“I’m going to finish what I’m doing here and I’ll give you a call later to see how things are going. Deal?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, don’t stress. A week from now you’ll be on your honeymoon, and none of this will matter. Know where you’re going yet?”
“Not a clue.” At least that got a smile out of her.
“Just keep thinking about that.” I was totally jealous. What I wouldn’t give for a vacation right about now, but with all my cash poured into my business, it was going to be a long time before that happened. Eye on the prize, I reminded myself.
I ushered the girls out and got back to work. The lotion bars were cooling on my coffee table, but I still had to make more of my peach passion sugar scrub and lush lemon bath bombs. So much work to do! Maybe when it was all said and done, I’d be able to take some time and pamper myself…
As it turned out, I barely had time to take a quick shower, let alone the long soak in the tub I had been envisioning, before it was time to head to my parents’ house for my birthday dinner. One positive was Mrs. J. would be there. She had always been my grandma’s plus one, and the invitation still stood even though my nana had earned her angel wings. If all went as planned, I’d be able to talk to Mrs. J. one-on-one and get her take on what happened to Paulette, and hopefully be able to reassure Aria that her wedding cake would be perfect.
5
My parents used to live in what had been dubbed “Old Port Haven.” The houses were small, the community close, and everyone mowed their own lawns. It was the type of place where kids still rode their bikes together, ran through sprinklers, and everyone looked out for one another. Since retiring, my parents wanted to focus more on traveling and enjoying their golden years than in upkeeping their house, so they moved last year into a newly constructed condo. The condo was nice, as were their neighbors, but it wasn’t the same as their old digs. Apparently, I was the only one who felt that way. My mom loved her shiny new kitchen, decked out in granite and stainless steel, and my dad loved that he could fit a 55-inch television comfortably on the living room wall.
Mrs. J. might be the best baker in town, but she couldn’t hold a spoon to my mom’s cooking. Our Puerto Rican roots run deep, and birthdays were celebrated with food. My mom was just taking the tostones out of the oil when I walked in. The fried plantain cakes were Puerto Ricans’ equivalent to French fries, only sweeter. I nabbed one off the paper towel, even though it was burning hot. I couldn’t resist. My mom tried to swat my hand. “Those are for dinner!” But it was only a half attempt. I kissed her on top of the head. Being that I’m a shorty, she was the only person I could do that to.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you one,” I said with a smile and scooted out of striking range.
“Hi, Papa.” I popped my head around the corner into the living room. My dad was sitting forward in his favorite recliner, watching “the game,” which referred to anything baseball-oriented.
“He’s going to blow it!” he said to no one in particular, “Again! They’re never going to make it to the playoffs with a bullpen that can’t go deep. Cripes.” My dad looked up and spotted me. “Hey, Ziva.”
“Good game?”
“Every single time.” I would hate to be a relief pitcher. I don’t care how much money they made. Imagine that stress. Yikes.
I walked over to the fridge and got my dad a beer, and a bottle of red for my mom and me. Mrs. J. usually brought her own “hooch.” I twisted the cap off and walked out to the living room, where I handed it to him and kissed his cheek.
“Finn with you?” he asked.
“Nope, charter, but next time…” That is, if I tell him about it.
Mrs. J. walked in a minute later. She was dressed in a shimmery turquoise number, my favorite color. She was killing it too. If I had dressed head to toe in the bright greenish-blue color, I’d look like a peacock.
“Mmm-mm. It smells good in here!” Mrs. J. said, greeting my mom. She was right; it did smell divine. I was thinking that had something to do with the pollo guisado simmering on the stove. The chicken stew was about as authentically Puerto Rican as you could get, or maybe it was the pork roast, perníl, just finishing up in the oven. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that crispy skin. When I walked into the kitchen, I decided that it didn’t matter where my parents lived, it smelled like home.
“Mrs. J., what can you tell us today?” my dad asked, joining us in the kitchen. Mom gave him a discerning look with one eyebrow raised. “Gossiping shouldn’t be encouraged,” I could hear her saying in my head. My dad just smiled.
