Beauty Expos Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  She rolled her eyes and pointed to the floor. “Look.”

  There, at Aunt Ginny’s feet, was Portia snarfing down a bowl of Fancy Feast.

  I grabbed Joanne’s arm. “You can’t feed her! They have her on a strict diet.”

  “Uh . . . I didn’t feed her, butt face. I fed him. She just pushed him aside and he let her.”

  Figaro sat behind Portia, letting her have his breakfast while he watched on adoringly.

  Portia, on the other hand, ate like it was the first day of fat camp and her bunkmate had sneaked in a layer cake. So I’ve been told.

  I picked her up and she swatted my hand. Once I’d deposited her in the lap of her owners, I grabbed my purse and the four bakery boxes Aunt Ginny had packed and shot through the foyer. I almost tossed my muffins when I tripped over a paper bag wedged in the screen door. Inside was my purse and cell phone, with a note from Amber saying to wait for her call. Pssh!

  I called Smitty to report another hate crime against Benjamin Bunny while I walked the two blocks to Convention Hall. He promised to come with another emergency patch kit, suggested we give Benjamin Bunny last rites instead, and gave me a nyuck, nyuck, nyuck before hanging up.

  I was the first vendor to arrive for the day. The security guard clocked my badge and unlocked the door to let me in. It felt weird being in that giant hall all by myself. It was too quiet. Like being locked in the Mall after closing. You don’t realize how safe you feel having other people around until they’re gone. As I got closer, I could see that something was wrong. La Dolce Vita’s booth was tossed, and someone had written “Paleo Fraud” on our banner and bakery case with black marker.

  Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to cry. I took a few pictures with my cell phone and cleaned up the mess. Blue, yellow, pink, and green sweetener packets littered the floor like someone had used them for confetti at a Weight Watchers weigh-in. Straws, stirrers, and cup sleeves were tossed in the trash, unrecoverable. I cleaned up a stack of napkins, and a dime rolled to the floor. When I squatted down to pick it up, I spotted a brass button on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. It had CIA stamped on it. Culinary Institute of America. This was a button from a chef coat, but was it Tim’s or Gigi’s? Why? The tears slipped from my eyes while I was hidden under the cover of our booth. Did Tim and Gigi do this together? Or was it just Gigi? But why now? She got what she wanted. Was she one of those people who couldn’t be happy unless everyone else was miserable?

  I put the button on the shelf with the lids. I’d decide what to do with it later. Maybe it was because I was feeling extra vulnerable or maybe it was because I struggled to pull myself up after sitting on the floor for ten minutes, but I made a decision to have that consultation with Dr. Rubin this morning after all. Gia might like how I looked, but I didn’t.

  I bagged a couple muffins and headed to the Rubinesque booth. I let myself in through the main tent entrance and was beaten in the head with strobe lights, as if I’d entered an underground nightclub. Not that I would know what that was like exactly, but I’d seen it on TV. I held my arm up to shield my face from the flashing. As my eyes adjusted, I could see that the Rubinesque booth had been ransacked worse than ours. Boxes and tubes of skin-care products were strewn all over the place. Client postcards littered the floor like my sugar packets. And hot-pink paper had been shredded like Easter grass.

  “Dr. Rubin, are you here?” There was no answer, so I followed the flashes to his treatment room and called him again. “Dr. Rubin?”

  The treatment room smelled like someone had burned a ham—that acrid smell that comes from boiling sugar until it looks like charcoal. I looked around to see where it was coming from, and that’s when one of the creepy masks looked back at me. It was lying on a treatment bed, flashing through several colors, with smoke pouring out from the eyes. The bed was lumpy, and I had a sinking feeling that I knew what I would find under the sheet. I only lifted a corner, but I would recognize that blue star sapphire anywhere. I reached for his wrist and didn’t find a pulse. This had to be Dr. Lance Rubin and he was most definitely dead.

