking a lead, but they haven’t said anything to me. I just threw that part in because I thought it sounded good, you know? Thought it might make the killer nervous.”

  I tried to hide my disappointment. “Yeah, that’s probably not a bad idea. So, no word yet?”

  “Not yet. I’ve called Detective Brandle a couple times, but he hasn’t called me back yet.”

  “Yeah, me either.” My faith in the detective slipped another notch.

  “Did you bring your binder with you?” Eric asked.

  “Ugh, no. I totally forgot. I was going to, but got sidetracked,” I said.

  “Bring it by next time,” he said.

  “Sure, and give me a call if you hear anything, okay?” I fished one of my cards out of my purse and handed it over.

  “Of course,” Eric replied.

  I felt defeated and really thought that meeting with Eric would’ve eased my mind or provided me some other clue, but it did neither.

  “Thanks. Well, I know you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to work.” I turned to walk out.

  “You don’t have to rush out. Why don’t you join me for lunch?” As soon as Eric asked, his phone rang.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. It sounds like you’re pretty busy, too,” I said.

  Eric ignored the phone and gave me his full attention. We stared at each other for a second, and heat rushed through my veins. He was intense.

  “Next time then,” he said.

  “Next time.” I waved goodbye and walked out.

  Eric’s eyes followed me as I left, and I tried not to smile. It was hard not to, with a man that good looking checking me out. It had been a while since I’d let any man in my life. Maybe it was time to rethink that.

  I left SIS and headed to the marina. Technically, I had work to do, like restock my beauty bag and clean out all last campaign’s catalogs; but first, I wanted to get caught up with Finn. I figured since we’d found Ann Marie’s body together, he was just as vested in this mess as I was.

  The marina parking lot seemed unusually full for a Tuesday afternoon. I parked in the back corner of the lot and walked in, looking for any sign of Finn. A gun-metal gray pickup truck was parked in the sun-scorched crusty grass alongside Murphy’s. I knew it had to be his.

  For all the cars parked out front, the marina itself was surprisingly empty. Well, I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise. People didn’t usually come to the marina to sit on their boats, especially on a gorgeous day like today.

  An old man with white hair and round-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, smiled at me from behind his newspaper when I walked inside Murphy’s. He looked like Geppetto from Pinocchio. I had to smile back.

  The old man folded the newspaper down on the counter and said, “Well, hello, Miss. What can I do for you?” I supposed something about my appearance told him I wasn’t there to buy bait or tackle.

  “Hi, I was looking for Finn. Is he around?” I scanned the store, but didn’t see him.

  “So, you’re the pretty little thing that’s been on his mind lately,” the old man replied.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I smiled and left it at that. Trust me, it was hard. I really wanted to ask more about Finn’s mind and what more “Geppetto” knew.

  “I’m Mr. Murphy,” said the man.

  “Oh, so this must be your place.” I extended my arms to sweep the entire area.

  “That’s right. Murphy’s been mine since 1969. Before that, it was my dad’s.” Mr. Murphy stared out the window. “And someday, it’ll be Finn’s.”

  “Oh, you’re Finn’s dad?” I asked.

  “Something like that,” Mr. Murphy replied. “He’s just docking up right now.” Mr. Murphy motioned behind him.

  I looked out the window over his shoulder and saw Finn tying off one of the charter boats. Just like the first time I saw him, he was shirtless and sporting a red bandana—a sight a woman could get used to. Damn. He didn’t have the style that Eric possessed, but he didn’t need it. I checked my libido before it got me into trouble, and walked to the cooler in the back of the store to get two Cokes. Mr. Murphy waved me off when I attempted to pay. “Looks like you know my boy. Don’t worry about those,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Go on. It looks like he might need your help,” he replied.

  I seriously doubted that, but I thanked him anyway and walked out.

  Finn was gathering up his gear on the boat when I reached him. Four men passed by me on the dock, already telling fish stories. You know, the type where the fish grows by the inch, and t
he fight lasts an hour longer with each telling. Never mind that they had all been there to witness it. The battle would be deemed epic by the time they got home.

  Finn glanced up at me walking down the dock, and did a double take. I waved with one of the Coke bottles in my hand and smiled, pleased, despite my best efforts to see the expression on his face.

