Beauty Expos Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  I gave her a sharp look. “And why is that?”

  “I’m sure your cookies are very good, but I worry that people will not believe they work if they see you selling them because you are the fat.”

  I see. You want me to stick your hand in the KitchenAid while it’s running.

  “If I serve them, everyone will run to buy them because I am so tiny, and they can find out how good a baker you are.”

  I leaned in toward Alex. “You need to leave my kitchen. Now.”

  She shrugged prettily, hopped off the counter, and headed to the dining room. “I just want to help.”

  Said the scorpion to the frog.

  I was beating my coconut macaroons within an inch of their lives when someone started pounding on the back door. I went and unlocked it again to find Karla with her arms full from the Chef Supply shopping run I’d requested the other day. “O dio mio, chi has chiuso a chiave questa maledetta porta?”

  I took a bag from Karla just as Gia came around the corner. He took my bag and put it on the counter. Then he pulled me close. “I love you. And I have something to ask you.”

  If he asks me to cover the shop while he goes away with Alex, I’m walking out of here right now and moving back to Virginia. Aunt Ginny can come with me.

  Karla heaved her shopping bag up on the counter. “That’s okay. I got it.”

  “I just had a visit from Momma.”

  Or, as I call her, the pale horse of death. “Go on.”

  “She wants you and your aunt to come to Easter dinner after church on Sunday.”

  Karla dropped the bag of gluten-free flour on the floor and a mushroom cloud of white enveloped us. She grabbed my arm. “For the love of all that is holy, save yourself.”

  Gia finally got Alex to leave the shop by using the words “immigration fraud.” She countered with the phrase, “Papa would not like that.” Then she said she was going to pick up Henry and left. Twenty minutes later, Henry walked in the front door. He was currently wrapped around my waist eating a maple bacon chocolate chip cookie and telling me everything he learned in preschool about frogs.

  I tried to be casual as I asked Henry how he was doing. “Are you having fun with your mother?”

  He didn’t look away from his cookie, but his face scrunched up. “She’s not my mother.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “She says she is, but where was she?”

  “That’s a tough question. But she’s here now.”

  Henry shook his head in dismissal and focused on his cookie.

  I stroked his blond hair and thought for a minute. “Well. What kinds of things do you do when you’re with her?”

  “Mostly watch TV. She tried to give me cow milk. I told her it made me sick.”

  “We’ll have to tell her about your special milk.”

  Henry looked at me, his eyes the size of quarters through his glasses. “I don’t want to go back to Nonna’s with her. Can’t I stay here with you?”

  My heart shattered into a million pieces. “Of course you can. As long as Daddy says it’s okay. But at some point you’ll need to give your mother a chance.”

  Henry eyed me like he wasn’t buying what I was selling. “Can I have another meat cookie?”

  Things slowed down for the afternoon and Gia spent most of his time in back with me and Henry while Karla worked the front of the house. We talked about his life as a child in Italy and Alex’s family, while I taught Henry how to roll and cut out sugar cookies, and Gia washed the dishes in between customers. Karla took Henry home for dinner, even though he protested that he’d already had dinner because there was bacon in the cookies. Gia and I worked together into the night and packed everything up ready for transport tomorrow.

  I left by the front door because I’d seen Sawyer’s bookstore light still on through the dining room window and I wanted her to sample the coconut macaroons. I wrapped my coat around me to fight against the bitter drop in temperature. It was well past closing time and the store was empty. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I called her on the cell phone to make sure everything was okay.

  “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

  “Are you at work?”

  “No. Why would I be?”

  “Well, I’m outside and the lights are still on.”

  “You’re outside my shop?”

  “Yeeees. Is that okay?”

  “What?” Sawyer strangled out a chuckle. “Of course.”

  “Why are the lights still on?”

  Sawyer’s words came out rushed. “Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure? I thought I just saw movement by your office.”

