Makeup & Murder

by Stephanie Damore

  Even though the house looked empty, I took a chance and headed to the front door first. One of Justine’s cards was slid in by the handle. I took the pink, glittery card out and read it. The woman was actually offering a twenty-five percent discount to all existing Beauty Secrets’ clients who booked with her this month. I couldn’t believe it. Justine was actively trying to steal my clients. She was nuts if she thought I was going to sit back and let her take away my business. Enough women lived in Port Haven for us both to have successful businesses, but Justine never thought that way. I wanted to rip her stupid card into tiny pieces or light it on fire, but instead slipped it into my back pocket to deal with later.

  I rang Marion’s door bell and stepped back in anticipation of Charlie’s incessant barking. The silver Weimaraner was hyper, to say the least. He’d knocked my heels out from under me a time or two and slobbered on more than one pair of designer jeans. I’d learned my lesson.

  But all was silent.

  Marion was out, and she must have taken Charlie with her.

  With gift bag in tow, I stepped off the porch and followed the slate walkway around back to the sunroom. I punched my code into the automatic keypad and waited for the door lock to release. Sliding the heavy glass door down the metal track, I stepped inside. Even with the door open, the room felt warm and stuffy. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I wiped it away with my hand while surveying the room. The sunroom was all Marion. A white velvet chaise lounge ran alongside a wall of windows, her home-designer magazines tucked neatly in a rack beside it. Two slipper chairs with bold, blue floral print created a cozy seating area in the far-right corner. Deep blue accent pillows contrasted with the rest of the white accents and cream-colored carpeted floor. A potted lemon tree sat in a beautiful blue ceramic pot in the corner. Marion loved when her tree would flower and she could have fresh lemons for her afternoon tea, but even her lovely tree looked a bit droopy in the heat. I assumed Marion’s air conditioner was on the fritz again. It went out last year at the end of a brutal Southern heat wave and seemed to act up every now again. That probably explained why she and Charlie were out. I wouldn’t stay in this sweat box if I could help it. I couldn’t leave her product in here either. Melted lipstick did no one any good.

  I turned around to walk back out and caught myself off balance. I didn’t know if it was the heat of the room or a reaction to all the sugar I’d eaten, but I felt queasy. I sat down to steady myself. The room wasn’t spinning, but my mouth was parched. Maybe a glass of water would help to flush the sugar out of my system and make me feel a little more normal. I’d hate to have a dizzy spell overcome me while driving.

  I stood up and headed toward Marion’s kitchen, intending to grab a bottle of water and drink it outside where the air was cooler, but something on the kitchen floor stopped me. It looked like Marion had stenciled a mosaic pattern onto her hardwood floor. An ugly mosaic pattern. What in the world? I hated to think it, but it reminded me of a home-show segment gone wrong. Marion needed to lay off the home-designer shows. Some things should be left to the professionals.

  But when I looked again, I realized I was wrong. Stencils didn’t smear, not like that.

  “Sweet sugar!” They weren’t stencils at all, but bloody paw prints, dozens of them all down the foyer! That explained why Marion and Charlie were gone. Poor pup, he must have cut his paw on something. On what, I had no idea. I looked around for a clue and a dish cloth. The least I could do was clean this mess up.

  I walked to the sink and began wetting a washcloth, and that’s when I heard the growl. It wasn’t a warning, but the feral sound an animal makes before it attacks. I turned to see Charlie behind me. Congealed blood matted his silver coat and muzzle. Gone was the playful pup, only to be replaced by a wild animal. I had never been afraid of that dog until that moment.

  My feet fumbled a few steps backwards toward the door. Making my voice as soothing as possible, I said, “Charlie, it’s okay. Calm down boy.” Getting worked up wouldn’t help the situation. I didn’t want to hurt the dog, but I needed to find a weapon in case he attacked. For all I knew, the blood on the floor and his coat wasn’t his own. Maybe Charlie was a mind reader because he wasn’t buying my act, no matter how soft I spoke to him.

