Deadly in High Heels (10 page)

I couldn't help but smile. "Sorry, no tasty waves. I spent the afternoon by the pool."

"That's cool. Not very rad, but cool." He slapped a napkin down in front of me. "What'll you have?"

"Bay Breeze, please," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows in Xander's direction. Xander shook his head, and Dirk bopped off to mix my drink.

"You're with that pageant, aren't you?" Xander asked.

I nodded. "But I'm a shoe designer. Not a contestant."

"Yeah. I figured."

I frowned at him.

"You knew Jen?" he asked me.

"I saw her," I admitted. "I didn't get to know her." I hesitated. "She seemed very—"

"She was," he said, not letting me finish. I looked down at his glass, wondering how many drinks he'd had. "She was everything," he continued. "That's why I just couldn't lose her, you know?"

My Spidey senses tingled. "Lose her?" I repeated.

He nodded. "I couldn't just let that other guy take her away. I mean, she was perfect."

"So, you knew Jennifer was seeing someone else?" I asked slowly, watching his reaction.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping, any fight I'd seen in him before completely drained.

"That's why I'm here. Because I didn't want to lose her. I was making some—what do you women call it?—grand romantic gesture." He snorted into his near-empty glass. "You like that, right? Flowers and all that? Yeah. Didn't work out so well, did it?"

I hardly knew what to say. It was all so tragic and horribly sad. "Do you have any idea who she was seeing?" I asked carefully.

"She wouldn't say." His shoulders lifted and fell in a deep sigh. "It didn't really matter. She told me it was over between us, and she was ending it. And I thought I could change her mind if I just showed up here. Like I could sweep her off her feet or something." His voice caught. "Maybe I could have, if I hadn't shown up too late."

"You can't blame yourself," I told him firmly. "No one could have seen this coming."

"Yeah."

"When did Jennifer break it off with you?" I asked.

He sighed again. "As soon as she got to Hawaii. She called and said it was over. Nice Dear John, huh?" He drained his glass without waiting for an answer, got up and wandered off, a heartbreaking picture of solitude among the happy, oblivious tourists.

Dirk arrived with my drink, and I sat with it quietly, considering what Xander had told me. Wondering if whoever Jennifer had been seeing had been the last person to see her alive, maybe even the person who had caused her death. Wondering who might know who that person was. Wondering what that commotion was I was hearing down the beach.

I cocked my head, listening to voices that seemed familiar, seemed like—

Oh, no. No way.

Before I had time to fully comprehend it, my mother and Mrs. Rosenblatt came rushing into sight on the beach. They turned together toward the Lost Aloha Shack, both of them carrying brightly striped beach bags that bulged with tabloid newspapers, books, rolled-up beach towels, and who knew what else. The bags were the only subtle thing about them. Mrs. Rosenblatt was wearing a neon peach muumuu that flowed behind her like a riptide in the ocean breeze. In comparison, Mom had a toned down wardrobe of pale pink capris and a loose-fitting sleeveless top and sandals, but what she lacked in sartorial splendor she made up for in cosmetic overload. Her eye shadow color pretty much matched my new pedicure, and her lipstick was a frosted bubblegum pink. Cyndi Lauper would have been jealous.

They spotted me right away at the end of the bar and broke into matching huge smiles as they lumbered over in a cloud of coconut scented suntan oil.

"What in the world are you doing here?" I asked after we'd exchanged hugs. Surfer Dirk drifted by and took their order for "something pretty with extra umbrellas." Surprisingly, this request didn't seem to confuse him in the least.

"We came to help you out," Mrs. Rosenblatt announced, lowering herself carefully onto a stool. "Sounded like your juju needs a good cleaning."

Seemed to me like my juju was my business, but okay.

"I told you we were coming," Mom said. She perched on the stool Xander had just abandoned, using his discarded napkin to wipe the bar. "Didn't you get my text last night?"

I frowned, trying to remember. "I don't think so."

Mom pulled out her cell phone and sifted through her sent text messages. "Here it is!" she said. "Oh. Well. Maybe that wasn't very clear." She held it out, and I read
Cleverly ornery, will salve you, juju classing fort Cummings
. "It's the darned voice recognition," she said by way of explanation. "It's not trustworthy."

"You should see some of the nonsense I've gotten," Mrs. Rosenblatt agreed. "Whatever happened to using a phone to make an actual phone call, anyway?"

That's what I'd like to know. I'd gotten that text at the worst possible time, while I'd been hiding in the bushes on the beach trying to spy on Desi and her mystery man.

