Evil Beauty

Evil Beauty

         The chittering and chattering escaped the closed dressing room door. Dee paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled before turning the knob. When the door opened, releasing the roar, her headache expanded from a mild throb to an explosion of pain.

         I don’t like beauty pageants, she murmured. I do not like pageants, period. Why did I allow her to talk me into this?

          “Dee! There you are. Help me hook my dress,” Miss Billings, a blond with large, brown eyes demanded.

          “No, Margry, I need her to find my baton!” a slender, brunette in a spangled, skimpy drum-marjorette’s outfit interrupted. “Dee, my baton isn’t where I left it. I have to have it, now!”

          Dee ignored the two young women vying for her attention as she wove her way through twenty-five primping contestants. When she reached the far corner, Dee glared at the woman sitting by herself in front of a dressing table.

         Her raven hair piled elegantly on top of her head, all makeup perfectly applied, Janice McCall, Miss Wester, snapped, “Well, you took long enough. Where is it?”

         Wiping her hands down her slacks’ legs, Dee squeezed her eyes closed briefly. One, two, three . . . Forget it. Her dark, blue eyes slowly opened. Spying a cosmetic bag on the table top, she grabbed it, opened it, and poured the contents on the flat surface.

          “What are you doing?” Miss Wester hissed through clenched teeth.

          “This,” Dee returned, picking a tube of lipstick from the tangle of items. “I believe this is the lipstick that you just had to have.” She tossed the tube to Janice, whose face twisted with anger. “Do not send me on another wild goose chase. I’m not your servant.”

          “Why . . . why . . . I’ll have you fired!”

          A wide grin spread across Dee’s face. “Is that a promise?” she asked before pivoting to weave her way back toward Miss Calvin in her sequined suit. Now I get to find a missing baton. Can’t believe this - these ‘girly-girls’ would lose their heads . . .

          “Oh, Dee, poor Tressa lost her baton.” In her mop cap, puff sleeves, and gathered skits, petite Betty Jo Bolton resembled Little Bo Peep. “We’ve just looked everywhere.” She sounded as cheerful as usual as she patted Miss Texmaco’s arm. “Don’t worry, Tressa. Dee will think of something.”

          Dee rubbed her forehead with the fingertips of one hand. “You’ve looked everywhere, Tressa?”

          “Yes.” Tressa’s violet eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “I always put it in the case, always, but . . .” Her chin trembled. “The case is empty.”

          “Okay, the case is empty, but did you . . .” Dee shook her head before turning to Betty Jo. “Betty Jo, have you tried to find Tressa’s baton?” In between the pounding of her head, words beat against her skull, I don’t need this. I don’t need this. Dee rubbed her temples.

          “Oh, my, yes, and I asked just everyone, but no one has seen any thing of it since practice this afternoon.” Betty Jo’s hands fluttered. “What are we going to do?”

          With a sigh, Dee glanced around the huge room as other contestants gave their hair one more pat or the corner of a mouth one more touch. “What number on the program are you tonight?” she asked Tressa.

          “I’m, um, sixth.” A sob broke through. “I . . . I . . . don’t know what . . . to do.”

          “Do you know where we might find another baton?” Dee asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

          “No.” Miss Texmaco wiped her eyes, smearing mascara over her cheeks. “I was the only one twirling.”

          With another sigh, Dee told Tressa, “I’ll see what I can do. Fix your makeup, and I’ll be back.” She hurried to and through the door to the hall beyond, her headache hammering with each step she took.

          When Dee returned she found Tressa sitting in a chair, her hands clasped in her lap, her spine stiff against the back. A few steps away, Betty Jo fastened the last hook at the top of Margry’s dress, while Rita Marshall, Miss Elsworth, admired her own flowing, white evening gown in a mirror.

          As Dee strode to stand beside the twirler, Tressa, with no traces of previous tears, gazed at her and asked, “Any luck?”