  I scrambled out of the room and down the hall to the exit. No way was I getting caught at another crime scene. Not after the cops had seen my purse and phone and ID last night in Amber’s car. I was getting out of there, and if anyone asked, I don’t know what that smell is. I made it to the entrance and had my hand on the tent flap when someone knocked me off my feet and ran past me. I landed on my hip with a thud and hit my head on the front desk. “Hey! Come back here!”

  CHAPTER 21

  I considered bolting anyway, but whoever had just flown out of here could ID me. Plus, the Convention Hall staff knew I was in the building; security had logged me in the book. Vendors were setting up for the day on the other side of this canvas freak show. Surely someone would see me leaving the crime scene and report it. “Sugar! Sugar! SUGAR! Not again!” I pulled out my phone and called 9-1-1, then moved outside the tent to wait for the police.

  Eventually, Kevin came by with a fancy-looking lumberjack carrying a case of beard oils. I waved him over and told him to get Eloise immediately. He asked why, and I said my booth was vandalized. I might want to sue. She showed up faster than it took Gia to pull a shot of espresso.

  “Are you flippin’ kidding me?” Eloise tried to push past me into the Rubinesque tent when I’d told her what had happened, and I grabbed her arm.

  “You don’t want to go in there. When the police arrive you’ll be contaminating the crime scene, and trust me, you don’t want to start off on that foot with them.” God knows I’ve never fully gotten past it.

  When Officers Birkwell and Consuelos arrived a few minutes later, they canceled the paramedics and bumped the call to the county coroner. Eloise and I were kept inside Dr. Rubin’s tent to maintain some level of discretion from curious vendors who had slipped into Convention Hall before the building was locked down. We waited in awkward silence.

  The coroner was a woman about my age, of medium height with an aquiline nose. She came wearing a black jacket that said CORONER across the back, and she seemed to be having one heck of a time examining the body. Dr. Rubin’s revolutionary beauty mask was fused to his face and the power supply was crushed like it had been smashed with a hammer. She unplugged the device and the mask stopped flashing through its settings. When she peeled it off, his skin was badly burned, but the underside of the mask was glowing bright blue. “What the devil . . . ?” She took a scalpel and scraped glowing blue ooze from inside the mask and held it up to the light, where it faded, then away from the light, where it got brighter.

  The police photographer was snapping pictures like he was working the red carpet at the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Even Birkwell and Consuelos took a moment to rubberneck.

  “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time on the force,” Birkwell said to Consuelos, “but that’s a new one.”

  Consuelos let out a low whistle. “What do you think it is?”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  The coroner packed up her tools and stepped away from the body. “I’m sorry, fellas, I need to get this one in the lab before I can determine the cause of death and whether or not it was murder.”

  Officer Birkwell looked at the treatment table in disbelief. “You don’t think he did that to himself, do you?”

  She pulled off a pair of goggles and removed her hairnet, releasing shoulder-length, rich brown hair. “I don’t think anything yet. I’ll call you when I figure it out.”

  Officer Birkwell pulled out his notebook, and we moved on to the statement portion of the morning.

  “Why were you in Dr. Rubin’s tent so early?”

  “He invited me here for a private consultation.”

  Officer Birkwell gave me a suggestive look. “What kind of consultation?”

  I was so humiliated. I’d rather let him think what he was thinking was the reason. “He suggested I have a simple procedure.”

  “What kind of procedure?”
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  “Lllpsushhh.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  I felt a little piece of my pride die. “Liposuction. He suggested I should get my stomach done. . . .” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks get hot.

  Officer Birkwell made a note on his pad.

  “Don’t write that down!”

  He cracked a slight grin. “Do you have anything to back that up?”

  “He gave me a card. It’s in my purse.”

  “Go get it.”

  “Now? Do you need to come with me?”

  “I know where you live.”

  I ran to my booth and pulled out my purse from where I’d stashed it behind the boxes of milk. I dumped the contents on the counter and fished around for the business card. It wasn’t there. I was frantic now. That was my only alibi to explain why I was in Dr. Rubin’s tent before the Expo opened. Amber’s car. It must be there. I trudged my way back to the crime scene, ready to face the music. “I know this will sound weird . . .”

