Frosted Shadow, a Toni Diamond Mystery: Toni Diamond Mysteries (6 page)

He held his expression to neutral. “I’m not planning to sign up as a rep, Ms. Diamond.”

She waved a hand in the air and there were so many rings on it he was surprised she could lift her wrist. “I’ve got to deliver some product to my mother this morning. She’s one of my reps. If you want to come along with me I can tell you all about Lady Bianca while we drive. That’s why it will take a couple of hours. Otherwise you’ll have to wait until I get back.”

He debated for a few seconds but Henderson had the hotel under control and his gut told him that Lady Bianca was the key to all of this. Besides, Toni Diamond might look like the Queen of the Airheads, but she’d proved to be both observant and smart. So, he said, “Fine,” and followed her into the elevator.

Her car was a surprise. He’d expected something big and flashy that would guzzle so much fuel it needed its own oil well, but in fact she drove a hybrid. A putrid color that reminded him of Easter baskets.

“Interesting car color,” he said when he got in.

She beamed at him. “It’s lilac, the Lady Bianca signature color.”

“Naturally.”

At least she drove well, Luke thought, as they made their way through intermittently heavy traffic in her rolling Easter egg, navigating through town and then heading south on 35E.

“All right, Detective. You’ve got me all to yourself for two hours. What do you want to know?”

“You sound like a Columbo re-run.”

She laughed. “Except that you don’t wear a bad raincoat and I’m not a suspect.” She glanced at him. “Am I?”

“No. And you can call me Luke.”

Her glance was like a splash of the Caribbean. Who would buy lenses that fake? “That definitely makes me not feel like a suspect. I can’t imagine you telling America’s Most Wanted to call you Luke.”

“No.”

“Then I guess you’d better call me Toni.”

“You’re a good driver, Toni.”

“Thanks.”

He shifted so he could see her better. “I need to know how Lady Bianca works.” He didn’t tell her that he’d whiled away a couple of hours last night reading websites devoted to trashing Lady B. Seemed not everybody loved the company as much as Toni Diamond.

“No leads yet?”

“We’re working on several angles.” He said, giving his standard response to civilian inquiries. But so far there wasn’t much to go on. Nobody who should have checked out of the hotel and didn’t, or should have checked in and didn’t. No missing person report filed and Jane Doe had never been fingerprinted.

“Well, since you’re giving me your company on a long drive, I’ll tell you what I can. Lady Bianca’s not complicated. We sell the best cosmetics in America, we’re all independent business women – and a handful of men -- and we market our products through home parties, by giving makeovers and through word of mouth.” Even though she sounded like a talking sales brochure, there was something almost naïve about her enthusiasm.

“Why would someone buy your makeup and not just go to the mall for whatever they need?”

“You can’t buy Lady Bianca through a mall. It’s only available through your independent representative. That means you get personal service. I know my clients. I know the colors and products they like and I keep a record of everything. You may not realize your foundation is running out, but if you haven’t reordered in three months, you’ll get a call from me. Even if you still have plenty left, you should always replace foundation after three months,” she told him. “Otherwise it can harbor bacteria.”

“I’ll be sure and remember that.”

Her lips, glossy as a centerfold’s, tilted in a smile. “I’m a woman’s personal beauty consultant. I stay on top of trends and new make up techniques, I always know the latest colors and I help women make the most of themselves. I will personally deliver product to a woman’s home, help her host her own party and, if she’s interested and has the right attitude, I’ll help her start her own business.”

“Is there much money in Lady Bianca?”

“As much as you’re willing to work for. When I first started, I was a real sob story. A single mom with nothing. Today, my clothes aren’t held together with safety pins, but with diamond buttons.” Fake diamonds but he understood what she was getting at. “I make good money, drive a pretty purple car and live in a beautiful home I paid for myself thanks to Lady Bianca.”

“Do most women do as well as you?”

“No. Some are in it for part-time extra income, some really only want to get the product at wholesale and some are working harder than I do and making a whole lot more money. Our company is based purely on selling a great product through hard work and talent.” She glanced at him. “Now I’ve answered your questions. How about you answer a couple for me?”

He shifted on the seat. “What kind of questions?”

