<< Go Back

Skin Care Can Be Murder: A Nosey Neighbor Mystery, book 3

By Cynthia Hickey

Order Now!

1
“I’m going to make the world a more beautiful place.” Angela plopped a giant pink chest, painted with white polka dots, onto the kitchen table.
I grabbed my glass of diet soda before she could knock it over. “You finally got your kit.”
“I’m going to be rich in no time.” She opened the chest to reveal trays and trays of beauty products ranging from makeup in every shade imaginable to face creams and body lotions. “You’ll be my first customer. I really wish you would have booked a party for me. It’s the least you could have done for your big sister.”
A big pain in the rear was more like it. “I thought Norma Winston booked a party.”
Angela frowned. “She signed up for this Friday, but you know most of the women who show up will be … well, you know,” she lowered her voice. “Streetwalkers. I’ll feel out of place.”
“They probably use more makeup than anyone.” I eyed her tight strapless dress and strappy sandals. She wouldn’t look as out of place at Norma’s as she thought.
I finished my soda and reached for the newspaper. Why Mom insisted on paying for the paper when we could easily read the news on the computer was beyond me, but since it sat here every morning, I’d read it. “Besides, Norma left that life behind her a long time ago.”
Now, she made her money writing fan fiction, and not doing too bad. After I’d suspected her of murder a few months ago, we’d become fast friends and her son gave me free coffee at the local coffee house. Life was good.
My first romantic mystery was still in the top five best sellers and the newly released novella, A Killer Plot,was climbing the ladder quickly. All I needed now was to come up with the plot of my third book, a full-length novel, I hoped. And hopefully, without a real live mystery that would almost get me killed in order for me to do research. Although, I did admit to missing the adrenaline rush of gathering clues and outsmarting a killer.
“You will come, won’t you?”
“To the party? Of course.” I scanned the front page of the newspaper, saw nothing to attract my attention and possibly form a book after, and set the paper aside. “I could use some … cream of some kind.” Not really. I wore minimal makeup and avoided the sun at all costs. Being a redhead, the sun was not my friend.
“Wonderful, because I’m going to use you to demonstrate on.” She grinned, closed her case, and then headed to her bedroom, tossing over her shoulder that she wished the work crew would speed things up on finishing her attic apartment.
Yikes. With my sensitive skin, I could only hope the new products wouldn’t give me a rash in front of a crowd of women.
Banging from the third floor meant the contractors were hard at work turning my attic into Angela’s private abode. My niece and nephew, Cherokee and Dakota, had opted to sleep in the main house with me. Another set of contractors was scheduled to begin work on the basement in the morning to provide an apartment for Mom.
I shook my head. Less than a year ago, I’d lived the hermit life of a romance novelist who was timid around people. Now, I had a dog, two cats, a houseful of family, a best friend, and the most wonderful boyfriend in the world. When my literary agent had told me to get out and mingle with the living more, I doubt even she expected this.
Angela thundered back down the stairs. “Emergency! Norma requested her Pink Lady Party be moved to tonight.” She glanced at the clock. “In an hour! Get dressed. You’re driving.”
Ugh. I rolled my eyes and pushed away from my chair. “Mom!” I peered down the basement steps. “Angela’s party got changed to now.”
“For Pete’s sake.” She stomped up the stairs. “How am I going to get your basement packed up if I have to go buy facial cream?” She shook her head. “We can’t leave the workers here alone. I’ll have to meet you there. I won’t be but a half hour late, if that. By the time she gets set up and stuff, I’ll be knocking on the door. The guests most likely won’t even be there by then.”
“Sounds good.” I raced to my room and pulled a blouse from my closet. Angela might let me wear jeans, but the tee shirt was out of the question. I dropped the tee in the clothes hamper and buttoned the royal blue blouse over my body. A quick swipe of the hair brush, then a quick updo of my hair, secured with a clip, and I was ready to be smeared with facial products.
With Thanksgiving behind us, and Christmas fast approaching, maybe I could purchase some items for my mother and niece as gifts. Of course, since Angela was selling the stuff, that’s probably what we’d all get. I’d have to think of something else.
Angela waited in the car. I set the house alarm and bolted into the chilly winter air. I slid behind the wheel of my Mercedes. “I should have given you the keys to warm up the car.”
“I don’t want my makeup to melt.” She hugged the pink and white case.
“You can put it in the backseat,” I said, backing out of the driveway. “It’ll be fine. You can even put the seat belt around it.”
“I realize you may think this is all funny, but I can really make a ton of money selling these products. Since this is my first party, I don’t intend to let anything bad happen.” She lifted her chin and stared out the window.
She could be uncomfortable if she wanted to. We drove in silence to Norma’s house and pulled into the driveway of her modest ranch-style home. An older model Toyota, the brown paint long since oxidized, occupied the single car carport.
“This is not a good neighborhood,” Angela stated, keeping a firm grip on her case and trying to get out of the car without letting go.
“It’s all Norma can afford. Living a lawful law doesn’t always pay.” I yanked the case out of her hands. “I’ll give it back when you get out of the car. Otherwise, you’ll show those gang members what God intended for you to keep hidden.”
