Deadly in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  I nodded slowly, thinking. Marco had a point. First Don had managed to collect a string of pageant losses, then gotten herself disqualified for not playing fair at the granddaddy of all pageants, the Miss Hawaiian Paradise. Even if that had been her own fault, it was enough to give anyone a jumbo sized grudge against the beauty pageant circuit in general and Miss Hawaiian Paradise in particular. The question was, had she channeled that grudge into peaceful protest or twisted it into something much worse?

  "I think it's time to have another talk with our fallen beauty queen," I said. "It's possible—"

  Just then the door opened and a slew of shopping bags spilled into the room in front of Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt. Their cheeks were flushed from the heat and obvious excitement. "Oh, there you are!" Mom dropped her bags onto one of the two queen beds with a sigh of relief. "We were hoping to catch you."

  "Ooh, retail therapy!" Marco dove for the shopping bags. "What do we have here?" He hooked a finger over the top of one and peeked inside. His mouth puckered. "Now that demands an explanation."

  Mom slapped his hand away. "You'll see when the time comes."

  "Honey, the time is now," Marco told her. "I don't think I can wait."

  "Don't be such a Nosy Nelly," Mrs. Rosenblatt admonished him. She frowned and jabbed her thumb in my direction. "It's supposed to be a surprise. You can help us later."

  My instincts suddenly went on red alert. "Help you what?"

  "Not important, dear," Mom said. "Don't you want to hear what we found out?"

  "Are those daiquiris?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, eyeing our glasses.

  Marco poured her one and handed it over. Mom accepted the cold glass and rolled it back and forth across her forehead while she perched on the edge of the bed, staying close to the shopping bags. "You know we went to town for some juju potions."

  "You're gonna have the best juju on the island," Mrs. Rosenblatt promised. "We're loaded up."

  I wondered if maybe they were loaded up on something besides juju potions. Mom was practically giggling with delight.

  "While we were in town. We should go back there together, dear," she told me. "It's the quaintest little place. Do you know they had—?"

  "You were about to tell us what you found out," Dana prompted.

  "Oh. Of course." Mom drank some of her daiquiri. "What I was about to say was we talked to some locals. It's always helpful to get the perspective of the locals."

  "You never know what you don't know," Mrs. Rosenblatt added. "Being a tourist and all."

  Mom nodded. "Are you ready for this?"

  "More than ready," I said.

  "Spill it, dahling," Marco told her. His eyes were wide with anticipation.

  "It seems Xander Newport was seen in town at the Curling Wave bar having himself quite the time," Mom said. "He was even flirting with some of the local girls." She frowned. "Do they still call it flirting? I'm a little out of touch with the dating scene."

  Dana and I glanced at each other, and I could see Dana struggling not to smile. "Anyway," Mom went on, "they thought he was just another obnoxious tourist—that's what that darling little brunette girl said, wasn't it, Dorothy? Obnoxious?"

  "I think it was the blonde," Mrs. Rosenblatt said.

  "Well, anyway, someone called him obnoxious. But they didn't think much of it. Until…"

  We all leaned forward as one.

  "Until Miss Montana was murdered," Mrs. Rosenblatt cut in.

  Mom pooched out her lower lip. "I was getting there, Dorothy."

  "So get there, already," Mrs. Rosenblatt told her.

  "Now they're all wondering if he had something to do with it," Mom finished. She looked at Mrs. Rosenblatt. "There. Happy now?"

  "Wait." I put my glass down and stood, suddenly too amped to sit still. "Are you telling us that Xander was already on the island when Miss Montana was murdered?"

  Mom nodded. "That's what we heard."

  "And from enough people that it has to be right," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "After all, where there's smoke, there's fire."

  "This could change everything," I said. I tried to remember when Xander had claimed to arrive in Hawaii and realized he'd never actually said. It had been my assumption that he'd gotten here following Jennifer's death, since that was when I'd first seen him at the hotel. But now it seemed clear that my assumption was wrong. He'd said that his pursuing her to the island had been a grand romantic gesture, meant to win her back from her new love. But could it really have been an act of revenge for dumping him? Had I misread the grieving Xander at the Lost Aloha bar? Maybe it hadn't been grief he'd had been feeling at all, but guilt.