  There was silence for a moment. “It might be the cleaning people. They won’t answer the door. It’s okay if you just go home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. . . . See you at the Expo.”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll see you there.”

  We hung up, and I looked in the front window again. I feared I was getting the brush-off. Sawyer didn’t use cleaning people. And she’d been weird for days. As long as she was safe, it was her business. I was sure she would tell me when she was ready. She had a right to her secrets . . . Nope. These were the things I was telling myself, but I wasn’t believing any of them. I could feel that something was off and I wanted to know what was going on. Sawyer, are you in some kind of trouble?

  CHAPTER 9

  Gia picked me up at six a.m. to drive to Convention Hall. He insisted. He said he wanted to spend as much time with me as possible before the Beauty Expo got ugly.

  “You do understand that it’s a two-minute drive, don’t you? And that’s if we catch the light on Beach. I could walk there in less time.”

  He gave me a cryptic grin and a one-shoulder shrug. “Best two minutes of my day.”

  Now I was waiting for him. I left Aunt Ginny a note that I had fed Figaro, because he wouldn’t leave me alone until I did and he’d bemoan the lament of starvation in two hours when Aunt Ginny woke up. I didn’t have time to make a French press, so I ran my baby-pink espresso machine and made myself a double shot. I had just downed it when I heard a light tapping on the front door. I checked the clock on the microwave. Gia was early.

  I grabbed my purse and threw open the front door to one of the sexiest sights in the world: a man holding out a cup of coffee. “Ooh, thank you.”

  Gia was dressed for setup day in work boots, black jeans, and a faded, sky-blue T-shirt. I had also never seen his biceps uncovered. I was pretty sure I was spotting a tattoo, and I had to fight the urge to tug at his sleeve to check. He was fighting a grin. “Is everything okay?”

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Yeah. Of course. I think maybe we should start casual Fridays at the coffee shop.”

  Gia raised one eyebrow and chuckled. He held the door open and I could see a large, white van at the curb that said Elite Imports on the side.

  “Where’d you get that?”

  “I have a connection.”

  It took longer to get my seat belt on than it took us to get to Convention Hall and pull up to the loading zone. There was a U-Haul and a van queued up to unload before us. After watching the U-Haul for a couple of minutes, I broke the spell and asked Gia if he’d seen anything weird happening at Sawyer’s bookstore. I filled him in on how the light was being left on after-hours, and I thought I saw someone in there.

  “And that is a problem why?”

  “The first time I thought she was working late, but I was trying to help Kim with her winery problem, so I never got around to asking her. Now I’m afraid something’s wrong. She’s been deflecting my questions and being secretive—something Sawyer is not good at. And I really don’t like it when someone is lying to me.” I may have said that last bit as a subliminal warning.

  Gia blew on his coffee and his eyes bored into mine. “Bella, I did not lie to you and I promise I never will.”

  So much for subliminal.

  The silence
was deafening. The air wound between us heavy and thick. After a couple minutes I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. “Do you want to listen to music while we wait?”

  Gia turned the radio on and the Eurythmics were right in the middle of “Would I Lie to You?” I choked on my coffee and he pushed the first Memory button to change channels. The song switched to Billy Joel, “Honesty.” He pushed all the preset buttons from Patsy Cline, “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” to Leonard Cohen’s “In My Secret Life.” He punched the last button, and Britney belted out, “I’m not that innocent.”

  Neither of us were moving.

  Gia spun the power off and looked out his window. “Radio is broken.”

  So, we waited.

  The Mother Earth Market van finally pulled away and it was our turn to unload. Gia pulled into the loading dock. A young man with Event Staff embroidered over the pocket on his gold golf shirt met us with two wheeled carts. We loaded one with our containers of coffee beans, cartons of milk, paper products, condiments, and syrups. My cart was completely full, so I turned to check on Gia’s progress and caught him on his cell phone. “Ora.”

