Pedicures & Prejudice

by Stephanie Damore

  “But if I do decide to release a statement, I’ll give you a call.”

  Shelly’s magnified eyes brightened. She quickly scribbled her number in a notepad, ripped out the piece of paper and handed it to me. I pocketed it, and Aria and I ducked out before anyone else could ask us more questions.

  “What now?” Aria asked me when we stepped out into the hallway. A couple of heads snapped in our direction. You’ve got to be kidding me. I grabbed Aria by the arm and turned in the opposite direction

  “Lattes. Big ones,” I said.

  We didn’t stick around at the hotel, knowing others would be waiting to talk to us. Aria hailed a cab, not wanting to wait for an Uber, and we hopped in, instructing the driver to take us someplace for breakfast.

  “Did you hear what she said?” I asked Aria. “The woman’s body we found yesterday was Melanie May’s.” I hoped this morning’s incident wouldn’t cause Aria to have another mental breakdown, given how traumatic yesterday’s experience was for her, but one look at her told me she was holding it together.

  “As in the fashion designer?” she asked.

  “Yes, as in the one who was set to speak before me at the conference.” My mind jumped to all sorts of horrible scenarios, praying there wasn’t some psycho on the loose targeting women in leadership roles. I thought about calling the guys, but there was no point. They were off getting their daily adrenaline-rush. One would think crashing in a helicopter would satisfy that for years to come, but not with those two. My only stipulation was that they didn’t do anything involving aircraft.

  “Even if we wear parachutes?” Vince had asked.

  “Especially if you wear parachutes,” was my reply. I made sure to throw in a threat to Vince not to kill or maim my fiancé before our wedding. Sure, I didn’t know any wedding details, as we hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what type of ceremony wanted, but I could tell you that we would be getting married, soon.

  The cab dropped us off at a greasy spoon and I was thankful it wasn’t some up-and-coming fusion hotspot. Sometimes you just wanted a good stack of hotcakes and didn’t care if it was served with bacon-infused maple syrup or vodka-spiked whipped cream. Aria would be satisfied with black coffee at this point, and I would take a mediocre cup of chai over having to deal with any reporters. We placed our order and while waiting I Googled Melanie May.

  I could see why she had been invited to the conference. She was the epitome of a girl boss, and I felt an instant connection with her. While she was way more famous than I ever inspired to be, she had the same raw determination to build a brand that I saw in myself. Melanie’s career took off when she focused on bridal fashion and a Royal donned one of her gowns for the big day. Since then she had been featured in some of the top designer magazines, and her work could be seen gracing the runways of only the fashion shows that mattered.

  Naturally, the top news results on the Internet were focused not on her design work but on her death. I couldn’t believe how many details and speculative articles had surfaced in the 12 hours since we had found her body.

  “Did you know that Melanie had just gotten engaged last week to Zane Richards?” I said to Aria.

  “Bad boy rock star Zane Richards?”

  “Looks like it. The media’s all in a tizzy; not sure if they should feel sorry for the guy or accuse him of murder.”

  “They did have a tumultuous relationship,” Aria said. In fact, their rocky relationship was often tabloid news in itself.

  I thought back to my mindless entertainment news knowledge and could vaguely remember a domestic abuse charge ... on her. “She was a bit of a fighter, wasn’t she?”

  “Zane called it passion,” Aria said, using air quotes.

  “Ah. Well regardless, it looks like the police have their first person of interest. Wonder if he’s in town?” That question would remain unanswered because at that moment, our waitress brought out a ginormous stack of hotcakes for me and an impressive platter of sausage biscuits and gravy for Aria. My bestie shocked me with her order, forgoing her usual egg whites on wheat toast. I doused my plate in hot, sticky syrup with a slab of butter on top and waited for Aria’s commentary, but she had already dived in.

  “I see I’ve brought you to the dark side,” I said.

  “I just hate to think my last meal on this Earth would’ve been a quinoa bowl with steamed carrots.”

  “Now that would have been a tragedy.”

  “Is it weird that when I thought we were going to die my last thoughts were of food?” Aria asked.

  “A little bit. Mine were of Finn. Well, the fact that we hadn’t had a chance to get married yet.”

  Aria cocked her head in a knowing way. It wasn’t a secret that I hadn’t been able to make up my mind on anything other than the dessert table. “Any closer to knowing what you want?” she asked.

  “Nope. One would think that after waiting this long to get married I’d know exactly what I wanted, but I think that’s the problem. I’ve dreamed of my wedding day a hundred different ways and still none of them feel right.”

  “Not to mention the last time you planned a wedding, it was a disaster.” Aria was referring to Mr. Ex-fiancé, who had recently married my archenemy slash friend.

  “For the record, my wedding would’ve been fabulous. It was the groom that was a disaster.”

  “I’ll give you that.”

  “But I think you’re on to something. Maybe I do have a little wedding anxiety,” I said.

  “Hey, you remember what you told me when my wedding was falling apart?”

  “That your first dress was hideous?”

  “You did not!”

  “That first dress was all wrong,” I said.

