Makeup & Murder Read online

  With no one on the streets and my foot feeling a little heavy, I made it to the marina with ten minutes to spare. Fog rolled in around the docks, and I zipped up my hoodie. It was still a bit chilly by the water. I looked around the docks and couldn’t believe how busy they were. I might not have been fully awake, but the fishermen were. Men and women worked about their boats, getting ready to go out for their morning runs, some coming back in.

  Finn was exactly where he said he would be—behind the counter at Murphy’s. “You made it,” he said.

  “It’s a little early, but I’m here.” I couldn’t help checking Finn out. He looked good in running apparel, even with his shirt on.

  “I just need to drop this paperwork off on Roger’s boat, in case we’re not back before the broker shows. Chris, I’m taking off,” he hollered toward the back. A man with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, came out to man the front counter. I smiled hello while Finn introduced me.

  “We’ll be back in a bit,” Finn said.

  “Take your time. You know we’ll slow down here soon,” Chris replied.

  Finn agreed. I waved goodbye to Chris and then ducked out the front door.

  “Are mornings always this busy?” I asked.

  “Always. You got the night guys coming in and the morning ones headed out. Boats have to get out there early and get their lines set, or they don’t stand a chance,” Finn said.

  I had no idea fishing was so technical. Guess there was more to it than a hook and a worm. I followed Finn down the docks, eager to take a peek at Roger’s infamous boat. Finn led me away from the commercial fisherman and toward the private docks. I doubted any of these boats had fishing poles on them. Heck, I wouldn’t even call them boats; they were yachts. This side of the marina was all about luxury. Finn pointed to Roger’s sailboat up ahead. It was in a slip on the end, no other boats beside it. The empty space was striking in the otherwise-packed marina. “Roger rented both slips,” Finn explained, “It gave him more privacy.”

  “I see. Who wants witnesses around when you’re up to no good?” I said.

  “Are you sure you weren’t friends with Roger? Sounds like you knew him pretty well.” Finn laughed while he spoke. I gave him my best evil eye, but it was only a half-hearted attempt.

  Southern Comfort turned out to be the name of Roger’s sailboat, and she was a beauty. I was happy to accept Finn’s hand when he asked me to come on board. I’d been on plenty of boats before but never a sailboat, and never a vessel as luxurious as this. The ship’s dark wood and gold accents were beautiful. I could only imagine how breathtaking she’d look with her sails at full mast, out on the open water. If her owner hadn’t been such a creep, I would’ve accepted an outing in a heartbeat.

  “What does something like this go for?” I asked.

  “A boat like this? Oh, about half a million,” Finn dropped casually.

  “As in five hundred thousand dollars? Holy moly. That’s a lot of cash.” I couldn’t imagine dropping that kind of money on a boat, even if I had it to spare. With a price tag that high, I had to see what the cabins below looked like. I started down the steps to take a peek, and stopped short. The smell hit me before I saw her. My eyes found the source a second later. Sprawled out in all her glory on the bed below was who I presumed to be Ann Marie. A pair of black fishnet nylons knotted tightly around her neck. She was dead, no doubt about it. My legs locked and I thought I was going to vomit. The boat swayed beneath me, or maybe I just lost my balance. The stair railing caught me before I fell. I held onto the railing until I found my footing.

  Finn started down the steps after me. I held out my arm to stop him. “Ziva, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Go,” I said turning around to face him. “Go, go, go!” I pushed him back with each word. Finn stared at me like I’d lost my mind. He stopped at the top of the steps and I scrambled around him, trying to get off that boat and away from it as fast as possible. For all Finn knew, there was a wild animal about to attack us, or a homicidal maniac hiding out below. The second one could’ve been a real possibility.

  “Come on!” I shouted from the dock. Finn looked back at me and then toward the stairs, seeming to make up his mind to go down and investigate for himself.

  “Finn!” I screeched as he walked down the steps. I was practically hyperventilating. The dock tilted and the water seemed too close. I sat down and put my head between my legs and tried to pull it together. I could’ve lived a million lifetimes and done without ever seeing something like that again.

