Deadly in High Heels Read online

  "What about Jeffries?" Marco spat out. "We know he has a bit of a reputation with the ladies."

  But Dempsey shook his head violently from side to side. "No, you've got it all wrong. Jennifer played by the rules. There is no way she would've been seeing a judge. Fraternization between contestants and judges is strictly prohibited."

  Dana shot me an I-told-you-look.

  I bit my lip, remembering the scene I'd witnessed last night with Miss California at Jeffries table. While I wouldn't exactly call their interaction inappropriate, it did border on the fraternizing.

  "We have a witness who says she saw Jennifer sneaking out the night she was murdered," I told him, figuring it couldn't hurt to come clean.

  Dempsey paused, his eyes narrowing. "Who said they saw this?"

  "We're not at liberty to say," Marco jumped in, sounding like he'd just watched an entire season of The Good Wife.

  "Well, whoever it is must be mistaken. Like I said, winning meant everything to Jennifer. She knew that violating curfew was against the rules. And nothing would've made Jennifer jeopardize her title." He shut his mouth with a click, signaling that he'd said his last word on the topic.

  "Did Jennifer seem distressed about anything to you?" I asked, feeling distinctly like we were losing him. "Anything in particular on her mind?"

  But Dempsey shook his head. "I'm sorry. Jennifer was as happy as could be at this pageant. Everything was going her way. In fact, I believe she was even in the running for Miss Congeniality."

  I opened my mouth to follow up on that, however I never got the chance as Dana's phone started singing from her purse.

  "Sorry," she said pulling it out and sliding her finger along the smart screen. She glanced at the readout. "It's a text from Laforge."

  Before she could say more I heard a vibration going off in Dempsey's pocket as well. He looked at the readout and said, "He's calling an all hands meeting in the auditorium."

  We all silently looked at each other, knowing what this meant. The final verdict on whether or not there would be a Miss Hawaiian Paradise Pageant this year.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Marco and I followed Dana down the set of escalators to the lower level where the auditorium was located. Clearly Laforge had sent out a widespread text, as contestants and members of the pageant crew alike filed down the escalators beside us. Everyone wore the same expression of tightly contained nerves. While I was pretty sure the majority of us were hoping Laforge would say the pageant would continue as planned, none of us were exactly sure that we should want the pageant to continue as planned. Did that make us insensitive to the dead girl?

  The house lights were up in the auditorium, giving it an overly cheery feel for the jittery mumbles of the crowd. Dana walked to the front row, where she took a spot behind a small table that was clearly reserved for judges, carefully sequestered away from contestants. Marco and I filled in two seats near the front on the aisle. I could see Laforge shuffling papers just to the side of the stage. Beside him stood Detective Whatshisname. His head tilted toward Laforge as he mumbled something into his ear, but I noticed his eyes were on the crowd. I wondered if he was looking for anything in particular. Or anyone. Had the detective uncovered some evidence pointing to someone in the auditorium as Jennifer's killer? I couldn't help my eyes wandering over the assembled crowd as the questions pinged back and forth in my brain.

  Everyone I had talked to so far had described Jennifer as perfection. She followed the rules, was kind to everyone, and I had a feeling that if she started singing, little Disney characters might have even flocked to her in droves. So why had she taken the risk to sneak out on the night of her death? And who could have hated the possible Miss Congeniality enough to want her dead?

  "May I have everyone's attention, please?"

  My eyes jumped up to the stage where Laforge was standing, a wireless microphone in his hand. "I apologize for calling you all here on such short notice," he started. His voice was missing that commanding tone I'd heard from him at rehearsals. "However with our live telecast only five days away, time is of the essence."

  A wave of murmurs washed through the auditorium at this statement, questioning eyes turning to one another.