  He hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket, and another van pulled up in the road next to us. Two dark-haired men in black hoodies got out and went to the back of their van. They were dark and scowling, like this was a major inconvenience. They brought out a bright-red professional espresso machine similar to the one at La Dolce Vita and placed it gingerly on the second cart.

  Gia made no expression but waved his hand at me. “Go in and get warm, I will get the rest.”

  I looked around Gia at the two men, who were eyeing me quizzically. “Okay.” I pushed my cart up the ramp to the boardwalk and over to the entrance to Convention Hall. There was a life-size poster of a very handsome African American man in a five-thousand-dollar suit with a million-dollar smile. In big blue letters at the top of the poster was Dr. Lance Rubin, and underneath it, pioneer in cosmetic surgery.

  A woman in a gray suit and a brunette top bun approached me. She wore a name tag that said “Eloise, Guest Relations.” “Why don’t we come this way and I’ll check you in.” She consulted her iPad, handed me a vendor packet with laminated passes, and instructed another man in a gold golf shirt to escort me. “Kevin will show you to booth number three.”

  I followed him into the building, down a long hall, and into an enormous event space. The spacious room was painted the color of sand, with a two-story picture window taking up the entire back wall overlooking the ocean. If it weren’t for the highly polished wood floor, you would never know this was where we used to roller-skate in junior high. I looked up for the mirrored disco ball, but it had been replaced with tasteful track lighting. “Wow. This is gorgeous.”

  “Yeah. Over ten million dollars to renovate it.”

  I almost tripped over my cart. “Get out of here!”

  Kevin nodded. “Two amphitheaters. This one is set up for the vendors booths, and next door has the stage and seating for the demonstrations.” We wound around other exhibitors getting ready for tomorrow. We were one of the first to arrive. “You have a really good spot, close to Dr. Rubin. You’ll get a lot of foot traffic from people seeking Botox and consultations.”

  We reached our square in the back, right in front of the window. The lifeguard stand and white canoe with “Cape May” painted in red letters was on the beach right outside. A six-foot-wide, wooden counter with a butcher-block top was waiting for us. We unloaded the cart, and Kevin pointed out our extension cords and a water cooler with a five-gallon bottle to fill the tanks on the espresso machine. He showed me where to get more bottles, then he took off with the empty cart to bring in the next vendor.

  I was admiring our view and wondering how we got so lucky to get oceanfront real estate when the two men from the second van appeared behind me with the big-ticket items. “Oh, thank you.”

  They gave me silent nods, then went to work setting up the custom canopy, pastry case, and the espresso machine. They worked together in eerie silence and I tried to stay out of their way. Every once in a while they looked at me and made curious eyes at one another. When you worry about being followed by strangers in a dark alley, these are the guys you’re imagining. I kept watch for Gia, hoping he would be along any second—either to protect me or be a material witness. I was hoping for the former.

  When they finished setting up the equipment they gave me a chin nod and took off with the empty cart.

  What is taking Gia so long? I took out the coffee grinders and put them in place next to the cherry-red, two-pump, Italian espresso machine. It was definitely not new. She had some dings and scratches. This baby had been around the block a few times, but she was still sexy. I put the bags of espresso beans on the bottom shelf of the cabinet underneath, then unloaded the cases of boxed milk and stored them on the top shelf. The writing on the boxes was in Italian. Was this what Gia used at La Dolce Vita? I’d never noticed before since I only had the coconut almond milk he made special for me. I wonder what he made special for Alex.

  “Ah, there we are.” Gia finally showed up carrying the box from the print shop.

  “Where in the world have you been?”

  “I had to move the vans.”

  “Who were those guys?”

  “They’re family.”

  “Family as in you’re related to them . . . or family as in Family?” I gave him a knowing look and touched my nose.

  Gia’s face was set in stone and his eyes bored into mine. Then he laughed a belly laugh. “This is a good spot, yes?”

  Was I just blown off? “Right near the main event. There are posters all over the room advertising Dr. Rubin.”

  Gia walked up to the window. “I was talking about this view.”

