The Princess and the Poison

by Carol E. Ayer

  "Their estate?"

  "Yeah. This is gonna be swanky. We need to go shopping. You can't wear your jeans and StoryWorld T-shirt."

  "Oh no. That's what I was going to wear," I deadpanned. "Come on, Donna, I'm not an idiot. But I already have a dress. A couple, actually."

  "Nothing that will work for this. I know you don't have the shopping gene, but we're going."

  Ugh. More expenditures. Were expenses for murder investigations deductible? Probably not for me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next morning, Donna and I drove the thirty miles to Oak Heights for my manicure appointment and to go shopping afterward, the latter of which I still hadn't technically agreed to. But Donna was driving, and I had the feeling she'd hold me hostage until I followed through with the clothes buying.

  I didn't think Mariana would recognize me since she'd only seen me up close once before, and this time it would be out of context. Just in case, I took off my charm bracelet watch, and Donna pulled my hair back into a bun and gave me her reading glasses to wear. I looked a little like Harriet the Spy, which seemed appropriate. When I made the appointment, being sure to request Mariana, I'd used the name Dinah Thibodeaux, a combination of Dinah's and Cameron's names. For authenticity, I'd mentioned I was attending Caitlin Devaneau's wedding that weekend and my nails had to look nice.

  Donna dropped me off, wished me luck, and drove on to the cafe down the street. We'd decided Mariana would certainly recognize her, so she wouldn't be accompanying me to the appointment.

  The salon was shiny, modern, and freezing. Because of the eighty-degree temperature outside, they'd cranked up the air conditioner, and I wished I'd brought a sweater or a jacket. And a hat and mittens. It was really cold. As I waited to be helped, I glanced at a discreetly placed price list near the cash register. Seventy-five dollars for a manicure? I was going to be broke by the time this investigation was over. If it would be over.

  Soon I was ushered back to Mariana's station. Mariana was even more gorgeous than I remembered, with wavy dark hair that grew past her shoulders halfway down her back, big brown eyes, and a perfect smile. She wore tight jeans and a turquoise low-cut top. I could see why Ryan had been attracted to her. She was stunning.

  "So what would you like today?" She gestured to a palette of nail polishes.

  "I read you were Katrina Irvine's manicurist." I hoped this information was accessible to the public somewhere and she wouldn't question me. "I saw a picture of her in a magazine, and her nails had little strawberries at the tips. Do you think you could do that for me?"

  "Sure." She started filing my nails, and I looked away, ashamed of their ragged state. The last time I'd had a professional manicure was over ten years earlier, when I'd gone with a friend before our five-year high school reunion. I'd never polished my nails, and I only filed them sporadically. But Mariana didn't flinch. Maybe she'd seen worse.

  "Terrible thing that happened to Katrina, isn't it?" I said.

  "Yeah. Real terrible." But she said it in the way newspeople talked about disasters, very detached. She didn't seem all that sorry.

  "Were you close to her?"

  She shrugged. "Oh, you know. I guess."

  She wasn't exactly a fount of bountiful information. How could I get her to be more forthcoming, without losing my nerve the way I usually did? Meanwhile, although she hadn't finished filing my nails, she'd moved on to the polish. Wasn't I supposed to get things like cuticle cream, a soaking, and a massage? I was sure getting short shrift. Had I upset her by bringing up Katrina?

  "What did you think of her?" I asked.

  "She was okay."

  This was just impossible. I had no idea how to proceed. Then I caught sight of a little picture of Ryan behind a vase overflowing with pink gerbera daisies. If Mariana and Ryan weren't still together, what was the photo doing there? And gerbera daisies? That was the kind of flower Ryan brought to the makeshift memorial. Coincidence?

  "Boyfriend?" I asked, gesturing to the photo.

  She sighed. "Used to be. Hope he will be again."

  Interesting. So she wanted Ryan back. Had she killed Katrina as a first step to reclaiming him? No wonder she'd stayed in the area and hadn't returned to Hollywood to look for a new job. She wanted to be near Ryan.

  "Speaking of boyfriends, did Katrina have one?" I asked. "She was so pretty. She must have had lots of men interested in her."

