Beauty Expos Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  After a quick powwow in front of the dumpster they all eventually packed it in and drove off.

  My butt had glued itself to the vinyl seat, afraid to move even though the cops were gone. With all that activity surely some of the neighbors were watching the parking lot. I had to calm the pace of my heart. What if they forgot something and they come back right when I open the door? I held my breath to listen for tires on pavement.

  I shook my hands out and sucked in a breath. I had to leave the safety of the giant car and put myself under the dim parking lot lights, exposed for all with really good eyesight to see. I rolled out to the pavement. I tried to play it cool but trotted more than walked over to Amber’s death-trap car only to find the doors locked. And there was my purse. Dumped out on the passenger seat.

  I looked around. Where is a metal coat hanger when you need one? How was I going to get home? I needed to call for help. I was several blocks away from a liquor store, and the low-end retail shops were all closed. I looked back at the two apartment windows with flickering lights indicating that someone was home and sighed.

  Back inside and up to the third floor. I knocked on a few doors where I could distinctively hear the hum of a television, but no one answered. On up to the fourth floor, I worked my way back down the hall. The first apartment with light filtering out from under the door was directly across from Temarius’s. The nameplate said Idel Rotnitzky. I used the knocker and waited. Muffled footsteps headed toward me, then paused. “Who is it?”

  “Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit stranded. I’ve locked myself out of my car. Could I use your phone to call someone? Or could you call for me?”

  After a few seconds a series of thunks and clicks worked their way down the other side of the door, and it cracked open the length of the chain. A watery blue eye peeked out over a wrinkled cheek, scanned me, and shut the door again. After a swipe of the chain, it opened to a little old lady in a pink-flowered housedress. She was wearing bright-pink Reebok cross-trainers, and the fifteen strands of gunmetal silver hair she had left were wound up in pink foam curlers. “I don’t usually let strangers in except the Girl Scouts during cookie season. You don’t have any Thin Mints, do ya?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “How about Tagalongs?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  She shrugged and let me into the room. “What are you doing out here? You don’t live in the building.”

  “I was visiting a friend.”

  She eyed me skeptically. “Then why didn’t you ask your friend to use their phone?”

  Wow, that’s a good question. “Well, I came to visit, but my friend isn’t home.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s your friend?”

  I had no doubt that Mrs. Rotnitzky knew the name of every resident and their exact schedule of comings and goings by heart. She would sniff out a lie like Figaro sniffs out that I’m eating lunch meat. “I came to see your neighbor, Temarius Jackson, but there’s police tape barring his door. Do you know what happened?”

  Her mouth turned down and she headed into the living room. “Oh me. That’s a sad one. The phone’s over there.” She pointed to a cordless phone on top of a stack of crossword puzzle books on the coffee table. “Come on in and sit down, just not on the BarcaLounger—that’s for Ed.”

  I looked around the studio apartment. “Is Ed your husband?”

  “Was my husband. Ed’s dead.” She dropped into an upholstered, green rocking chair and picked up a glass. “But he still visits. Care for some Jack and Coke?”

  I picked the phone up and dialed Sawyer. “No thank you.”

  “Good. I’m running low on Jack and my Social Security didn’t deposit yet. So, you’re friends with Temarius?”

  I nodded. Sawyer’s phone rang once and she picked it up.

  “Any chance you can come get me in the Villas?”

  “In the Villas? What are you doing there? Milky Way is closed.”

  Mrs. Rotnitzky was eyeing me closely. “My car broke down when I came to visit our friend Temarius and I locked my purse inside.”

  “What the . . . ? Oh-kaaay. Give me the address.”

  I walked over to the window and looked out to be sure I could see the parking lot from here. Amber’s car was still sitting there like a lame green grasshopper, so it hadn’t been towed yet. I bet it could fit in the dumpster. I told Sawyer where I was. “Honk twice when you’re back there. And bring a metal coat hanger.”

  I smiled at Mrs. Rotnitzky and eased myself down to the worn moleskin couch. The cushions were clean but threadbare, as most things in the room were shabby chic without the chic. “Did you know Temarius well?”

