A Ring to Die For

by Stephanie Damore

  A Ring to Die For

  A Beauty Secrets Short Story

  Stephanie Damore

  Contents

  A Ring to Die For

  Makeup and Murder

  Untitled

  About the Author

  A Ring to Die For

  “Girl, you’d better call me back.” I left the short voicemail and stared at my cell phone, willing it to ring. My home screen mocked my impatience, with its swirling ribbons chasing one another through space. Ugh. I tossed the phone onto my passenger seat, then picked it up again, for the tenth time. Still nothing.

  My morning had been just dandy. I picked up my product shipment, made a couple beauty deliveries, and I was headed downtown to reward myself with a sweet treat and chai latte from Sweet Thangs—the local confectioner and coffee shop, when I received the phone call.

  Five minutes before, the town gossip queen, who was also my Nan’s best friend, Mrs. Birdie Jackson, called to tell me my bestie was in the slammer for robbing a jewelry store. Not that it could possibly be true, even if Mrs. J. saw it with her own eyes; but the fact that I’d called Aria a zillion times now, without an answer or a text back, seriously had me worried. I tapped my phone and selected the local news app, just to make sure there wasn’t any breaking news of the jewelry sort; but, short of the local, small-town stories, it was empty.

  I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a candy bar that I carried around for stressful situations just like this. Well, stressful situations, annoyances, hunger, boredom; you know, whatever. Chocolate was my hero. It calmed me. I closed my eyes and tried to think about what Mrs. J. had said. Through all her elaborate storytelling (“Guess what I heard?” and “Oh my gosh, did you hear?”), I gathered that Aria had been arrested at Magnificent Gems, the relatively new, but increasingly popular jewelry shop downtown. I hadn’t checked the place out, but I heard that the store was true to its name. Formally Smith and Company, the family business owners retired last year and sold the store to an up-and-coming jewelry designer, who was quickly building a brand for himself. Port Haven residents appreciated fine art.

  So, that’s where I needed to go. I put my little pickup truck in drive and finished my way downtown.

  Aria’s fancy red sports car was parked out front. I wasn't sure if that was promising or not. The car had belonged to her late husband, and Aria always said she was going to sell it. But she never would. She loved that car as much as Raja did. Even if it was completely impractical.

  Her car was empty, and one look at the darkened jewelry store told me it was closed. An oddity for a Tuesday morning. My stomach did a little flip flop, which I blamed on the chocolate, even if Mrs. J.’s story had gained some credibility.

  I got out of my truck and looked up and down the street for clues. Downtown had its usual weekday busyness. People walked in and out of shops, retired folks walked their dogs, a few people rode bicycles to and fro, but no sign of Aria. It was early March, but down South, that meant the weather was beautiful and the visitors were plenty. This weekend was Saint Patrick’s Day and, as always, tourists had started trickling in. Nearby Savannah hosted the largest St. Patrick’s Day parade in the country, which always turned into a rowdy good time. Port Haven was ready to take in the city’s overflow. Downtown, the city squares were bursting with gorgeous pink, purple, and white azaleas. The blooms were lovely, but they made me sneeze like nothing else. Spring always put my allergies into overdrive. In fact, I felt a sneeze attack coming on. I blasted five times into the crook of my arm and felt my eyes water. Good thing my Bronze Goddess eyeliner and Black Noir mascara were waterproof. Sniffles in check, I scanned the area again. Only one other guy was nearby. He was sitting in his car, parked across the street, working on his cell phone. He seemed innocent enough, but I wasn’t about to start asking random strangers if they’d seen my bestie.

  However, asking inside the local businesses seemed perfectly reasonable. I was heading to the dry cleaner next door, when my cell phone finally rang. It was a county number. My heart picked up a couple beats.

  "Ziva, I need help." It was Aria.

  "What’s going on?"

  "I've been arrested. They said I stole a ring, but I swear I didn’t.”

  “Sweet sugar.” Mrs. J. had been right.

