Murder, Curlers, and Cruises

by Arlene McFarlane

  In her third fast-paced mystery, beautician Valentine Beaumont and her madcap crew sail the high seas on a Caribbean “Beauty Cruise.” When a bizarre murder takes place onboard, Valentine finds herself swept into the middle of the investigation.

  If things aren’t bad enough, her mother is playing matchmaker, a loved one is kidnapped, drug smuggling is afoot, a hair contest proves disastrous, and a strange alliance between tough Detective Romero and sexy stylist Jock de Marco rubs Valentine the wrong way.

  Will this impulsive beauty sleuth comb through the catastrophes and untangle the mystery, or will this voyage turn into another fatal Titanic? With Jock and Romero onboard, it’s destined to be a hot cruise!

  “Sharp, sexy, and side-splitting. Everything I love in a good mystery!”

  —Darynda Jones, New York Times/USA Today Bestselling Author of the Charley Davidson Series

  “A fun-filled ride. A zany cast of characters. And a quest to find a killer. Another great book in a wonderful series!”

  —Wendy Byrne, USA Today Bestselling Author of the Izzy Lewis Mysteries

  Click HERE to receive your copy of Valentine’s Top 5 Beauty Tips!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  MURDER, CURLERS, AND CRUISES

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Book Club Discussion Questions

  Other Books in the VALENTINE BEAUMONT MYSTERIES

  Note to Readers

  Social Media Links

  Copyright

  DEDICATION

  To Eden & Hart:

  You are my greatest joy. I love you always. xo

  CHAPTER ONE

  Grandma Maruska once said, “Nobody’s past is very interesting. It’s the future that counts.” While that last part may be true, one’s past could be indelible. How many beauticians, for example, use their salon tools for catching criminals? And how many continually find themselves caught up in murder investigations? That’s where the interesting part comes in with me.

  My name is Valentine Beaumont, and I own a full-service salon in Rueland, Massachusetts. Beaumont’s is an open-concept shop with soft lighting and rustic Mediterranean decor. It’s not grand by beauty standards, but it does have a small amount of class. I have three employees ranging from extremely talented to she’s-got-scissors-in-her-hand—run-for-your-life!

  While I do my best to manage the shop, I also do my utmost to stay clear of homicide investigations. Unfortunately, I’d failed miserably in both areas. And falling hard for Roman warrior-like Detective Michael Romero when he’d been assigned the strangling in my salon four months ago was only complicating my life since now there was also Jock de Marco.

  Jock was one of the extremely talented at Beaumont’s. He was six three—or four—and was Hercules in the flesh, with muscles in places I didn’t know had muscles. He had Argentinean blood, was raised in a salon, and could turn a Plain Jane into a knockout with the mere touch of his comb. In another life, he’d also served a stint in the navy and had later fallen into stunt work. These were the few things I knew about Jock. The rest remained a mystery.

  Presently, I was standing inside the Miami airport, watching Jock maintain a safe distance from Max and Phyllis, my two other employees. We’d flown in from Boston and had collected most of our bags, so we could board the bus that would take us to our ship for the six-night Caribbean “Beauty Cruise” for four I’d won for the salon.

  I tapped my toes inside my rhinestone-heeled straw sandals, uncertain if winning the trip for us all was a blessing or a curse. Not only was I anxious about being on the high seas with someone whose touch evoked longing and sparked bodily desires I struggled to ignore, but my meddling parents and my father’s sweet but oblivious aunt were also coming along since the cruise was open to the public. I took a deep breath, put all that to the back of my mind, and ambled over to Max and Phyllis. I had news to share.

  “Is this going to take long?” Phyllis pulled apart a Cuban roll from the Portly Pig’s kiosk. “Because I’m on a new diet, and I’m not supposed to starve myself.”