  Was it possible Xander had never planned to reunite with Jennifer at all, as he'd claimed, but had actually come to Hawaii for the sole purpose of killing her?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After we'd finished the pitcher of daiquiris, Dana left to go Skype Ricky, and Marco decided to try his luck at a little surfing. (Though I had a feeling there would be more surfer ogling than actual surfing on his part.) Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt practically shoved me out of the room to ensure I wouldn't nose through their purchases, although the official excuse was that they needed some relaxation time after a hectic morning of shopping.

  I didn't mind a little alone time. I decided over a quick Caesar salad lunch that my next course of action would be to follow up on the information I'd learned about Donatella Curcio. While I definitely wanted to ask Xander some questions about his indeterminate arrival time on the island, I wasn't sure I wanted to do it just yet, and I knew that I didn't want to do it alone. I felt reasonably safe talking to Don on my own. So I headed down to the lobby to find her.

  Ten minutes later, I had covered every inch of the lobby and adjoining public spaces, even poking my head into the gift shop and dining room. Don was gone. Which was strange, since as far as I could tell, she hadn't missed a day of protest since the pageant personnel had checked into the hotel. Despite the recent events, I didn't want to think something had happened to her. Maybe she'd had a dentist's appointment? Or maybe she'd gone on a shopping trip for some new poster board?

  Still, I stood in line behind a young couple at the front desk, waiting to talk to James, the helpful mop-top desk clerk. The couple must have been newlyweds, judging from their shameless public display of affection, and I found myself smiling as I watched them. I also found myself thinking again about Max and Livvie and Ramirez back at home. I wanted to hear the breathless sort of excitement in their voices when they told me about their days. I missed them like crazy, and I missed the daily chaos that was our lives more than I thought I would. I told myself I'd call Ramirez as soon as I could carve out some time alone in the room. It felt like a long time since I'd talked to him.

  "Did you enjoy the daiquiris?"

  The question pulled me out of my thoughts. The newlyweds were halfway across the lobby, tugging their luggage toward the hotel's porte cochere with one hand, holding hands with the other. James was behind the desk waiting patiently for me.

  I assured him that we had and thanked him for the pitcher. "I was hoping to ask Don a few questions," I told him. "But I don't see her anywhere. Has she been here today?"

  James rubbed his chin as he thought about it. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen her since the police showed up this morning."

  I frowned. "But she was around earlier?"

  "Oh, yeah." He nodded. "It takes a lot to keep Don away from here."

  A lot of police, apparently. I couldn't help but wonder about her aversion to law enforcement. Don certainly wasn't the shy type, nor did she seem easily intimidated. Could it be that she'd been taken away for questioning by the police?

  "Of course," James added, "things got a little hectic, so I can't say I paid her much attention."

  "Understandable. I'll try again later." I turned to go back to my room when I spotted Ruth Marie emerging from the Hula Hibiscus Day Spa, blowing on her newly manicured fingernails. She kept glancing over her shoulder as she hu
rried toward the elevators, as if she expected to find someone creeping up behind her. There was a rigid set to her shoulders that spoke to her unease.

  I intercepted her before she could step into an open car. "Ruth Marie, could I talk to you?"

  She jumped a little, her eyes going wide. "Maddie!" She tried to smile but it dissolved into a nervous laugh. "You startled me something awful. I'm afraid my nerves are on edge lately. I guess I'm jumping at shadows." She held out her hands to show off her iridescent peach nails. "I thought this might help calm me down, but it didn't really do the trick."

  "I think everyone's upset right now," I told her. "Would you mind if we sat down for a few minutes?"

  Ruth Marie's gaze moved past me to scan the lobby. "Are your mother and her friend going to be joining us?"

  There was no way I would admit that they were preparing for a juju cleansing, whatever that meant, so I just smiled. "They're busy going through the spoils of their shopping trip."

