Makeup & Murder

by Stephanie Damore

  I thought back to the man who had attacked me. I had no way of knowing if he had been hired or not. It’s not like there was a rental van in the driveway.

  “Besides, it’s always the spouse, isn’t it?” Aria added.

  She had a point, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.

  * * *

  Ladies flooded into South Palm Shore’s conference room, like afternoon sunlight through sheer curtains. I couldn’t figure out why so many women were there, until I spotted Mrs. J. God bless that woman. Her mouth eliminated the need for advertising. I’d like to believe she came because she loved Beauty Secrets’ products so much, but I knew better. The whole room was already talking about the murder, and I could only hope that she wouldn’t tell them that I’d been there.

  I couldn’t worry about that though. Scanning the room, I quickly realized I could easily double my client list tonight, and that had me stoked. That is, if Justine didn’t screw it up. Even with her over-sized sunglasses and black bobbed wig on, I spotted her the minute she sat down. I mean, who wears sunglasses inside? Pathetic drama queen. That thought circled my mind as I got the demo started.

  I kicked things off with a game. One thing clients love more than free samples? Prizes. I was giving away a floppy sunhat in Beauty Secrets’ signature violet hue. Mrs. J. eyed the hat the moment she sat down. It matched the hot purple Capri pantsuit she wore perfectly. Mrs. J. was the only woman I knew who could dress head to toe in purple and still look fashionable. Few women possessed such talent. I’d look like a bloated eggplant.

  The game was a spinoff of a scavenger hunt; only, the ladies looked for items in their purses. I started it off by asking for easy-to-find items like car keys and gum, before switching to more challenging items like lipstick, earrings, perfume, and photos of grandchildren. Mrs. J. dropped out of the running when I asked for the pair of earrings. She tugged at her ears in a wishful gesture.

  The final item on my list was sunscreen. Considering that the prize was a sunhat, and this was a beauty demo, it was a perfect tie in. Luckily, only one of the ladies had all seven items and she turned out to be an older woman named Inez, sitting in the last row. I couldn’t see all of her at first, just the top of her sable brown bouffant jumping up and down. For an older lady, she sure had some spunk. She came running down the aisle like a game-show contestant to claim her prize. Imaginary music, complete with bells and whistles, played in my head. Everyone but Mrs. J. clapped and cheered for her. They weren’t going to be best friends anytime soon.

  Over the crowd, I congratulated Inez for caring so much about her skin. Any woman who carried sunscreen around in her purse knew the importance of protecting her skin and deserved to be rewarded. Inez beamed at the sound of my praise and thanked me repeatedly. She would have given an acceptance speech if I hadn’t asked her to retake her seat.

  After wrangling in the ladies, the demo continued. Before I knew it, I had talked about every product and given away every free sample I owned. My demo bag was empty except for a couple nail polish remover wipes and a nail file. I’d have to replenish my stash later.

  The conference room was quiet as everyone went through the product catalog, page-by-page, writing down their orders. I walked around the room and talked to the ladies individually, promising I’d personally deliver their orders as soon as they came in. Most of them confirmed that they lived at South Palm Shore, which was going to save me a ton of time making house calls. If I could borrow Dad’s golf cart for deliveries, it would be even better. Tonight’s demo definitely paid off. Justine snuck out before I made it to her row, and I was grateful she didn’t talk to anyone on her way out.

  Even though the demo was officially over, several of the ladies stayed to chit chat during a coffee-and-cookies reception Maggie had arranged. I debated packing up my products first before hitting the cookie table, but a frosted sugar cookie was calling me from across the room, and I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Buttercream frosting held my heart.

  I had managed to avoid Mrs. J. so far, but I couldn’t help getting sucked into her gossip when I heard her say, “I would’ve killed him, too, if he’d been my husband, running off with every two-cent tramp, while I suffered through chemo. He got what he deserved.”

  The ladies nodded in agreement. Inez was the only one who told Mrs. J. she was being distasteful.