  By the time Finn’s shaky legs joined me on dry land, I’d already called 9-1-1.

  Two days before, I’d never even been at a crime scene, and now I was stumbling upon them left and right. After calling the police, I had gone inside Murphy’s to use the bathroom and take a few minutes to calm down. I was gone less than fifteen minutes; but, when I came out, a crowd had already gathered outside. It wasn’t hard to locate the action. An orange police barricade blocked the entrance to the docks, and a uniformed officer stood behind it acting as gatekeeper. A female news anchor stood in the parking lot, interviewing an older man wearing a hunter orange fishing vest and tan floppy hat. The man pointed down the dock to Roger’s boat where a handful of individuals were gathered. Detective Brandle stood on the dock alongside the boat with Finn, jotting down notes as they talked. I knew, sooner or later, it would be my turn to talk. I chose sooner.

  No one noticed as I made my way through the crowd. The reporters seemed to be trying to get their facts straight, and the police were busy with crowd control. I walked alongside the weathered cedar walls of Murphy’s and kept my eyes on Detective Brandle and Finn. I was hoping one of them would look up so I could get their attention and avoid having to talk to the uniformed officer, who was easily within twenty feet of me. With his arms folded against his chest, and dark sunglasses on, the officer looked like the type of cop you’d have to watch your mouth with or you’d end up in handcuffs before you could blink. Yes, I knew that from experience.

  With no support, I walked over to the officer and said in my most professional voice, “Hi, I’m Ziva Diaz. I’m the one who found the body. Can I speak with Detective Brandle?”

  The cop eyed me for a long minute. So long, that I felt like saying, “Did you hear me?” But I knew where that conversation would land me. Without a word to me, the cop reached for the radio attached to his vest. I couldn’t make out what he said exactly, but I managed to hear my name. The whole procedure seemed ridiculous, seeing the detective was standing right behind him, but whatever. I watched down the dock as another uniformed officer approached Detective Brandle and pointed in my direction. Detective Brandle nodded his approval and the guard moved the orange sawhorse aside. I passed by without further ado.

  Up close, the detective didn’t look any worse for the wear. His white shirt still had the creases in it from the package, but I was coming to expect that. There wasn’t much information I could lend, but that didn’t stop the detective from asking questions. No, I didn’t know Ann Marie. No, I’d never been on Roger’s boat before, except for this one time. Finn knew more, but it wasn’t enough to blow open the case. Detective Brandle seemed mostly interested in what we were doing there in the first place, but once Finn told the detective about the appointment with the broker and us dropping off paperwork before our morning run, there wasn’t much left to explain.

  The detective excused himself for a moment and walked away, leaving me and Finn standing alone. Finn fell into a daze and I kept silent. I stared at the sun and tried to gauge what time it was. Today felt like the longest day of my life. Instead of staring at each other, I turned to watch the action on the boat. One of the investigators, a woman wearing a navy-blue jumpsuit and matching baseball cap, kept climbing up and down the stairs leading to the boat’s cabin. Each time, she brought up with her a clear plastic bag that she handed off to another investigator. I assumed she was collecting evidence. I started thinking about what I might have touched.
I remembered touching the handrail, but that was it. Would the police want my prints? I figured Detective Brandle would let me know if he did.

  A camera’s flash caught my attention. I looked up, expecting to see the reporter who had taken it, only to realize it was the coroner taking pictures below the deck. My brain made the connection and I turned away, not wanting to risk seeing Ann Marie’s body again. It didn’t matter which way I looked though. The scene was the same everywhere. A folded metal gurney wheeled its way down the boardwalk toward Roger’s sailboat. The wheels clanked rhythmically along the wooden planks, like an old-fashioned rollercoaster climbing its way to the top. Finn and I stepped aside and let the gurney pass. I, for one, didn’t want to be standing here when it came back, and neither did Finn. With his hand on my back, he guided me down the dock where we waited for Detective Brandle.