  “I expected nothing less.”

  “I kind of lost the card, but I’m pretty sure I know where it is.”

  He made a note. “Okay. Call me when you find it. You still have my number?”

  “Umm, yeah.” That was easy. Why was that so easy?

  Eloise wasn’t doing as well with Officer Consuelos. Her top bun had completely unraveled and she was chewing on some of her hair.

  The team from the coroner’s department rolled the covered stretcher out through the tent flap and Officer Birkwell flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Did you see anyone else in the tent this morning when you arrived for your consultation?”

  I could tell by the way his cheek quirked that he was trying not to laugh at me some more. “Someone was in Dr. Rubin’s office and ran from the tent before I could get a look at them. They hip-checked me into the front desk.”

  “Can you describe them?”

  “No. Only that they . . .”

  “What?”

  “Well . . . they smelled like roses. But there’s rose-scented stuff all over the Expo, so it could be anyone who has been in here.”

  He stared at me for a moment, then let it go. “Did you witness the deceased in any fights, arguments, or altercations this week?”

  “He did get tased by an angry lady with a botched face-lift during his keynote.”

  That got a good eyebrow lift out of him.

  “And he pissed off a lot of exhibitors with his speech. He said that his breakthrough would make all their products obsolete.”

  He made a few notes on his pad and it gave me a moment to overhear Eloise giving her statement to Officer Consuelos.

  “You’d have to ask the security guard who did the precheck this morning. I was running late and arrived just before we were set to open. If Kevin hadn’t told me we had an emergency, I would have opened the doors to the public.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Last night? Why? Does that matter?”

  “It might.”

  “I was home. Alone.”

  “How about convention security?”

  “We had to fire our security company after a break-in. The new company didn’t have anyone available for overnight. You guys were supposed to be patrolling from midnight until six a.m. Didn’t you see anything?”

  “Nothing was reported, ma’am. If there was a break-in, it may have happened between the patrols.”

  Officer Birkwell shut his notepad and slid it into his pocket, then he and Officer Consuelos told us to sit tight while they called the station.

  Once they were out of earshot Eloise dropped her head in her hands. “We can’t cancel. Dr. Rubin was the event backer. This whole thing was his baby, and we’ve only been given a deposit. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to collect the balance now. Who do I call? His office? His lawyer? His wife? If we cancel the rest of the event, people will demand their money back. We’ll go bankrupt.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not borrow tomorrow’s trouble. The coroner didn’t even rule it a homicide yet.”

  Kevin poked his head into the tent and scanned for Eloise. “Hey. It’s getting ugly out there. The doors are still locked, and that rent-a-cop is standing guard at the entrance. He’s not letting anyone in or out. Not even exhibitors who arrived late.”

  Eloise gave Kevin a sharp look. “You’re going to have to figure it out. I’m stuck in here.”

  “Ticket holders are lined up down the block. They’re getting antsy for samples and scalp massages. What do I do? They’re starting to form an angry mob and demand free eye cream.”

  Eloise threw her hands up. “I don’t know! Go get some of that lavender stuff from the essential oil lady and mist them with it. She said it’s calming!”

  He ducked back out, and Officer Birkwell approached Eloise. “I spoke with the chief, and until the coroner rules the death a homicide, we can’t require you to postpone the event; however, that room is off-limits for the rest of the weekend. Officer Consuelos and I will stay today for crowd control.”

  Eloise crumpled into a heap. “Oh, thank God. I don’t know what to do with all those people out there.”

  “It’s fine, ma’am. We just don’t want to create undue chaos while this is an open investigation, so I want you to go ahead with the event business as usual.”

  A shrill call of the wild pierced through the canvas wall. “I don’t care if you’re the governor himself, I know my niece is in there! Now get out of my way!”

  Speaking of chaos.

  Aunt Ginny barreled through the tent flap with Officer Consuelos on her heel. He looked at Officer Birkwell and they passed a silent shudder.

