'Tis the Season Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “I’m of half a mind to pack up and go home,” said Lurleen, as the doors slid shut. “This isn’t at all what I expected. I feel as if I’ve been put through the wringer.”

  “Mom was looking forward to some pampering and relaxation,” explained Faith.

  “You can say that again. Faith here is my oldest, you see. I’ve got six more at home.”

  “Seven children?” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up as the elevator landed with a thud.

  “And another on the way,” she sighed, stepping into the hallway. “I’m really looking forward to that massage they promised us, but I don’t think there’s time today since we’re all going to that TV show.”

  Lucy was consulting the agenda, wondering which TV show they were going to see, but the notation didn’t specify. “Maybe it’s the Norah! show,” she said, giving Elizabeth a nudge.

  “Doesn’t mean a thing to me,” said Lurleen. “I can’t tell one show from another.”

  “We don’t watch TV except for inspirational videos and Bible stories,” said Faith.

  Lucy glanced at Elizabeth, who was rolling her eyes as she pushed open the door to the beauty department. Inside they found three desks—small, medium, and large like the chairs and beds in the three bears’ house, only Baby Bear was occupying her desk.

  “Hi, I’m Fiona. Fiona Gray,” she said, jumping up and extending her hand.

  Lucy took it, finding it impossible not to smile at this bright young thing. Fiona had short, dark hair in a style similar to Elizabeth’s and enormous blue eyes, and she was dressed in a very short teal dress topped with a wide leather belt with oversized chrome grommets and buckle.

  “Welcome to the beauty department,” she continued, speaking in a crisp British accent. “According to the schedule . . .”

  Lucy was enchanted. Fiona actually pronounced it shed-yule.

  “. . . you must be the Edwards and the Stones and you’re here for make-up. Though I must say, you all look positively brilliant, and I can’t imagine what old Nadine, that’s Nadine Nelson, our beauty editor, can possibly do to improve you.”

  “Now, now,” clucked an older woman, entering through a door at the rear of the office, “there’s always something we can do.” She paused. “I’m Phyllis Jackson, the assistant beauty editor. Nadine left instructions for me to get you settled. She’ll be in shortly to supervise. Follow me.”

  As they trooped after her, Lucy noticed that Phyllis had a rather harried and disheveled air about her. Alhough to be honest, thought Lucy, she certainly looked better than the average woman in Tinker’s Cove, even with her smudged lipstick and worn shoes. It was only in the rarefied atmosphere of the magazine that you noticed that her olive green blouse didn’t perfectly match the acid green flecks in her tweed skirt.

  The studio looked like a beauty shop with mirrors, raised chairs, and a counter filled with every imaginable make-up product. Fiona flipped a switch and they were suddenly all bathed in bright light as they seated themselves. Elizabeth was goggle-eyed at the array of cosmetics, but there was no chance for her to get her hands on them as Phyllis tilted the chair back and started sponging her face.

  “Fiona, heat up the wax for the brows, and then you can start cleansing Lucy’s face,” she said.

  “Brows?” squeaked Lucy. “Wax?”

  “Trust her,” advised Fiona, raising one of her own delicately arched brows. “She’s a genius at shaping.”

  “It makes all the difference in the world,” said Phyllis. “Really opens up your face and makes your eyes look bigger.”

  “Does it hurt?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Like hell,” said Fiona.

  When they were through cleansing and waxing and plucking, Lucy had to admit they all looked improved, at least in the brow department. The rest of their faces were a bit like blank slates, however, awaiting the master’s touch.

  “She’s running late this morning,” said Fiona, speaking to Phyllis in a whisper. “I think we should start with the foundation.”

  “We better wait,” replied Phyllis, looking worried. “You know how Nadine is.”

  “I know,” agreed Fiona, “but the next group is due in less than half an hour.”

  Phyllis pursed her lips anxiously but was spared the agony of making a decision by the arrival of the beauty editor herself. Nadine Nelson thumped into the studio, trailing numerous scarves and carrying an assortment of bags including a purse (Louis Vuitton), brief case (Coach) and crumpled brown paper shopping bags (Bloomingdale’s and Schlagel’s Bagels).

