Eyeliner & Alibis

  Eyeliner & Alibis

  Beauty Secrets Mystery 3

  Stephanie Damore

  Pink Sapphire Press

  Stephanie Damore

  Copyright © Stephanie Damore 2017

  The mortal right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the Internet, photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  To my mom,

  For always answering your phone.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Pedicures & Prejudice

  About the Author

  1

  I sat and analyzed my reflection in the mirror. Sweet sugar. What color lipstick is this? I knew it wasn’t a Beauty Secrets shade. I had their entire catalog memorized even if I wasn’t selling much of it anymore. I smiled and looked up at the makeup artist. If this was the price I had to pay to be on TV, then it was worth it.

  As it turned out, the wife of the CEO of the Daily Shopping Channel loved my skincare line, Sugar & Sass. I was thrilled to get a call from the station manager, asking me to fill in for a last-minute cancellation. The business-minded voice in my head had convinced me to jump at the opportunity, but the rest of me was having second thoughts. My knees bounced and my whole body quivered. I would’ve killed for some chocolate right about then.

  “You’ll do great.”

  I turned to the sweet redhead sitting in the makeup chair next to me. Unlike me, she looked relaxed and simply allowed the artist to do her job. I had questioned every shade choice and application technique. I recognized the woman from the morning program, but I couldn’t recall her name. Heck, at that moment, my own name escaped me. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone on this trip. Finn had driven me to Tampa for this interview, and was waiting outside the door for me to finish getting ready.

  “Being on TV is always nerve-wracking the first time or two, but I’m sure you’ll do great. I have to tell you, most of us are also fans.”

  The makeup artist nodded and then opened her bag to reveal my facial line of lotions and scrubs.

  I smiled like a kid preparing to eat birthday cake. It was true, my fan base was growing by the day. Business was booming and I couldn’t stock inventory fast enough, to the point that I even considered outsourcing production, something I thought wouldn’t have been financially possible for a long time.

  The door opened and my heart dropped into my stomach as I thought I was being called on set, but that wasn’t the case. In sauntered Tess Hill, the Queen of the Daily Shopping Channel. Only she didn’t look like the polished royal she appeared to be on TV. Her white linen suit fit the part just fine, but her accessories were questionable—oversized sunglasses sitting crookedly on her face and a martini sloshing in her hand. The woman tumbled into my lap while trying to take a seat in front of her own vanity. Miraculously, she managed to keep her drink upright.

  “Where did you come from?” she said to me, as if it were my fault I was sitting there.

  “Sorry.” I offered her a shove up. She steadied herself with a hand on my shoulder and plopped down next to me, raising her finger for a makeup artist to touch up her look.

  “Hi, Tess, how are you doing today?” the redhead asked.

  “Oh, shut up, Claire.” Tess whipped off her sunglasses and threw them on the counter.

  “That’s it – Claire!” I almost blurted out. Both Claire and her makeup artist raised their eyebrows in the mirror to one another. I sincerely hoped Tess wouldn’t be the one interviewing me. In fact, I hoped she wouldn’t be going on the air anytime soon. The woman was a train wreck.

  The next knock on the door was for me. Skip was ready for me to come on set. I quickly learned that everyone referred to him as Skip the Producer, as if a lot of men named Skip worked around there, or as if he were John the Baptist or something. Skip was a sight in his white lab coat with a headset sticking out of his mess of dark curls. I secretly wondered if his curls were naturally that tight or if he’d had a professional perm.

  I checked my appearance in the mirror once more and sucked in a deep breath before standing to follow him. Claire reached over and squeezed my hand.

  “Remember, you’ll do great. I only wish I were the one lucky enough to interview you.”

  “Thanks, that’s sweet of you.” I wished that as well. I reached up to touch the gold cross around my neck, a habit I used to calm my nerves, only to realize it wasn’t there. I frantically searched on the floor, checked my pockets, traced the collar of my shirt, but it was nowhere to be seen. The necklace had belonged to my nana and had only recently been gifted to me through her sister, my great aunt Margot. She said she had a feeling her sister had wanted me to have it, so now it was mine. That didn’t surprise me. I thought of my nana as my guardian angel and talked to her all the time. I could totally see her pushing her sister’s subconscious to gift me the piece.

  Skip the Producer looked impatient, pulling a pocket watch out of his lab coat to check the time. I felt a panic attack coming on, but what could I do? It was show time.

  Finn stood to the side, off set. I gave him a shaky smile. He grinned back, exuding the confidence that I coveted in that moment. I gave myself a quick internal pep talk. I had this. This was my moment to show the world Sugar & Sass. I knew my products were awesome, and soon millions of other people would know it too.