  "Call my mom. I'm sure she's already heard. Ask her to pick up Arjun.” Arjun was Aria’s five-year-old son. "I'm working on getting out on bond, but it might take a while."

  "Will do. What else?"

  "Figure out what this madness is all about."

  "On it. What happened exactly?"

  "I'm honestly not sure. I finished talking with the manager, and was having a side conversation with another guy, when security approached me. Said he needed to check my bag. I agreed, and he pulled out the ring."

  "And you didn’t accidentally put it there?"

  "C’mon. Who accidentally puts a ten-thousand-dollar ring in her purse?"

  "I know, but then how did it get there?"

  "I don’t know. I had tried the ring on just for fun, but I gave it back to the manager. I assumed he put it back."

  "It’s a jewelry store. Don’t they have cameras?”

  "That’s what I said, but I guess they're down. That’s why they have security guards. Well, just the one.”

  I turned and walked down the sidewalk, away from the store. “Speaking of which, they’re opening back up. I’ll give them a few minutes and head in.”

  “Good deal."

  "What else?" I wasn’t sure how much time Aria had, but I wanted to get all the details before I hung up. "You tried on a ring, gave it back, and then it ended up in your bag for security to find. Someone had to have put it in your bag and tipped off security. You said you talked to a guy. Who else was there?"

  “Justine."

  Ugh, Justine Martin. My arch frenemy. I’ve loathed her since the fourth grade. She was a new beauty consultant for that other company, and I only hoped she’d get tired of the business as quickly as she did her husbands.

  “That’s just the type of thing she would do,” I said.

  “I know, right?”

  “Any idea what she was doing there?”

  “Selling some of her grandmother’s jewelry or something like that. I didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

  “So, she needs money...”

  “Maybe, or maybe she just hated her grandmother.” That was a real possibility.

  "We know Mrs. J. was there,” I said.

  “Don’t remind me. She’ll have this all over town within a few hours."

  “I know. But we’ll figure this out and clear your name.”

  “It’s going to take forever for people to forget this.” I knew she was right. No sense denying it. But I had to be the good friend and keep her calm.

  “Don’t stress. I’ll have your mom get Arjun, and I’ll dig around a little bit. Call me when you can. Love you, girl."

  Aria and I said our goodbyes, and I turned around and walked into the jewelry store.

  A gentleman sporting gray dress pants and a medium blue V-neck sweater, greeted me when I walked in. It was the same guy who had just unlocked the front door a few moments before. I was betting he was the manager.

  “Hi, how’s it going?”

  The manager was completely relaxed with a natural smile on his face. He must've handled stress like a champ.

  “Good. I was wondering if you could help me," I said.

  “Sure, what are you looking for? We just got in some beautiful estate pieces if you’re interested." I wondered if he was referring to Justine’s grandmother’s jewelry.

  “I love estate jewelry.” Liar, liar pants on fire.

  I followed the manager over to the display case full
of beautiful gemstones, set in dangly earrings, cocktail rings, and colorful brooches. They really were beautiful, but totally not my style. My mother, however, would’ve loved them. I made a mental note for Mother’s Day and attempted to steer the conversation to Aria.

  “These are gorgeous. Is this what someone tried to steal today?” I asked.

  “What? No. No.” He shook his head, and I knew I had caught him off guard.

  “Small town,” I supplied.

  “I know. Something I’m still getting used to.”

  “So, what happened then?” I asked.

  "I don't think—" The manager started to protest.

  "Or, I'm sure I can just ask around." The last thing I knew he wanted me to do. "I'm sure you'd want me to set the record straight, if I heard anything outrageous."

  "Well, I suppose that's true." The manager seemed to weigh his options. The scales tipped in my favor. “It was a ring, actually. One of my new designs. I’d show it to you, but the police have it for now.”

  “One of your designs?”

  “Yeah, I’m the new owner, Gregory Pierce."

  “Ziva Diaz.” I shook his hand. “Here’s the thing. I know the accused. She’d never steal your ring.”