  “I’m just telling the truth. We all know Roger was about the looks. The minute Marion lost her hair, he was out looking for another one of his Southern sleazes to get his jollies off with. One way or another, he screwed the wrong person. It’s the truth, and y’all know it,” Mrs. J. said. She paused when she saw I was listening. “We can just thank the Lord that no one else was hurt like our Ziva here. You okay, sug’?” she asked.

  I waved off their concern and quickly shifted the focus off me by asking, “What are you ladies all talking about?”

  “Oh, you know, Roger’s cheating ways and Marion’s breast cancer.” It was as if Mrs. J. was talking about the weather or what she planned for supper. I tried not to choke on my cookie.

  “Didn’t she tell you about it?” asked Mrs. J.

  “No,” I quickly mumbled with my hand over my mouth. I tried to play it cool, but this was huge news to me. I couldn’t hide my wide eyes and it didn’t take much to get Mrs. J. on a roll.

  “Why do you think she was always buying up those beauty products of yours? I’m sure she has just as many wigs, too.” I looked at her, dumbfounded. Mrs. J. took that for an answer. “She was trying to keep that man of hers from roaming, but Lord knows it didn’t work.”

  I thought back to all my weekly visits with Marion, and nothing jumped out at me. We’d sip our tea, she’d tell me about the latest charity event she was organizing or what home project she was designing, place her Beauty Secrets order, and that was it. Perhaps I wasn’t as intuitive of a beauty representative as I thought. I assumed Marion was like most of my wealthy clients with a love of makeup, and money to spend. I never realized there was something much deeper going on. She certainly never looked like she was battling cancer. Marion was always polished and put together.

  “You mean Roger started cheating on Marion after she got sick?” I finally asked.

  “Good heavens, no. He started cheating on her years before. It’s just when she got sick that he stopped keeping it a secret,” Mrs. J. said.

  A dozen insults came to mind, but I kept quiet by reminding myself that I was a professional. Trashing clients, even their deserving husbands, was never acceptable. However, that wouldn’t stop me from telling Aria she was right about Roger. I wondered if she was right about Marion too. Aria was ready to convict Marion with just the cheating bit. Wait until I tell her he did it while she was battling breast cancer!

  Mrs. J. read my silence correctly. “I know. Now you see why she’d want to kill him,” she said.

  Yes, that I did see, but I still had a hard time picturing it. Not that I didn’t know what that type of anger felt like. Mr. Ex-fiancé and the cocktail waitress came to mind. But I didn’t kill him, I broke up with him—and keyed his car. And yes, the car was expensive, and yes, I kept the ring.

  It seemed like I was the only one giving Marion the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t ready to convict her of murder, but she did have my sympathy. Looking around the room, I knew I was the only one. All I had to say was that Marion better pray that, if she ever was formally accused of murdering Roger, her trial was in another town because everyone in that room had already pegged her guilty.

  I left the ladies to continue their socializing and went back to packing up my demo, grabbing two cookies along the way, but no matter how sweet the buttercream frosting tasted, it couldn’t take the bitterness out of the news I’d just learned.

  After the demo, I was too geared up to go home. I had the feeling that I needed an extra-large margarita if I was going to relax tonight, and I knew just the place to go. Rocky’s was the best joint around to indulge in liquor and buttery seafood goodness
. Dinner at Rocky’s would be the perfect remedy to my day. With that thought, I bypassed North Bay Street and headed toward the coast.

  This time of year, Rocky’s parking lot was fairly empty. Most of the snowbirds had already headed north, and the family vacation rush was still a few weeks away. I parked right up front and walked into the open-aired restaurant. Ceiling fans hummed from the high wooden-beamed ceiling, reminding me of cicadas buzzing on warm August nights. White twinkle lights ran along the bar inside and were cast over the trees outside, like a fishing net full of stars. I took a seat outside under the canopy of lights at one of the checkered tables, and waited for the waitress to come by to light my citronella candle. There was nothing like South Carolina’s unofficial mascot, the mosquito, to ruin your evening. I was convinced the bugs were ten times larger and faster down South. Without winter’s deep freeze, there was nothing to slow them down. You couldn’t swat the suckers fast enough.