  I closed my eyes and took a couple of calming breaths, but I had way too much energy to sit still. I would’ve preferred to start bouncing around like a boxer ready to step into the ring, and I would’ve if I hadn’t worried people would think I was a psycho. Instead, I took another steadying breath and turned my attention toward the segment preceding mine. My eyes brightened at the man dressed head to toe in Kelly green. Wow! Now there was a way to get noticed. The host running his segment seemed to think so too. She must’ve found a way to touch him a handful of times in the short time I watched—whether it was brushing his arm, or touching him playfully on the shoulder while laughing at some offhanded comment he made. My brow furrowed as I tried to figure out what he was even selling—surely not his wardrobe, or his personality.

  It turned out to be neither one of those things. It was a “revolutionary” multi-use gardening tool—a shovel, planter, and spade all in one! I curiously waited for the demonstration. The host looked like she hadn’t gardened a day in her life, not with those long, polished fingernails and Louboutin heels of hers. The only place she probably ever got dirty was between the sheets. Even the guy seemed to blush at the overt attention. I turned away from the spectacle and
mentally regrouped for my segment.

  I had been invited to promote my facial line, which included a face wash, scrub, and moisturizer. I was going over the ingredients and benefits of my organic line in my head when Skip the Producer nodded to me that it was time to go. I looked over at Finn. He was shoving a chocolate-chip cookie in his mouth with one hand and holding a Coke in the other. The man could probably eat the whole platter of cookies and still have a six-pack. So not fair! He took a swig of his Coke and raised his eyebrows at me over the can. That look could mean several different things—anything from, “Hey, sexy,” to “You want one?” I nodded back to him as if to say, “Later.” T-minus twenty minutes and then my beau and I would begin our vacation, soaking up the southern Florida sun. Picturing Finn shirtless got me flustered for an entirely different reason. I just had to get this madness over with. My stomach rolled and I prayed I wouldn’t vomit on national television. I reached for my cross again and came up empty, so I clasped my hands in front of me to keep them from shaking as I followed Skip the Producer on set.

  “And who’s this chica?” The sideways glance the host tossed my way told me it wasn’t meant as a term of endearment. She took a nail file out of her back pocket and began working on her nails.

  I smiled politely anyway while Skip the Producer introduced us.

  “This is Ziva Diaz. She’s the brains behind Sugar & Sass.”

  The woman never looked up from her nails.

  “And this is Marissa Morrison,” Skip filled in for her. “You two will be doing the segment together. Do you have any questions?” I shook my head even though I had about a million. Starting with, Why me? Why her?

  “Marissa, you?”

  “Just two. What does she make, and why do I care?” The host stopped filing just long enough to eye me up. I wanted to punch her in the face.

  Skip the Producer rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you just give us a minute,” he said to me. “Just stand right there. See the X?” I moved to center stage where he had motioned. “Yes, perfect. We’ll be right with you.” Maybe I should just bolt now? I looked for the neon exit sign. A stagehand worked to switch out the set, replacing the garden tool and potting soil with clear acrylic cubes of various heights, with my products placed on top. A jar of honey and a sprig of lavender accented the table.

  Marissa joined me on set a moment later. A makeup artist attempted to touch up her lipstick, but one evil eye had the woman retreating in a hot second. I glanced at the exit once more.

  And then a miracle happened. The cameras started rolling, and Marissa did a one-eighty. I had never seen a person flick a switch on their personality so quickly. It was downright scary. I stood there dumbfounded as Little Miss Sunshine greeted me on set with a warm handshake and a winning smile for the cameras. Jekyll and Hyde, she was.

  “Well, ladies, are you in for a treat today. I have Ziva Diaz with me. She’s the founder of the ah-mazing skincare line called Sugar & Sass. Now, if you haven’t had the chance to try out her products, then you don’t know what you’re missing! I, for one, love them.” Marissa looked to me to continue.

  I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Marissa. When I started this business, I had a single goal in mind.”

  “To make money?” Marissa laughed into the camera.

  “Um, no. To create a skincare line that people could feel good about using. In fact, all of our products contain certified organic ingredients, so you can feel good about using anything we offer.”

  “So true. Ladies, you would be amazed to see all the chemicals that are in your traditional beauty regimen.” From the way Marissa’s face reflected unnaturally off the studio lighting, I had a feeling she didn’t care what was in her beauty regimen as long as it made her look good, but she told a good story.

  “Ladies, what we have for you today is Sugar & Sass’s best-selling skincare kit, which includes the facial cleanser, scrub, and moisturizer for the incredible price of fifty-five dollars. Now, quantities are limited, so get your order in right away. The phone lines are open. And if you have any questions, feel free to call in. Oh, we have a caller right now. Hi, Margaret from Savannah.”

  “Oh my goodness. Am I on? I am? Hi, Marissa. Hi, Ziva. I’m so excited!” The woman squealed into the phone. I plastered on my megawatt and mega-fake smile. Marissa, however, took it all in stride. “We’re excited too! Have you used the products before?” she asked, encouraging conversation.