  "Oh." I thought I heard a little relieved sigh. "Alright, then." She followed me over to one of the conversation areas and settled in, careful not to smudge her polish. People trickled past us, moving through the lobby, but no one glanced our way, and after a few moments, Ruth Marie seemed to relax a little. "I had the most interesting time at breakfast," she said politely.

  I could plainly see the years of pageant training kicking in. She sounded like she was under the spotlight answering an interview question, right down to the pasted-on smile and forced sincerity.

  "Your mother remembered things even I had forgotten," she added. "Although that didn't stop her from asking me about them." Absently, she blew on her nails. "So many questions," she muttered.

  "She's something of a pageant buff," I told her. Or at least she pretended to be. "Mom's a big fan of yours."

  "So she told me." Her small practiced smile faltered. "Over and over again."

  I grinned. "Thank you for being so gracious. She loved being able to reminisce with you about your pageant experiences." I hesitated. "I remember her mentioning another Miss Hawaiian Paradise contestant who seemed to have an interesting story. Her name was Donatella Curcio. Do you happen to remember her?"

  "Donatella…?" Recognition flooded her face. "Oh, yes, the Cupcake Peddler." Her nose wrinkled, and she let out a hacking laugh. "I certainly do remember her. I think everyone on the circuit remembers her."

  "For trying to fatten up her competition?" I asked.

  "Please." Ruth Marie blew on her fingernails some more. "Those girls were lining up in the hallway for those cupcakes. They were practically placing orders. The way I saw it, Donatella was doing them a favor. Poor anorexic things."

  I couldn't help a grin.

  "You know what happened, don't you?" she continued.

  I shook my head.

  "It was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen. One of the girls—it might've been Miss Connecticut. It was usually Miss Connecticut. She acted like Harvard had been built just for her, that one. Well, Miss Connecticut wanted red velvet, and Donatella gave her pumpkin spice. That put her sequins in a snit. Pumpkin spice is a perfectly fine cupcake, but no, she wanted her red velvet. Well, she should've gotten in line sooner is what I say. Miss Pennsylvania got the red velvet. So bingo." She snapped her fingers, then remembered her manicure and quickly checked her nails. "The Cupcake Peddler was born."

  "So the unfair advantage accusation came from another contestant?"

  Ruth Marie snorted. "Oh, the unfair advantage nonsense was just a convenient excuse to be rid of her. That wasn't why she was ousted."

  I sat forward, intrigued. "Really? What was it?"

  She shrugged. "I don't really know that I should say."

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Now she was going demure on me? "I won't tell a soul." I crossed my heart. "But I love a good story."

  "I don't know if good is the word for it," she said. "More like seedy." She glanced to either side to be sure no one was within earshot. "She was found in a…well, let's just say a compromising position with one of the pageant judges." She sat back, shaking her head. "It was disgraceful. That never would have happened in my day."

  Probably more like it never would have come to light. "Do you remember who the judge was?" I asked. I wasn't sure if his identity would mean anything, but it was better to know than not.

  "Of course," she said at once. "It was that cheesy soap opera actor, Jay Jeffries."

  It was better to know, alright. I propped my chin on my fist to keep my mouth from dropping open. "Are you sure about that?"

  "Quite sure, honey pie. It was the talk of the pageant. No one was sorry to see her go, I can tell you."

  I tried to imagine Don hooking up with Jay Jeffries. It was hard enough to imagine Don as a beauty queen, even though I'd seen the photos. And the more I thought about it, the more irritated I became that Don had been disqualified while Jeffries had gone on to continue judging future pageants. Talk about a double standard. Don's bad attitude was starting to make sense. I would have been surprised if she hadn't been upset.

  "Of course," Ruth Marie was saying, "the whole sordid mess should have never come to light in the first place. And it wouldn't have, if he'd known the meaning of the word discretion."

  I blinked in surprise. "Jeffries confessed he'd…" I searched for the most inoffensive word. "…compromised her?"

  She snorted again. "Certainly not. That weasel wouldn't confess to getting out of bed in the morning. I'm talking about Donatella's coach."

  My eyes went wide. "Her coach ratted her out? Why would he do that?"

