Beauty Expos Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Crisis averted and I was on my way. I couldn’t imagine taking a beach vacation and staying inside on the Internet all day. Rita must really love online shopping.

  CHAPTER 27

  The drive off the island and through North Cape May didn’t take long. In another month the time would double with beach traffic, so I’d count my blessings for the preseason. Bayshore Road ran through the heart of the Villas. It was neither on the bay nor the shore, but it split in half a small, sleepy neighborhood full of crackerjack houses on postage-stamp lawns. The Teen Center was conveniently sandwiched in between two government buildings that most teens wanted nothing to do with: the public library and the Lower Township Police Station.

  I parked in front of the brown-brick building by the bike rack. The skateboarding ramp was empty, but the outdoor basketball court was full of kids doing as much trash-talking as they were putting the ball through the hoop.

  Four months ago, I was here to ask questions about the founder, Brody Brandt, who’d won the Cape May County Humanitarian Award. That seemed like ages ago. Now the lime-green lobby had a new brass plaque inside the front door dedicating the building to him.

  “Hey, girl! Amber said you might stop by.” As wide as she was tall, Brenda was the Teen Center gatekeeper. She had short-cropped, spiky pink hair and wore funky, silver cat eyeglasses. Her red T-shirt announced that she had beaten anorexia. She was my kinda gal. It was her job to keep the teens safe while they were in the building, so you had to sign in before she’d let you pass. Sign in and bring snacks.

  I held up my tray of cookies. “Here to bribe you for some information.”

  “Alright! Come on in. We haven’t seen you since Christmas.” Brenda took two of the offered cookies and daintily placed them on a napkin next to her Diet Coke.

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been one thing after another. This weekend I have a booth at the Convention Hall Beauty Expo. Have you been?”

  She blew a raspberry. “No. That’s not for me. Lots of snooty, expensive snake oil and empty promises. All my money goes here.” She cast her eyes around the lobby. “I’ll stick with the Oil of Olay. You look good, though. Did you lose weight?”

  “Oh.” I let out this embarrassing guffaw that I wished I could take back. “Maybe a little.”

  “Yeah, I can tell. Your boobs look smaller.”

  “Oh.” Well, that’s definitely not what I was going for.

  She laughed when I looked down at my chest. “Don’t worry. You’ve got plenty left. Now, what do you want to know?”

  I need to buy a better push-up bra. I set the tray of cookies down on the front table by a stack of pamphlets about after-school tutoring. “Do you know a boy named Temarius Jackson?”

  Brenda smiled. “Yes, I know Temarius. I haven’t seen him in a while, though. What’s he up to?”

  My throat started to close up and I felt the light go out of my eyes. “Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he’s passed away.”

  Tears filled Brenda’s eyes and her hand flew up to her chest. “That’s just . . . What happened?”

  “It looks like he was murdered.”

  Brenda hung her head and shook it, speechless.

  “I was wondering if you might know if he was having problems with anyone. What crowd did he hang out with?”

  Brenda wiped her eyes and gave me a chin nod. “Here’s who you need to ask. I know you’ve already met this handsome young man.”

  A tall, skinny boy with light-brown skin and fuzzy, brown hair shiny with sweat came down the hall spinning a basketball. He had a group of younger boys following behind him, all dressed in shorts and tank tops and smelling like outside. “Emilio.”

  A grin split his face and he came in to hug me. “I’m sorry I’m all sweaty.”

  “That’s okay, hug me anyway. You look great.”

  “Yeah, I don’t look like a PEZ dispenser anymore.” He laughed. “I smell cookies.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. I motioned to the tray. “Help yourself.” The boys cleaned it out before I could mention the coconut.

  Brenda wisely hid her two cookies inside her drawer. “Emilio is our full-time activities director now. He’s been coaching the boys’ basketball team after school for weeks.”

  Emilio tossed the basketball from hand to hand. “We’ve been playing local private schools. We’re looking for a national league to join.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  Brenda took the ball from Emilio. “Poppy wants to talk to you about something important.”

  “Oh sure. Why don’t we go to my office?”

