Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami

By Diana Dempsey

(Beauty Queen Mysteries #3)

Beauty queen Happy Pennington can’t say no when hunky reality-show host Mario Suave asks her to step in as a last-minute judge for the Teen Princess of the Everglades beauty pageant in which his daughter Mariela is competing.

But in glittery Miami—the land of the tanned, the toned, and the treacherous—pageant preps screech to a dead halt when the unthinkable happens ...

One of Happy’s fellow judges is found strangled by a string bikini.

Find out why readers call this mystery series “a giggle a minute” ... “superfab” ... and “a fun, rollicking romp” ...

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Diana Dempsey never competed in beauty pageants but she did the next best thing: she worked in TV news. After a dozen years as an Emmy Award-winning anchor and reporter, Diana morphed into an author of women’s fiction and lighthearted mystery. Her books have been called “almost impossible to put down” (Romance Reviews Today), “skillfully plotted and filled with realistic detail” (Library Journal), and “spicy, sexy, and sultry” (Booklist). Visit Diana's website at www.dianadempsey.com, join her at Facebook at Diana Dempsey Books, and follow her on Twitter at Diana_Dempsey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Dempsey
• Release date: Mar 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301217489

Diana Dempsey

Diana Dempsey traded in an Emmy-winning career in TV news to write fast, fun romantic fiction. Her debut novel, FALLING STAR, was nominated for a RITA award for Best First Book by the members of Romance Writers of America. It centers on the personal and professional travails—and eventual triumphs—of a primetime anchorwoman. TO CATCH THE MOON, a Romantic Times Top Pick, combines a murder mystery with a love triangle. TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN goes behind the glossy veneer of a Napa Valley winery to find forbidden love, intrigue, and betrayal. CHASING VENUS is a romantic suspense about Annie Rowell, who discovers that being a best-selling novelist can be a killer ...Since Diana enjoys the occasional well-executed murder, she's launched a cozy mystery series. MS AMERICA AND THE OFFING ON OAHU introduces beauty queen and budding sleuth Happy Pennington, who must clear her name when her fiercest competitor tumbles dead out of the isolation booth during the pageant finale. The ongoing installments are MS AMERICA AND THE VILLAINY IN VEGAS, MS AMERICA AND THE MAYHEM IN MIAMI, and MS AMERICA AND THE WHOOPSIE IN WINONA.In her dozen years in television news, the former Diana Koricke played every on-air role from network correspondent to local news anchor. She reported for NBC News from New York, Tokyo, and Burbank, and substitute anchored such broadcasts as Sunrise, Today, and NBC Nightly News. In addition, she was a morning anchor for KTTV 11 Fox News in Los Angeles. She started her broadcast career with the Financial News Network.Born and raised in Buffalo, New York - Go, Bills! - Diana is a graduate of Harvard University and the winner of a Rotary International Foundation Scholarship. She enjoyed stints overseas in Belgium, the U.K., and Japan, and now resides in Los Angeles with her husband and a West Highland White Terrier, not necessarily in that order.Diana loves to hear from readers! Visit www.DianaDempsey.com to email Diana, and sign up to her mailing list to hear first about her new releases. Also join her on Facebook at Diana Dempsey Books and follow her on Twitter at Diana_Dempsey.

Book preview

MS AMERICA

AND THE

MAYHEM IN MIAMI

(Beauty Queen Mysteries, No. 3)

Diana Dempsey

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2013 by Diana Dempsey

Cover design by Rhonda Freshwater

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

ISBN: 978-0-9815223-7-1

First electronic edition March 2013

Table of Contents

TITLE PAGE

LETTER TO READERS

BEAUTY QUEEN MYSTERIES

ALSO AVAILABLE FROM DIANA DEMPSEY

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

Excerpt from MS AMERICA AND THE WHOOPSIE IN WINONA

Dear Reader,

I’ve changed things up a bit in this third Beauty Queen Mystery. As I wrote I found myself devoting attention not only to whodunit, but increasingly to the people in Happy Pennington’s world: Jason, Rachel, Mrs. P, Pop, Trixie, Shanelle, and of course Mario. In this book you’ll meet Mario’s teenage daughter Mariela and her mother Consuela. I also had a lot of fun delving more deeply into the pageant world, as Mariela is competing in the Miss Teen Princess of the Everglades pageant, in which Happy is serving as a judge.