  Ruth Marie shrugged. "He gave some cockamamie story about protecting his contestant, but I think the real reason is he was trying to win some brownie points with the Hawaiian Paradise Corporation. Coaches sometimes turn into pageant directors."

  "Wonder whatever happened to him," I mused.

  She looked at me with surprise. "I'll tell you what happened to him. He went on to coach Miss Montana. Donatella's coach was Ashton Dempsey." She blew on her fingernails one last time and pushed herself from her seat. "I really do need to take care of some things. Nice chatting with you, Maddie."

  I gave her an absent nod and a half smile while I tried to absorb what she'd just said. Ashton Dempsey had caused his own client to be disqualified from presumably the biggest pageant of her life? Try as I might, I just couldn't see the sense in it. It seemed to me he stood to gain more if she remained in the pageant and managed to win it.

  But that did chalk up another reason for Don to have a major chip on her shoulder. Enough of a chip to kill Dempsey's new client, Miss Montana, out of revenge or jealousy? Even I could see that was a stretch. It would make more sense for her to kill Dempsey himself. Plus it still wouldn't explain why Desi had wound up dead as well. As far as I knew, she and Dempsey had had no connection.

  Although it was painfully clear there was an awful lot I didn't know.

  My cell phone alerted me to a text message. I glanced down to see Laforge was calling an immediate all hands meeting in the auditorium. So a decision had been made about the fate of the pageant. I wasn't sure which way I wanted it to go anymore. If contestants kept dropping like flies, I wasn't sure this was really the kind of publicity that would do my shoe line any good after all.

  I made my way across the lobby, still lost in thought, and almost walked straight into Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt heading in the opposite direction. They'd changed into what Mom called resort wear: white walking shorts and a pale blue lightweight sleeveless sweater for her, a yellow and white striped muumuu for Mrs. Rosenblatt that I could have sworn I'd seen once at the beer garden of a county fair.

  "You're not going back to the room, are you?" Mom asked.

  "There's really no reason to go back there," Mrs. Rosenblatt added. "You'd just be getting in the maid's way. They don't really like that."

  "Why don't you come with us," Mom said. "We're just on our way to the Lost Aloha to grab a bite to eat."

  "And a dri
nk," Mrs. Rosenblatt added. "They make excellent daiquiris here."

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. "You really don't want me near those shopping bags, do you?"

  Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt exchanged dismayed glances.

  "It's not that we don't trust you, honey," Mom said.

  "It's that we don't trust anyone," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "Some things can be very bad in the wrong hands."

  And I'd thought the murders had been alarming.

  "Your bags are safe for now," I told them. "We've just been called to a meeting about the pageant." I saw a few sober beauty queens filing through the lobby toward the escalators in the back. Some chatting quietly, others keeping entirely to themselves. Jay Jeffries followed not far behind them, clutching his tablet and looking harried.

  "Do you think it's going to go on?" Mom asked.

  I pulled my attention back to her. "What's that?"

  "The pageant, of course. Do you think the pageant will go on?"

  I shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised. There's a lot at stake, after all."

  "A lot of money, you mean," she said. "I think it's awful. They should just call it a day and send everyone home while they're still safe and sound."

  At this point, I couldn't disagree with that sentiment. "I have to run, but why don't we all meet for dinner?" I suggested. "I'll arrange for Dana and Marco to come along, say around six-thirty?"

  Mom pulled me into a hug. "We'll see you then. Be careful, dear."

  After they had left, I hurried into the auditorium, taking a seat a few rows from the front next to a grim-looking Dana. Mercifully, the curtain was closed, prohibiting any view of the stage where Desi had been found just hours earlier. The lights weren't fully on, leaving remnant shadows to fall randomly over faces, accentuating the shared grief. A strained hush lay over the room like a shroud. The contestants were seated together, but there was none of their usual chatter. Instead, they sat somberly waiting to hear what Laforge had to say. It occurred to me that under the circumstances, they must feel especially vulnerable, and I hoped the pageant was taking precautions to ensure their safety as best they could.