New Year's Eve Murder (5 page)

Nancy was quick to intervene. “If you don’t like the group photo we can use individual shots. Pablo took some really nice, creative informals.”

“No, that’s not the problem,” said Camilla, tapping her fingers on her hip. “The problem is…”

Nancy leaned forward, as if to catch the words as they fell from her lips. Pablo stood, arms crossed, waiting warily.

“They look too good!”

Pablo threw up his arms and stalked out of the studio.

Nancy was puzzled. “They look too good?”

“This is supposed to be a
before
photo, but they don’t look
before
enough.”

“Oh,” said Nancy. “I understand. Maybe they could take off their make-up. We could change their hair a little bit, give them some ugly clothes….”

Camilla wasn’t listening. She rushed forward and pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Lucy’s feet. “What are those?”

Elizabeth looked upward, rolling her eyes in mortification.

“I think they’re called duck boots,” said Lucy, lifting her slacks to reveal the brown rubber bottoms and tan leather uppers of her footwear. “Everyone wears them at home.”

Camilla was examining the rest of Lucy’s ensemble with an eagle eye. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the watch.

“Oh,” said Lucy, with a little giggle, “that’s my lobster watch. It was a joke present from my husband.”

Camilla pulled Lucy out of the group and she blushed, uncomfortably aware that she was about to be an example. She was pretty sure this was not the way to win the ten thousand dollars.

“Get Deb up here,” she told Nancy, who scurried over to the phone on the wall.

Ginny’s eyes met Lucy’s, and she smiled sympathetically. Serena gazed into the distance, apparently meditating. The others looked down at their feet while Lucy stood awkwardly, waiting for Deb’s arrival, whoever she was. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.

“Deb Shertzer is our accessories editor,” said Nancy, as a woman with short hair burst into the studio. She was dressed in a rosy twin set to which she had added a colorful scarf and small gold hoop earrings, and she was quite breathless. She’d wasted no time in obeying Camilla’s order to appear.

“This is interesting,” said Camilla, pointing Lucy out. “You can tell this woman isn’t from New York just by looking at her boots.”

“I brought heels,” said Lucy, bristling, “but the streets are slushy and I didn’t want to ruin them so I wore my boots. I can get the shoes, if you want.”

“No! Don’t change,” said Camilla, turning to Deb. “Look at her watch.”

Lucy obediently held out her arm, and Deb’s eyes widened as she took in the red plastic watch.

“The hands are little lobster claws,” said Camilla.

“So I see,” said Deb.

“I want this for everyone.”

“Duck boots? Lobster watches?”

“No.” Camilla tapped her foot impatiently. “Regional accessories. Stuff that tells a story. Like the pair from Iowa….”

“Omaha,” said Ginny, with a little edge in her voice. “Omaha, Nebraska.”

“Whatever.” Camilla waved her hand. “She and her kid can wear overalls and hold a pitchfork, like that painting.”

“Grant Wood,” said Nancy, nodding enthusiastically.

“Whatever. And the ones from California?”

Serena hesitated a moment before raising her hand. “That’s me,” she finally said, sounding as if Camilla was taxing even her patience.

“What about a surfboard and swimsuits?” suggested Deb, eager to show her boss that she’d got the idea.

“Cool,” said Ocean. “I can show off my tan.”

“Hold on a minute,” said Cathy, pulling herself up to her almost six-foot height. “I protest. This is tacky. I’m not going to wear a cowboy hat just because I’m from Texas.”

“Don’t worry, honey,” crooned Camilla, “we wouldn’t dream of changing a thing.” Her voice hardened and her eyes flashed. “With that hair and jewelry you look exactly like the Texas trophy wife you are.”

There was a shocked silence, and everyone watched as Camilla turned on her heel and marched out of the studio. When she was gone everyone seemed to let out a big sigh of relief.

“Well now, ladies,” said Nancy, stepping forward briskly, “we have work to do.”

“You’re not kidding,” said Deb. “Where am I going to get a surfboard in New York City in December?”

Nancy turned and looked around the studio. “Where’s Pablo? Has anyone seen Pablo?”

She rushed out to look for him, and the women, who had been standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, began to pull apart; Lucy felt suddenly chilly. Her eyes met Ginny’s in a mute apology. Ginny shrugged in return, as if to say it didn’t matter, but Lucy knew she had handled things badly and hadn’t kept her half of the bargain. She had a feeling the alliance had broken down.

W
hen the photo session was finally over, the women were divided into three groups and sent to consult with the magazine’s experts. Lucy and Elizabeth found themselves paired with Lurleen and Faith Edwards for make-up advice, the Montgomerys and Blausteins were off to a spa, and the McKees and Rodriguezes were sent to the fashion department. As Lucy watched Ginny and Maria walking down the hall with their heads together she wondered if Ginny’s offer to team up had simply been a ploy to trick her into making a foolish mistake. If so, it had certainly worked. The editors probably thought she was a troublemaker now, and the other contestants didn’t seem to want anything to do with her. Even Lurleen seemed unwilling to “turn the other cheek” and forgive her and was keeping her distance as they followed the directions to the beauty department. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that she broke her silence.