She gasped, slid from the car, keeping her legs as modestly together as her spandex dress would allow, then took the case back. I slid out, locking the vehicle behind me. I tossed a wave to the young man lounging on the porch of the house next door. “Hey, Jamal!”
“Back at ya, Miss Stormi.” He gave me a nod.
“You know gang members?” Angela asked in a hoarse whisper.
“I come here often enough to visit Norma, I thought I should at least meet the neighbors.” The young men who considered the neighborhood their territory wouldn’t mess with me as long as they considered me their friend.
“Are you bringing Norma another girl?”
“What does he mean?” Angela tottered on her heels. “I am not one of Norma’s girls. I thought you said she didn’t have that life anymore.”
“She doesn’t. She works with prostitutes to try and bring them out of that lifestyle.” I rapped on Norma’s cheery red door. “Stop being such a snob.”
“You sure have changed. What happened to my shy, reclusive sister?”
“She died right along with the first dead body I stumbled over.” I grinned when Norma opened the door, wearing the same dress as Angela’s blue one except hers was in a bright shade of red.
Angela groaned and entered the small but spotless home and set her case on the kitchen table. She glanced at the counter where finger sandwiches and fruit were arrayed on platters and mumbled something about appearances being deceiving.
I met Norma’s amused glance and chose a chair next to the table in which to sit. “How many women are coming?”
“Five, not counting you and yours.” Norma sat across from me. “Hookers like makeup and creams. Anything to make them feel pretty. I’m hoping that get-togethers like tonight will take them one step closer to realizing how cherished they are and that there are other career paths they can choose.”
That got Angela’s attention. She grinned. “Maybe I can sign one of them under me at this party. That will give you a huge discount.”
Norma shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Just don’t push too hard, okay?”
“I’ll present the facts as clearly as possible.”
“I’m here!” Mom rushed through the front door, slamming it behind her. “Why is that young man always sitting outside giving the dog-eye to everyone who comes around?”
“Dog-eye?” I asked.
“Isn’t that what they call that intense stare?” Mom plopped her purse on the floor behind the table. “I made it before the party. At least I hope we aren’t the only guests.”
“You aren’t.” Norma peered out her curtains, then reopened the door. “The girls are here.”
“This is Ivy.” She introduced an Amazon with the darkest skin I’d ever seen. Still, the woman’s exotic beauty was definitely eye-catching. I was sure she charged a pretty penny. “This is Daisy,” she said of a petite blond with too much pink makeup. Ginger was a redhead, except I guessed her particular shade came out of a bottle. Lacey, with ebony hair that fell to her waist, and Sissy, another African American girl with ample curves and dazzling white teeth, entered last and took their seats, all chattering like a group of school girls.
The amount of flesh showing in the room would have left a teenage boy grinning for weeks. I prayed double time for Norma’s vision of bringing her friends into the light would come to fruition.
Angela clapped her hands. “Now that we are all here, I’d like to start my demonstration.” She handed each woman a white cylinder. “After you wash off your makeup, of course, we’ll fill these cylinders from this white pail,” she motioned to a plastic container on the table, “and then let the mask set while we fill our plates with delicious finger foods.”
The women made a mad dash to the one and only restroom and fought over the sink as they tried to rub off several layers of makeup.
“I should have told them to come paint free,” Norma laughed. “I’ll wash my face in the kitchen sink.”
“I’m eating first,” Sissy declared, as soon as she emerged from the bathroom. Soon, cylinders forgotten on the coffee table, everyone, including myself, crowded into the tiny kitchen.
Plates full, we pacified a pouting Angela by filling our cylinders and then smearing our faces with a pink cream that quickly dried on our skin. Despite my growling stomach, within seconds my face itched so bad, I could hardly concentrate on what I wanted to eat.
“Is it supposed to itch?” Ivy asked.
“Well, washing your face right before applying the cream did open your pores,” Angela explained. “It’s probably just working better than it would otherwise. Don’t worry. Your skin will be as smooth as a baby’s bottom when we’re done.”
Ivy peered closely at Daisy’s face and scraped away a portion of the cream. “It looks more like a baby’s bottom with diaper rash.”
Angela shrieked and grabbed a cloth from a package of baby wipes that she had brought along. “She must be allergic to something in the cream. This cream is supposed to be hypoallergenic.”
“I’m having a bit of trouble breathing,” Daisy admitted.
“Somebody get her some water!” Tears streamed down Angela’s face.
I scratched my fingernails down my cheeks, noticing that others were doing the same. We all looked like Daisy. Our faces were covered with a red, itchy rash.
Daisy fell to the floor, her hands grabbing at her throat. Her fine-boned face had swollen to almost twice its size. Heavens. Did we all look like that? I glanced around. No, just blotchy. Something had gone horribly wrong.
“Hurry, Angela.” I grabbed another wipe. “Get this stuff off of her. Someone call 9-1-1.”
“They’re coming,” Sissy said.
Daisy’s tongue swelled too large for her mouth, making her resemble a pug with a hanging tongue. She gasped, and … died.

Order Now!

<< Go Back