  Charlie crouched back on his hindquarters, lips barred, daring me to move. I had no idea what had happened here, but I was in trouble.

  With my full attention on Charlie, I didn’t realize someone had snuck up behind me until the man’s forearm rounded my neck and locked me in place. My wide eyes locked with Charlie’s. It took a second for my mind to catch up and tell my body to fight back. I dropped my binder and reached for the man’s arm, gripping his wrist to pull myself free. Charlie circled around us, barking and snapping. At first, I wasn’t sure whose side he was on.

  I dug my nails into the man’s skin, hoping to cause enough pain for him to let go, but that only encouraged him to squeeze harder. One slight movement of my neck and I feared it would snap. My head swam and my lips started to tingle as I gasped for air. Charlie lunged for the man, but he was quicker and kicked the dog before it could bite. Charlie slid across the floor, visibly hurt. If only I could kick this guy. These heels could do some damage. I stomped on his foot and elbowed him at the same time, but I was too weak to cause any real harm. Everything around me went black.

  * * *

  Marion’s hysterical screams pulled me back into the moment. Let me tell you, that’s one heck of a way to wake up. Charlie pranced around me and licked my face as I came to. His blood-stained snout nuzzled my neck, leaving a trail of sticky slobber. The beast was gone and the pup had returned, visibly concerned for my safety.

  Quick inventory told me that I was fine, except for the raging headache that had started to build behind my eyes, and the dried blood on my arms and shorts from where I slid onto the floor. Sirens pulled into the driveway before I could even get up to find Marion. Her sobs echoed throughout the house in total madness. On cue, Charlie’s insistent yaps and yowls added to the mayhem. Confusion wasn’t my favorite state of mind and, right now, I was utterly bewildered.

  When the officers knocked on the door, it felt like they were pounding inside my head as I got up to answer it.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” Officer A asked immediately upon assessing my appearance. Officer B didn’t wait for my answer. He was already calling for backup.

  I shook my head yes, which increased my dizziness, as I opened the door further. Charlie came to the door to investigate. His bloodied appearance did little to clarify the situation. The officers froze, and I could only wonder what carnage they expected to find inside.

  Marion walked into the foyer, interrupting the scene, cell phone clutched in her hand. “Oh, thank you,” she said when she saw me. “Not you too. Roger—” she pointed toward the family room and started shaking. I swear she was about to collapse. Marion’s a petite little thing; I could’ve easily supported her weight, but I didn’t have to. Officer A came to her rescue and led her over to the stairwell to sit, while Officer B went into the family room with his gun at the ready.

  I wanted to sneak out the front door and run away, to put whatever had just happened in there behind me. Instead, I pulled on my big girl panties and allowed Officer A to escort me out to the front porch, where I sat on the cement steps while he attended to Marion. More officers arrived—maybe a detective or two—crime scene tape went up, and a news vans pulled in as I sat there for a long while, waiting for my turn to talk. Officer A came over and took down my contact information somewhere along the way. Maybe he was afraid that I would bolt. I reassured him that I wasn’t going anywhere, and he told me that my turn with the detective was next. Another officer showed up beside me a moment later and just stood there, keeping an eye on me.

  While I waited to be interviewed, a paramedic also came over for an assessment, which I assured him wasn’t necessary. I must’ve looked horrible because he didn’t believe me. I let him give me a once over, but refused
when he suggested I take a ride with him to the hospital. My insurance didn’t cover ambulance rides, and I didn’t need to tackle on a hospital bill to boot. The paramedic finally relented when I joked that I was going for a new look—horror chick—and I promised to follow up with my doctor in the next day or so.

  The paramedic left at about the same time I spotted Mrs. J., bobbing down the street in a half walk, half run. The excitement was just too much for her to wait to go through the normal gossip channels. Officer A stopped her from walking up the driveway, to which she replied, “Don’t you ma’am me, Peter Whitemore. I taught you in Sunday school, and I know your grandmother. Now you tell me who’s being wheeled out there.” Mrs. J. motioned toward the body bag being loaded onto the ambulance. I, for one, was trying to look anywhere other than at the gurney, but not Mrs. J. You’d think she had x-ray vision the way she scrutinized that bag. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. I could count the seconds until she’d be ringing up my cell phone.