  Phyllis was less of an employee and more of a liability. She performed pin curls and finger waves on the near-sighted and hard-of-hearing, so her lack of talent usually went unnoticed. Most smart business owners would’ve shown her the door long ago—and I’d unsuccessfully tried that once—which said something about my managerial skills. But mostly, I kept her on because she was blood on my mother’s side. And while it wasn’t easy facing disgruntled clients, compared to familial guilt, it was the lesser of two evils.

  “Yes, that’d be a real shame,” Max said. “You, going without food. You might almost fade to a ton.”

  Max, on the other hand, had been with me since I’d opened Beaumont’s almost ten years ago. Apart from his love of riling Phyllis, he was the yin to my yang, the up to my down, the pesky brother I never had. And his innate sense at beautifying others was a genuine gift.

  “For your info”—Phyllis shook her roll in Max’s face—“I heard Dr. Oz had a guest on his show the other day who said you could lose weight by eating spareribs and cornbread.”

  Max’s eyebrows shot up. “Was he wearing a polka-dot costume and red rubber nose?”

  “As a matter of fact, he was a physician with a best-selling book.”

  “Dr. Seuss? Oh, wait. He’s dead.” Max shook his head. “Like this dimwit idea of yours.”

  Phyllis puckered her lips at Max and scrunched her eyes like she was ready for a fight. Thing was, we’d heard it all before. Phyllis would go on a diet. We’d walk around on pins and needles while she starved herself and ranted at everyone. And in the end, she’d gain back her weight, plus ten pounds. This diet actually sounded promising. At best, it wouldn’t require much willpower.

  Speaking of which…my gaze slid to Jock, and suddenly my ears got hot. He stood relaxed yet alert. Arms crossed, legs wide. Atlas determining how to hold the world on his back. He wore a lime-green T-shirt that begged you to count the hard ripples down his abs. His long, darkly streaked hair had grown back to a natural chestnut brown, complementing his mocha skin, his face a replica of a young Dwayne Johnson’s—at least I’d been told.

  If I was totally honest, I’d admit my ears weren’t the only thing that heated up when I thought about Jock de Marco. At the moment, I felt my underwear almost sizzle off from his caramel-eyed hot stare. But he was an employee, and I refused to get romantically involved. In addition, I was still working out feelings for Romero. The fact that the two men had met when I was unsure where I stood with Romero only created unspeakable tension. They each had their individual skills and tended to their own business. But overall, I was fighting a losing battle swearing off men.

  At 5’4” and 118 pounds, I led the parade over to Jock, feeling slightly bigger than my size 7/8 britches. I parked my luggage by my side, put up my chin, and cleared my throat. I didn’t make eye contact with Jock, but the heated tension was there. He uncrossed his arms and rested them at his sides, waiting for me to speak.

  I ignored the thumping in my chest from his closeness, remembering who was in charge here. “I was saving this until we landed,” I said, feeling a tad guilty for not s
haring my news with everyone earlier. “As this is a beauty cruise, there’s going to be a competition on board tomorrow to kick off events. You’ll choose a model from the passengers and fix her hair and makeup. Tools and supplies will be sponsored by Adore It Products. Prize is five thousand dollars.”

  I exhaled and gave myself some slack. Truth was, even my own stylists would be my opponents, and if I wanted to win and donate my prize money to the new children’s wing at Rueland Memorial, the less competition the better. Plus, this was supposed to be a fun vacation for everyone, right? Competing would be like working. Who’d be interested?

  Max and Phyllis started eyeing the possibilities for models and bickering about who’d win the contest. I’d already decided to ask Tantig, my father’s aunt, to be my model, and I intended on presenting the idea to her once we set sail.

  Jock watched Max and Phyllis for a moment, then took a step closer, wrapping his arm around me in my cute tie-dyed summer dress.

  He smelled like leather and citrus after a rain, and it never ceased to test my self-control. “May I speak with you privately?” His voice was low.

  “About the contest?” I stepped back from his grasp and caught myself before falling over my luggage. I straightened my shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I’m sure whatever you want to discuss can be said right here.”