  The heat of the sun wasn’t helping matters. The morning haze had since burned off, and the sun’s temperature was once again set to brutal. I wanted to stick my head inside the ice cooler outside Murphy’s to cool off, but decided to lean against it instead. Finn still wasn’t up for much conversation, and I didn’t blame him. He stood by my side most of the time, only once going inside Murphy’s, but he came back a minute later with a couple of cold Cokes. Bless that man. The cold, caffeinated beverage was just what I needed.

  After what seemed like forever, Detective Brandle rejoined us. It took longer than any of us would’ve liked, to finish the interview. Detective Brandle kept getting called away and seemed a bit distracted. Being overworked does that to you. Each time he returned to speak to me, he spent the next ten minutes reading back what we had just said, before asking another question. It wasn’t a very efficient system; then again, how could it be when one is being questioned at a crime scene?

  When Detective Brandle was, at last, finished with his questions, it was Finn’s turn to ask a few of his own. He was mostly curious about the procedure for letting owners onto the boats that shared the main dock with Roger’s. Yellow police tape blocked off the side dock to Southern Comfort, but the main dock couldn’t be blocked off—unless Detective Brandle wanted to deal with a bunch of angry boat owners. There was no question they’d be anxious to survey their boats to make sure nothing was stolen or damaged. After a short deliberation, Detective Brandle decided to keep an officer stationed at the dock’s entrance, where he could keep an eye out, at least for the next twenty-four hours. Detective Brandle said that should keep the crime scene junkies at bay, but still allow people to access their property. His plan made sense to me, and Finn agreed.

  By the time we were free to go, the crime van was pulling out, taking the remaining reporters with it. The thought of our initial plans to go for a run seemed comical now. I knew it would probably help me unwind, but so would chocolate. I was a bit shocked when Finn even mentioned resuming our running adventure. Turned out, he was a bit more of a hardcore fitness buff than I was. Sure, I didn’t like missing a run two days in a row, but I’d get over it. As long as someone pointed me to the nearest piece of fudge, somehow, I’d manage. Finn was disappointed by my explanation, but seemed to understand. Right now, I had murder on my mind and didn’t feel like working out or conversing much.

  Back home, without any fudge in the house, I went straight for the cookies and drew a bubble bath. Chocolate crumbs floated in the water like a giant glass of milk. I wish I would’ve grabbed a glass before slipping in, but my mind was too occupied with the case. I tried to break down the facts. At the front of it, two people had been murdered. I didn’t think anyone would argue that the murders were related. I’d even wager that the same person murdered them both, but I didn’t know that for sure. Maybe Ann Marie murdered Roger and then someone else murdered her. I had to admit, that was a possibility, even if I couldn’t understand why.

  When it came to suspects, Marion was at the top of my list. I didn’t want to believe it, but she had the strongest motivation and seemed to have the most to gain from his death. Although, why Marion wouldn’t just divorce Roger was beyond me. And, why kill Ann Marie? It wouldn’t be the first time someone was murdered over jealousy, but I just couldn’t imagine Marion doing it. There had to be more to the story. I could only hope that once I got Marion’s side of the story, I could clear her name from the list; but until then, I had to face the facts. Marion was prime suspect number one.

  I tried to think about who else would want to murder both Roger and Ann Marie. Finn had said Ann Marie was a stripper, so maybe there was a link there. Who knows what type of clientele her employer had, or admirers she’d earned? If I wanted to ever get to the bottom of this, I’d have to take a closer look at Ann Marie’s professional and personal life.

  I wondered how much of this Detective Brandle knew. Neither Finn nor I brought up the stripper part when we were talking to him. Maybe someone else did, but I doubted it. Detective Brandle wasn’t quite an ace detective, and he had told me to call him with any news. This wasn’t news per se, but I could definitely call him and fill him in on my thoughts. I made a mental note to do just that, and sank further into the tub, finally able to relax.