I really hope you like the balance of mystery and personal life in Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami. That’s one thing I’m learning as I write this series: the core characters loom larger as it progresses. So while I get a humungous kick out of crafting an intricate mystery puzzle and dropping clues along the way for you to find, I take equal satisfaction in developing the character’s lives—giving them an arc, as we say in the business. And of course the most challenging arc of all goes to our sleuth, Happy Pennington.

I love to hear from you! Drop me an email at www.dianadempsey.com and be sure to sign up for my mailing list while you’re there to hear first about my new releases. Please join me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter.

Always, all best to you! Keep reading.

Diana Dempsey

Beauty Queen Mysteries

Ms America and the Offing on Oahu (No. 1)

Ms America and the Villainy in Vegas (No. 2)

Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami (No. 3)

Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona (No. 4)

Ms America and the Brouhaha on Broadway (No. 5)

Ms America and the Naughtiness in New Orleans (No. 6)

Also available from Diana Dempsey

Falling Star

To Catch the Moon

Too Close to the Sun

Chasing Venus

A Diva Wears the Ring (novella)

Ring of Truth (anthology featuring A Diva Wears the Ring)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My dear friend Bill Fuller helped me with this book, as he helps with all of them. One of his most endearing traits is that he’s a wonderful cheerleader. He marks up the manuscript with little checks next to everything he enjoys. Sometimes a line will earn as many as three checks. Then I know I’ve really done good. Thank you, Bill!

Another friend helped with Mayhem in Miami: Steve Munn. He’s a boater and fisherman and knows a lot about sportfishers. Thanks to his advice and expert eye, Happy’s seagoing adventure has a ring of truth.

Rhonda Freshwater of Freshwater Design created yet another spectacular cover for this third outing in the Ms. America series. I don’t know how she’ll top it next time but I know she will!

And as always I thank my marvelous husband Jed, who not only has to suffer through the roughest drafts of the manuscript but my nonstop requests for help in all aspects of e-publishing. That’s what he gets for being both a fab editor and a tech geek. I would love him even if he weren’t, and that’s the truth.

CHAPTER ONE

I bet there’s more than one man on this earth who considers a string bikini a lethal weapon. After what I personally witnessed here in Miami, I’m in their camp.

As I sit poolside nursing the last piña colada I’ll enjoy for some time—I’m flying home to Ohio in the morning—my mind cannot help but return to the events of the last week. They include homicide, a run-in with an extremely ill-tempered crocodile, the successful crowning of a new Teen Princess of the Everglades, a rather fraught ocean voyage aboard a luxury sportfisher, a bout or two of salsa dancing, and a truly amazing ghost story.

That last involved Mario Suave—pageant emcee, reality-show host, and temptation of the highest order.

But I digress.

Events spiraled out of control my very first day in Miami. At the time I was explaining to Trixie Barnett, the reigning Ms. Congeniality and a prime BFF, how the aforementioned Mario had requested my presence at this sultry outpost to get him out of a bind.

Trixie flipped her copper-colored bangs away from her hazel eyes. If memory serves, she was wearing a strappy black floral chiffon maxi dress—very flowy and featuring a high/low hem. What in heaven’s name is up with these Teen Princess of the Everglades pageant people? She threw up her hands. Mario’s daughter is competing! They should know he might be able to help organize the pageant but he certainly can’t judge it! Or emcee it!

You and I both know Trixie is rarely exasperated. But the poor thing is going through a rough patch back home and is majorly stressed. That’s why I invited her to join me in Miami. This beauty queen knows there’s nothing like a change of scene to get a new lease on life.

Anyway, we were sitting in the theater venue suffering through rehearsals for the pageant’s opening number. The finale was set for the next night and Mario’s 16-year-old daughter Mariela was one of seventy or so girls struggling to master what anyone with two brain cells to rub together would know was over-complicated choreography.

These poor girls started practicing yesterday afternoon and they’re still totally confused! Trixie shrieked.

Can you believe the choreographer has them wearing sunglasses?

It’s way too dark for those! The only light in here comes from the colored spotlights!