“What can you tell me about the murder?”

“Not much.”

She tapped a glittery thumb against the steering wheel. “I guess I feel a little bit connected because of yesterday morning. I can keep my mouth shut, you know.”

“I can tell you that she was stabbed to death.”

“I could see that for myself. She was attacked from the front.” Toni mimed a stabbing motion toward her own chest. “Did she know her killer?”

“Possibly. No sign of struggle and no defensive wounds. But the killer could have got her before she had a chance to react. It’s a hotel. You don’t automatically distrust a stranger coming up to you.”

“Nobody heard her scream?”

“No. But it’s pretty quiet on the convention floor at night. If she’d cried out, who’d have heard her?”

“So she was killed at night?”

“Educated guess puts death around eleven.”

She tapped her thumb against the steering wheel again. “You think it’s an isolated incident?”

“What we’re trying to do is put together the story of her life, especially her recent life. Somewhere, somehow she pissed somebody off badly enough to kill her.”

“But her life’s not in Corvallis. All we know is that she was at the hotel. We don’t even know if it was for a few hours or a few days.”

“Well, if her life’s not here, something – or someone -- out of it followed her.”

“You’re certain it couldn’t be a random act of violence?”

He shook his head. “Could be but I don’t think so.”

“Her purse was missing. Couldn’t the motive be robbery?”

“Depends what was in her purse. If it was a few bucks and some credit cards, it wasn’t worth killing for. If it’s more, then how did the killer know? We’re back to her past following her here.”

He shifted so he could search her face. He always felt some personal connection with the victims, more as he got to know of them and their lives. He understood that Toni felt some connection too. Whatever evidence of sleeplessness might be there she’d covered up. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

She made a wry face. “Not much. I kept seeing her.”

“It’s never easy.” He didn’t bother telling her that insomnia was one of his hobbies. “But don’t worry. Chances are the killer’s long gone. And hopefully left enough evidence behind that we can get him or her off the streets.”

Up ahead was a sign that read Pecan Villa Estates. She put her right turn signal on, then she swung the car through a gap in the manicured hedge.

There were a few pecan trees, but not a villa or an estate to be seen. Instead, ahead of him stretched rows of mobile homes. Singlewide, doublewide, mostly neatly kept and tidy. She took a left onto Beech Crescent and then swung right into Oak Street and pulled in front of a mint green doublewide with crushed white rock landscaping and a flock of plastic geese picking at the stones. Three improbable-looking metal butterflies clung to the siding.

In spite of the kitsch factor, the place was clean, and in good repair.

“You grew up here?”

She laughed. “Not hardly.” She flipped the trunk and they each hefted a box stamped Lady Bianca. “This is a big step up from where I started out.”

She mounted three steps to the porch and then banged the screen door with her hip. “Hey, y’all. I got a delivery,” she said, her country accent sounding thicker.

“Comin, honey,” a woman called. And then the door opened.

“Hey, Mama,” she said, and the two women bussed cheeks over the box.

Luke almost staggered when he saw Toni’s mother. Mama made Toni look as conservative as a nun. In fact, the woman was on the flashy side even for Texas. She had hair so blonde it hurt to look at in the glare from the sun, and makeup so heavily applied that it was almost like a second face. Like when a picture is snapped fuzzy and there are two likenesses. She wore a tight pink shirt of some shiny fabric that revealed a hefty amount of cleavage as perfect as two double scoops of vanilla ice cream.

Her jeans were snug and her faux snakeskin boots had decorative spurs.

Her daughter had toned it down a few degrees but when he saw the wink of diamonds on the side of her sunglasses, he had to think that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the gaudy tree.

Mama’s eyes lit up and her plump pink lips smiled when she spied him. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing a gentleman caller.”

“Detective Marciano’s with the police, Mama.”

“Detective?” She took a step back. “Police?”

“Ms. Diamond is helping us with some inquiries, Ma’am.”

“So, you’re like a deputy? My, that’s so exciting. Just like in the movies. Well, come on in. I’ve got the coffee on. I can’t thank you enough for bringing me those supplies, honey. I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting the girls without checking my cosmetics stock first.” She twinkled at her daughter. “Good thing I’m your best sales rep.”