          “Hopefully, but the solution may not the best one. Your dad said your practice baton is in the car trunk. He went to get it from the parking garage,” Dee informed her.

          “My practice baton! That old thing?” Miss Texmaco jumped to her feet. “I can’t perform with that!”

          Staring at the irate young woman in front of her, Dee wondered aloud, “What am I supposed to do about it?”

          “Since it’s your job to take care of things here, it’s your responsibility to take care of all problems,” Tressa insisted.

          Shaking her head slowly, Dee answered, “Not hardly. I stepped in to fill a need at the last moment, and my job is to make sure everything runs on time back stage, not babysit a bunch of . . .” She stopped and took a deep breath. After exhaling through pursed lips, she continued in a soft voice. “I know you’re upset. I wish I could help more, but I did the best I could.”

          “Of course you did,” Betty Jo inserted in her sweetest voice. “You do a very good job. It must be so hard working around us knowing you can’t be a contestant.” She tried to slip an arm around Dee, who moved away flashing a scowl in “Bo Peep’s” direction.

          “Now I need to do my job,” Dee announced as she moved to a button resembling a doorbell on the wall beside the door. The buzz produced when she pressed it brought almost instant quiet to the room. The costumed women turned to face her and shuffled their positions until they more or less formed a line.

          “All right, ladies,” Dee called, “time to go to the green room. The first talent portion of the competition starts in about fifteen minutes.” As she opened and held the door, standing against the wall as the flock of bright plumages flew by, she wondered, Why do girls and women put themselves on display like this? She closed the door and after a few seconds followed the contestants to the room about ten feet from the stage. By the time she arrived, all the girls but Miss Marlington had entered.

          “Yes, Annette, is something wrong?” she asked her favorite contestant. Dee didn’t remember seeing Annette before without a smile.

          “Dee, some strange things are happening.” Annette nibbled her lip before adding, “I didn’t know whether to say anything or not because of all the complaints you hear.”

          “Yeah, there are lots of those, but you aren’t a complainer. What’s going on?” Dee allowed the wall to hold her upright as she rubbed the back of her head and neck. Ugggh, another problem on top of this headache. It's too much.

          “Things have gone missing or are mysteriously broken.” Annette wrapped her arms around her waist. “This morning my flute was bent. Thankfully it wasn’t my performance flute since my chaperone had taken it to replace a pad.”

          Dee heaved a loud sigh. “And Betty Jo’s baton is gone.”

          “Everything that’s missing or broken is something that upsets the owner, leaves her shaken.” Annette shivered. “It’s undermining the different girls’ confidences. Well, it has mine, or would have if the right flute had been ruined.”

          “Whew!” Dee pressed her head against the wall. “Do you have any idea who or why?”

          “No one knows, but Janice McCall suggested you were the culprit.” Annette smiled.

          “Oh, yes, Miss Wester, who claimed her favorite lipstick was missing, and it was in her bag the whole time.”

          The door to the green room flew open, and Betty Jo bounced through the opening. “Oh, there you are, Annette,” she gushed before giggling. “I was worried about you.”

          “You really didn’t need to.” Annette turned so that only Dee could see her face before rolling her eyes. “I’m a big girl. Now why don’t you go back inside and wait your turn?”

          Betty Jo stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I was just trying to help.” She whirled and stomped into the green room, her mop cap bobbing on top of her head.

          “You don’t care for the lady either, huh?” Dee laughed before saying, “I don’t, for some reason. She just irritates me, too kind and sweet all the time.”

          “Exactly, too sweet, too kind, whether we want it or not.” Annette chuckled. “But what can we do? Everyone else thinks Betty Jo’s just wonderful.”

          “Speaking of what to do, what should we do about the mysterious happenings?” Dee wondered. “I don’t care one way or the other who wins, but the outcome should be honest.”

          “I agree, even though I would like to win the scholarship for first place.” Annette gave a lop-sided grin. “This is how I’m earning my way through college.”