  I was taking in the scenery and thinking about what I wanted to order when, suddenly, that eerie feeling of being watched washed over me. You know, the one that makes you run up the basement stairs at night or double check to make sure your front door is locked? Yeah, I was having all sorts of creepy feelings in that moment. The bushes rustled to my right, and I thought about getting up to investigate. Cheers and jeers caught my attention from across the bar, instead, and took that thought with them.

  “That ball is gone. See ya,” hollered the bartender.

  “Now that’s what I call a home run! Right, Finn?” shouted another man. A couple of loud claps followed in appreciation.

  “And you wanted to trade him,” replied Finn. For the second time today, I found myself staring. I couldn’t believe who it was. Leaning against the bar, watching the game and drinking a Coke, was the shirtless hottie from the marina. Even with his back to me and his shirt on, I was positive it was the same guy. He turned and caught my eye. Yep, it was him all right. So, the hottie had a name … Finn.

  I smiled to say hello. Not wanting to seem too stalker-ish (I swear I didn’t follow him here), I broke eye contact and began looking over the menu. Finn must’ve seen my smile as an invitation because he came over to my table before I finished skimming the appetizers.

  “Hey, you look familiar. You work-out by the marina, don’t you?” So, he has noticed me. This was good.

  “Yeah, I think I’ve seen you down there before too,” I replied, thinking, You’re one of the reasons it’s my favorite place to work-out.

  “I thought so. I like working out down there too. Usually, I get my run in in the morning before work. I’m Finn, by the way. Finn Jacobs.” He outstretched his hand. I was impressed. Most guys nowadays didn’t offer a formal introduction.

  “Ziva Diaz,” I replied and shook his hand. Finn took a seat across from me, and I tried to play it cool. “So, you work at the marina?” I asked, instead of saying what I really wanted to, which was, “Mmm, you smell nice.” Motor oil mixed with cologne—rugged, sexual, and sweet all at the same time. I kept my thoughts in check though. After all, I didn’t want to freak the poor guy out. In the past, I’ve been told that I come on a little too intense in new relationships. It was something I was working on.

  “That’s where you’ll find me most days,” he replied with a smile.

  I believed that. He always seemed to be there no matter what day or time I worked out. Something about the marina made me stop and think for a minute. Then I remembered Aria’s disgusting comment from earlier, about Roger’s sailboat and his “tall mast,” and I had a thought. “Hey, did you by chance know Roger Siebold?” I asked.

  “Why, were you a friend of his?” Finn leaned back ever slightly, seeming to judge me against a new set of unknown criteria.

  “No, but I know his wife. I’m just trying to help her make sense of a few things,” I said, setting the record straight. My tone sounded more defensive than I had intended, but I didn’t like the feeling of being judged. “So, did you know him?” I asked.

  “Only through the marina. He was usually pulling his boat out of the slip when I was opening up shop.”

  “Did he normally sail in the morning?” I would’ve thought Roger would have headed to the office first thing. I was learning that I didn’t know much about him.

  “Morning, afternoon, evening. The man lived on that boat, practically did all his business on it, if you know what I mean.” Finn raised his eyebrows.

  “So I’ve heard.” Geez, it looked like I was the only one who didn’t know Roger was a sleaze. I couldn’t believe Mrs. J. hadn’t let something slip before tonight, especially with the way she liked to gossip. I felt so out of the loop.

  “So, then you probably know about Ann Marie?” Finn said.

  “Who?” That wasn’t a name I was familiar with. My heart rate picked up at the thought of gleaning another clue.

  “Ann Marie? She was Roger’s girlfriend, or whatever you would call her,” he said.

  “He had a girlfriend? Like, a long-term thing?” This was definite news to me.

  Finn nodded yes.

  “Like a mistress?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah,” he replied.

  Gross. “No, this is the first I’ve heard of her. What can you tell me about her? Do you know her pretty well then?”

  “Not really. It’s just that all overnight guests must be registered through the marina. We started letting it slide after she became a “regular.” That, and Roger didn’t like all his indiscretions being recorded.”