"What this thing should have said," Mom explained with great patience, "is
Cavalry on the way, we'll save you, juju cleaning forthcoming
. See? That's not so complicated." She beamed at me. "And here we are!"

"Here you are," I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "But how did you get a room? Between the pageant and the convention, the hotel seems pretty full."
"It's booked solid," Mrs. Rosenblatt said cheerfully.

"We've got that all figured out," Mom added. "We'll just bunk with you, dear. We won't bother you a bit, will we, Dorothy?"

"Not a bit," Mrs. Rosenblatt agreed. "Well, there is that matter of forgetting my breathing strips, but with any luck, my little snoring problem won't be any issue at all."

Snoring problem?

"And I need to be near an outlet," Mom said. "I can't sleep a wink without my heating pad."

"A heating pad?" I blinked. "But it's over ninety degrees."

"I don't argue with the arthritis, dear," Mom said. "If my bones want heat, I give them heat."

"And tomorrow we'll get that juju cleaned right up," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "Of course, we'll have to pick up a few things first. But we'll take care of that. Nothing for you to worry about."

Too late. I was already worried.

"Here we are," Dirk announced, swooping in to hand over two rainbow-colored drinks. "Something pretty for the major chicas."

"Aren't you sweet," Mom told him. She nudged me with an elbow and whispered, "What's a chica?"

"It's a good thing," I whispered back.

"Oh, Betty, look at this." Mrs. Rosenblatt held up a glass of bright blue something or other topped with half a dozen little umbrellas. "It's just the color of my Ollie's eyes."

I don't know how she remembered the color of her Ollie's eyes, considering he'd been the first in a string of five husbands, but I liked her sense of romance.

"Cheers!" she added.

We'd just see about that.

Cheer
might have been overstating my mood the next morning, thanks to Mrs. Rosenblatt's little snoring problem, which practically made the drapes shimmy off the rod. I was definitely not cheerful while I spent much of the night staring at the ceiling, my hands crossed on my stomach, fingers laced together, my legs straight and rigid. My mother, on the other hand, had curled herself around her heating pad like a fetus in the womb, drifted off into blissful unconsciousness, and didn't move for the rest of the night.

I really had to see about a heating pad.

Bleary-eyed after about three hours of sleep, I headed down to the Tropical Tryst buffet while I reluctantly filled my two well-rested roommates in on what I knew so far about Jennifer's death.

Ruth Marie was in the buffet line when stepped in behind her. Immediately I started to think about her instruction to Dana to pad Miss New Mexico's interview score. I wondered if she knew who had issued the instructions, or if she'd just been passing along the message. Maybe Ruth Marie had even gotten the message wrong, and the pageant wasn't as crooked as it now appeared. I hoped that was the case, for Dana's sake.

And that led me to wonder about Dana. There was still no sight of her, and I decided to check on her after breakfast. It wasn't like her to drop out of sight for too long.

Mom elbowed me in the waist. "Is that who I think it is?" She pointed her chin toward Ruth Marie's back.

I put my finger to my lips in a
hush
gesture. "It's Ruth Marie Masters. She's one of the judges."

Mom did a little squeal. "It is not!"

I smiled. "You've heard of her?"

"Have I
heard
of her? Miss Hawaiian Paradise of 1962? Who
hasn't
heard of her?" Mom grinned at me. "I bet she's a fountain of information."

My smile disappeared. "Wait a minute—"

Mom reached over, tapping like a woodpecker on Ruth Marie's shoulder. "Excuse me, aren't you Ruth Marie Masters?"

Ruth Marie turned with a put-upon sigh. "Please, if you don't mind, I'd like to just—" She stopped when she saw me and morphed instantly into pageant mode with a dazzling smile. "Maddie, how nice to see you."

I willed a smile back into place. "Ruth Marie, I'd like you to meet—"

"I'm Betty Springer," Mom said, thrusting her hand forward. "I'm such a huge fan. I watched you win the Miss Hawaiian Paradise crown way back in 1962. Those were the days." She rolled her eyes heavenward, reminiscing. "Such glamour and excitement. Nothing like today's pageants."

Ruth Marie brightened. "You're so right. I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"This is my mother, Betty Springer," I said. "And this—"

Mrs. Rosenblatt grabbed hold of Ruth Marie's hand and gave it several vigorous pumps. "Dorothy Rosenblatt." She narrowed her eyes. "You have a confused aura."