  He led me to a little beige room down the hall from the front desk. He had two folding chairs, and his metal desk was stacked high with uniform catalogs. He took a seat and tipped back in his chair. “What’s up?”

  “Do you know Temarius Jackson?”

  “Yeah. We’re in the program together. He’s doing great.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emilio, but . . . Temarius is dead.”

  Emilio froze, stunned. Then his face twisted in rage. He picked up an empty Gatorade bottle and hurled it against the wall. He sat down hard and dropped his head to his hands. “How did it happen?”

  “All we know is that he was shot. A friend of mine is trying to find out who might have been involved. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?”

  Emilio leaned forward in his chair until it squeaked. “Man, he got into a bad scene, pulling these small-time jobs. B and E, petty theft, stuff like that. He wanted to go straight, but he said he couldn’t get out.”

  “What did he mean, he couldn’t get out?”

  “I only know someone had something on him. He said he was working with a cop, so I thought he was finally getting help and stopped riding him about it.”

  “When was that?”

  “I dunno. Like February maybe. The last meeting he was at, he said he was in trouble and this time he was going down hard. He lost something and he said it would cost him his life.” Emilio’s eyes teared up. “Man, I shoulda done something. I shoulda called someone.”

  My heart broke for him. “It’s not your fault, hon. There was nothing you could have done. When was the last meeting?”

  “Two days ago.”

  The day before he died. “Do you know what he lost? Like maybe drugs he was supposed to deliver?”

  Emilio cocked his head. “That wouldn’t be possible. Addicts don’t make the best middlemen. They end up using all the product. But I don’t know, he was doing so good. He got his GED, and he’d just gotten his ninety-day chip. We sabotage ourselves, but I have a hard time believing he was using again. I think whatever he was mixed up in, someone else was pulling the strings.”

  CHAPTER 28

  I was so exhausted after my visit to the Teen Center that I fell asleep in my clothes on top of the bed. Figaro purred himself into a ball under my chin around four a.m., and I woke up long enough to whip the comforter over us. I would have slept right through the breakfast service if I hadn’t smelled waffles. That, and Figaro springboarding off my face when he heard the can opener two flights down.

  I got myself together and put on a minimal layer of makeup—enough so I didn’t scare anyone—then headed down the back stairs to the kitchen.

  Joanne was ordering Victory around with a spatula. Victory had been placed at the Belgian waffle iron, a position I was convinced would end with her going to the emergency room, and Joanne was at the stove stirring two saucepans and watching the KitchenAid beat something that looked like cheesecake.

  Victory tried to peek at the waffle and Joanne slapped the spatula against the counter. “Did I say open the waffle iron?”

  “But eet smell done.”

  “It’s done when I say it’s done.”

  I ventured into the kitchen a little afraid for my life. “What are we making?”

  Joanne tossed me a look over her shoulder, then dismissed me.

  Victory grinned. “Cannoli waffle.”

  �
�What the heck is a cannoli waffle?”

  Victory kept on grinning. “I don’t know.” She tried to lift the waffle lid and Joanne smacked the counter again.

  I looked around the empty kitchen. “Hey. Where are all the scones and breads I made last night?”

  Aunt Ginny appeared from the mudroom door chewing, her cheeks bulging like a squirrel. She froze when she realized she’d been caught.

  Joanne turned off the mixer. “Because you’re under-whelmingly prepared here to do this much baking, I brought my six-foot sheet pan rack from home. All the pastries are layered up over in that corner, where Ginny has just mysteriously appeared with her mouth full and icing on her nose.”

  Aunt Ginny tried to shrug, but pink crumbs fell from her blouse.

  Joanne smacked the counter by Victory. “Now!”

  Victory startled and sprang into action to lift the lid on the ancient steel Belgian waffle iron. She peeled a perfect, golden-brown waffle off the top and held it up. “See, I tell you eet feenesh.”

  Joanne shook her head and huffed. “Just put it on the sheet pan in the oven like I showed you. And Ginny, so help me if those pink petits fours are missing, your head will roll.”