  Wouldn’t Marion like to get her hands on that book? I wondered if Detective Brandle knew about this. “Has Ann Marie been around the last night or so?”

  “I haven’t seen her, but it’s the weekend.”

  “So, what does that have to do with anything?” I asked, clearly missing something.

  Finn had a boyish grin on his face. “She’s, uh, what they call a performer at one of the joints outside town.”

  I laughed. Nice. Roger’s mistress was a stripper. It seemed fitting. I was betting the only women he could get to sleep with him were the ones he paid. “Not that I’ve ever seen her strip,” Finn clarified, “It’s just what my deck hands tell me.”

  “Oh, sure,” I joked with him. “You’re Mr. Innocent.”

  “Swear, Scouts’ honor,” he replied. Now that I could believe. It was easy to picture Finn as a Boy Scout.

  Finn changed the subject. “You know, now that I think about it, Roger did have a bit of odd business going on.”

  “Odd? How so?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s just that Roger loved his boat so much that I couldn’t believe it when I heard he was going to sell it. I just seemed totally out of character.”

  “Really? Yeah, that is strange. Where did he plan to take these girlfriends of his then? A boat is much classier than a motel room,” I said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was going to eventually buy a new one, but it wasn’t going to be anytime soon. He wasn’t renewing his dock rental either. There’s a broker coming to look at the boat tomorrow. I figured the deal would be off with his death, but his wife called and said it was still on.”

  “Well, at least Marion knew what he was up to this time,” I said.

  The eerily feeling descended on me again and I looked behind me once more, but this time it was too dark to make out anything. I ignored it and turned my attention back to Finn. He had given me plenty of food for thought. And speaking of food, the waitress was circling the table, trying to decide if she should interrupt us or not, and I was starving. Finn followed my eyes.

  “Well, I’d better get going and let you eat.”

  I didn’t want him to leave, but I had to eat something. A few sugar cookies wasn’t going to cut it, which is why I said, “Sure, it was nice to finally meet you. Thanks for the info too. Maybe we can go for a run together sometime.”

  “I’ll be hitting the sand tomorrow at six if you’re down,” he replied.

  “As in six o’clock in the morning? Are
you flippin’ kidding me?” Did I just say that aloud?

  “What, too early for you?” Finn laughed. “I like to get my run in before it gets too hot.”

  “I hear you there.” Wasn’t that the reason I hadn’t run this afternoon?

  “How about we make it seven then?” Finn offered.

  “That I can manage,” I said.

  “Cool. Just come inside Murphy’s when you get there.” Murphy’s was the bait and tackle shop at the marina.

  “Okay, sounds good. I’ll see you then.” I watched Finn walk away, happy that I’d see him the next morning, even if the hour was ungodly. Getting up early two mornings in a row would be rough, but if I could do it for beauty clients, then I definitely could do it for Finn.

  The waitress swung back around and I changed my dinner plans, ordering shrimp tacos and a water instead of crab legs and a margarita. Indulging in butter and tequila would only make me sick come sunrise. The mere thought of upchucking anywhere near Finn was beyond mortifying. I would die of embarrassment. Even now, I was regretting that chocolate cake from this morning. Look at me, changing my eating habits. Aria would be so proud.

  Working out with Finn might turn out to be the best thing for me.

  5

  What was I thinking? When my alarm went off at six o’clock I had some serious reservations. Next to Aria, sleep was my best friend, and she almost beat out Finn until the shirtless image of him came to mind before I could drift back to sleep. That one image alone was enough to get me out of bed and put a smile on my face, especially when I considered he might work out that way.

  Normally, I’d just brush my teeth and tie up my hair before heading out for a run; but today, I took it a couple steps further by adding lip gloss and mascara to my routine. I had laid out my clothes the night before, going with a pink and black ensemble, which would prevent any wardrobe crisis. I even had my running shoes ready by the front door, with a pair of socks tucked inside. I don’t care to admit how many appointments I’d been late to, trying to find a missing shoe.