  She shrugged and took a swig of her drink. “Are you a social worker? Or maybe a hooker?”

  I blinked a couple times, not sure I’d heard her right. “Am I a what?”

  “You know, a streetwalker. Why would a middle-aged woman be visiting that boy this late at night?”

  I looked down at my flowing, emerald tunic and black jeans. Why do people keep asking me that?

  She shook the ice around her glass and shrugged. “People are into some weird stuff nowadays. Maybe they’re into chubby prostitutes that look like soccer moms.”

  I’m gonna let the chubby part go on account of the mom part. “No. I’ve done some work with the Teen Center, baking cookies for their fundraisers, and I met Temarius there.” Okay that was half true. I never actually met him, but I was pretty sure I’d seen him once or twice. How many kids named Temarius could there be in the Villas?

  She put her glass down and reached into the pocket of her rocker to pull out half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. She poured herself a hefty shot of whiskey. “So, you bake?”

  That’s what you got out of that? “Do you want me to get you the Coke?”

  She shook her head. “I’m outta Coke.”

  Sawyer better be on her way. “Do you know what happened across the hall?”

  She kept rocking in her chair. “Someone murdered that boy.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t suicide?”

  She peered at me over her glass. “You don’t seem surprised. Are you a cop? What am I sayin’? No cop would dress like that. Social worker, then. It’s about time. You’re too late, but then, I heard you all don’t get paid much.” Her mind had wandered off and I tried to bring her back.

  “You were telling me you knew it was murder.”

  “I know it was murder because I pay attention. I keep my eyes on the window and my ear on the door all day. Nothing gets by me in my building. We take care of each other here. Plus, you never know when the Girl Scouts will come by. I heard the shots and called it in myself.”

  “You heard the shots?”

  She pointed to the window behind me. “I heard the shots while I was watching my program.”

  “The shots came from outside? Not across the hall?”

  She stopped rocking and gave me a long, watery look. “No, no, it was definitely across the hall.” She took a swig of her Jack and Coke sans the Coke.

  “Do you remember what time that was?”

  She let the rocker propulsion nod her head for her. “Around nine. My program came on and I called 9-1-1 as soon as it went to commercial.”

  I leaned over my knees to look her in the cataracts. “Did Temarius have any enemies?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

  “Did you hear him argue with anyone the day he died?”

  She shook her head. “No. He was a good boy. He’d help carry the groceries in. And he never threw a loud party or tried to sell me magazine subscriptions.”

  “When the police arrived did they ask you if you’d seen anyone?”

  “Oh yeah, sure.”

  “And what did you tell them?”

  “The only one I’d seen all night was that little blond woman.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Sawyer had finally arrived around the bottom of the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. By then Mrs.
Rotnitzky had changed her mind twice on where the gunshots had come from and exactly what time she’d seen the blond woman. The only thing she was sure of last night was that Temarius was dead and the Lotto Pick-3 number was 0-0-6.

  I didn’t get to bed until midnight because Sawyer and I were making a pros and cons list of whether we should trust Amber. My top pro reason was that the animosity had been at a manageable level lately. I was almost ready to say Amber and I had turned a corner on mutual hatred and were tiptoeing toward respected acquaintance. But Sawyer made such a good argument that if Amber was guilty, she’d be looking for a scapegoat. And what better scapegoat than a former murder suspect who had unintentionally made Amber look like a fool at a few crime scenes?

  Around four a.m. I woke with my heart pounding and the fear that Amber had sent me into Temarius’s apartment to retrieve evidence that I’d almost given to her. What if the only number in his cell was hers? There were no photos, no games, not even a password. Nothing to personalize the cheap little phone that must have been a burner now sealed in a sandwich baggie on my dresser. Isn’t that what drug dealers and human traffickers do? Use burner phones? I Googled the area code; 647 was Toronto.