  Mariana didn't answer this time. After a lengthy wait, she said, "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well. I'm going to have to lie down. Wait here, and Cheryl can take over."

  She left for the back of the salon. The last strawberry she'd crafted, on the ring finger of my right hand, was smeared. I had clearly shaken her.

  I declined the offer to have Cheryl finish my nails and paid up. I didn't leave a tip. Mariana surely wouldn't expect one, and I couldn't afford it. I left the shop and walked down the street to the cafe. Along the way, I took note of a number of expensive-looking shops I hoped Donna wasn't expecting us to patronize.

  Once I located Donna at a table in the back of the cafe, I splayed out my nails next to her cup of coffee.

  Donna peppered me with questions before I could get a word in edgewise. "What happened? Why aren't they done? Did you find out anything?"

  "She hopes to get back with Ryan, and she didn't want to talk about Katrina." I commandeered Donna's cup of coffee and took a swig. "I guess she could have killed Katrina to reunite with Ryan, but it hasn't worked so far. Before I could ask any more questions, she shut me down. I don't know what to do now."

  "Do you want to try again?"

  "I don't think she would agree to talk to me."

  Donna broke out into a smile. "Oh, good, then it's time to go shopping!"

  I groaned and dropped my head to the table. "Really? Do we have to?" I looked at her with the same begging expression Dinah gave me when I ate a Treasure Island Tuna Sandwich at my desk. "Can't I just wear something I already have?"

  "It'll be fun! Please? For me? Since I'm a murder suspect?" Her pleading expression trumped mine.

  "Nice guilt trip. Okay. Half an hour. No more. And I want to go to that little gift shop next door. They might have some fairy-tale jewelry."

  Three hours later—six times what I'd agreed to—Donna had me outfitted with everything I needed for the fancy-schmancy wedding, which unfortunately didn't include fairy-tale jewelry. Donna, in fact, forbade me from wearing fairy-tale jewelry to the wedding.

  Back at Donna and Charlie's, Donna gave me instructions for doing my hair and makeup in the morning, demonstrating each step. Although Mariana hadn't finished my nails, I had to admit I kind of liked the ones that she had done. So Donna did her best to redo my manicure, including making strawberries at the nail tips. The strawberries ended up looking more like red, white, and green blobs than anything else, but I thought they were pretty.

  "Remember, no fairy-tale jewelry tomorrow," she said.

  "Not even my new Cinderella earrings?"

  "No."

  There was no arguing with her.

  As I left, my hair in a complex style atop my head and my face blazing with blush and foundation, Charlie called after me, "Looking good, Ashling!"

  I was glad I'd given him something to think about other than being an accessory to murder, but I felt decidedly uncomfortable.

  Exhausted by the time I arrived home, I sank into the sofa. I couldn't believe there were women who actually enjoyed this stuff.

  * * *

  Donna met me outside my cottage the next morning. The day was brilliant, if you liked that kind of thing: infinite blue sky and temperatures already in the low eighties.

  "You look great," Donna said, eying my black heels and shimmery blue dress, which I'd slipped on over the body-shaping underwear she'd insisted I buy. "Sexy."

  Because lately I'd been feeling about as sexy as Winnie the Pooh (and yet not nearly as lovable), her words filled me with pleasure.

  "Well done," Donna added, brushin
g a piece of my hair off my forehead and redoing one of the bobby pins.

  "Thank you. I think. I'm not sure if that was a compliment for you or for me."

  "Both." Donna wore a red dress with a chic black belt and black pumps. She looked much younger than her age and easily could have passed for thirty-three instead of forty-three. "Your car or mine?"

  "Neither. I hired a limo."

  Donna stared at me. "What? How can we afford that, Miss Moneybags?"

  "We can't. I'm going broke here. But I specifically asked for the guy Ryan said worked for Katrina, and I got him. We'll be able to ask him a few questions. Come on, let's go wait at the street."

  We settled into the On the Road limo a few minutes later. Donna immediately got distracted by the bright and shiny objects. She used the remote to flip on the TV then switched on the stereo, which turned on the strobe lights. The TV and stereo blared to an alarming volume in the enclosed space, and the strobe lights made my eyes ache. I tapped her arm and pointed to the driver. I whispered, "Keep on task."