  “I have, and I just have to say, Ziva, I love them. You do an amazing job. I already have this set, but I’m ordering another one, just to make sure I never run out!”

  “Awesome. Thank you so much,” I replied. The lady clicked off and Marissa kept going. “Margaret is just one of the dozens of people who have already called in. Thank you all. You can see on the screen that we’ve already sold about half of the stock available.”

  We did? Awesome. I looked around to see where Marissa was getting the information from when I spotted her ear piece. That had to be it.

  “And don’t forget, you can also order online. The website and product number is right here on the side of your screen.” I did the looking-around thing again. I really needed to stop doing that on TV.

  “Ziva, why don’t you tell our viewers a little more about how you created your formulas?”

  “Well, I developed everything in my own home.”

  Marissa picked up a jar of moisturizer and read the back of the label for the first time. Her countenance immediately changed. “Almond oil, beeswax, shea butter? And people actually pay you for this?”

  Wait, wha—? Hadn’t she just said that she loved it?

  The hostess picked up the scrub next and read the back of that one as well. “Sugar? You seriously put sugar in this? What, from your pantry?”

  “It’s not white sugar, it’s—” Wait, what the heck am I doing? When did this become a defense trial?

  “Looks like you can buy these ingredients at the grocery store and make this stuff at home. All I really see here is a pretty package.” Marissa stared me down, begging me to call her bluff.

  I looked left and right, trying to find someone to help me out here, but I was on my own. “Um, yes and no, I guess.” I scrambled for words to defend my product on national television. “All of my products are free-trade, organic, and locally sourced wherever possible. The packaging is just a bonus.” I winked at the camera and tried not to glare at Marissa.

  “But you can make this at home,” she reiterated. Skip the Producer popped up on stage right, making the cut motion with his hand across his neck. Marissa ignored him and stared at me, waiting for me to keep going.

  “Sure, but I’d say you could make just about anything at home, am I right? People make chocolate-chip cookies at home all the time, but that doesn’t stop bakeries from making them.”

  “And it looks like you love your cookies,” Marissa said with a smirk.

  Oh no she didn’t. “Excuse me?”

  “Are we done here?” Marissa asked to no one in particular. Skip the Producer nodded his head, with his face was buried in his hand. “Great.” Marissa flung her note card in the air and started to walk off stage.

  A huffy-looking man in an expensive suit greeted her. “What the hell was that all about?” he demanded in a gruff British accent.

  “Suck it, Rupert,” she spat over her shoulder and kept on walking. The man’s complexion turned from ruddy to crimson and I thought he might have a stroke. I wouldn’t have let her get away that easily. In fact, I wasn’t done with her either.

  “Ziva, wait.” Skip tried to stop me, but I sidestepped him. “I’m really sorry about this,” he shouted to my back.

  I rounded on him. “You’re sorry? Seriously. That’s all you got? That woman is unhinged, and you knew that. She made me look ridiculous! Not to mention, she was rude and insulting!” I looked around the stage for Marissa, but she had already made her exit. I stormed off the side of the stage and almost ran right into Finn.

  “Babe.”r />
  “Don’t babe me,” I snapped at my beau. I was seeing red. Finn’s color drained and I checked myself. “Sorry. You know I’m not mad at you.”

  “Yeah, I know. What do you say I buy you a drink?”

  I thought about it for second. “And some truffles?”

  “And some truffles.”

  I popped two of the chocolates into my mouth and sighed at the chocolatey goodness. It was my equivalent of slugging back a shot of whiskey. I rummaged around the patisserie box for one more. It had been over an hour since the stunt and I was still furious, but the truffles helped me hold my tongue.

  “How bad was it?” I asked Finn as he parked the truck at The Tiki Hut. I smiled at his choice of establishment. Putting my toes in the sand with a drink in hand was just what I needed.

  “Ah, it wasn’t that bad. Truth? She made herself look like an ass more than anything.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, babe. No doubt she’ll be canned.”

  That made me feel better.

  “What was up with her anyway?”

  “I have no idea. She was witchy before the segment and then sweet as can be once the cameras started rolling, until she flipped again.” I shrugged my shoulders and eyed the patisserie box once more.

  “Don’t worry about it. You heard that woman who called in. Your patrons love you and your products. If anything, you’ll sell more because of her stunt.” I hoped he was right. “Trust me,” Finn said, giving me his winning grin as he reached for my hand.

  “You know, I’d better call and check in with the store, make sure everything’s all right.” Izzy, my astrology-loving manager, had a Zen-like attitude that served her and my store well. Like I said, business was booming and I was making bank, thanks in part to her intuition. I knew she could hold down the fort, but I still liked to check in from time to time. I let go of Finn’s hand and went for my phone in my purse, but came up empty. I looked around Finn’s truck and checked my pockets, even though there was no way it could’ve fit in my Bermuda shorts.