  Once my adrenaline was peaked, I found myself waiting for the police to show up and arrest me as an accessory to murder. The wind blew a branch across the side of the house and I almost went into cardiac arrest. So, I’d gotten out of bed and done all the things. The yoga things, the beauty things, and the cleaning things. Then I went downstairs to clear my head and make a few batches of Paleo muffins for the Expo. The turnout had been better than we’d expected and I was concerned we would run out of food by tomorrow if I didn’t supplement the stock.

  I yawned and pushed the button on my espresso machine and pulled a shot. I was dragging this morning. I kept trying to pull out my phone only to be reminded that I didn’t have it. It was either locked in Amber’s car or confiscated by the police. My attempt to pull the lock with a wire hanger only resulted in a broken wire hanger.

  I opened the laptop on the kitchen table to check my email. We had a couple reservation requests and some questions about amenities. One person wanted to know if our pet-friendly status included snakes. Definitely not. And no birds, insects, or reptiles of any kind, just for future reference.

  I checked our page on Facebook and had to laugh. I kept scrolling past ads for a website called Fraudster. Since Google tracks everywhere we go, my ads were usually for gluten-free flour and bras. What in the world has Aunt Ginny been looking up?

  I checked the reservation book for tomorrow’s afternoon tea and saw that all twenty tables had been booked for both seatings. I’d be up half the night making scones.

  The sound of keys jangling at the back door caused me to turn my head.

  “Hey, butt face. Why are you up so early? I thought you liked sleeping in while Ginny and Victory do the real work.”

  My mind was foggy from too little sleep, too much espresso, and the new silver hoop displayed in Joanne’s nose, so all I could do was stare.

  “You noticed my new bling. I just got it on the boardwalk last night. I’m not getting any younger, so I figured it’s now or never.”

  “So ‘never’ was a sincere option?”

  “Shut up. You don’t have any taste.”

  “I also don’t have Hep C, so I think that’s a win.”

  Something furry was galloping overhead. It ran back and forth, then hurtled down the stairs. I expected Figaro to come sliding around the corner, but this floof was white and had a pink, diamond-studded collar around her neck. “Portia?”

  Bright-green eyes watched me intently. “Merrooow.”

  “Wow. You are gorgeous. How’d you get out?”

  The answer appeared behind her in a pair of bright orange eyes with a toy mouse in his mouth.

  “What did you do?”

  A shrill “Porrr-tiaaa,” cried out above us.

  “Uh-oh. Your absence has been discovered.”

  Portia sat pretty and raised a paw to me.

  Figaro dropped the mouse at Portia’s feet and eyed her expectantly.

  She stepped over the mouse and sat on it, refusing to look at him.

  He flopped over, and I nudged him with my foot. “She wasn’t impressed, buddy.”

  “Porrr-tiaaa!”

  Joanne tied a frilly, pink apron around her combat fatigues. “You better go tell that lady her cat is down here before she wakes up the whole house.”

  That was Aunt Ginny’s cue to stumble into the kitchen from her bedroom. “What is that racket?”

  I gently picked up the white Persian and carried her to the steps. “She’s down here with us.” Portia swatted playfully at my nose.

  Patsy Parker appeared at the top of the steps in a silver silk robe with a matching eye mask pushed up on her forehead. “Oh my heavens.” She ran down the stairs on Miss Piggy–style feather pump slippers. “You can’t hold her like that. She’ll get mats.” She took the cat from my arms and held her like a running back carries a football.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Do you have any idea how she got out of her room?”

  My own floof of gray fur rubbed up against my ankles. I have a pretty good idea. “Are you sure you shut the door all the way? The knobs are antique and they don’t always latch right.” I suspect any paw could be shoved under the frame and pull the door open. “You need to make sure you use the top lock.”

  She stroked Portia’s head. “I guess we forgot to lock the door. Thank goodness Cape May has so little crime.”

  I tightened my mouth shut so I wouldn’t blurt out anything not tourism friendly, like my house being in the epicenter of murder. “Mm-hmm. Well, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  She cooed to Portia that she was a naughty girl all the way up to her room.