  A man in his mid-forties came out of the house and headed in my direction. His hair was neat, dark blonde with a little gray. The black dress pants he wore were clean, and his white Oxford button-down shirt still had the creases in it from the package. His posture and appearance gave him an earnest, hardworking sort of look. He reminded me of my dad.

  “Hello, Ms. Diaz. I’m Detective Brandle,” he said, his hand extended.

  I got up and shook it, turning my back on Mrs. J., even though I was sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

  “What can you tell me about what happened in there?” he asked.

  I recounted the morning’s events, recalling every detail from the warmth of the sunroom to the bloody paw prints on the kitchen floor, and the attacker’s strong choke hold. I knew I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop. Detective Brandle’s cell phone rang a half a dozen times during the interview. On the sixth time, he finally interrupted me to answer it. Usually, I’m good about my manners and don’t eavesdrop (a good rule of thumb for any beauty consultant), but Detective Brandle’s voice carried, so I listened.

  “Send Jones… Why not?” Inaudible grumble. “No, that’s fine. What time? ... I’ll see what I can do.” The detective stuffed his cell phone back in his pocket and looked at his watch. I knew an overworked man when I saw one, and my rambling wasn’t helping.

  “Listen, I know you’re pressed for time,” I said, “so let me summarize this for you. I came into the house, went for a drink of water, saw the blood, Charlie growled at me, and then I was attacked. I have no idea who attacked me, and I can’t even describe him. I never saw his face, and he never said a word. About the only thing I can tell you is that he had dark arm hair and smelled of Midnight.”

  “Midnight?”

  “You know, the cologne? My ex used to wear it.” Where did that come from? It’s weird how you remember details like that. I could still smell the scent on my clothes.

  “Height? Build?” Detective Brandle’s pen was at the ready.

  “He was taller than me, but I’m only five-one, so that’s not saying much.” I like to think I’m a tough cookie, but he overpowered me with no problem.

  “The paramedics said you’re okay. Are you sure you don’t need any medical attention?” he asked.

  “No, I’m good.” My neck was sore, but it was nothing that an ibuprofen and a change of clothes couldn’t cure. Maybe with a chocolate martini on the side.

  The detective took a closer look. “Your neck’s already bruising. You’re going to want to ice that,” he said.

  “Got it,” I said.

  “Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else. Is this your correct contact information?” The detective read back the address and phone number I’d given Officer Whitmore earlier. I told him it was. “Good. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions.”

  That was fine by me.

  With the detective gone, I assumed I was free to go. Although, one look at the cars parked behind my pickup told me I wouldn’t be driving off in it anytime soon.

  No one paid much attention to me as I went over to the truck to fetch my cell phone. Mrs. J. might have left, but she wasn’t giving up. I already had eleven missed phone calls, eight from Mrs. J. The other three were from Aria, exactly who I wanted to talk to. She answered before the first ring and said she already had her car keys in hand and was on her way out the door. I chose well in the best-friend department.

  I spotted Marion while waiting for Aria to come get me. She was standing on the side of the house talking with Detective Brandle. But it was the man standing next to her who had my attention. I didn’t know who he was, but boy did he know how to dress. Yowza! He was wearing gray, pin-striped dress pants with a baby blue dress shirt. The sleeves had been rolled about a quarter of the way up his arm. I suddenly felt very self-conscious in my blood-stained shorts. Good thing he was too occupied consoling Marion to notice me. Had it not been for me looking like a hot mess, I would’ve gone over and introduced myself. As that wasn’t the case, I continued to study him from afar. The guy couldn’t have been much older than me, maybe in his late-thirties; yet, the way he carried himself reminded me of someone much older. Maybe it was the way he dressed. Men in business attire always seemed more mature, but I doubted it was that lone detail that stood out. My eyes studied him for a minute longer. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but the moment Aria pulled up, I no longer cared. I was more than ready to get out of there. Not wanting to seem like I was running away, I checked out with Officer Whitemore before jumping into Aria’s car and taking off. Relief washed over me as the Siebold house faded in the rearview mirror, even if we were just going around the block.