Which might be why pandemonium reigned onstage. The contestants could barely see but were being forced to perform a synchronized dance while carrying around gigantic cardboard cutouts of the Florida state animal symbols. Which by then I knew included the porpoise, manatee, loggerhead sea turtle, and cracker horse. Not to mention the American alligator, which might be what ticks off the crocodiles.

The music’s lousy, too! Trixie cried. Why couldn’t they at least pick a song with a beat?

A wail emanated from the stage. A contestant toting a gigantic cutout of a largemouth bass slammed into an empty-handed contender.

Why is that girl carrying around a humungous cardboard fish? Trixie screeched. Anyhoo, Mario asked if you could fill in for the judge who dropped out?

Even though it was big-time short notice. She just pulled out yesterday. Crisis at work or something.

Mr. Cantwell gave the A-OK?

Sure did. Our pageant owner might be facing felony tax-evasion charges but he is back to presiding over the Atlanta headquarters. He even made it an official appearance. Meaning my expenses are paid by the Ms. America organization. This is one of the many perks of being the titleholder: I am called upon to represent the pageant at events across our great nation at no cost to me. Have tiara; will travel.

I will also admit to you, dear reader, that Miami held the additional lure of one Mario Suave, whom I knew would be on site cheering his daughter’s pageant efforts. Unfortunately his daughter’s mother Consuela is on site as well, and she is what my mother would call a piece of work.

Jostling occurs a few rows behind us. I twist in my seat to spy the male judge—a sizable Samoan individual—attempting to disappear up the aisle.

That’s Lasalo Dufu, I whisper to Trixie. He used to play for the Dolphins and now owns a car dealership here in Miami. Dufu Dodge. And that’s the other judge all the way to the left over there.

The woman with the long hair who has on as much makeup as we do?

She has to for work. She does the weather for one of the Spanish-language TV stations. Her name is Perpetua Lopez Famosa. Peppi for short.

We watch the contestants reassemble to take it from the top. In short order the pirate-ship prop rises from below the stage floor at such speed that one teen queen gets thwacked in the backside by the prow. Just as she bursts into tears, the crescent moon prop drops precipitously from overhead and contestants are forced to scatter or get conked in the noggin.

Somebody could really get hurt in here! Trixie cries. Remember the good old days when pageant people knew what they were doing? Like when Miss Texas USA did ‘These Boots are Made for Walkin’ ’ for their opening number?

That was fabulous! Texas always puts on a good show. I think back to my own pageant triumphs. Wasn’t it fun when we did ‘Rock-a-Hula Baby’ on Oahu?

Yes! Trixie pokes me in the arm. But that pageant’s always going to be extra special for you because that’s where you won your Ms. America crown.

So true. Sometimes I still can’t believe the name Happy Pennington will forever be burnished by a national pageant win. Talk about a glittering place in history.

Trixie and I shamelessly reminisce while matters on stage careen from bad to worse. One teen queen trips over the trap door for the pirate ship, causing a fatal injury to the cardboard cracker horse. Mercifully the choreographer calls a lunch break.

Thank the Lord! Trixie levers herself to her feet. I couldn’t take much more of that. Plus I’m always in the mood to eat these days. Can you tell I gained a pound and a half?

Two pounds and it would be a bona fide beauty queen disaster. You know what we’ll do? I say. Ramp up our workouts. We head up the aisle, my maxi dress swirling about my legs. It’s halter-style with stripes of black and burgundy angled to create the effect of a wrap dress. Remember how buff we got in Vegas when we were training for the Sparklettes?

That was only a month ago but it feels like a lifetime. I miss Shanelle!

I do, too. Shanelle and I were roommates on Oahu when she represented Mississippi in the Ms. America pageant and she accompanied me to Vegas when we were both bridesmaids. Now she’s keeping the home fires burning in Biloxi, taking care of her husband and son when she’s not masterminding the IT department at a bank.

Teen beauty queens stream past us. See you this afternoon, Ms. Pennington! Have a good lunch, Ms. Pennington! When they cry, You have a good lunch too, Ms. Lopez! I realize Peppi’s right behind me.

She winks and leans close. I’ve never seen teenage girls be so nice.