  "Yes," Laforge said into his microphone, answering the silent question. "The pageant will continue as scheduled." He paused, waiting for another round of murmurs to pass before demanding our attention again. "After discussions with the local authorities—" Laforge nodded to Detective Whatshisname, standing just offstage. "—and sponsors of our pageant at the Hawaiian Paradise Corporation, we have decided it is safe and appropriate to continue forward and dedicate this pageant to the memory of Jennifer Oliver, our Miss Montana." He paused again, and when he spoke his voice was lower, switching from announcer mode to something much more human and filled with emotion. "We feel it is what Jennifer would have wanted."

  Another soft murmur went through the crowd.

  Laforge took a deep breath and cleared his throat, pulling himself back into presenter mode. Whether the pause for emotion had been intentionally theatric or genuine, it was hard to tell. "I know that this terrible tragedy has taken a toll on all of us. However we will continue rehearsals today. New schedules are posted backstage. We'll break now for a brief recess then meet back here for the dress rehearsal of our opening number in twenty minutes. Thank you." Laforge nodded toward the audience before his thick heels click-clacked offstage to join the homicide detective again.

  *

  After checking the newly posted schedules, I saw that my fitting wasn't until later that afternoon, so Marco and I parted ways with Dana outside the auditorium. She said she wanted to call Ricky with the update on the pageant then grab a cup of coffee to keep her mind sharp as she jumped back into the judging duties. (Of course, in Dana's world a cup of "coffee" meant a nonfat, decaf, soy latte with stevia. Shudder.)

  It looked as though Marco and I were on our own for a few hours. Normally we might have spent it lounging by the pool, but he already knew my particular thoughts on that vacation activity. Instead, we decided to do a little bit of souvenir shopping in the village. The area of Hawaii we were staying in consisted of a main village area where locals and tourists alike hung out at various bars, restaurants, and boutiques. There were also open-air shopping malls that catered specifically to tourists up and down the main highway. Our hotel was conveniently located in the center, well within walking distance of it all.

  Marco and I paused only long enough to go to our respective rooms and change into our very best tourist garb. I put on a purple and turquoise wrap skirt in a large floral print that practically screamed tropical. I paired it with some strappy slingbacks in a summery white and a matching white tank blouse. The outfit was comfortable, carefree, and cool enough to keep me from having unsightly sweat stains in the humidity. Not, I realized, a concern for Marco as I met up with him outside his hotel room ten minutes later. Marco had gone with a pair of tight denim shorts flirting with the top of his kneecap (sporting perfectly waxed legs beneath that I was slightly jealous of, by the way), a skintight white leather top, and a pair of hot pink espadrilles. He had slung a pink crossbody bag over one shoulder to complete the outfit, and topped it all off with a pair of oversized purple sunglasses. I had to admit he looked beyond fabulous. He also looked like he'd be sweating like a pig at a luau in ten minutes flat.

  "Honey, don't you think that outfit is a little hot?" I asked.

  "That's what I was counting on, dahling," Marco said, lowering his sunglasses and giving me a wink.

  I rolled my eyes. "I meant the temperature. It's like eighty degrees plus humidity outside."

  Marco waved me off with a tanned hand. "No worries. I've got that covered." He reached into his pink bag and pulled out a personal-sized, battery-powered fan, flipping it on and holding it in front of his face.

  "See? I can look like I'm an '80s video vixen and stay cool in the humidity."

  I couldn't help a giggle. Marco really did t
hink of everything where fashion was concerned.

  Fifteen minutes later we were walking along the main boulevard, happily filling our shopping bags with goodies to take home. I'd found an adorable little puka shell elastic bracelet for Livvie and a sailboat made out of abalone shells for Max. I was having a little bit harder time finding something for my husband. Big bad homicide detectives usually didn't enjoy cute little clamshells with googly eyes glued onto them. Marco on the other hand was going for full-on island fashion, pulling Hawaiian shirts in a variety of different styles. Though instead of the usual loose casual look he was getting them all in a women's size extra small. I prayed for their teeny tiny buttons.