  "So, Jeremy," I said as Donna turned everything off. Blessed silence ensued. "I heard you drove Katrina Irvine and her entourage around."

  He looked at me in the rearview mirror for a minute before answering. He didn't blink even once, which was a little creepy. "Yeah, so?"

  "Did you overhear anything…interesting?"

  "Negative. They always had the partition up."

  He was about as chatty as the partition.

  "How did you like working for her?" Donna piped up.

  "She gave me a huge tip every night after I dropped them off at the hotel, so how do you think I liked it? I was sorry when the gig ended."

  Yeah, well, "the gig ended" because Katrina was murdered. He didn't seem particularly sympathetic. But my assumptions that she was stingy with the people who worked for her were apparently off the mark. Meanwhile, had I seriously just spent almost three hundred dollars to learn that the driver didn't know anything? My wallet groaned from inside the fancy dress purse Donna made me buy the day before.

  Donna and I didn't talk much as the limo drove into Oak Heights. As we passed by Nail Away with Me, I thought of Mariana, who had shot up the suspect list. Ryan, though sweet, didn't strike me as the type of guy a woman would fight—and possibly kill—over, but I probably wasn't the best judge. I'd been acting like a person who wanted out of a romance. If I was still in one, that is. Probably I'd already sabotaged it.

  Soon we arrived at the Devaneau estate. Gardens, statues, and green lawns—a sight rarely seen these days during the drought—surrounded us. Round tables set with pink tablecloths and fine china filled most of an expansive courtyard. The roar of waves from the nearby Pacific reached my ears, and two butterflies danced around Donna's head. The site was so perfect for a wedding that I thought of calling Scott right then and there and proposing. Maybe we could just have a wedding—and perhaps the honeymoon—but not the marriage.

  In the courtyard, a band of five musicians tuned their instruments next to a dance floor that looked like it had been specially constructed for the occasion. The floor begged for participants. Unfortunately, Donna and I wouldn't be staying for lunch and dancing. I'd only booked the limo for three hours total, and that included driving time. But hopefully I'd get to talk to Hayley and Sondra and grab a few hors d'oeuvres.

  "Breathtaking, isn't it?" Donna said as we joined the crowd milling around the courtyard.

  I nodded in agreement, still somewhat dazed.

  Hayley, wearing a tight black dress and what I now knew to be her blonde wig, stood by herself sipping champagne to the side of the drinks station. Donna pointed out Sondra, who sat at a table with the bride, deep in conversation. Good, my suspects had both been invited to the reception, just as I'd hoped.

  "I'd better go say hi to Susan," Donna said. "And thank her again for inviting us. Will you be all right on your own for a bit?"

  "Yeah. I'm gonna talk to Hayley. See you later."

  I walked over to the drinks table and asked for a cola with ice. Drink in hand, I approached the hairdresser.

  "Hi," I said. "You're Hayley, right?"

  "Yeah. Have we met?"

  I hadn't attempted to hide my appearance the way I had with Mariana, but Hayley didn't seem to recognize me. The one time she'd seen me up close, I'd been wearing one of my ubiquitous StoryWorld T-shirts and my roughed-up jeans. I probably looked quite different decked out in a short dress and heels. Not to mention shaping underwear, which disguised my belly and muffin top. And, as Donna had said, I actually looked sexy for once.

  "I'm Ashling Cleary. From StoryWorld."

  Hayley took a long sip of champagne and stared at me without smiling. "Okay."

  "Look, I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just come right out and ask. Was Katrina blackmailing you?"

  Hayley's eyes grew wide. "No. Why would you say something like that?"

  "I saw a picture on her phone of you without your wig. Come on, Hayley, you can tell me."

  Hayley regarded me as if trying to decide if I were trustworthy. I did my best to put on an appropriate expression.

  After a few seconds, she downed the rest of her champagne in a single swallow and said, "It's crazy. She showed me that picture. I didn't even know she'd taken it. She threatened to tell my other clients that I wear a wig. I was really freaked out. I've built my life on my hair."