  “I’m exhausted,” she said, dropping the bags on the floor and shrugging out of her mink coat. It would have fallen on the floor, too, except for Phyllis, who lunged forward and snatched it in the nick of time.

  “Still feeling poorly?” inquired Phyllis, draping the coat on a padded satin hanger.

  Nadine replied with a burst of coughing, and Phyllis proffered a box of tissues, which she waved away. Instead, she scrabbled around in her enormous purse, finally extracting an eye-catching gold compact lavishly decorated with colorful enamel in a pansy design.

  “Ghastly,” she said, flipping the compact open and peering into the mirror. She got to work rubbing the puff all over her face, and it wasn’t until she’d shut it with a click that she noticed the four makeover winners. “Cripes!” she exclaimed. “That damn makeover. We have them all day, don’t we?”

  Phyllis’s face reddened, embarrassed by her boss’s rudeness. “Let me introduce Lucy and Elizabeth Stone and Lurleen and Faith Edwards. We’ve cleansed their faces and shaped their brows, but we didn’t want to go any further without you. . . .”

  “I’ve got to sit down,” said Nadine, abruptly interrupting her. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”

  Fiona grabbed a nearby chair and shoved it under her, with hardly a moment to spare. The beauty editor sat, knees splayed out, amidst her pile of bags. She looked like an upscale bag lady, despite her expensive designer pants and elaborately beaded sweater. She bore a strong resemblance to the homeless woman Lucy had spotted sheltering in a doorway a few feet from the hotel.

  “Shall I start?” asked Phyllis, with a little bob of her head. “I mean, for Lucy here, I was thinking of that Bobbi Brown gloss, some mascara, but I think we should stick with a natural look she can maintain. . . .”

  “Did you see the Dior show? They used a lot of color,” said Nadine.

  “Actually, I didn’t. You went but I couldn’t get away. It was too close to deadline.”

  “It was war paint,” said Fiona, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Big jags of pink and green and yellow, smeared right across the models’ noses.”

  “I certainly don’t want that,” began Lucy, until she thought of the ten thousand dollars. “But, of course, I trust your judgment.”

  Lurleen, on the other hand, was determined to stick to her guns. “I’m for the natural look,” she said.

  “I don’t want a green nose, but I wouldn’t mind some eye shadow,” said Elizabeth.

  “Pink’s big this season,” observed Nadine, opening the compact again.

  “As eye shadow?” This was a new one to Lucy.

  “It would make you look like you’ve got conjunctivitis,” said Lurleen. “My three-year-old had it last week but, praise the Lord, I got it treated before it spread to the others.”

  “It was a miracle, that’s what Mama said,” added Faith, nodding piously.

  Lucy thought it would be more miraculous if the child hadn’t got conjunctivitis in the first place, but she was determined to be Miss Congeniality and held her tongue.

  “Glitter,” declared Nadine, patting yet more powder on her nose. “Glitter everywhere.” She stopped, powder puff in midair, and sneezed. The compact flew across the room and landed at Elizabeth’s feet, releasing a fine dust of powder that settled around it on the floor.

  Elizabeth hopped out of the chair and retrieved it, politely returning it to Nadine.

  Nadine didn’t thank her but inste
ad examined the compact for damage while continuing to throw out extreme suggestions. “Very, very dark lips. Almost black.”

  “Sounds great,” said Elizabeth, brushing a bit of spilled powder off her hands and settling back in her chair. “Bring it on.”

  “Me, too,” said Lucy, determined to play along.

  “Trust me,” said Fiona, spinning the chair so Lucy’s back was to the mirror and reaching for a brush.

  When they were finally allowed to see their reflections, Lucy was pleased to discover she still recognized herself. She even looked, she had to admit, improved in a subtle way, and she resolved to take a few minutes every morning to apply a bit of foundation and a touch of mascara. She always wore lipstick but she now realized she hadn’t been using the right color. The natural brownish gloss Fiona had applied was a lot more flattering than the bright pink she had been wearing.