“I’m of half a mind to pack up and go home,” said Lurleen, as the doors slid shut. “This isn’t at all what I expected. I feel as if I’ve been put through the wringer.”

“Mom was looking forward to some pampering and relaxation,” explained Faith.

“You can say that again. Faith here is my oldest, you see. I’ve got six more at home.”

“Seven children?” Lucy’s eyebrows shot up as the elevator landed with a thud.

“And another on the way,” she sighed, stepping into the hallway. “I’m really looking forward to that massage they promised us, but I don’t think there’s time today since we’re all going to that TV show.”

Lucy was consulting the agenda, wondering which TV show they were going to see, but the notation didn’t specify. “Maybe it’s the
Norah!
show,” she said, giving Elizabeth a nudge.

“Doesn’t mean a thing to me,” said Lurleen. “I can’t tell one show from another.”

“We don’t watch TV except for inspirational videos and Bible stories,” said Faith.

Lucy glanced at Elizabeth, who was rolling her eyes as she pushed open the door to the beauty department. Inside they found three desks—small, medium, and large like the chairs and beds in the three bears’ house, only Baby Bear was occupying her desk.

“Hi, I’m Fiona. Fiona Gray,” she said, jumping up and extending her hand.

Lucy took it, finding it impossible not to smile at this bright young thing. Fiona had short, dark hair in a style similar to Elizabeth’s and enormous blue eyes, and she was dressed in a very short teal dress topped with a wide leather belt with oversized chrome grommets and buckle.

“Welcome to the beauty department,” she continued, speaking in a crisp British accent. “According to the schedule…”

Lucy was enchanted. Fiona actually pronounced it
shed-yule.

“…you must be the Edwards and the Stones and you’re here for make-up. Though I must say, you all look positively brilliant, and I can’t imagine what old Nadine, that’s Nadine Nelson, our beauty editor, can possibly do to improve you.”

“Now, now,” clucked an older woman, entering through a door at the rear of the office, “there’s always something we can do.” She paused. “I’m Phyllis Jackson, the assistant beauty editor. Nadine left instructions for me to get you settled. She’ll be in shortly to supervise. Follow me.”

As they trooped after her, Lucy noticed that Phyllis had a rather harried and disheveled air about her. Alhough to be honest, thought Lucy, she certainly looked better than the average woman in Tinker’s Cove, even with her smudged lipstick and worn shoes. It was only in the rarefied atmosphere of the magazine that you noticed that her olive green blouse didn’t perfectly match the acid green flecks in her tweed skirt.

The studio looked like a beauty shop with mirrors, raised chairs, and a counter filled with every imaginable make-up product. Fiona flipped a switch and they were suddenly all bathed in bright light as they seated themselves. Elizabeth was goggle-eyed at the array of cosmetics, but there was no chance for her to get her hands on them as Phyllis tilted the chair back and started sponging her face.

“Fiona, heat up the wax for the brows, and then you can start cleansing Lucy’s face,” she said.

“Brows?” squeaked Lucy. “Wax?”

“Trust her,” advised Fiona, raising one of her own delicately arched brows. “She’s a genius at shaping.”

“It makes all the difference in the world,” said Phyllis. “Really opens up your face and makes your eyes look bigger.”

“Does it hurt?” asked Elizabeth.

“Like hell,” said Fiona.

When they were through cleansing and waxing and plucking, Lucy had to admit they all looked improved, at least in the brow department. The rest of their faces were a bit like blank slates, however, awaiting the master’s touch.

“She’s running late this morning,” said Fiona, speaking to Phyllis in a whisper. “I think we should start with the foundation.”

“We better wait,” replied Phyllis, looking worried. “You know how Nadine is.”

“I know,” agreed Fiona, “but the next group is due in less than half an hour.”

Phyllis pursed her lips anxiously but was spared the agony of making a decision by the arrival of the beauty editor herself. Nadine Nelson thumped into the studio, trailing numerous scarves and carrying an assortment of bags including a purse (Louis Vuitton), brief case (Coach) and crumpled brown paper shopping bags (Bloomingdale’s and Schlagel’s Bagels).

“I’m exhausted,” she said, dropping the bags on the floor and shrugging out of her mink coat. It would have fallen on the floor, too, except for Phyllis who lunged forward and snatched it in the nick of time.

“Still feeling poorly?” inquired Phyllis, draping the coat on a padded satin hanger.

Nadine replied with a burst of coughing, and Phyllis proffered a box of tissues, which she waved away. Instead, she scrabbled around in her enormous purse, finally extracting an eye-catching gold compact lavishly decorated with colorful enamel in a pansy design.