I wish my daughter took a page from their book. Of course, she doesn’t have their incentive. I introduce Trixie to Peppi, who I now see is wearing a pink and white polka dot bikini under a black cover-up. Are you going over to the hotel for a swim?

Are you kidding? Ruin my makeup by actually going in the water? No, I just want to lie out and get some sun. See you later! She sashays off.

Sunlight smacks Trixie and me upside the head as we exit the theater but the air is pleasantly warm rather than blazing hot. Though we’re several miles from the center of the action—outrageous, anything-goes South Beach—palm trees poke high into the bright blue sky and I swear you can smell the ocean.

Trixie sighs with satisfaction. November’s the perfect time to be in Miami.

The weather’s great but the high season prices haven’t kicked in yet.

Thank the Lord, Trixie mutters.

I could kick myself for mentioning money. You’ll get your job back, Trixie. Your boss’ll realize she can’t survive without you.

"I can’t talk about it or I’ll start crying. Or screaming. Or crying and screaming."

Back home in Charlotte, Trixie worked for a bridal salon whose owner decided to replace her number one saleswoman with her can’t-hold-a-job daughter. Good luck with that, is what I’m thinking.

Let’s talk about something cheerful, Trixie says. Like when do I get to meet Rachel and your dad?

Rachel tonight. My 17-year-old has promised to join us for dinner. As for my dad, it depends on when he blows into town on his hog. I only hope Pop isn’t toting his lady friend on the rump end. I used the attraction of Florida fishing to pry him away from her. As far as I’m concerned those two are getting too close for comfort.

It’s too bad your mom’s not here, Trixie says.

You will never believe what’s going on with her. I’ll tell you about it at lunch. I’m buying. I raise my hands to forestall objections. How about we try the Cuban place down the block?

When in Rome! Trixie chirps.

The place is bursting with teen queens and their moms but given my vaunted status as a judge Trixie and I score a table. We order two entrées to share: Camarones en Salsa Criolla and Pierna de Puerco Asada. Basically, shrimp in tomato sauce with onions and bell peppers, and roast pork marinated in garlic and spices. We wash it down with copious quantities of Coke Zero.

Will Jason come to Miami like he went to Vegas? Trixie asks.

We won’t be here long enough. Plus he doesn’t want to take off school.

My Ms. America prize money paved the way for my husband to take a leave from his mechanic’s job to attend pit school. Now he’s so into it that it’s hard to believe I had to badger him into enrolling. It may have taken 34 years but Jason is morphing into an ambitious man. I really miss him while he’s in North Carolina but I’m not complaining about the change in attitude.

Trixie and I are doing a bang-up job of inhaling our delectable repast when a girl’s voice rises a few decibels above the piped-in Latin music. Are you telling me you don’t believe she saw it? Then a few seconds later: She wouldn’t lie about something like that! Somebody shushes the girl but we hear her again. I swear, if those end up being the top five? I’m going postal.

Who is that girl who’s talking so loud? Trixie wants to know. She gazes over my head. Isn’t that Mario’s daughter?

I spin in my seat. That is Mariela.

Wow. She is gorgeous.

It is so true. I must be careful not to favor her but on the basis of looks alone it’s hard to imagine another girl beating Mariela Machado Suave for the Teen Princess of the Everglades crown. Imagine a teenaged version of Penelope Cruz multiplied by Sofia Vergara and you get the picture.

Of course, we all know that other factors weigh heavily in pageant competition. Grace, intelligence, poise under pressure …

None of which I’m seeing displayed at the moment. I watch Mariela half rise from her chair and throw down her napkin. "I don’t care what you say! My mom totally saw the list of the top five! And my name was crossed off!"

She must feel my eyes because all of a sudden Mariela’s looking right at me. Her jaw slams shut faster than a shark’s after nabbing a seal pup. She drops back into her chair as her fellow teen queens assume horrified expressions. She heard you! one of them yelps.

She sure as heck did. As I rise and approach Mariela’s table, all voices hush. Is there a problem, girls?

Nothing’s wrong, Ms. Pennington, one girl replies.

Mariela? What were you just telling your friends?

She juts her chin. With that gesture she could be Rachel’s twin, though the two are about as alike as Lady Gaga and Mother Teresa. I think this pageant’s rigged, Mariela asserts then details her claim about her mother seeing a top five list. My mom told Ms. Lopez off about it, too, Mariela concludes. I note that while lots of moms are in the restaurant, Consuela Machado is not among their number.