  Gregory shrugged his shoulders. “Honestly, I didn’t see it. My security guard is the one who told me.”

  "Where’s he at?” I looked around, but no one else appeared to be in the store.

  “He asked for some time off.”

  I raised my eyebrows. "Someone just tried to steal from you, and you gave your security guard the afternoon off?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got the store covered.”

  Uh-huh. And what the heck was that supposed to mean? “Do you have a way I can reach him?”

  “Sorry, no can do.”

  What was it with companies and employee privacy? I opened my purse and took out one of my beauty business cards instead. “Can you give this to him? Have him give me a call?”

  “That I can do.”

  “Thanks. Oh, one more thing, Aria said a guy was chatting with her for a few minutes. Another customer. Any idea who he was?”

  “No, I’m really sorry. I don’t."

  I stepped back outside, thinking that was a huge waste of time. Until I remembered seeing that estate jewelry. The pieces and the price tags were high-class, for sure. If they were Justine’s grandmother’s, she made a pretty penny selling them this afternoon. I didn’t want to hit up Justine just yet, that is, not until I had all the facts, and there was only one person in town who could possibly help me with that.

  I whipped together a lip-care kit with sugar scrub, moisturizing lip balm, and Mrs. J.’s favorite—Passion Pout lipstick, and headed to her house. Mrs. J. lived in Sugar Plantation—an upscale neighborhood filled with beautiful brick homes and manicured lawns. It was also where Aria and some of my other top beauty clients lived. When I pulled into Mrs. J.’s driveway, she was perched on her throne. That is, the rocker on her front porch. She didn’t look the least bit surprised to see me. She knew better.

  “Quite a day, huh, sweets?” She said, by way of greeting. She enjoyed calling me dessert-related names like sweets, sweetie, and of course, her favorite—sug’.

  “Mrs. J., what in the world happened?" I handed over the gift bag. Mrs. J. opened it and smiled once she saw the contents.

  “Trying to butter me up?” she asked.

  “I shouldn't have to, but yeah." Mrs. J. could be ... finicky. I got to the point. "Look Mrs. J., you and I both know Aria didn’t steal that ring."

  Mrs. J. started to protest, but I gave her the look. You know, the one that says I mean business. Don't mess with me.

  “Oh, all right. But before all that, follow me." Mrs. J. led me into her house and had me sit at the kitchen table, while she rummaged through her fridge. A minute later, she was serving me a gigantic slice of lemon icebox pie. Graham cracker crust, thick custard, and homemade whipped cream. Mmm, yum. It wasn’t chocolate, but man, it was so good. It had been my Nan’s recipe. Mrs. J. liked to give me a hard time every now and then, but she always took care of me.

  “There. Now, where were we?” she said, “Ah, yes, Aria. Tell you the truth, sug’, I don’t know what happened. I’m there having my ring cleaned, and I look up to see Aria in handcuffs.”

  "Any detail you can think of? Aria said Justine was there." Her name rolled smoothly off my tongue. See? I could be a grownup.

  "Now, that's a girl I don't like." It was Mrs. J.'s turn to look irked.

  "Amen to that." Justine's second husband, or maybe her third, had been Mrs. J.'s nephew. The marriage didn’t end well.

  "What's new with her? Your nephew say anything?” I asked.

  "I tell you what, she right done him over. Thought he was rid of her, until the taxman came a-callin'. They're looking at booking her for tax evasion. My nephew too."

  I’d like to say I was shocked, but not even a teensy bit. "Typical Justine,” I said.

  “You know it.”

  "So, Justine was there trading some jewelry for cash,” I said.

  “That, and setting up a hot date with the security guard. I thought it was pretty lowbrow for her standards, but I figured her reputation had finally caught up with her.”

  True. You could only screw over so many men in the same town before you had to expand your hunting grounds or lower your standards. We knew which way Justine was trending.

  "What about the guy who was chatting with Aria? What do you know about him?” I asked.