  Aria glared at me. “No, it wasn’t about the dress. You said that as long as I was sure about the groom, the rest was irrelevant.”

  “I said that?”

  “You did. And are you sure about Finn?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well then, there you go. The details don’t matter.”

  I licked the syrup off the back of my fork and thought that maybe Aria was on to something.

  “What do you want to do now? Head back to the conference?” Aria asked after we both finished cleaning our plates.

  “All those eyes watching us? I’m thinking no. Where are the guys?”

  “Vince texted me a minute ago saying they were hitting up the motor speedway for some high-octane thrills.”

  “Yeah, no. I’m going to pass on that, too.”

  “Thank goodness. I don’t think I could drive a race car in these heels.” Aria glanced at me, but I was already clicking away on my phone. “This case is bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked.

  “It’s just, Melanie was like us. A girl boss. She was just honored on Thursday night for a young artist award.”

  “Any sore losers?” Aria asked.

  “I have no idea. I’ve already scrolled on. The speculations keep pouring in.”

  “Is there any legitimate news published about the case?”

  “Not really. Police haven’t even confirmed that was Melanie May’s body that was found, which was probably why the reporter came looking to me for confirmation. It sickens me to think someone would just murder this bright young woman and dump her body in the desert,” I said.

  “I hear you.”

  “I’m going to step out and call Detective Hart.” I reached to get some money out of my purse, but Aria waved me away. “Meet me outside?” I asked.

  “Will do.”

  Here’s the thing about Las Vegas: It’s hot. I know they say it’s dry heat, but ninety degrees is ninety degrees, dry or not. One would think I would be used to sweltering temps being a low country girl, but that desert heat was brutal. I swear I was going to need to chug my body’s weight in water if I was going to rehydrate.

  I dialed the detective’s number and waited for our lines to connect.

  “Hart,” the detective said by way of greeting.
<
br />   “Hi, Detective. It’s Ziva Diaz from yesterday.”

  “Ziva, what can I do for you?”

  “It seems that the body my friends and I found in the desert was someone famous, and the media has already connected us to the crime scene. I even left my conference early this morning because of it.” The detective uttered a few choice, unladylike words, followed by a sigh. I imagined her closing her eyes and wishing she was magically somewhere else.

  “So far, I haven’t answered anyone’s questions,” I continued, but I was hoping you could answer a few of mine.”

  Detective Hart was silent, and I took that as a good sign.

  “Basically, is it true? Did we really find Melanie May’s body?”

  Detective Hart was quiet for so long, I didn’t think she was going to answer me, but she finally said, “We’re not confirming anything publicly yet, but yes, you did.”

  I let the gravity of the truth sink in. For some reason, I liked the news articles better when they were purely speculative. “I have to tell you, this was the last thing our department needed,” she added.

  “How so?” I assumed a high-profile murder was never a good thing. Why should the timing be any worse now?

  “My team’s tired. Our murder rate is going up and for a city that runs on tourism, safety is everything. We have to clear this case, fast.”

  I took the detective’s words as an opening. “I may be able to help. This is going to sound crazy, but I have a knack for solving murders.”

  “You what?”

  “Trust me, I don’t go looking for them, but I’ve walked into my fair share of homicide investigations and I’ve been able to close them all, quickly.” Not to brag, but my track record was impressive. “I have references if that would help.”

  My girl, Detective Roxie, would be more than willing to add credit to my name—that is after she’d tell me how crazy I was for getting involved in another investigation.

  “What are you offering exactly?” Detective Hart asked.

  “It’s more like, what am I asking for.” I said.

  “Fine, what are you asking for?”

  “A chance to poke around a bit, see if anyone opens up to me. You’d be surprised the things people have confessed to me,” I said.

  “Listen, I’m not opposed to you asking around and seeing what you can find out—reporters do it all the time—but this isn’t a two-way street. Don’t expect me to be calling you with details. That’s not how my department works.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. If you hear anything though, I’d love to know.”

  “You’ll be the first person I call,” I said. Even as I said those words, I knew I was lying.

  3

  “I know that look,” Aria said when she met me outside the diner.

  “What?”

  “You’re taking this case on, aren’t you?”

  “How can we not?” I countered, deliberately adding the we in.

  “Um, because we don’t want to be the next dead body dumped in the desert?”

  “And we don’t want any other innocent women to be dumped in the desert either, now do we?”

  Aria glared at me.

  “You’ve got to quit looking at me that way. You know I’m right,” I said.

  “I don’t know that,” Aria replied. Now it was my turn to glare.

  “C’mon. You know it’ll be fun. Okay, maybe fun’s not the right word. An adventure. It’ll be an adventure. What do you say? Are you in?”

  Aria looked down the sidewalk at the rows of casinos and neon. Something she saw helped her make up her mind. “Fine, but let me tell you, I liked this whole investigating thing better when you were the one finding the dead bodies.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” I said with a smile. Aria said something that sounded an awful lot like “don’t bet on it,” while I pulled out my phone and requested an Uber to pick us up.

  “Where do we start?” Aria asked me while we waited for our ride.

  “I was thinking we could do a little wedding dress shopping.”