  3

  When your world goes to hell, you need two things: 1. Your best friend. 2. Chocolate. I would’ve called my mom (better she heard it from me than Mrs. J.), but she and Dad were on a private Mediterranean cruise, celebrating their fortieth anniversary. My mom put the P in proper. You would’ve too if your mother had been my Nan. My mom wasn’t able to get away with a thing when she was a kid, without my grandma finding out. As a result, she was a little too straight-laced for my taste, but she was still my mom. She would’ve been horrified to hear what had happened to me, but I knew she would’ve gotten over it fast and taken care of everything. I liked to think of her as my PR manager. But I couldn’t call her. I didn’t want to ruin their trip, and I knew Mom would drag Dad to the nearest airport for the next flight home as soon as their ship docked, no matter how much I objected. I couldn’t do that to them. Mom had been planning this trip for months, and they deserved this once-in-a-lifetime vacation.

  Aria was the best person to talk to, anyway. She could keep her cool and would let me finish my story without drowning me in questions, which was what I needed. Someone to just listen. That and, health junky or not, Aria was bound to have chocolate in her house somewhere. Another reason why she was my best friend.

  After filling Aria in as to what happened, and gorging myself on her dark chocolate stash (she swore it was healthier), I took a hot shower and a nap. It was the best nap of my life. Only once did I wake, and that was to the ringing of the doorbell. Somehow, Mrs. J. tracked me down and was begging Aria to let her talk with me. From what I gathered, Mrs. J. had even brought a cake. While the dessert was tempting, I pulled the covers over my head and prayed Aria would get rid of her. I could hear Mrs. J. insisting that she see me just to make sure I was okay, and that was the least she could do for my Nan, “God rest her soul.” Aria must have convinced her of my safety because I fell back asleep and didn’t wake again until morning.

  The house seemed empty when I woke. I lay motionless and listened to the silence. Sunlight glinted through the blinds and cast dancing shadows on the bedspread and walls. I was content to lie there and watch them. It was my only moment of peace before the memories of yesterday crept back in. The shock of it all had finally set in. The moment my mind started reeling, I was compelled to get up. Realizing that I
could’ve been killed—or worse—yesterday, wasn’t sitting well with me. I couldn’t afford to sit around and feel like a victim. I said a quick prayer to my Nan for covering me, and got my butt out of bed. No sense in lying around thinking about what could’ve happened. I needed a good workout, and still had a handful of clients to touch base with. Plus, I wanted to check in with Detective Brandle. I doubt he had any news, but even hearing nothing was something.

  Aria’s kitchen contained the usual rabbit fare—that is, nothing I would eat—along with a note, saying she was teaching a morning class but would be back around noon. Aria’s classes were packed because she was a yoga goddess. Seriously, she could bend and twist her body into positions that weren’t natural. And she didn’t mind showing off her mad skills.

  Breakfast was almost a wash until I spotted the double-fudge cake that Mrs. J. had dropped off the day before. Had I known that’s what she’d baked, I might have changed my mind and come out to chat for a bit. The cake was that good, famous in these parts. I wondered, on more than one occasion, what she put into it to make it so rich, but I eventually decided I didn’t care, and simply devoured it. In fact, Mrs. J. made the cake for my engagement party. Looking back, it would’ve been more satisfying to date the cake than my ex-fiancé.

  The cake had sat untouched on Aria’s counter. How she’d resisted the temptation was beyond me. I pulled the plastic wrap off and helped myself to a double-wide slice. It was pure heaven. My lips tingled from the sugar and I felt giddy. I hate to say it, but I inhaled that cake. I would’ve licked the plate too had I not scraped every smudge of frosting off with my fork. It wasn’t long before a second slice was calling me, and I knew I needed to get out of the house before I caved in.