          “Ahhh, I never thought of that,” the other woman commented. “I just thought people entered for an ego boost or something. Guess I learned something new -- again. That’s what I get for ‘assuming’ -- bad habit of mine.” She once more rubbed her temples. “Now back to the mystery. We need a list of what was taken or broken and who owned each item.”

          “I can do that,” Annette offered.

          “Good. Then I’ll talk to the stage hands and the tournament committee and director. Let’s visit after the talent competition, okay?”

          “I have a roommate. Do you have a room in the hotel?” Annette frowned. “And have you taken anything for that headache you seem to have? I guess that's why you keep rubbing your head.”

          “Yes, I have a room, room 314. Let’s meet there. And, no, I haven’t had a chance to take anything, but I think I’ll do when I get back to my room.” Dee smiled. “Good luck, I hope you win.”

          Annette blinked. “You should really smile more often. You’re beautiful when you do.”

          “Uh, I, uh, thanks. Um, you’d better get inside, almost time. I’ll see you later.” Dee ducked her head and hurried away.

          Three hours later, her physical headache gone, Dee paced the small area of her hotel room reading the paper in her hands. Annette reclined on one of the beds, propped up with pillows.

          “So all the contestants except Betty Jo, Rita Marshell, Margry Thomas, and Janice McCall have had something happen,” Dee muttered. “Can’t count Janice’s missing lipstick ‘cause it wasn’t really missing.”

          “And this is only the second day of the pageant,” Annette added. “You may have messed up Janice’s try at appearing to be one of the victims.”

          “While she’s probably the one causing the trouble?” Dee dropped onto the other bed. “I found out a few things this evening.”

          Annette sat up. “Are you going to share or make me guess?”

          “Oh, sorry, yes, I’ll tell.” Dee laughed. “You’re fun, you know that?”

          “If you don’t tell me, and tell me now, I’ll not be fun much longer.” Annette shook her finger at the other woman.

          “Okay, okay. First of all, Margry Thomas is the granddaughter of one of the pageant sponsors. Secondly, Betty Jo Bolton’s brother is one of the stage hands.”

          “But, but if Margry’s grandfather is a sponsor, doesn’t that give her an extra advantage? How can the rest of us compete against that?”

          “It’s being kept very hush-hush.” Dee admitted. “I found out only because I happened to overhear something while I waited to speak with the director. If I hear the rumor going ‘round the dressing room, I’ll know who to blame.”

          “I won’t tell. That’s too discouraging to tell anyone.” Annette lay on her back, her hands folded at her waist. “I may just give up right now.”

          “Give up? Why? You won tonight.” Dee tapped a finger on the sheet in her hand. “I bet one of these four is our criminal.”

          “Criminal? Isn’t that rather harsh?” Annette asked while she stared at the ceiling. “She couldn’t go to jail, could she?”

          “Actually, yes, she could if anyone presses charges. Otherwise, unless she does something worse, it’s not likely.” Dee studied the list as if it could tell her something. “We need more information.” She slid off the bed and flopped the paper on the table. “I think I’ll call on some friends and see if we can keep eyes on these ‘suspects.’ Otherwise, I don’t know what to do. I don't know much about pageants, thought I only had to keep track of times. Ha!”

          Annette sat on the side of the bed and placed her feet in her shoes. “I guess I’d better get to my room. Monitors will make bed checks in about ten minutes.” Rising, she stretched. “I’m about ready to sack out. This stuff is tiring.”

          "Okay, I’ll let you know if I find out anything -- if you’ll do the same.” Dee walked to the door with Annette.

          “I’ll surely do that. Goodnight.” Annette wiggled her fingers before closing the door behind her.

          The next day passed with the interview with the judges and the first swimsuit competition. The evening schedule included another talent contest followed by the twenty-five women being presented in their evening gowns. Nothing unusual happened during the interviews or swimsuit event, but the contestants hadn’t been in the dressing room but a short time when a scream rent the air.