  Hayley's last statement made me want to giggle. I imagined a house, a car, and boyfriends growing out of her head at all angles. Jamie and I had once gone to San Francisco and seen Beach Blanket Babylon—a stage production known for its huge, crazy hats—and a character much like that had strutted across the stage at one point. With considerable effort, I suppressed a titter. I nodded sagely, hoping Hayley hadn't caught my near-miss into uncontrollable laughter.

  "All my clients want hair as shiny and healthy as mine," Hayley went on. "Half of what I do is recommend products which I supposedly use. No one would want me for their hairdresser if they knew what my own hair really looks like." She leaned in and whispered, "I have alopecia."

  Wow, Katrina really had been a witch. But rather than point out something Hayley already knew, I said, "You have other clients?"

  "Sure. I usually only did Katrina's hair for big events, like awards shows. But she hired me for the whole summer after she decided to come up here to work. Me and Sondra too. Mariana was on staff all the time, but she's the only one."

  "Oh, okay," I said. "I didn't know that. I just assumed you guys were always with her."

  "No, thank God. She was a piece of work. I couldn't believe it when she showed me that picture. I mean, God, it's not like I can help it."

  The band started playing an upbeat dance song, so I had to speak a little louder. "What did Katrina want? In exchange for not telling your other clients about your wig?"

  "That's the weird thing. She never told me. And she never did anything with the picture, as far as I know. Maybe she would have. But then she died."

  Yeah, or Hayley killed her before she had the chance.

  "So you found her phone, huh?" Hayley said. "She had a real hissy fit when she couldn't find it the day of the premiere. We were gonna try to look for it, but we were late. Later than we usually were, that is. She turned the phone off at night to save the battery, so we couldn't call it or use the find feature."

  A waiter passed by with a tray, and Hayley took an hors d'oeuvre and a napkin. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the hors d'oeuvre was but when in Rome. I followed suit.

  "I'm surprised she wasn't plugged in twenty-four/seven," I said, waiting for Hayley to take a bite first. Maybe I could gauge its tastiness or lack thereof by her expression.

  "Don't be. We were the ones who had to have our phones on all the time, in case she needed us or there was some kind of emergency with her parents or whatever. And we also were responsible for waking her." Hayley sighed. "It was a really good-paying job, though. I'll never get anything that good aga
in. And we never even got to finish out the summer."

  More confirmation Katrina paid well. Cripes, what an enigma she had been. A star who seemed low-maintenance but then behaved like a diva. An actress who disrespected her co-stars but paid her staff well. A supposed blackmailer who didn't follow through with her threats. Hayley took a bite of her hors d'oeuvre, and a look of pleasure spread across her face.

  Encouraged, I took a bite of mine and almost threw it back up. "What is this?"

  "Caviar. It's delicious, isn't it?"

  Not the word I would have used, but okay. I looked around desperately for a discreet place to throw the caca away but came up empty. Besides, Hayley was watching.

  "Well, the bride's hair looks beautiful," I said as pleasantly as I could while also wanting to gag. "It was nice talking to you, Hayley."

  Hayley responded in kind, much friendlier than when we'd begun. "You clean up good," she called after me, and I wondered if I should wear the shimmery blue dress every day of my life.

  On the way to find Sondra, I wrapped the caviar in my napkin and deposited it in a trash can.

  I spied Sondra across the courtyard. She wore incredibly high heels that accentuated the longest legs I'd seen since I last passed by the giant in the Jack and the Beanstalk set. I walked toward her just as she turned and approached me. At the same time, Donna strode over to me from one of the lunch tables. The three of us converged in the middle of the courtyard.

  "Would you like to dance?" Sondra asked me.

  "Um. Me?" Lamely, I pointed to myself even though she was looking right at me.

  "Yes, you. Unless your girlfriend minds." She gestured to Donna. "Wait a minute, you two look familiar."

  "I don't mind," Donna said, obviously making an effort not to dissolve into giggles. There seemed to be a lot of that going around.

  "Sure," I said, ignoring Donna. "I'd love to dance."

  Sondra took my hand and led me to the dance floor. The upbeat song ended, and a slow one took its place. Unfazed, Sondra put her arms around my waist.