  I motioned for Aunt Ginny to wipe her cheek.

  She wiped the dab of pink chocolate off her face and shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Joanne. I was eating my Grape-Nuts in the laundry room like I do every Saturday morning.”

  Joanne spun around and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “What? I just got here.” I grinned. “So. Cannoli waffles. That sounds amazing. What is it?”

  Joanne pointed her spatula around the various stations. “Cinnamon Belgian waffles with ricotta-mascarpone cream, chocolate syrup, cherry compote, and garnished with crushed pistachios and mini chocolate chips. And I’m about to take the bacon out of the second oven.”

  My mouth was watering. “Joanne, if those waffles are gluten-free, I’ll double your salary.”

  She made a face back at me. “Eww. No. I told you: I don’t do your weird, hipster diet rules.”

  I started to protest but quickly decided it was more pointless than kissing a frog. “Well, save me a little of everything and I’ll make a keto waffle later. Hey, you didn’t use the mascarpone and cherries I had for the chocolate sandwich filling, did you?”

  Joanne rolled into her go-to response: defensive. “If you don’t want me using something, you need to write it down. And I only used a little bit. There’s still some in there.”

  I opened the pantry to check on my cherry preserves, and Figaro and Portia came flying out of the closet. “What the!”

  Aunt Ginny laughed. “Uh-oh. You might be having kittens soon.”

  I scooped Figaro into my arms. “Not without a medical miracle I won’t. What did you do? Her mother is going to be looking for her.”

  On cue, Patsy’s voice carried down the hall. “Porrr-tiaaa!”

  I caught Victory feeding the green-eyed Persian a piece of bacon and my heart almost stopped beating. Patsy’s Miss Piggy slippers were clicking closer and closer to the kitchen.

  I waved a hand at my ditzy chambermaid. “Zsst zsst!”

  Victory held the cat against her tiny frame and flipped her apron over her belly just as Patsy turned the corner and stood under the archway. “Have you seen my Portia? I don’t know how she managed to get out of our room again.”

  We all looked around the kitchen at each other, hemming and hawing. Figaro stood on his hind legs and patted Victory on the thigh and meowed.

  Victory’s stomach hissed quietly.

  Aunt Ginny cleared her throat and patted her chest. “Something caught.”

  I picked up a tea towel and shook it at Figaro from behind the island. “Um . . . have you checked the library, Patsy?”

  Victory’s belly wiggled and Patsy glanced at her. Victory put her hand on her apron. “Baby keick me.”

  Aunt Ginny took Patsy by the arm and led her back out into the hall. “Why don’t you try calling her again? Maybe from down here, away from the kitchen.”

  Victory lifted her apron and held up the white cat, who was purring and smacking her lips, and passed her to me.

  I smoothed her fur down and placed her on the other side of the dining-room door.

  Patsy was coming around the corner into the sitting room. “Porrr-tiaaa!”

  Portia was having a love affair with the bacon and pretended not to hear her owner, so I gave her a little push on the rump.

  Joanne, Victory, and I stood in the kitchen on the other side of the door listening and heard Patsy say, “Here you are, you silly girl. Come with Mummy now. Daddy is ready to give you your bath. We have a big day.” We breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  Rita and Faelynn shuffled into the dining room, said good morning to Patsy, and took up their usual seats. The ladies were very subdued today. They both had red-rimmed eyes and flushed faces. I wondered if they’d had a falling-out. “Are you ladies enjoying your stay?”

  Rita was taking her time pouring cream into her coffee. “Yes, it’s lovely.”

  “Are you both feeling okay?”

  Faelynn rolled her eyes to Rita. “It’s the pollen. We have terrible allergies.”

  “Do you need some allergy medicine?”

  Rita jumped in. “Oh no. We have some. That’s okay. We did want to ask you something, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  Faelynn lifted her coffee cup and sighed. “We want to bring a group here for a tea in about a month. Could we get a reservation for that?”

  “I’m sure we could work that out, as long as it isn’t a holiday weekend. What’s the group’s name?”