“Ziva, set the table, please,” my mom ordered. I did as she asked, but kept my ears open.
“Well, y’all know Paulette’s dead. Good riddance, I say. Guess that means I should go to church. Speaking of which, we could use a little extra hand tomorrow night at Bingo. Ziva, you free?” Mrs. J. hollered the last part toward the dining room.
Oh no, I was not free. I just didn’t know what I was going to be doing. I could see my mother just over Mrs. J.’s shoulder, fully expecting me to accept. Church was church, and you lent them a hand when they asked. It didn’t matter if it was our church or not.
“It’s food bingo,” Mrs. J. said, reading my hesitation, as if that somehow made a difference. “You can win frozen pizzas or pot pies. Last time, I won a whole turkey, and they even let the workers take home the unclaimed prizes.”
Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t think up an excuse quickly enough. With Finn out of town, I didn’t have any hot dates planned. I reluctantly accepted and could only hope that it wouldn’t be too bad.
Dinner was served. It was all I could’ve dreamed of and more.
“How’s the wedding plans coming?” Mrs. J. asked.
My stew went down the wrong pipe and I coughed hard. My dad laughed. I did not find it funny.
“We’re not … it’s not that serious,” I stammered.
“I meant Aria, sug’.” Mrs. J. looked at me with the most bewildered expression and then smiled, as if she knew something I didn’t.
“Oh. Right, yeah of course. Um, they’re good. I mean, Aria’s a bit of a stressed-out mess right now, but I think it’s going to be great.” Minus the fact that she’s worried you’re going to poison her. Of course, I didn’t say that, but rather changed the subject. “Are you going to be at the farmers market tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it. Gotta sell my desserts. Although, I would’ve liked that champion ribbon to display on my booth. Darn Paulette. Whoops. God rest her soul and all, but she was a pain in the butt.”
“What’s your theory about Paulette, Mrs. J.?” My dad leaned forward to hear her take.
“Luis! Not at the dinner table!” my mom hissed, trying to hush the subject. No one listened to her.
“Well, I’ve been thinking, and maybe it was Humphrey,” Mrs. J. said.
“The mayor?” I asked.
“Of course. If I had to listen to Paulette jibber jabber every day, I’d want to kill her too.”
This got a chuckle out of my dad. My mom clearly didn’t approve. “Mayor Potts is a very nice man. I hardly doubt he would kill his girlfriend,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I talked to him today and he didn’t seem all that upset that she was dead, but he was worried about the festival and how it would affect the turnout. So, there’s that. If he was going to kill her, it probably wouldn’t be during Seaside Days.”
“Unless that’s his cover,” Mrs. J. said in a curious voice. “I guess it could’ve been. I don’t know though… I told that to that blond bimbo, but did she listen to me? Nope.” Mrs. J. looked annoyed.
“Blond bimbo? You mean detective Roxy? She visited you?” I wasn’t surprised, but I had to play it off.
“Detective who?” Dad questioned.
“New detective in town,” I supplied.
“New pain in the keister is what she is,” Mrs. J. said.
/> “Birdie!” My mom was still trying to maintain some dinner table decorum.
“Listen, I don’t care what her name is or where she’s from. She can just hightail it outta here. Coming up to me with her attitude. I ain’t having it. She needs to show me some respect.”
Oh boy. I had a feeling Mrs. J. hadn’t been on her best behavior. “What did she say?” I asked.
“Wanting to know what I thought of Paulette. Heard I had threatened her. I told her I’d show her a threat. Then she goes asking if she can see my cake recipe. I asked if she bumped her head. No one gets my recipe!”
My dad clapped his hands, as if this whole thing was hilarious. He had to get his amusement from somewhere, with my mom acting all hoity toity.
“You’d better be nice to her,” I said.
My mom agreed, “She’s the police. You need to show her some respect.”
“Pssht. She better show me some respect. Mrs. Jackson don’t take sass from no one.” That she didn’t.
“Yeah, but you gotta admit, you hated Paulette, and she ate your cake, and now she’s dead. Poisoned. Mysteriously.”