I keep my tone measured. I don’t know what your mom saw, Mariela, but I assure you the pageant isn’t rigged. We haven’t even started the preliminary competition. You know we’ve got swimsuit and evening gown tonight and personal interview tomorrow morning. No semifinalists will be picked until that’s all done.

Mariela is wise enough to remain silent but I can tell she’s having none of it. This is a Pageant Teaching Moment if ever I saw one.

Girls, remember how important it is to maintain a positive attitude. That doesn’t just mean believing you can win. I make eye contact with every teen queen at the table. It also means believing the best of everyone around you.

Mariela looks away but I see her roll her eyes. As the girl next to her stifles a giggle, I conclude that Mariela could care less about dissing a pageant judge. Either she’s super confident or a little foolish.

I glance at my watch. Pay your checks, ladies. You’re due on stage in seven minutes.

Scrambling ensues. Trixie leans close when I return to our table. You handled that really well, Happy. Those girls need to learn that being a beauty queen isn’t just about what’s on the outside.

I keep my voice low. What in the world is Consuela telling her daughter?

Even if she did see a list she should keep it to herself. Especially the part about her daughter’s name being crossed off.

Mariela’s mother intimidates me, I will tell you. Not only does she have a child with Mario—about whom I harbor a fantasy or two—she’s as pretty as J Lo, amazingly fit, and comes off as kind of imperious. Like me, she got pregnant in high school. Unlike Jason and me, she and Mario never married.

You can tell I’m having trouble liking her. I order myself to take my own advice and believe the best of her.

At least until I know differently.

Outside the restaurant we stroll past the kind of pastel-colored Art Deco building Miami is famous for. I hope Lasalo and Peppi aren’t pointing the girls based on how they do in rehearsals, I say as we near the theater. Or whether they were nice at the orientation lunch.

That wouldn’t be fair at all!

Maybe they don’t know that. Maybe they’re first-time judges. Maybe the organizer didn’t explain to them how pageants work.

You’re right! This pageant does seem, I hate to say it, kind of disorganized. Now if somebody saw a list tomorrow after the personal interviews, that would be different.

Sure, once the composite scores from the preliminaries are added up. That’s how pageant finales go straight from the opening number to the semifinalists. "But nobody but the judges is supposed to see the list. Plus Mariela said her mom saw a list of the top five."

That’s not right! Trixie sounds truly pained. No judge is supposed to pick their top five until the swimsuit and evening gown competitions are conducted on stage in front of the audience!

We enter the auditorium and reclaim our seats. The teen queens take their marks. I glance around but see no sign of Lasalo or Peppi. I plan to take them aside to make sure they’ve got the 411 on how pageant judging works.

The house lights dim, the colored spotlights come on, and the without-a-beat music once again assails my eardrums. "Ay caramba," Trixie mutters. In short order the crescent-moon prop nosedives toward the cardboard manatee, stabbing it in its plump posterior. Then the contestant from Opa-Locka does a face plant on stage left.

What else could go wrong? Trixie wails.

Sadly, soon we get an answer to that question. The stage floor’s trap doors spring open and, like a hulking figure in a dark alley, the pirate ship looms into view.

A spotlight rakes the bow. I catch a flash of hot pink. I lean forward and squint, then grab Trixie’s arm. What is on the front of that boat?

Trixie gasps. Oh my Lord! I think that’s Peppi!

With another swipe of the spotlight, there’s no mistaking her. Propped on the foredeck, black cover-up seriously askew, is Peppi. She’s half upright and half draped over the prow like a cockeyed bowsprit. Her eyes are bugging out, her tongue is hanging out, and this beauty queen is getting a real bad case of déjà vu.

I jump to my feet and hurtle toward the stage. Stop! I screech. Stop!

A few teen queens are staring at me and laughing. But a few others are looking around to see what I’m pointing at. And a few have started screaming.

Another lurch or two and I am close enough to see that Peppi is no longer sporting the top of her pink and white polka dot string bikini.

At least not in the usual location. It can be found about a foot or so north, lassoed tightly around her neck, polyester and spandex morphed into a murder weapon.