  I went and stood next to him. “I know. Who’d you have to sleep with to get this spot?”

  Without looking at me, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side. He kissed the top of my head. “There is no one for me but you. We will get through this.”

  How does he see right through me? I don’t like it.

  “Hey, y’all. It looks like we’re gonna be neeeigh-boors.”

  We turned around to see that singsongy southern twang coming from an Asian woman with wavy pink hair. She was wearing black leggings, UGGs, and a University of North Carolina Tar Heels sweatshirt. She put her hand out. “I’m Shayla Rose, Shayla Rose Skin Care. My booth is right between yours and this behemoth tent of Dr. Rubin’s.”

  Gia shook her hand because I was busy hanging my mouth open. “Giampaolo Larusso. La Dolce Vita, espresso and Paleo-baked goods.”

  “Hi. I’m Poppy Larusso.” Oh god, why’d I say that? “I mean McAllister, Poppy McAllister. Sorry. It’s really early for me.” What the heck is happening to me? I was making veiled accusations and now what was that? My ears burned. “We’re not married.”

  Gia’s eyebrows shot up and a grin broke across his face. He put an arm around me. “Well, not yet anyway.”

  “I mean one of us is married. But not to me.” Why can’t I just shut up? I tried a forced smile at Shayla. Another woman is Mrs. Larusso.

  Shayla Rose smiled at us both but made no comment about my gaffe. She eyed the espresso machine. “I don’t suppose that’s up and working now, is it? I would kill someone for a latte.”

  Gia stepped away from me and turned the espresso machine on. “It will take a few minutes for me to fill the tank and warm her up, but we will have magic soon enough. No need to take anyone out so early in the morning.”

  “Thank God. You’re a peach! Poppy, I have some fabulous goody bags for the first hundred guests who come to my presentation. Come and get one before the hordes arrive.” She took my wrist and led me to her booth next door.

  “It smells like roses in here.”

  Shayla laughed. “It’s my last name, so it was a no-brainer making it my signature scent.” She had two Asian men helping her set up a tent with blackout fabric on three sides.
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  “Aww, you won’t see the ocean all closed up like this.”

  She opened a cardboard box and pulled out a dusky-pink-colored gift bag with rose-scented tissue paper springing from the top. “I know. What a shame. I love the ocean too. It makes me feel so peaceful. But I’ve developed a new age-reversal concentrate, and my secret ingredient needs to be kept in a cool, dark place and only applied at night.”

  “Oh, okay.” I rooted through the bag and pulled out a very small black container with Shayla Rose written in pink script. Underneath the name it said Immortality. “What’s the secret ingredient?”

  Her expression melted like wax. “That’s confidential. How could you expect me to tell you that? I will protect that secret with my life.”

  My chest got tight and I looked around for the nearest exit. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Shayla’s face changed instantly to amusement. She grabbed my wrist again and laughed hard. “I’m only kidding. It’s jellyfish. That’s why it’s called Immortality, for the immortal jellyfish. Oh Poppy, the look on your face.” She went deadpan again. “No, but seriously. That formula is one of a kind, and it’s not on the market yet. I’m technically not even allowed to sell it. I’m giving away samples Thursday morning after my stage demo, to create hype before the unveiling this fall. You’ll come to my talk, won’t you? It’s about marine chemistry in the beauty market.”

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I nodded and put the face cream back in its pink gift bag. “Well, thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

  “Just do me a favor, hon. Don’t post about it on social media until the official release, ’kay?”

  “I won’t. I promise.” I watched the men set up tiered boxes and start to load them with jars of moisturizer and tubes of creams. “Are these your brothers?”

  “That’s racist.”

  My mouth went dry and I felt like I was going to throw up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I just thought it might be a family business.” I need to go home and go back to bed.

  Shayla waited a beat, then all three of them started laughing. “I’m kidding. These are my cousins, Leo and Jimmy. My grandmother made me hire them because she paid my college tuition.”