  When I got back to the kitchen Joanne was taking my cherry brandy muffins out of the oven and putting in a pan of homemade cinnamon buns. “Ooh, are the cinnamon buns gluten-free?”

  Joanne stuck her tongue out. “Eww, no.”

  Aunt Ginny held up a cup of coffee. “Bailey’s is gluten-free.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Gia called on the house phone last night. He said he’d been trying to get ahold of you and you weren’t answering your cell.”

  “My cell phone was confiscated. I have to see if I can get it back or if it’s been logged into evidence.”

  Joanne didn’t look up from the shallots she was mincing. “Who’d you kill now?”

  “It’s a long story, but if the cops show up to arrest me, I was mugged by a pushy little blonde. What did Gia want?”

  Aunt Ginny peered over her cup with a look that said she would demand details later. “He said he can’t pick you up this morning. He has something he has to take care of.”

  “Did he say what it was?”

  “Nope. I tried to get it out of him, but he was very shifty.”

  Voices carried in from the dining room. The guests were early for breakfast again. I filled the carafe with coffee and went in to greet them. Rita and Faelynn had mugs at the ready and they had already staked out their seats at the table.

  “Good morning, ladies. How did you sleep?”

  “Wonderful.” Rita held her cup and I poured for her first. “Is it always so quiet here?”

  My mind flashed to block parties during the season. “I think you’re here at a good time. Things can get very rowdy in the summer.”

  Faelynn took off her glasses and polished them. “Well, I thought I heard a gunshot last night outside my window.”

  Rita gave her a look. “You imagine things”

  “I do not. There was a loud pop, and then I heard someone crying in the yard.”

  I put the carafe down and went to check outside. Rabbitzilla was lying in another heap on my new pansies. Aunt Ginny will be on the warpath. I shut the door to buy myself some time from Aunt Ginny finding out and returned to the ladies. P
atsy and Dale had just joined them. They were discussing what they had done yesterday. Patsy and Dale went to the local organic pet store in search of cat perfume. Is that a thing? And Rita and Faelynn went to a couple of art galleries, then art shopping on the Mall. They wanted to know what I had done.

  I didn’t want to ruin the magic by telling them I’d refilled all the toilet paper in their rooms. “Did anyone check out the Beauty Expo at Convention Hall?” I hadn’t seen any of them, but I could have missed them while we were busy.

  Rita blinked a couple times. “Honestly, I forgot all about it. How is it?”

  “It’s nice. There are a lot of vendors for skin care and cosmetics.”

  Faelynn looked at me. “I don’t know. How have the crowds been? Is there anything there worth seeing? Anyone famous?”

  “Well,” I started, “there’s a cosmetic surgeon who’s supposedly been on Good Morning America. He gave a talk last night. I think everyone loved him.”

  Rita looked at Faelynn. “Interesting. What do you think, Fae? Should we check it out?”

  Joanne brought in a tray of yogurt parfaits and a basket of cherry muffins. Faelynn had her hand on the basket before Joanne had a chance to put them down. “Beauty stuff is not my thing, Rita. You know that. I prefer to age naturally. I heard there’s a colonial village that has a working farm. And there’s a bakery nearby. Let’s do that.”

  Rita took a parfait and placed it in the middle of her plate. “Honestly, Fae, if I ate like you, I’d have to wear a circus tent.”

  Faelynn took a scoop of brandy butter. “I know. Genetics aren’t fair.”

  Dale snapped out a cloth napkin like a marine was going to bounce a quarter off his lap. “We have a preshow event with Portia this afternoon, so this morning will be her spa day. We want her to be relaxed and fluffy.”

  Patsy passed Dale the orange juice. “She’s on a strict diet of salmon and kale with a little egg yolk so her coat will be glossy.”

  Joanne snorted and I cleared my throat to cover it. “Well, I hope you and Portia have a wonderful day.”

  I ushered Joanne back to the kitchen and waited for the swinging door to close. “You can’t make fun of the guests, Joanne. At least not in front of them.”