  “I see you’re taking my advice to heart,” Aria said even though she knew exactly where I was taking this.

  “Melanie’s boutique is just off the Strip. Maybe someone there could point us in the right direction. That is, unless you know how to interview a rock star?” I knew if I was going to head up this investigation, sooner or later we’d have to secure some face-time with Zane Richards. How that was going to happen I had no idea.

  Our driver dropped us off in front of Melanie’s bridal salon. My heart sank a little when I saw the closed sign in the front window and the darkened interior. There was no point in trying the door. Maybe this case wasn’t going to be so easy after all. For some reason, I thought we’d waltz into the bridal salon and get some grand clue that would solve Melanie’s murder in a heartbeat. What can I say? I’m an optimist.

  “Now what?” Aria asked.

  “Not sure.” I had searched Zane’s website and social media channels on the ride over to see if he had any plans for the evening that we could crash, but all of his feeds were silent. Not even a tweet about his fiancée’s passing. I wondered if there was a way to get in touch with his publicist. What I would say to him or her when I did was yet to be determined.

  Our driver had pulled away and I was about request another one when the door to the bridal salon opened.

  “Girl, look at that.” From the khaki pants and button-up polos, my guess was that two plainclothes cops had just left Melanie’s salon.

  “Here, follow my lead,” Aria said before anyone could come and lock the door behind the detectives.

  “I’m so sorry,” Aria said, as we stepped through the door. “I know you’re closed, but is there any way we could just take a quick look at that little number over there?” By little number, Aria meant the elaborate feathered ball gown that stood front and center on the salon floor. I was pretty sure someone could get lost in all of those feathers. I was also very sure I would never be caught dead wearing a dress like that. But Aria was smart. I’d bet any money that dress was priced in the four-figure range, and there was no way a consultant could resist making that type of sale, especially when the right client walked through the door.

  The woman hesitated ever so slightly before saying, “I suppose that would be all right.” She flicked a light on over the showroom’s floor. The gown glowed from the light above. “Do you mind locking the door behind you? I’m the only one here,” she added.

  “No problem,” I said.

  “Thanks so much for letting her try it on. We took a special trip out here to shop for a wedding dress. Ziva really wanted to try on one of Melanie’s gowns.”

  I pumped my head up and down, not trusting myself to speak. All I kept thinking was, please tell me those feathers are synthetic. If not, there were a lot of naked chickens running around town.

  The consultant flicked on some more lights. “So Ziva’s the bride, I’m Gwen, one of the principal designers, and you are?”

  “Aria.”

  “Nice to meet you both. Why don’t you ladies follow me, and I’ll get you situated.”

  “Excellent,” Aria replied. I was still mute. Truth be told, now that more lights were on, I was eyeing up the shop looking for clues. However, the blush-colored carpet and brushed-suede ivory couches didn’t offer up any forensic evidence. I wondered where Melanie’s office was.

  I didn’t have a chance to explore as Gwen led us toward the back of the salon and deposited us in a mirrored fitting room along with the awful-looking dress. I looked down at my attire. I had not been prepared to try on wedding gowns.

  “Forget your shoes. It’s that black bra that’s not going to look pretty,” Aria said.

  I ignored my bestie, suddenly struck with a flutter of nerves. “This is the first time I’ve tried on any dresses,” I said.

  “And it only took a murder investigation to get you motivated. That is so you,” Aria
replied.

  “This is nerve-wracking,” I said, pulling the heavy feathery fabric over my head.

  “Fun, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t even like this dress!” I hissed once the gown was properly on.

  “Talk about hideous,” Aria replied.

  I would have responded, but I was dealing with a little bit of sticker shock. “Nine thousand dollars? Are you kidding me?” Apparently, I wasn’t as cultured as I thought.

  “Sshhh, don’t let Gwen hear you.”

  I kept my voice low. “For all we know, Melanie was murdered over a wedding dress, as expensive as these gowns are.”

  “Is it fitting okay?” Gwen asked through the door.

  “Yes, we’ll be right out,” Aria hollered back.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like Big Bird with white feathers. I doubted this was the vision Melanie had in mind while designing this gown. The top was gaping, the middle too tight, and the bottom made my butt look bigger than a hippo’s.

  I swallowed my pride and stepped out of the fitting room.

  Gwen couldn’t hide her appalled expression. I stood on the carpeted pedestal anyway and let her fluff out the dress while she stumbled over her words. “It’s, um ... you look ...”

  “It’s okay. I know the dress is all wrong. I just really wanted to wear one of Melanie’s designs. They look so beautiful on the runway.” That last part was a lie. I had never seen one of Melanie’s dresses before today. Well, unless you counted my Google search this morning.

  “Just because this dress isn’t the one doesn’t mean we don’t have a dress here for you,” said Gwen, recovering her composure.

  “Not to be insensitive, but do you know if you guys will be taking any custom orders?” Aria asked.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Gwen, the model of professionalism this entire time, burst into tears. I was ready to bolt, wearing the ugly dress and all. Aria looked at me as if to say oh no!

  Do something! My look said back to her.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have even asked.” Aria wrapped Gwen in a giant motherly hug.