  Officer Birkwell stared down Aunt Ginny like a mountain troll looking at a rock gnome. “Mrs. Frankowski. I guess it was too much to hope you’d be home watching the Hallmark Channel, wasn’t it?”

  Aunt Ginny screwed her face up at the sandy-blond cop she’d tussled with more than once. “What are you, some kinda nut? I heard this one was in trouble again and I came to help.”

  I sat up straighter when I was mentioned. “You heard I was in trouble?”

  Aunt Ginny planted her hands on her hips. “Well, news traveled fast about the coroner being here, so we just figured.”

  “Oh.” That wasn’t worth sitting up for. I slouched back against the chair.

  “And I’ll tell you something else.” Aunt Ginny poked her finger at Officer Birkwell. “If you’re not going to charge her, you’d better let her go. Her boyfriend is in a right state and I don’t know if we can keep him calm for long.”

  Officer Birkwell turned to me. “Oh yeah? Which boyfriend?”

  I hesitated a moment because in the boyfriend arena I was currently zero for two. I raised my eyes to Aunt Ginny. “Gia?”

  “Yes, Gia! The man has been worrying himself to death knowing she’s back here. I’m surprised he hasn’t torn this tent to the ground.”

  Officer Consuelos let out a little cheer for me. “Hey! You picked the Italian. Good for you. I like him.”

  Officer Birkwell took out his wallet and passed a twenty to Consuelos. “Aww. I was really rooting for the chef. There’s just something about your first love.”

  “Yes, well, I know how emotionally invested you all were in my love life, but it is what it is.” And what it is sucks.

  A loud rip reverberated around the tent and a box cutter made a giant gash through the back wall. Gia jumped through, ready for a fight, and Officer Birkwell reached for his nightstick.

  “She did not do it! You cannot hold her here! She’s coming with me.” Gia grabbed me by the wrist and led me to the front door. He pointed a finger at Officer Birkwell. “You will hear from our lawyer.”

  He led me through the tent opening and kissed me like he was a drowning man and I was the only air.

  Behind us, I heard Eloise dreamily say, “Wow.”

  And then Aunt Ginny: “See. That’s how you do that.”

  CHAPTE
R 22

  I floated on air all the way over to our booth. Why can’t it be like this all the time? Then I remembered why and doubled down my efforts to be above reproach until his divorce.

  There wasn’t a lot of time for me to fill Gia in on what had actually happened. He insisted we abandon the Expo and get me home where I’d be safe. I begged him not to worry. I tried to explain everything, but while he was letting himself in through Dr. Rubin’s new back door, Kevin was opening the floodgates at the front. We had a line thirty people deep looking for gossip under the guise of coffee and Paleo muffins. Why were the police here? Why did the Expo open so late? Why are the cops guarding Dr. Rubin’s booth? Did you know someone wrote “Paleo Fraud” all over your canopy? Does anyone else smell lavender?

  I did manage to explain to Gia, in between milk frothing and bean grinding, that I wasn’t a suspect. “They haven’t even determined the cause of death yet. As far as they know, it could have been an accident.”

  He rolled his eyes down to me and made a face. “They think he accidentally melted his face?”

  I shrugged. “You got me. I once heard of a man who was stabbed multiple times in the chest, and they ruled it a suicide.”

  Gia gave me a droll look that said he believed that as much as I did and went back to grinding espresso beans.

  The Expo ticket counter had sold out of walk-in passes in the first hour. They had to start giving people timed entries because of fire marshal regulations.

  Note to self: if I ever have an event at Convention Hall, put up police tape and have cop cars block off the street with their lights flashing. The crowds will come pouring in.

  Whoever vandalized our booth only caused us to sell twice as much. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, and they bought muffins and coffee while we told them it was like this when we got here. Things were so busy that Gia called La Dolce Vita to send for backup.

  Shayla hadn’t been at her booth all morning. I didn’t want to suspect Shayla; I really liked her. And I was really hoping she had a good reason for being late that didn’t include getting rid of evidence and changing out of a hoodie.