  He tilted his head in an if-you’re-sure gesture, then swept a stray lock of my hair behind my bare shoulder. His fingers lingered, causing tingles across my skin. “It’s about the sleeping arrangements.”

  Max and Phyllis choked back their quarreling, staring at us bug-eyed. And my mother, who was sitting ten feet away in her oversized straw hat, poked up her head with interest.

  I swallowed down a lump in my throat. I recalled the kiss Jock had given me little more than a month ago in the salon. He was right when he said I wanted him bad, but he’d have to strip me naked before I admitted that. I drew in a deep breath, remembering his full lips, supple and demanding. Heat rose from my stomach to my face, followed by a nervous fluttering inside.

  I put the memory aside and yanked him behind a pillar, out of earshot and hopefully out of my mother’s line of sight. “We discussed sleeping arrangements before,” I whispered. “You’re bunking with Max, and I’m sharing a cabin with Phyllis.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “You think you and Phyllis should share a room?” I could be so clever.

  He pinned me to the pillar, his hard thighs pressing into mine, his hands flat on the column on either side of my head. “Actually, I had something else in mind.” His hot whisper tickled my neck. “And I think you know what that something is.”

  Yes, oh yes. I could feel that something, pushing into my pelvis. “Oh, well,” I sang lightly before I melted in a puddle on the floor. “I guess you’re out of luck.”

  He shoved off and flicked my chin. “We’ll see.”

  I slid past him, took a shaky breath, and was halfway back to the group when Tantig shuffled over in her sweater and polyester dress. “I need my Xalatan,” she said dryly.

  Tantig was the grandma I never had. She was also a short, white-haired prophet of bad tidings. She never raised her voice or became anxious in a family where one had to be loud to be heard. Instead, her Armenian accent would come out in a bland monotone. “She’s going to have a strrroke,” she’d say when I was a child running around at play, or “You’d bett-air call an ambulance. She’s going to brrreak her neck.”

  My parents didn’t go far without taking Tantig with them, whether it was to Zettle’s to pick up her dry cleaning or to Kuruc’s European Deli to buy ingredients to make paklava.

  I walked Tantig over to my mother, reminding myself this was going to be a wonderful vacation.

  “I’ve got her eyedrops here somewhere.” My mother rummaged through her bag, clutching passports, boarding passes, her wallet, and about three other things she wouldn’t dare set down. The thing about traveling was my mother trusted no one, and she trusted my father even less when it came to ensure nothing got stolen or lost.

  Tantig waited patiently on my mother, then glanced up at Jock. “Who-hk are you?” Some of Tantig’s words were embellished at the end with a throat-clearing sound.

  Jock bent his head down, a mixture of humor and respect in his eyes. “I’m Jock.”

  “What’s a Jock?” Tantig asked.

  It was a good question, one in which I was still trying to find the answer.

  * * *

  After my father had collected their bags, we moseyed over to a woman in a blue uniform who was holding up a sign with the cruise line logo across the top and BEAUTY CRUISE in small letters underneath. She smiled pleasantly despite the swarm of people knocking down luggage, waving passports in her face, and firing questions. Everyone wanted to know why we weren’t boarding the bus. Remarkably, the woman remained chipper. Wait till she met our bunch.

  “What’s the hold-up?” demanded a shrill, girlish voice above the others.

  Everyone fell silent and looked around for the owner of the voice. Finally, the cruise lady lowered the sign and peered down. The crowd thinned, and I saw where everyone was gawking.

  Standing at about three feet high was a little person, hands on hips, blond hair in a ponytail. “What gives anyway?” she said. “We hitching a ride on one of those shuttle buses or what?”

  The cruise lady smiled as one would when dealing with a child. “We’re waiting for two more passengers. Then we can board the shuttle.”