Ruth Marie took back her hand and rubbed it a little. "Confused…?"

"Aura," Mrs. Rosenblatt repeated. "It's brown. Brown means confused. I can fix that for you."

"Oh." Ruth Marie gave me an uncertain look. I did a tiny shrug. "Well, I suppose that would be fine."

Mom gave a dismissive little wave. "We're not here to fix auras, Dorothy. This isn't a business trip. We're just here for some girls' time with my Maddie, remember?" She did an exaggerated wink, and I rolled my eyes. Nothing subtle about that. "We're very proud of her," she told Ruth Marie. "My little girl, working at the Miss Hawaiian Paradise pageant. Such a prestigious pageant. Well, of course, you know all about that, being one of the winners."

I winced at Mom's heavy handedness, but Ruth Marie seemed to be lapping it up.

"I can still remember the evening gown you wore," Mom went on. "Dior, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was Dior." Ruth Marie leaned in close to her, just two girlfriends sharing a secret. "Do you know, it took five hours to custom fit that gown?"

"Well, it was just beautiful, and you were beautiful in it." Mom linked her arm into Ruth Marie's elbow. "You must join us for breakfast. I'd love to hear all about your pageant days. You look like you could still compete. Isn't she gorgeous, Dorothy?"

"Gorgeous," Mrs. Rosenblatt agreed, but she was looking at the omelet bar.

"Thank you for the offer, but I have so much to do." Ruth Marie tried to slide her arm free, but she was like a fish on a hook. Mom wasn't losing this one.

"Nonsense," Mom said. "Everyone has to eat." She took a look around the seating area and pointed. "Dorothy, why don't you go claim that table. It's right next to the fountain. It'll be like dining al fresco."

My eyes followed the direction of her point, and I noticed Jay Jeffries across the room, sitting alone with a plate of fresh fruit and a cup of coffee in front of him. He seemed deep in thought, paying no attention to the activity flowing around his table. As I watched him, I couldn't shake the feeling that he seemed the most likely candidate to have been the mystery man Jennifer had been seeing. He wasn't my idea of a stud—as far as I was concerned, Ramirez pretty much had that category locked up—but maybe Jennifer had gone for the pushy, womanizing type. There was no accounting for taste where men were concerned.

"…dear?" Mom was asking.

I dragged my attention back to the buffet. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, aren't you going to join us?"

I glanced back at Jeffries. "Sure. I just want to say hello to someone first."

"Don't be long," Mom said. "We haven't got much time."

"We don't want to miss that hula lesson at ten," Mrs. Rosenblatt added.

Her remark didn't hit me until I was halfway across the room toward Jeffries, and when it did, the visual of Mrs. Rosenblatt in a grass skirt almost stopped me in my tracks. Hopefully that comment had been strictly for Ruth Marie's benefit. The alternative was too much for me to wrap my head around.

As I expected, Jeffries readily invited me to sit down. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

I was going to need something to keep me awake, but I wasn't having it with him. "No, thanks." I leaned forward, keeping my voice low enough to avoid being overheard. I'd already decided that the direct approach was best with someone like Jeffries. Especially since I probably had a limited amount of time before he reached for my knee under the table. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but as a judge, have you been told to pad Desi's scores to push her into first place?"

Jeffries didn't hesitate. "Yes, of course." He bit off a piece of mango. "In fact," he said while he chewed, "I relayed the message to Ruth Marie. And I believe she spoke to Dana. So we're all on the same page."

I was taken aback by his blasé attitude. "Who told you to do that?"

"I…I don't remember." Jeffries swallowed and patted his lips with his napkin. He didn't look at me. He remembered, alright. He just clearly didn't want to say.

"Was it someone from Hawaiian Paradise?" I pressed. "I can understand why a request from corporate would be hard to refuse."

"I really don't remember. I'm sorry." He reached for his coffee, his eyes darting to a point somewhere behind me and lingering there.

I glanced over my shoulder. Laforge was at the buffet, piling fruit on his plate and…was he striking poses? I blinked and took another look, along with every other diner within a ten foot radius of the buffet. He was hard to miss in impossibly tight white shorts and a peach fishnet top offering peek-a-boo glimpses of his faux tanned and hairless torso. His giant sunglasses were firmly in place, his hair gelled and immovable above them. And he was definitely making moves better suited to a photo shoot than a breakfast buffet. Even if he did have good legs.

"It was Laforge," I said, turning back to Jeffries. "Wasn't it?"