  By the time I got out of the tub, I felt almost normal. Well, normal enough to put the murders out of my mind for a few hours and focus on my beauty business. It took a while, but I was able to create accounts for the new clients I’d earned from last night’s demo, and input everyone’s orders online. Flipping through my binder, I remembered Eric’s offer to scan it for me and thought I’d give him a call to set something up. I tried his office number twice but got no answer. Since I was already making calls, I decided to check in with one of my brides, Rachel, to confirm her makeup trial run for this week, and to see if we were still doing a makeover party for her bridesmaids.

  Rachel answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, Rachel, it’s Ziva. Just calling to make sure we’re all good for Thursday.”

  “Ziva? Oh my gosh. I can’t believe you’re calling. Your friend said you couldn’t talk.”

  At that moment, that was the truth. I was speechless. I had no idea what she was talking about. “Um, what?”

  “This girl called and said you broke your jaw. It was wired shut and everything.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You busted up your face?”

  My face was perfectly fine, but I had a feeling Justine’s was going to need medical attention when I was done with her. Rachel confirmed it. Not only had Justine told her that I had broken my jaw, but also that I had done it falling down drunk on River Street. Apparently, I had one too many frozen daiquiris and attempted a one-handed cartwheel in a cocktail dress. The pavement caught my face. And here’s the thing: back in high school, I was known for my one-handed cartwheels. In fact, I was a cheerleader, and I could tumble circles around Justine. She never made the squad. She clearly wasn’t over it.

  I smoothed everything over with Rachel and sat fuming for a few minutes, thinking about how I should handle Justine. I usually ignored her, but how was I supposed to ignore this? The woman needed a hobby, or a boyfriend, something to take her mind off me. I’d rarely seen her for the past year, but, out of the blue, she started selling makeup and has been out to get me ever since. The woman needed professional help.

  I rolled my eyes so hard I almost fell over. Today sucked. I had two choices: sit at home and eat more cookies, or get out and do something to keep my mind busy until I figured out how to handle Justine. Something that would make me feel completely wonderful and totally glamourous. Something that I absolutely loved and deserved. Something like … a pedicure. Yes, a pedicure was exactly what I needed. Heck, I might even splurge and get a manicure while I’m at it. Pick up a chai latte on the way, too. Ha! Take that, life.

  This last week might’ve kicked me around a bit, but I wasn’t about to lie down.

  6

  The next morning, I woke up with energy to spare. My afternoon mani and pedi turned into a full-on spa experience, and it was glorious. My soul thanked me
for the time out. But today, I was back at it. I called my attorney and started the paperwork for a defamation suit against Justine. I definitely had her on the hook for slander. I figured it was the more adult way to handle things, versus punching in her face. Next, I tried to reach Detective Brandle, but both numbers sent me to his voicemail. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was really starting to irk me that he had yet to take or return my calls. I prayed he wasn’t the main contact for information regarding the case. If that was true, who knew how many other people’s calls were going unanswered. It’s not like I had earth-shattering news, but one small detail could’ve cracked this case, and Detective Brandle would never know if he didn’t return my calls.

  It seemed the only person, who had her phone on, was Mrs. J. She had called me five times in the past twenty-four hours, asking about her lipstick. I’m no fool. I knew she only wanted to ask me about the murders, which is why I didn’t answer her calls. She knew that too. It didn’t stop her from calling though. If there was one person you couldn’t hide from, it was Mrs. J. I eyed her lipstick on the counter and knew that I couldn’t avoid the woman forever. The question was, did I feel up to talking to her today?

  I was thinking about what I should do, when the news came on. I’m not much of a news person. The reporters always seem to be detailing the latest tragedy or senseless killing. The whole half hour was depressing. The weather forecast was boring too. I was just about to turn off the tube when I heard Roger Siebold’s name mentioned, and something about a press release. The reel cut to footage of Eric standing in front of the Siebold’s house, releasing a statement. I turned up the volume in time to hear him say, “Roger was a great man, a great member of this community. He will be deeply missed by his family, colleagues, and clients. We know the police are tracking a solid lead, and we are confident that the person responsible will be brought to justice. We ask that if anyone has any additional information, please call the police. Thank you.”