“I ain’t got time to kill anybody. Didn’t you hear me say I was selling my bake goods tomorrow? Someone’s gotta frost all them cookies and pour out the pies. Besides, my back’s been bothering me. I’m not about to bury anyone in the sand.”
We sat in silence while we thought about it. Mrs. J. did have a point. I had more questions for her, but I didn’t want to ask in front of my mom.
“So, who wants some cake?” my dad asked.
I have to admit, I was a little hesitant to eat Mrs. J.’s cake. Here I had been telling Aria not to worry about her wedding cake, when I didn’t want to eat my birthday cake. I tried to pretend I was too full and planned to take it home; but let’s face it, I’m never too full for cake. I did buy myself a little time with a bathroom break while everyone dug in. I figured I’d give them a ten-minute head start. That way, if things did turn south, at least one of us could call an ambulance. Of course, nothing like that happened and Mrs. J.’s cake was divine as usual. Tonight, she had made a three-layer, red-velvet cake, slathered in cream cheese frosting and topped with pecans. Swoon. Why she’d never written a cookbook was beyond me. Oh wait, that’s right, her recipes were top secret. Minor detail. It was a shame I even had to second guess her. That alone made me want to solve this mystery. No one should ever be afraid to eat cake.
It was a good thing I wore leggings. I would need to get in two solid days of cardio to make up for all the calories I ate. It was a shame Finn was out of town. He could’ve lent me a hand … as a running partner, of course. Speaking of which, he would’ve loved my mom’s cooking, especially that crispy pork. If he thought bacon was good (and who didn’t?) he would’ve been in heaven. I sighed just thinking about it and then gave another sigh that had nothing to do with food. I was pathetic. I was missing him, and he just left this morning. What’s worse is I was having a bit of guilt for not even telling him he had been invited tonight. Triple sigh.
Mrs. J. had her goodie bag tucked under her arm and we headed out. The evening summer air smelled sweet after baking in the sun all day. I debated avoiding Main Street with all the Seaside Days’ festivities, but it really was the best way back through town.
From the stop-and-go traffic, last night’s drama hadn’t affected the crowds. The carnival was in full swing, and the grandstand lawn was packed in anticipation of tonight’s concert. Vendors were already walking the grounds, twirling glow sticks and blinking doodads. If I seriously didn’t still have a ton of work to do before tomorrow, I’d be ringing up Aria to head out. We couldn’t do it tonight, but a girl’s night was definitely in order soon. We both needed it. Aria perhaps more than I.
“I meant to ask. Who else was close to Paulette? Besides Mayor Potts?” I asked Mrs. J. as we inched forward.
Mrs. J. chewed her lip for a moment. “Well, Suzanne Butterfield was her girlfriend. Mind you, I don’t like her either. Those old biddies were two birds of a feather.”
“I forgot about her… That’s right, she was a judge too. What else does she do?”
“She owns Suzy-Bee Honey, you know, all those fancy honeys and what not? She makes those. Thinks she’s so high-class with her honey bees.”
I vaguely remembered seeing the honey for sale around town. “She live in town?”
“You thinking of paying her a visit?”
“Maybe. I need a local source of raw honey and honeycomb for my beauty line. I’m paying a fortune in shipping right now.” That wasn’t the real reason I wanted to know where she lived, but it was true nonetheless.
“I suppose that’s all right. Her farm’s off Miller Road, past Granger Bridge.”
“Yeah, I know right where that’s at. Thanks.”
“Like I said, she and Paulette got along real well.”
“What about on the opposite end, anyone dislike her as much as you?”
“Well now, that’s a toughie. If I had to come up with a name, I’d say Vicki Kline.”
I thought for a minute, but her name didn’t register. “I don’t know her.”
“Well, she was a friend of theirs, I guess you could say. Quite a bit younger, but she was always following Paulette and Suzanne around. They obviously didn’t like her, but she constantly wanted their approval. It’s a shame she gave two licks what those other two thought of her.”
“Where does she work now?”