“You’re not. You’re my mama and you’re holding my daughter hostage. So, you had me over a barrel and you know it.”

Her mother laughed, a girlish trill that was, oddly enough, the most genuine thing about her.

Inside, the mobile home was spotless. Full of crap, but all of it clean.

Over the electric fireplace in the living room where another family might have a scenic picture, or a mirror, or a religious symbol, an oil painting of Dolly Parton smiled down at him. At her feet, on the mantel, was a clay pot with a lid and a silver-framed photograph in black and white. Looked like an old wedding picture.

Toni’s mother collected Parton mementoes the way a dog collected fleas. They were everywhere. A Parton doll in a white angel dress on one table, a collector’s plate hanging on one wall and a picture of Mama and Toni with a girl of about ten posing in front of Dollyworld on another.

Here You Come Again
played softly in the background.

“You’re a Dolly Parton fan, I see,” he said.

“I sure am. She is a very special lady to me. Our birthday is the same day. A lot of people say we look alike.” She struck a pose and cut a glance to her own ample cleavage and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching.

“The resemblance is remarkable.”

“Course, I’m a few years younger, but I always look on Dolly like an older sister. I send her a card on our birthday every year.”

“She ever send one back?” another voice joined in. Young, monotone, bored with life. Must be a teenager. Sure enough, an older version of the girl in the Dollyworld photo slouched down the hall to the living area and collapsed onto the couch as though the walk had exhausted her.

“Miss Parton is a very busy woman, of course she doesn’t have time to write back, but I know she appreciates my cards and on the big birthdays I always send a little gift. We don’t always do things in order to get something back, missy.”

The girl now slumped on the floral sofa fit in with the other two women like a crow would fit into a cage of parrots. He was no expert, but even he was pretty sure her too long straight hair was dyed. The black was so heavy it seemed to weigh her down, so her shoulders stooped. In contrast to the hair, her face was unnaturally white, and her make up looked like she’d applied it with a black Sharpie.

She sported a nose stud but, where he’d have expected a diamond, she had chosen a black bead. She pulled a laptop computer off the table and rested it on her knees. A stack of books with library stickers rested beside it. Simone de Beauvoir, Kant and, for light reading, Stephen King.

Black jeans, black shirt, black and white high tops. Black nail polish that was badly chipped and three silver earrings in the ear he could see, one of which was hanging by a wire. Jaws chomping a wad of gum like it was chewing tobacco.

“And this is my baby girl Tiffany,” Toni said brightly. “Tiff, this is Detective Marciano.”

“Yeah. Tiffany Diamond. Go ahead and arrest my mother for sticking me with a porn star’s name.”

“I was seventeen years old when you were born and you were my most precious thing. All I knew was that you weren’t just a diamond -- you were a perfect diamond.” She walked over and sat beside her daughter giving her a one armed hug. “I couldn’t decide between calling you Tiffany or Hope.”

He thought, based on what he saw, that Rough might have been a better choice, but he understood that this performance was a set piece; they probably pulled it out whenever somebody new came into their circle.

The daughter groaned theatrically, but she didn’t pull out of her mother’s embrace. “I can’t believe my dad didn’t stop you.”

The two mothers exchanged a look and Luke got the feeling Mr. Diamond hadn’t hung around long enough to give an opinion on the matter.

“Your father loved the name,” said Linda Plotnik, shooting Toni a half-pleading, half-warning glance. “He helped your mother pick your pretty name. Anyhow, you know what Dolly says,” Mama practically genuflected before her picture when she mentioned her idol’s name. “’
Decide who you are and then do it on purpose.’
Tiffany Diamond is whoever you want her to be.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“Besides, one day you’ll get married and then your name won’t be remarkable at all.”

“And if I follow family tradition that should happen in about a year. Over a shotgun.”

Chapter Eight

Blonde hair, pink lips, good figure, talent and sex - that's all I have to offer. —
Diana Dors

“Tiffany, honey, you’re so smart. You won’t make the mistakes as your mother and me did.” Linda’s words were confident, but there was a line of worry creasing the make up on her forehead. “I’ll pour the coffee.”