  “Hey, Ziva, come on board,” he said when I reached him. Finn came over to the side of the vessel and offered me his hand for balance. I handed him one of the Cokes first and then took his hand and attempted to step on board. I was grateful for the assistance. There was less than a foot gap between the dock and the boat, but I was paranoid that I would slip and fall in. Luckily, that didn’t happen.

  As soon as I had my sea legs, Finn let go of my hand and went about clearing off a space for me to sit. Fishing rods stuck out of the boat’s side holsters, and two huge duffle bag-like tackle boxes cluttered the aisle way. To my left, the port-side rail had layered fish gills and blood stuck to it, making a macabre papier-mâché paste. It was disgusting and very un-girly. Fishing looked like a dirty business, and not one I was looking to get into. Beauty demos were way more glamorous.

  Finn removed a stack of bright blue US Coast Guard-approved floating cushions off one of the captain’s chairs. I searched the seat for any hooks or other nasty fishing things before taking a seat.

  Finn sat atop the back of the chair opposite from me, and threw his white shirt over his shoulder. I may have sighed.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked.

  “Not much. I was just out and about. Thought I’d stop by and see what you were up to.” I lied, and it wasn’t even a very good one.

  Finn eyed me for a minute, not believing a word I’d just said. “Really, is that all?” He twisted open the top of his soda and pressurized fizz hissed out. He took a drink and waited for me to say more.

  “Okay, you know that’s not why I’m here. I guess you could say I’ve been obsessing over all this and thought I’d come down and catch you up to speed. Well, and get your take.”

  Finn realized I was being serious. He glanced around the docks and then back over his shoulder. “I’m almost done here. Chris can finish up. You want to grab something to eat?” I honestly wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want to turn down two lunch offers in one day.

  Finn saw the look on my face. “How ’bout a drink then?”

  Now that was something I could agree to.

  8

  Finn offered to drive, and I hopped into the truck that I’d pegged as his earlier. His truck made my little pickup look silly. It was a “man’s truck” with extra-large tires, a top-notch sound system, and all-leather interior.

  Neither one of us said much as he drove down Highway 17. I wasn’t even sure where we were going; but if they served alcohol, I didn’t really care. A few minutes of silence was all it took for me to start thinking about the case.

  “So, what’s on your mind?” Finn asked, picking up on my train of thought.

  “Well, this morning I stopped by my client’s house, Mrs. J., and she was talking about Marion. Did you know they have a son?” I asked.

  “Who does?”

  “Exactly.” I kicked off my sandals and tucked my legs underneath me while continuing to talk. “So, Marion and Roger have this son, Philip, only Mrs. J. said the guys had a falling out awhile back, and they hadn’t been on good terms since. Actually, the two never got along.”

  “Wonder what the story is there?” Finn said.

  “Yeah, I wonder too. Mrs. J. actually didn’t know the details.”

  “Did you tell Detective Brandle about this?”

  “Haven’t had a chance, but there’s more. Mrs. J.’s convinced Marion and Dr. Michelson are also having an affair.”

  “Dr. Michelson? Wait, the family doctor? Really?”

  “Apparently. I mean, I wouldn’t blame her with having a husband like Roger, but not with Dr. Michelson. None of it makes sense. I keep coming back to it; but, if they were both so unhappy, why not just get a divorce? That’s the story I really want to know.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya. So, what’s your take on this Dr. Michelson? Do you think he did it?”

  “I hope not. The man’s been my doctor since I was a kid. I couldn’t picture anyone less likely to murder someone. Marion either, for that fact. They just don’t seem the type.”

  “There’s a murder type?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Love’s a powerful motivator. People do all sorts of crazy things in the name of love.” Finn smiled.

  “True, but it still seems pretty far-fetched. I’d really like to meet Philip, though, and get a feel for him.” I had already made up my mind to meet the guy, I just had to figure out when and where.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Promise me you’re not going to go off and meet up with him on your own. Please?” Finn pleaded.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on it. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him.” I smiled a little at his concern for me.