“Well, it used to be the library, but now she’s at the conservatory. She’s all about flowers. A little cuckoo over them, in my opinion, obsessive really. Although, I gotta say, she’s one rose that never bloomed.”
I was thinking there was more to it and was surprised, for once, that Mrs. J. didn’t know more. She must be slipping.
“What is it with you and Paulette anyway? You two used to be friends, didn’t you?”
“She never was a friend, stealing from me the way she did.”
“Steal?” I had never heard anything about a theft.
“My recipes!”
“What?”
“I tell you, we were going to open a bakery together back when we were younger. I turn around one minute and the next she’s opening it by herself, selling my recipes off as her own. You see what I’m saying? That’s the type of woman Paulette was. It’s no wonder she was murdered.” Mrs. J. scowled.
I nodded and added backstabber to my list of Paulette’s character traits. So far, that only made Mrs. J.’s motive stronger. I also thought that explained why she would never share her recipes with anyone.
“Does she still own the bakery?” I asked.
“No, she sold it, and made a pretty penny too.” Mrs. J. folded her arms and settled further down in her seat.
Yeah, that would rub me the wrong way. “I see. No wonder you two didn’t like one another. I heard you yesterday, too, saying you wanted to put a little extra something in her slice of cake. You’d better hope no one else heard it.”
Mrs. J. gave a little chuckle and perked up a bit. “Ah, sug’. I meant a laxative. Make her get the tootsie trots in those white capris she always wore.”
I laughed, even though I shouldn’t have. “You would have. You totally would’ve, but you’d better be careful. Detective Roxy isn’t messing around. You might want to, I don’t know, act a little sad or something. Like maybe you’ll miss her.”
“Miss Paulette? Ha, that ain’t happening. Of course, it would’ve been nice if she’d just moved away and not taken a dirt nap, but I’ll take what I can get.”
I raised an eyebrow and hid another smile. “And keep that to yourself, too.”
6
I was so nervous Sunday morning I couldn’t think straight. I’d done hundreds of beauty demos, but they were all for Beauty Secrets. This time, I was representing my own brand. When I arrived at the market, I skipped setting up for a minute to jog over to the carnival grounds and beg for a funnel cake. Surely, someone had to be working. I found a vendo
r, piping fresh ones out, complete with custard, powdered sugar, and hot-fudge sauce. I was in heaven and inhaled that baby. It was glorious, and the sugar buzz was just the confidence boost I needed to tackle the day.
Of course, my buzz was short lived when I reached my booth and saw Justine setting up directly across from me. Why me? The last time we did an event beside one another, it ended up a mess. Well, for her anyway. I thought it had been quite laughable. At least she was out of the beauty business, for now. She had a large black banner with hot pink writing that said Puptastic Fashions. Although, the script writing had so many loops and curls that it looked like “Pooptastic Fashions.” That made me smile. If anyone was pooptastic, it was Justine. It looked like she specialized in tutus and headbands for her furry friends. She had racks and racks of little outfits set up, all color-coordinated and almost all featured tulle and sequins. Of course, she had Candy with her too. Today, the miniature poodle was dressed like a princess with a sparkly yellow satin dress and light blue tulle petticoat. Her look was complete with a little rhinestone tiara and painted pink nails.
“Breakfast?” Justine held up a dog biscuit.
“Would hate to steal yours,” I said with a smile.
“Good heavens, child. What on Earth happened to your hair?” Mrs. J. startled us both.
“What? What’s wrong?” Justine turned side to side, trying to inspect her own head.
“It’s supposed to look like that,” I remarked, knowing exactly what Mrs. J. was talking about.
“Well, it looks terrible.” Gotta love a woman who tells it like it is.
Justine favored “chunky” highlights, which amounted to giant strips of her naturally red hair being bleached various shades of orange. I liked to believe she did it herself as no professional should ever do such a horrendous job. Justine also tended to favor volume, which, in her case, meant making her head look like a giant cheese doodle.
Kiss & Makeup: Beauty Secrets Mystery Book 2 Page 4