          Dee rushed into the dressing room, the pageant director immediately behind her. “What’s wrong? Who’s hurt?” Dee yelled as she reached the milling women.

          “It’s Margry,” Annette answered, meeting them by the door. “She’s over by the dress racks. Her dress for the talent competition . . . Go look.”

          “What in the world!” Mrs. Lawson, the director, exclaimed. “The dress . . . it’s ruined.”

          Sitting on the floor, her once white gown in her lap, Margry sobbed, using part of the now paint-splattered skirt as a handkerchief. Annette knelt beside the distressed woman and whispered something to her.

          Margry raised her ravaged face from the material. “Thanks . . . Annette. Thanks for. . . offering, but I . . . I quit.” She rose from her position on the floor and, dragging the dress behind her, walked across the room. The other contestants silently moved back as she passed them blindly and stumbled out the door.

          As soon as Margry left, Janice McCall demanded, “What did you offer her, Annette? What did you say that made her leave?”

          “I’m sure Annette didn’t say anything to make her leave, Janice. Margry wouldn’t have thanked Annette for something bad,” Betty Jo stated.

          “Ladies, please,” Mrs. Lawson strongly requested, “please finish preparing for the talent portion of the evening. We’ll sort through this, I promise.”

          Dee motioned for Annette and the director to join her on the other side of the room, away from the dressing tables. “Did you see anything, Annette?” she asked.

          “No, we came in, and she found the dress.” Annette’s face showed her concern. “This doesn’t seem to be stopping, does it?”

          “We’ll have more security around the dressing room since this appears to be where the damage is occurring,” Mrs. Lawson asserted. “I won’t have this competition ruined.”

          “Guess that takes one person off the suspect list.” Dee shrugged when both the director and Annette stared at her. “Well, it does.”

          The next day, two other contestants removed themselves from the pageant when articles of clothing or musical instruments disappeared. Betty Jo’s Bo Peep costume appeared in the hallway outside the dressing room, shredded. No one saw or heard anything, or at least no one admitted to seeing or hearing anything. Betty Jo came on stage to do her next tap dance in the competition wearing a skimpy little number that showed that she had one of the most perfect figures in the pageant, even if on a smaller scale.

          “Janice is the only one left on the list,” Annette whispered to Dee as they walked down a hall together. “Now what?”

          “Mrs. Lawson has two people watching her all the time, and no one has seen her anywhere near where the trouble has been.” Dee rotated her neck. “This is bringing back my headache.”

          Annette started toward the dressing room. “Time to dress for the evening gown competition. I’d better get ready.”

          Dee and Annette barely entered the huge room, already filled with the remaining contestants, when Janice McCall marched through the women, in various stages of dress and undress. With her hands on her hips, she accosted Dee. “I thought you were going to see that nothing else happened around here? So where is my cosmetic bag?”

          “Just a second, Janice.” Dee glanced at Annette. “You go get dressed. I’ll visit with you after bit, okay?”

          Janice tapped her foot, her arms folded across her midriff. “Now do you think you can find time to tend to my problem?”

          “Yes, Janice, I’ll do what I can. When was the last time you remember seeing your bag?”

          “When I laid it on the dressing table I always use.”

          “And you never left it lying there?”

          “Of course not,” Miss Wester snapped. “I’m not stupid.”

          Dee paused before replying. “No, you’re not stupid, but didn’t you take your gown from the closet, look away, anything?”

          “Of course I got my gown. I have it on a rack by the dressing table so . . .” Janice stopped mid-sentence. “I, uh, I guess I did leave the bag there. I, um, I went to the restroom and took my dress out of storage.”

          “Then someone either knows your routine, or she took advantage of an opportunity.” Dee closed her eyes briefly. “And no one saw anything, I’m sure.”

          “No, no one.” Janice pressed her lips together.