  Fiona and Phyllis had released them from the chairs and were distributing pink-and-white–striped gift bags when they heard the voices of the next group in the outer office. Nadine ignored it, interested only in the contents of the bags.

  “What are you giving them?” she asked, pouting.

  “A nice assortment of basic cosmetics,” said Phyllis, practically cringing with fear. “It was all donated. Mostly Urban Decay for the girls and Lancôme for the moms.”

  “How come I didn’t know about this?”

  “You’d have to ask Camilla. She sent them down.”

  “Oh, all right then.” Nadine dismissed them with a wave of the arm, and they left the studio, but as the door closed behind them they could hear Nadine coughing.

  Ginny and Amanda were standing in the office, waiting their turn in the studio along with Maria and Carmela. If Lucy had any doubts that the make-up was a success they were erased when she saw Maria and Ginny’s reaction. Both of them looked as if they’d like to kill her.

  “You look fabulous, all of you,” cooed Carmela. “I hope they do the same for us.”

  “I was pretty worried for a while there,” said Lurleen, who looked years younger now that the dark circles under her eyes were hidden and her cheeks were rosy. “They were talking about giving us war paint.”

  Both Ginny and Maria seemed more than willing to don war paint, but before they could launch an offensive Lucy offered an olive branch. “They gave us gift bags,” she said, holding hers up.

  Lurleen also offered her gift bag for inspection, but the newcomers were quickly shooed into the studio.

  “Where to now?” wondered Lucy, pulling the schedule out of her bag.

  “Photo, again,” said Faith. “For after photos.”

  “Lord, give me strength,” prayed Lurleen.

  “Amen,” said Lucy.

  Chapter Five

  FOODS THAT ACTUALLY TAKE OFF POUNDS!

  When Pablo finally finished photographing their newly made-up faces, Lucy was tired and hungry. She never would have guessed that posing was such hard work and had new respect for the models whose pictures filled the fashion magazines every month. She also wondered how they managed to stay so thin since she had worked up quite an appetite.

  So far, she decided, the makeover had been surprisingly stressful. Like Lurleen, she had expected to be petted and pampered, but instead she’d spent the morning enduring Pablo’s egotism, Camilla’s abusive temper, and Nadine’s rudeness. Add to that Elizabeth’s determination to starve herself and the competitive atmosphere created by the ten-thousand-dollar prize and she was more than ready for a break. Fortunately, she’d arranged to meet Samantha Blackwell for lunch and was looking forward to spending a relaxing hour or two reminiscing about college.

  “It’s a working lunch,” said Elizabeth, reading from the well-worn Xerox schedule. “Deli sandwiches and a motivational speaker in the boardroom.”

  Lucy stopped in her tracks. “But I have a lunch date with Sam,” protested Lucy. The true horror of her situation was slowly dawning. “She promised to make her fabulous brownies for me, the ones with chocolate chunks, pecans, and icing.”

  “No way,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head. “It’s pastrami on rye with a big helping of team spirit.”

  “They’ll never miss me.”

  Elizabeth stamped her foot. “Mom! What about the contest? You can’t sneak away. You’ve got to participate to win. That’s what you’re always telling me. ‘Showing up is ninety percent of success.’ Right?”

  Lucy hated it when her kids quoted her own words back at her, but she knew Elizabeth was right. She pulled out her cell phone and called Sam.

  “I’m not surprised,” said Sam, when Lucy told her she couldn’t make it. “I figured they’d keep you busy. We’ll do it another time.”

  “When?” wailed Lucy. “It’s been more than twenty years.”

  “I know. It’s pathetic. But I have an idea.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Nope. It’s a surprise,” said Sam. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  * * *

  Nobody enjoyed the lunch. Lucy and Maria were the only ones who actually ate the oversized deli sandwiches which contained at least a pound of salty, highly seasoned meat. Lurleen regarded hers with suspicion, declaring she preferred white bread and mayonnaise to rye and mustard. Cathy followed the Atkins diet, eating all of the meat and none of the bread, and the others ignored the sandwiches entirely and nibbled on the pickles instead. The motivational speaker was a disappointment, too, offering a single message: You can choose to be happy or sad, so why not choose to be happy? She said it various ways, of course, but each rephrasing boiled down to the same idea. Most disappointing to Lucy, however, was the fact that none of the editors had bothered to show up.