"I already told you, I don't remember." His tone had grown irritated. He looked past me again, as if seeking guidance from Laforge. He wasn't going to get it. It was clear that all of Laforge's attention was focused on the yogurt bar, where Marco was now doing his own supermodel thing in blazing yellow booty shorts and an emerald green crop top. The hair was spiked, the eyeliner was thick, and the pink jellies had made a return appearance. I had to admit, he had a pretty smooth routine down as he moved along the yogurt bar. He somehow managed to get his breakfast together while at the same time doing the over-the-shoulder, hand to the waist, leg stretched to the side thing like a red carpet diva. He repeatedly glanced over at Laforge. Watching them, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Men will be boys.

I thought fast. The direct approach was getting me nowhere with Jeffries. Maybe it was time for the tactless approach. "Were you in a relationship with Jennifer?" I asked bluntly.

That got his attention. He dragged his gaze away from Laforge and widened his eyes in a pantomime of surprise. "What? No, of course not. Why would you even suggest such a thing?"

I lifted an eyebrow and said nothing.

"Okay." He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. I admit it, I did try to hit on her. Who can blame me? The girl was gorgeous. But I'm sorry to say I didn't get anywhere. She just kept pointing to that damned promise ring, like it actually meant something." He shook his head. "Can you imagine?"

"She turned you down," I said.

His mouth twisted as if it pained him to admit it. "Yes, she turned me down. That has
never
happened before, believe me." He ran a hand over his hair, barely touching it, but I could still see the oily sheen left on his palm. Ick.

"Women don't turn me down," he added. "I'm Jay Jeffries."

That would be reason enough for me, but I opted for the kind route since I believed he was actually being honest with me for once. "I'm sure it's only because she was in a relationship already," I told him.

He snorted. "You think?"

I had no idea. "I'm sure of it," I told him.

"You know," he said, eyes straying to my ringed left hand, "being in a relationship doesn't have to mean you can't have any fun." He punctuated that statement with a wink.

"Oh, gee, would you look at the time? I've got a fitting…" I trailed off as I quickly got up from the table and made a beeline for the door. Without coffee. Apparently being totally squicked out had a great wake-up factor.

*

It turned out that Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt actually had been scheduled for a hula lesson at ten o'clock, but because an all-out search had to be undertaken to find a grass skirt of sufficient size to fit Mrs. Rosenblatt, they'd been offered a private lesson at a future date. Which fit right into their plan to go into town to find some anti-tiki potions to ward off the island's bad juju instead. Oh boy.

After they'd gone off on the hotel shuttle, I joined the pageant personnel gathered in the auditorium for a dress rehearsal of one of the dance numbers. Everyone, that is, except for Desi, who was nowhere in sight. I tried to ignore the apprehension that tingled up my spine at her absence. A contestant wouldn't miss a rehearsal unless it was for a very good reason. Or a very bad one. Desi was looking guiltier and guiltier by the second.

I took a seat a few rows back and watched Laforge stomp around, clearly in a snit about having to wait for Miss New Mexico. Or maybe because Marco had outdone him at the breakfast buffet fashion showdown. The contestants milled about near the stage, chatting in small groups while keeping anxious watch on Laforge.

"Ladies, your attention!" he called out after a reasonable three minute wait. "We're going to get started now. Places, please."

"But Desi isn't here," Whitney said.

"She knew the call time," he snapped. "Now, places, please."

The contestants scurried to take their assigned places. This dance number was designed to begin not on the stage but on the floor, moving down the aisles between seating sections, before each contestant ascended to the stage in turn for the big finale. It would be a real crowd pleaser, assuming Miss Arkansas didn't fall on her way up the steps.

"And, Jackie, music, if you would," Laforge called out.

I watched as the girls broke into motion, their symmetry clearly broken by Desi's absence as they shimmied and high-kicked their way toward the stage stairs. Whitney navigated the steps flawlessly, not breaking rhythm, and on the other side of the stage, Maxine missed only one or two beats before beginning her jazz walk toward center stage. Except she hadn't taken more than two steps when she pitched forward and fell flat on her face.

And let out a bloodcurdling scream that had Laforge waving his arms and yelling, "Stop the music!" He stormed toward the stage. "What in the name of—" He stopped midsentence, and even from the audience I could see his complexion go white.

I jumped out of my seat for a better look, and I felt the blood rush out of my own face.

This time Maxine hadn't fallen over her own feet.

She'd fallen over Desi, lying dead on the stage.