“Ghastly,” she said, flipping the compact open and peering into the mirror. She got to work rubbing the puff all over her face, and it wasn’t until she’d shut it with a click that she noticed the four makeover winners. “Cripes!” she exclaimed. “That damn makeover. We have them all day, don’t we?”

Phyllis’s face reddened, embarrassed by her boss’s rudeness. “Let me introduce Lucy and Elizabeth Stone and Lurleen and Faith Edwards. We’ve cleansed their faces and shaped their brows, but we didn’t want to go any further without you….”

“I’ve got to sit down,” said Nadine, abruptly interrupting her. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”

Fiona grabbed a nearby chair and shoved it under her, with hardly a moment to spare. The beauty editor sat, knees splayed out, amidst her pile of bags. She looked like an upscale bag lady, despite her expensive designer pants and elaborately beaded sweater. She bore a strong resemblance to the homeless woman Lucy had spotted sheltering in a doorway a few feet from the hotel.

“Shall I start?” asked Phyllis, with a little bob of her head. “I mean, for Lucy here, I was thinking of that Bobbi Brown gloss, some mascara, but I think we should stick with a natural look she can maintain….”

“Did you see the Dior show? They used a lot of color,” said Nadine.

“Actually, I didn’t. You went but I couldn’t get away. It was too close to deadline.”

“It was war paint,” said Fiona, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “Big jags of pink and green and yellow, smeared right across the models’ noses.”

“I certainly don’t want that,” began Lucy, until she thought of the ten thousand dollars. “But, of course, I trust your judgment.”

Lurleen, on the other hand, was determined to stick to her guns. “I’m for the natural look,” she said.

“I don’t want a green nose, but I wouldn’t mind some eye shadow,” said Elizabeth.

“Pink’s big this season,” observed Nadine, opening the compact again.

“As eye shadow?” This was a new one to Lucy.

“It would make you look like you’ve got conjunctivitis,” said Lurleen. “My three-year-old had it last week but, praise the Lord, I got it treated before it spread to the others.”

“It was a miracle, that’s what Mama said,” added Faith, nodding piously.

Lucy thought it would be more miraculous if the child hadn’t got conjunctivitis in the first place, but she was determined to be Miss Congeniality and held her tongue.

“Glitter,” declared Nadine, patting yet more powder on her nose. “Glitter everywhere.” She stopped, powder puff in midair, and sneezed. The compact flew across the room and landed at Elizabeth’s feet, releasing a fine dust of powder that settled around it on the floor.

Elizabeth hopped out of the chair and retrieved it, politely returning it to Nadine.

Nadine didn’t thank her but instead examined the compact for damage while continuing to throw out extreme suggestions. “Very, very dark lips. Almost black.”

“Sounds great,” said Elizabeth, brushing a bit of spilled powder off her hands and settling back in her chair. “Bring it on.”

“Me, too,” said Lucy, determined to play along.

“Trust me,” said Fiona, spinning the chair so Lucy’s back was to the mirror and reaching for a brush.

When they were finally allowed to see their reflections, Lucy was pleased to discover she still recognized herself. She even looked, she had to admit, improved in a subtle way, and she resolved to take a few minutes every morning to apply a bit of foundation and touch of mascara. She always wore lipstick but she now realized she hadn’t been using the right color. The natural brownish gloss Fiona had applied was a lot more flattering than the bright pink she had been wearing.

Fiona and Phyllis had released them from the chairs and were distributing pink and white striped gift bags when they heard the voices of the next group in the outer office. Nadine ignored it, interested only in the contents of the bags.

“What are you giving them?” she asked, pouting.

“A nice assortment of basic cosmetics,” said Phyllis, practically cringing with fear. “It was all donated. Mostly Urban Decay for the girls and Lancôme for the moms.”

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“You’d have to ask Camilla. She sent them down.”

“Oh, all right then.” Nadine dismissed them with a wave of the arm, and they left the studio, but as the door closed behind them they could hear Nadine coughing.

Ginny and Amanda were standing in the office, waiting their turn in the studio along with Maria and Carmela. If Lucy had any doubts that the make-up was a success they were erased when she saw Maria and Ginny’s reaction. Both of them looked as if they’d like to kill her.

“You look fabulous, all of you,” cooed Carmela. “I hope they do the same for us.”

“I was pretty worried for a while there,” said Lurleen, who looked years younger now that the dark circles under her eyes were hidden and her cheeks were rosy. “They were talking about giving us war paint.”

Both Ginny and Maria seemed more than willing to don war paint, but before they could launch an offensive Lucy offered an olive branch. “They gave us gift bags,” she said, holding hers up.

Lurleen also offered her gift bag for inspection, but the newcomers were quickly shooed into the studio.

“Where to now?” wondered Lucy, pulling the schedule out of her bag.

“Photo, again,” said Faith. “For
after
photos.”

“Lord, give me strength,” prayed Lurleen.

“Amen,” said Lucy.