  “I could have gone to Sam’s,” she complained, as they boarded the bus that was taking them to the TV studio.

  “Shh,” cautioned Elizabeth, as the editors began filing onto the bus.

  Lucy watched with interest as Phyllis followed Nadine, the beauty editor, carrying her assortment of bags like some sort of native bearer on a safari. She waited until Nadine had taken her place in a window seat and then arranged her bags on the seat beside her before leaving the bus. Phyllis wasn’t going to the show, and the other editors Lucy had met were also conspicuously absent. There was no sign of Pablo or the art director, Nancy Glass, or the accessories editor, Deb Shertzer. Instead, Camilla took the front seat, accompanied by a large, almost mannish woman with very short hair wearing a severe gray pantsuit.

  Lucy listened to the buzz in the bus. “Who’s that?” “Camilla isn’t . . . ?” “Oh no, I don’t think so.” “It would be ironic. . . .” “It would be a hoot!”

  Finally, as the bus pulled away from the curb, Camilla stood up and began speaking into a microphone.

  “Ladies! Your attention please. As you’ve probably guessed, we’re all going to see the Norah! show!” She paused, dramatically holding up her free hand. “As featured guests! You’re all going to be on TV and you’re all going to meet Norah Hemmings, the fabulous Queen of Daytime TV, in person!”

  This was greeted with excitement by the makeover winners, who cheered and applauded. Lucy, however, saw trouble ahead. She hadn’t exactly been winning any popularity contests since Camilla noticed her boots and lobster watch at the before photo shoot, precipitating the unpopular decision to put them all in absurd regional costumes. To be honest, she certainly wouldn’t blame Serena, who didn’t share her daughter’s enthusiasm for being photographed for a national magazine in a swimsuit, if she never forgave her. Ginny and Amanda had no trouble adopting the glum expressions from the Grant Wood painting; they hadn’t appreciated being portrayed as country bumpkins in overalls. Maria and Carmela were enthusiastic sports fans and had enjoyed donning pinstriped New York Yankees uniforms, but Cathy and Tiffany made no attempt to conceal their loathing for the gold-lamé twirler costumes. Lurleen and Faith weren’t happy about the Civil War–era hoop skirts they’d had to wear, either.

  It wasn’t Lucy’s fault that Camilla had decide
d on the demeaning outfits, but she wasn’t confident she could convince the others. And now she was pretty sure that the fact that she and Norah were, well, maybe not bosom buddies but definitely more than mere acquaintances, wouldn’t sit well with them, either. Norah loved her summer home in Tinker’s Cove and made a real effort to get to know the locals; she was sure to mention the fact that she and Lucy were neighbors. Even more awkward was the on-again, off-again romance between Elizabeth and Norah’s son Lance. The two had been good friends ever since he spent a year in the Tinker’s Cove public school while Norah was involved in a nasty divorce.

  “You will all be sitting in the front row,” continued Camilla, “so put on your smiles, because if you watch the Norah! show you know how often the camera pans the audience, especially the lucky ones in the front. Also, our beauty editor Nadine Nelson will select one mother–daughter team to demonstrate the make-up techniques she used this morning.”

  Nadine, who was slumped in her seat, apparently dozing, didn’t respond.

  “Also, our fashion editor, let me introduce Elise Frazier. . . .”

  The woman who was sitting next to Camilla lumbered to her feet and gave a curt nod. With her lumpish figure and understated business suit she didn’t seem at all what Lucy expected a fashion editor to be like, but then, Lucy reminded herself, she didn’t really know anything about fashion magazine editors, except for the handful she had met so far. But from the little she knew, Elise seemed to be the exception to the rule that they were obsessed with fashion and diet. Feeling a nudge from Elizabeth, Lucy turned her attention to Camilla, who was continuing to speak.

  “Elise is going to choose one mother–daughter team to model outfits she has specially selected from our upcoming issue,” she said, bending down so Elise could whisper in her ear.