  “Hey, if the morons can’t get here on time, I say we push off without them. And stop staring at me like I’m from Toy Story. I’m Lucy Jacobs. Everyone got that? And yes, I’m a little person. I recognized it before any of you saps did. So stop feeling sorry for me. I’m plenty big where it counts.”

  “Yeah,” Max whispered. “In her vocal cords.”

  Lucy whipped around. “Who said that?”

  Max mutely pointed at Phyllis from behind her head.

  Lucy aimed a stubby finger at Phyllis. “I’ll be watching you.”

  Phyllis glanced up from tearing a meaty piece of pork from her sandwich. “Huh? What’s she talking about?”

  “Nothing, dear,” Max said. “Enjoy your snack.”

  We all watched Lucy Jacobs strut over to a chair, hike onto the seat, and swing her legs furiously under her.

  Just then, a thin East Indian man, medium height, in a white suit raced toward the crowd, hands flailing in the air, knapsack swinging on his back. “Do not let the bus leave without me!”

  The cruise lady scanned the opposite side of her sign and gave a puzzled but professional smile. “You must be Kashi. Kashi…Farooq?”

  The man caught his breath and pushed up his steel-rimmed glasses. “Yes. Do not be fooled by the Arabic name. I am Indian through and through. And devilishly handsome, if I do say so myself.” He gave an apologetic smile to the group. “I am here for the beauty cruise, but it seems my luggage is on its way to Malaysia, and for this I am most upset.”

  Lucy hopped off her chair, hands on hips. “If it isn’t our four-eyed jungle boy, Cashew.”

  “You!” A murderous look filled Kashi’s face. “You are the reason my luggage is flying across the ocean.” He made tight fists. “I knew you were up to something when you slipped through the opening where the luggage slides out. You stopped mine from ever coming through. You terrible human being!”

  “Relax.” Lucy waved him off. “So, you’re missing a robe or two. I’m sure we can swipe a tablecloth from the captain’s table and wrap it around you.”

  “You nasty person!” Kashi lunged for Lucy. “My cat has more class than you!”

  “Aaaaah!” Lucy ran around in circles, making a path over chairs and around luggage.

  “Stop her!” he cried, arms flapping. “Kashi is well-respected in New York. I am not a jungle boy or…or some garden variety peanut.”

  Nobody knew who to grab. Except Jock. He swooped Lucy up by the collar and carried h
er, like a kitten by the scruff of the neck, back to her seat.

  The crowd sucked in air at Jock’s strength, and the cruise lady promised Kashi his suitcase would be retrieved and delivered to the ship as soon as possible.

  Everyone had just settled down when the second passenger we’d been waiting for reared her ugly head. None other than Candace Needlemeyer, my archenemy who owned Supremo Stylists three blocks from Beaumont’s.

  I’d gone to beauty school with Candace, and she’d been a sneaky, lying cheat who’d taken pleasure in making my life miserable. If she wasn’t secretly yanking out clumps of hair from my mannequin’s head, then she was soaking all my tools in oil, making it impossible for me to grip anything. I’d bid her farewell when we’d graduated, thinking I was rid of her. Then she opened a shop in the same neighborhood and did her best to one-up me and steal clients.

  There was a sharp pain in the back of my eye as I relived Candace’s efforts at enticing Max to work for her, not to mention her more recent attempt at luring away Jock.

  She pushed past people and came to an abrupt stop three feet from me. “What are you doing here?” She fluffed her blond mane like it was free and flowing instead of stiff and coated in hairspray.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “I won this trip, not that it’s any of your business.” Truth was, this trip happened so suddenly I barely had enough time to close the shop and promise my clients a ten percent discount next time they came in. Here I’d been afraid Candace would swoop in and steal my customers while I was gone.

  My fingernails dug into my palm so ferociously I almost drew blood. “How did you get here? I didn’t see your broom parked outside. And you sure as heck weren’t on the plane.” I didn’t like talking so mean, but Candace brought out the worst in me.