I try to catch my breath, something the woman in front of me will never again be able to do.

How fleeting is life! At least for Peppi. Sun worshiping one minute and gone the next to that gigantic pool deck in the sky.

CHAPTER TWO

No! Trixie bawls from right behind me. Peppi is too nice to be dead!

Be that as it may, dead she is. Happy Pennington is becoming a bona fide expert on peremptory flights to the Great Beyond and she can tell without a doubt that Perpetua Lopez Famosa has just taken one.

Somebody stop the music! I yell. Raise the house lights! Contestants, remain in place! Moms, stay in your seats! My whole body is shaking but I’m trying hard to stay calm and think fast. Trixie, call 911 then run to the front of the theater and make sure nobody exits.

I’m on it! she cries and bolts up the aisle.

Who knows? Probably the perpetrator is gone from the building but nevertheless we should try to secure the crime scene as best we can.

I know a thing or two about that. That’s what three murders in three months will do to a girl.

No! I shout. Put away those cell phones! A dozen teen queens are photographing the scene. Twice that number are howling like banshees and the rest are paralyzed in place.

I have got to tweet this! one girl whines.

I don’t think twice before I confiscate not only her cell phone but every mobile device I see.

Who died and made you king? another girl demands before her eyes widen in horror as she realizes what she said.

You’ll get your phones back soon enough. For now I want all of you to stay calm, walk off this stage, and take the seats in the first few rows. Slowly! I add, as frenzied pushing ensues and one girl almost pitches headfirst down the stairs.

In the audience, a passionate reunion occurs between moms and teen queens. It’s as if they’ve been separated for months and not minutes. Except for Mariela Machado Suave, whose mother is nowhere in evidence. Mariela plants herself in front of me.

Why can’t we go back to the hotel? Her tone is snarky. A clamor rises from the pro-Mariela posse.

Callous, anyone? It’s remarkable how unfazed Mariela appears to be by the corpse in our midst. In fact, she’s got enough wits about her to use this opportunity to take my measure.

I raise my voice to respond. The authorities will want to speak to you girls. And your moms—

Whoever did this might still be in here! one mom shrieks. We could all be dead if we stay!

Another hubbub ensues. A gaggle of females breaks loose and makes for the exit.

Stop! I holler. Everybody stay put and listen to me!

Amazingly, all forward motion ceases. I don’t think of myself as having leadership qualities but I guess I must.

We have to keep everything exactly as it is until the authorities investigate, I declare. I don’t add I should know. Otherwise whoever did this will never be brought to justice. We’ll all be safe if we stick together. Nobody go off by herself. That means you, too, Mariela. Sit down with everybody else.

After a muffled aside to her compadres and a grudging roll of the eyes, she capitulates. In truth I doubt the cops will want an in-depth interview with everyone here but they might. After all, who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of teen queens?

I’ve barely gotten control of the situation when my cell rings. It’s Trixie.

The cops are on their way. She sounds breathless. They said exactly what you did. Keep everybody inside. And don’t touch anything. Her voice rises and I can tell she’s fighting hysteria. I can’t believe this is happening!

Keep a grip, Trixie. We’re on the hairy edge here.

Oh, Happy, I tried to keep the choreographer inside but she got away from me.

Suspicious? Maybe. But based on our brief acquaintance I’d judge the choreographer too incompetent to commit murder. That’s okay. Don’t worry about it.

I did something else, too. I told the police operator on the phone that it was Peppi who died. I hope I did the right thing.

Of course you did. The cops will know that soon enough. I just hope no one in the theater spread that information. I don’t want Peppi’s family finding out what happened to her from a Facebook post going viral. You’re doing great, Trixie.

Not really but thank you. Okay. I hear her suck in a few restorative breaths. You’re right about keeping it together. We’re beauty queens. We know how to handle crisis situations.

Though this is in a whole different category than clumpy mascara or pageant-day bloating. I steal a glance at Peppi. You’ll never go anywhere with me again, Trixie.

This isn’t your fault! It’s this pageant! It’s not just disorganized, it’s cursed!

If anything is cursed, it’s me. This beauty queen is a murder magnet.

I hear sirens! Trixie yelps. Now I see a black-and-white. I’m