  “Now, that’s someone Justine would like to sink her claws into. His name’s Jacob something or another." Mrs. J., snapped her fingers, trying to recall his full name. "He's friends with that owner, Gregory Pierce. I think they're business partners or something like that."

  Well now, wasn't that interesting. Either Gregory didn't know who I was talking about, or he totally lied. My money was on the latter.

  “I gotta figure this out, Mrs. J.,” I said.

  “I know you will, sug’,”

  Glad someone here was confident.

  “What were you doing there anyway?” I asked. No stone unturned.

  “Like I said, getting my ring cleaned. Don’t you go lookin’ at me like that. I had a coupon from the Sunday paper. Promised me a ring cleaning and an appraisal. Of course, I only got my ring cleaned, before Aria had to steal that other ring.”

  “She did not steal it!” I hissed.

  “Fine, fine. I’m just saying how it looked."

  I gave an audible sigh. I knew where I was headed next, but I didn’t really want to go there. Aria was going to owe me big time. Like fudge brownie with mocha ice-cream and whipped cream, big time.

  Justine Martin lived in a two-story, red-brick house just north of downtown. It was featured in Southern Home magazine a couple months ago, and I heard that she was still bragging about it. The last time I willingly went to her house was in ninth grade, to cover her car in shaving cream. It was awesome. Don’t think I didn’t consider picking up a can on my way over today. Maybe later, depending on how the conversation went.

  I pulled up in front of the immaculately maintained home, and laughed. Justine had made a game out of marrying well, and continued to upgrade with each spouse. Her currents digs were kind of ridiculous, seeing how she lived there with only a poodle. I’m guessing the house had at least six bedrooms, and probably as many bathrooms. Justine seemed to have it all. But looks could be deceiving. Like, maybe she was facing jail time, if she didn’t come up with some serious cash. That made me smile. Unfortunately, that wasn’t why I was visiting. Although, knowing Justine, that information would come in handy.

  Justine answered the door, wearing a bikini and a sarong, with a fruity-looking cocktail in her hand. She had long, red curly hair and a hawkish nose. Her hair might have been cute if it wasn't always streaked with bleach, or gunked-up with goo.

  I wrinkled my nose. It was the same reaction I got when I stepped in dog do. Justine had that effect
on me.

  “You’re not Eduardo,” she said.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” I lied.

  Justine looked me up and down, taking in my cut-off jeans and Converses. She’s the only person I know who would judge what someone’s wearing, when she’s standing there half-naked.

  “You can still clean the pool if you want,” she said with chide.

  Yep, totally should’ve brought the shaving cream. I swallowed my retort. “Gonna pass. But I do want to talk to you about what happened at the jeweler today.”

  “Oh really? And why would I help you?” she asked.

  “Well, you can be nice and answer a simple question, or I can rent a billboard and let the town know you’re being investigated for tax evasion.” I blinked my eyes doe-like and smiled sweetly.

  “You—”

  “—Would. Yes, I totally would. So, on with my question and, I promise, it’s a simple one. What the name of the security guard you were talking to today? Oh, and if you lie, or you’re responsible for the ring in Aria’s purse, I’m totally putting up the billboard.”

  A quick search online told me that Joey Bones lived about twenty miles outside of town. in no-man’s land. I put the address in my phone and let it lead the way. Thirty minutes later, I was idling in front of a winding, grassy, two-track trail that presumably lead to Joey's house. Just looking at the wild flowers made me sneeze. Twice. I blew my nose and got ready to do some off-roading.

  One heck of a bumpy ride and a handful of sneezes later, the trail opened to a clearing. The dust rolled off the hood of my truck, and I looked around. A rusted-out minivan was parked in front of the gray, or maybe it had once been blue, double-wide. The trailer was perched on cinder blocks on one side, and what looked to be a keg on the other. To the left of the trailer, was a white metal carport that leaned to the side. It was full of all sorts of miscellaneous junk: a refrigerator without a door, car parts, a riding lawn mower missing its wheels, paint cans, rotted tires—the type of junk that should've been thrown out, and not in the front yard, a long time ago.