  We were just coming out of the Waikiki Wonders gift shop and searching for something akin to a Starbucks, when I spotted a familiar face in the crowd just across the courtyard. He was sitting by a fountain where small children were throwing coins in exchange for wishes. Jennifer's boyfriend. Or at least the public boyfriend, Xander Newport, the one who had flown in from Montana the day before. Apparently he had found the Starbucks as he had a paper coffee cup in his hand. He leaned against the back of a park bench, staring off into space. Part of me felt incredibly sorry for the guy. Not only had his girlfriend been cheating on him, a condition to which he had apparently been oblivious, but now she was also deceased.

  Of course there was always the possibility he hadn't been oblivious. It's just possible that he knew Jennifer was cheating on him. Maybe he had traveled to Hawaii not to mourn the death of his beloved girlfriend but to cause it. I know, I had an imaginative streak. What can I say? Life with a homicide detective had colored my view of the world.

  "Who is that?" Marco asked, gesturing to the guy.

  "Who?"

  "The guy you were staring at."

  Was I staring? Oops.

  I quickly filled him in.

  "Ooo…let's go talk to him," Marco said, forging ahead before I could stop him. While I agreed it would be interesting to hear his take on his girlfriend's death, I wasn't quite sure how to tactfully approach a grieving boyfriend

  Apparently Marco didn't have any such compunction. "Xander Newport, right?" he asked

  The guy snapped out of his vacant stare, his eyes going straight to Marco and widening slightly. In his defense anyone's eyes would widen slightly if Marco was approaching them.

  "Yes?" he asked, searching Marco for any sign of recognition.

  Marco shot a hand out toward him. "My name's Marco. I'm with the pageant."

  Which was a slight stretch. However he was with the pageant even if he had nothing to do with it.

  "Oh, right. Of course," Xander said, absently shaking Marco's hand. "I should have guessed."

  While he mumbled the last part, it didn't escape Marco's radar. Fortunately, he took it as a compliment. "It's the shoes, right? I thought they screamed pageant diva."

  Xander gave him a wan smile.

  "We wanted to offer our condolences," I jumped in.

  Xander's eyes shot to me. "And you are?"

  "Maddie Springer." I offered my hand as well. "Nice to meet you."

  Xander shook my hand but didn't return the greeting. He had the dark, brooding thing down to a tee. However, I had to concede that it looked good on him. While I had no idea who Jennifer's secret lover had been, part of me was surprised that she would take a second lover at all. Xander was what you would call classically handsome. Dark blond hair curled in waves off his head, hanging just a little long in the back, enough to be fashionable but not so much as to look like he was lacking in the grooming department. He had the sort of big brown eyes and wide smile that reminded me of a Ryan Seacrest. Tanned skin, white teeth, outfit right out of a J.Crew catalog. Everything about him looked perfectly put together but somehow appropriately casual at the same time. All in all, he looked like the absolute perfect match to a beauty queen.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said.

  His brown eyes immediately went down to his coffee cup which he twirled in his hands, fidgeting. "Thank you I—I can scarcely believe she's gone."

  "Terrible to be visiting paradise under such circumstances," Marco said clucking his tongue. "When did you say you got in?"

  "I didn't." His eyes narrowed.

  "Uh, what he means is I'm sure you must still be in shock over the whole thing." I shot Marco a pointed look.

  Marco nodded. "Right. Shock. So sudden."

  Xander's eyes went back to his cup. "Very sudden."

  "I can't imagine who could have hurt Jennifer. Everyone seemed to like her," I said.

  "Of course they did," Xander shot back defensively.

  "When was the last time you talked to her?" Marco cut in.

  Xander took a deep breath, as if drawing the memory out. "Night before she died."

  "And how did she seem?"

  "What do you mean?" His sandy brows drew together.

  "Did she seem agitated? Upset? Scared?" Marco probed.

  Xander started to shake his head then paused and shrugged his shoulders instead. "I don't know. She seemed the way she always did. She talked about the pageant, the girls. That was it."

  "Did she mention any of the girls in particular?" I asked. If one of the other pageant contestants had been gunning for her, maybe Jennifer had had an inkling of who.

  Xander shook his head, looking down into his coffee cup again as if trying to recall. "I don't know. I wasn't paying close attention to be honest. Maybe Britney?"