  Finn pulled off the highway and turned into a graveled parking lot. Bits of stone crunched under the tires, and a brown dust cloud rolled over the hood. Finn swung the truck around and parked beside the only two other vehicles in the lot. I surveyed the white, cylinder-shaped brick building in front of us for a sign, but all I saw was a faded beer banner advertising two-dollar drafts. That was good enough for me.

  Finn led the way to the windowless door, and I let him go in first. My eyes took a second to adjust to the dim light. It was like walking down into a basement—dark, cool, and damp. A row of dusty rectangular windows lined the wall below the ceiling, letting in enough sunlight for me to see the dust particles floating in the air.

  Laughter drew my attention over to the bar, where two old men were talking up the young bartender like I’m sure they did every day. She didn’t seem to mind though. The megawatt smile she wore never left her face. From the looks of it, she was used to dirty old men.

  We walked over to a four top. Finn pulled back a battered vinyl barstool and offered me a seat. “You want a beer?” he asked.

  “That’d be great,” I replied while sitting.

  “Hey, Kat, two drafts, and make ’em tall,” Finn hollered over his shoulder.

  “Sure thing, Finnie. You want me to turn the game on?” she asked.

  “No, that’s okay. Thanks though,” Finn replied.

  “Let me know if you change your mind,” she replied.

  Finnie? If you asked me, the bartender looked a little young for Finn to be hooking up with, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

  I scanned the photos on the brown wood-paneled walls. There wasn’t anyone famous, just collages of local faces celebrating good times. Nothing about the bar’s beer signs and scratched hardwood floors were fancy. The place didn’t have a dance floor, Keno, or music. From the smell of it, there was only bar food and alcohol. Really, what else did one need?

  Kat dropped off our beers, along with a can of Coke. “For the road,” she said when Finn looked up. The jealous vibe rolling off Kat was strong. Maybe Finn should’ve thought twice before bringing another girl into Kat’s territory. I ignored the comment and looked down at the plastic menu that also served as the placemat, until she walked away.

  “You know how much sugar’s in that can?” I tried to hide the annoyance in my voice, but I was really uncomfortable in that moment.

  “We all have our vices,” Finn said with a smile, but pushed the can aside. It was stupid, but the simple action made me feel better. Finn laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You,” he replied. “Kat’s my kid sister.”

  Oh. Was I really that transparent? I laughed at myself. “Well, that was very nice of her then. I’d hate to be stepping on another girl’s toes,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, there’s no one else’s toes to be stepping on,” he said with an intense smile.

  Oh great, now we were talking in code about Fin
n’s relationship status. Gah. I had to admit, though, it was nice to know he was single.

  The smell of the fryer heating up made my stomach gurgle, and my thoughts shifted. I was glad we had stopped somewhere that served food. Next to the ads for pest control and plumbing, was a myriad of choices—everything fried—from okra and pickles, to battered mushrooms and jalapeno poppers. I skipped the small stuff and copied Finn, going with the fish and chips when Kat came back for our order.

  We both took long swigs of our beers and contemplated the case. My mind filed through the list of suspects, each one as improbable as the next.

  “What about the mistress? asked Finn, picking up our earlier conversation.

  “Ann Marie? What about her?” I asked.

  “Do you think she’s the reason they’re both dead?”

  “Yeah, I thought about it. It’s worth looking into, don’t you think?”

  “I agree,” replied Finn.

  “You want to go with me to check out the clubs?” I asked. I was hoping a former patron or coworker could provide a detail or two we were missing, add another piece to the puzzle, or a suspect worth checking out.

  “When were you thinking of going? Tonight?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t planning on it but sure, why not? The sooner the better,” I said.

  “How about nine o’clock? We can meet up at the marina,” he offered.

  “Yeah, that works for me.” And it would give me plenty of time to figure out what questions to ask and, more importantly, what to wear.

  Talk about a tricky wardrobe situation. Dress too provocatively, and you’re sure to garner the wrong kind of attention; dress too conservatively, and you look like you’re judging. The key was balance, and I found it with a cute pair of jean shorts, strappy sandals, and an off-the-shoulder black shirt. The look said I have style not I give lap dances. Finn was waiting outside Murphy’s when I pulled up, and I motioned for him to get in.

  “Any idea what club she worked at?” I asked as he got situated.