  Faelynn started to speak. “It’s the uh . . .”

  Rita cut her off. “The Real Housewives of New Jersey.”

  I chuckled. “How did you end up in a housewives of New Jersey group when you live in New York and Faelynn lives in Connecticut?”

  Rita’s face went blank, so Faelynn took over. “Oh, I was born in Egg Harbor. We thought it would be fun if we both joined.”

  Now it was getting weird. “Just you were born in New Jersey?”

  Faelynn nodded. “Why?”

  Rita gritted her teeth. “Because we’re sisters.”

  Faelynn laughed and waved a hand. “Oh, well, our parents divorced when we were young. Rita grew up in New York with our father, and I moved to Connecticut and lived with our mom.”

  “Like The Parent Trap.”

  Both women smiled and nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Except they’re twins.”

  Their faces fell. “Oh.”

  I didn’t believe a word they were saying, but it also wasn’t any of my business. Whatever their reason for telling them, their half-baked lies didn’t affect me, so I didn’t dig any further. “I’ll just go get your waffles.”

  The guests were served, and for about the millionth time, I thought about Gia and wondered what he was doing. I went to the rack of scones, grabbed two, and dropped them into a sandwich baggie. “I’m going to check on the Expo booth and pick up some more mascarpone and cherry preserves. I’ll be back by the time breakfast is over and we can start making the custard tarts.”

  * * *

  I parked the car in the Heritage Inn guest parking, which was a no-no, by the way. Don’t try this if you’re in town. I waved to the front-desk clerk and pointed at my wrist, then flashed five fingers. She nodded and waved me on.

  I crossed the street and flashed my vendor pass to get into the Expo. I was hoping Gia could make me a latte before I ran to the cheese shop. I pulled up short and almost knocked over a display of peel-and-stick eye masks. There was a beefy, dark, shifty-looking stranger manning the La Dolce Vita booth. Dressed in a slick, silver dress shirt and black leather jacket. He was handsome in a good-looking, hitman kind of way.

  He gave me a chin nod. “Can I help you today, ma’am?”

  Oops, I’ve stared too long. “Erm . . . I was just lo
oking for Gia.”

  He looked me up and down. “Giampaolo has had to run an errand for the Scarduzio family. He’ll be back soon. Would you be Poppy?”

  I wanted to wrap my arms around myself and shrink away. “Yep. What kind of errand?” And why is he running errands for Alex’s father?

  He turned his gaze back to the milling crowd and ignored my question. “You have created quite a stir with the family. They don’t like a stir. They like to live a quiet life. Maybe you would rather live a quiet life too.”

  What the crap? This was Gia’s idea of a joke for asking all those thinly veiled questions about the Mob, wasn’t it? I looked around and scanned the Expo hall to see where he was hiding, waiting for him to yell “Gotcha.”

  I went from stunned to amused to uneasy when it became obvious that Gia wasn’t there. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, ma’am. Just an observation. Giampaolo has been through a lot. Why not let him get his life back together instead of creating unnecessary drama?”

  “Creating drama? You think I’m creating drama? I don’t need this. You can tell Gia this isn’t funny.” I was so angry I slapped the scones to crumbs on the counter, hugged my purse tight, and spun around to storm off. I just wanted to get away from this goon as fast as possible.

  I crashed through the door outside on the boardwalk while a voice in my head kept yelling wait! I rubbed my arms against the ocean breeze and calmed myself. Something was wrong. I mentally retraced my steps through my uncomfortable confrontation. Eye masks, good-looking hitman, threat to be whacked . . . Then I saw it.

  Shayla Rose creeping out of Dr. Rubin’s tent with something tucked under her arm. She saw me, then vanished before my eyes.

  CHAPTER 29

  I ran back inside through the hall with the stage where Dr. Rubin had given his inflammatory keynote speech and back onto the vendor floor from there. I didn’t see Shayla anywhere. And her cousins were less than helpful today, pretending like they suddenly didn’t speak English. “You’re not funny, Jimmy. I know you were born in North Carolina. We just talked about Katy Perry yesterday.”