  "Whitney?" I asked, immediately thinking of Miss Delaware.

  He nodded. "That sounds right."

  "What did she say about Whitney?"

  Xander shook his head again. "I don't know. Like I said, I wasn't really paying close attention. She talked about how hard they were working on the routines, how excited she was to be here."

  This wasn't exactly front-page news. Nor was it scandalous. I was dying to ask if he knew that his girlfriend had been seeing someone else, but I knew that even if he did know, he was unlikely to tell me, a.k.a. a stranger. And if he didn't know, I certainly wasn't going to be the one to break the news to this poor grieving GQ.

  "Did she know any of the girls from previous pageants?" Marco asked. "Did she have a history with any of them?"

  Oh, good question. I leaned in to hear the answer.

  "Sure," Xander said. "I mean, all these girls kind of travel on the same circuits, you know? There are only so many national level pageants. Once they make it to this level, they're seeing a lot of the same faces over and over."

  "Like Whitney?" I pressed

  But Xander shrugged again. "Look, I'm sorry. But I didn't really know her pageant friends. When she was at home she spent time with me. When she was competing, she spent time with her pageant friends. The two worlds didn't really collide."

  Until now. Clearly someone from her pageant world had spilled over into her personal life. And I was dying to know who that was.

  No pun intended.

  *

  On the way back to the hotel Marco and I contemplated Whitney aging out of the competition—and possibly even lying about her age. I also filled him in on the mysterious girl I'd seen leaving after curfew last night.

  "You think it was Whitney?" Marco asked

  "Honestly, it was too dark to tell. She was tall and slim…but that could apply to just about any one of the fifty-one girls here." I paused, correcting myself. "I mean fifty."

  "Do you think the girl who left last night was the same person Jennifer was meeting on the beach the night she died?"

  "Or," I said, "did the same person who lured Jennifer out after curfew also lure last night's girl out as well?"

  "Hmmm," Marco pondered. "But last night's girl came back alive. We would've heard if one of the contestants wasn't accounted for."

  "Good point." I had to admit I felt like I was going around in circles. It was possible Whitney'd had it in for Miss Montana, and it was also just as possible that her boyfriend or secret lover had done her in. The fact was
we had lots of suspects, and lots of theories, but absolutely zero evidence.

  "I'd really like to know who that girl was I saw last night," I mused aloud. I paused trying to think of who might know if someone had been sneaking around the hotel. As we approached the building I suddenly thought of one person who saw all the comings and goings from this hotel.

  Our friendly neighborhood fashion protester.

  Today she was standing outside the doors, holding a new sign that read Beauty is Skin Deep. I tried not to dwell on the irony that it looked like her skin was quickly getting burned in the afternoon sun.

  "Do we have to?" Marco wined. I could tell that in his current outfit he was feeling a little bit scared of Ms. Protester. Especially since it looked like she had a bucket of red paint at the ready should anybody walk in wearing fur. And Marco's pleather did look rather authentic.

  "Buck up, sister," I told him playfully. "She can't be that bad."

  Marco shot a look toward her all-grey ensemble, shuddering a little when he got to her Birks. "Are you sure…"

  I grabbed him by the crook of the arm and steered him toward our girl. As we approached I heard her shouting at a pair of insurance salesman leaving the hotel.

  "Don't let our daughters become slaves! We're prisoners of our own body image!"

  "Excuse me," I said coming up behind her.

  She spun around, her stringy brown hair flapping behind her. "What do you want?"

  Marco yipped and jumped back a step at her combative tone.

  "Hi, I'm Maddie Springer," I said, holding my hand out to her.

  She looked at it as if it was a snake. Or maybe just a fabulous snakeskin pump.

  "And? Look I'm totally within my right to peacefully protest here, so if you don't like it—"

  "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions."

  "Are you with the pageant?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

  "I am a bit of a consultant," I said, being completely truthful. Of course I left out the part that my consultations were providing some of the fashions for the event.