          “While we search can you use someone else’s makeup? Forget it, silly question.” Dee motioned toward the area where Janice usually dressed and applied her makeup. “Why don’t we go back where you left the bag?”

          “Oh, my, this is so sad,” Betty Jo commented as she joined them at the dressing table. “What is going to happen next? Janice, you may use my cosmetics if you wish. I noticed we use many of the same shades and brands.”

          “Thanks, Betty Jo, but no thanks.” Janice sank onto the chair in front of the dressing table. “I don’t know what to do.” She pointed toward the table. “The bag was right . . . It’s . . . it’s there.” She covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide above them. “I swear it was gone. It was,” she mumbled from behind her fingers.

          “Yes, it really was gone,” Tressa Cline said. “I helped Janice look around, trying to find it. The bag wasn’t here.”

          Dee patted Janice on the shoulder. “I’m glad it found its way back. I hope nothing else happens. Can you manage?”

          “Yes, yes, I’ll be all right now.” The brunette shivered. “I just don’t understand, but at least I can get ready now.”

          After leaving Janice in Tressa’s and Betty Jo’s willing hands, Dee made her way to the dressing table where Annette finished her makeup. Leaning close, she whispered, “The bag magically returned.”

          “I know,” Annette answered. “I saw Betty Jo put it back on the table.”

          “What!” Dee nearly shouted before sheepishly looking around. “Sorry,” she murmured to those who stared at her. Bending back close to Annette, she repeated, “What?”

          “Yes, I watched her myself. She had the bag held in a fold of her gown. She moved to the table, glanced around, and slipped it on the top. If I hadn’t been watching her closely, I wouldn’t have caught what she did.” Annette turned a bright smile in Dee’s direction. “How am I doing as a detective?”

          “Better than I am.” Dee straightened. “I’m going to go have a visit with the director.” A scream echoed through the room. “What now?” She whirled and started pushing her way in the direction of the cry and where all attention focused.

          Janice lay on the floor gasping for breath, her face and neck splotchy. Dee glanced around. “Anyone know CPR?”

          Two of the contestants dropped to the floor beside Janice and started working on her.

          “Tressa, call 911. Betty Jo, don’t touch that makeup,” Dee directed as she shifted to stand beside the dressing table. “Annette, will you keep an eye on Janice’s cosmetics? Don’t let anyone touch anything until the police can examine it, okay?”

          “Sure.” Miss Marlington took a position beside the table, giving Dee a tight-lipped grimace.

          “Police? Why would the police . . .” Betty Jo started to ask.

          “Really, Betty Jo. Janice starts applying makeup and collapses; of course the police will want to examine it,” Tressa informed her before telling Dee, “Help is on the way.”

          “Tressa, may I ask you to do something else?” Dee asked while her eyes searched all the faces around her.

          “Of course, what?”

          “Go get my . . . uh, please ask Mrs. Lawson to come and to bring any medical information she has on Janice.” With a gulp, Dee added, “I think this is bad.”

          Within moments, Mrs. Lawson arrived, a folder in her hands. “She’s highly allergic to peanuts, but that’s all I’ve been able to discover,” she announced when she reached the prone woman with the two others doing CPR. “How is she?”

          Dee answered, “I don’t know. Rita and Dawn have been working on her for over ten minutes now. Where are the paramedics!”

          Hardly had she finished speaking when the fire department rescue unit arrived, the paramedics right behind. One of the firemen shouted, “Would everyone not immediately involved please leave the room!”

          “Wait!” Dee called. “You might need to have everyone just move to the other side of the room. This may be a crime scene!”

          The fireman stopped a second before waving toward the other side. “Get over there, be quiet, and stay out of the way!”

          When Betty Jo started to join the other women, Dee grabbed her arm. “M . . . Mrs. Lawson, would you please stay with Betty Jo and make sure she remains close?”

          Mrs. Lawson frowned but answered, “Sure. Come with me, Betty Jo.” They walked to the edge of the larger group as the paramedics relieved Rita and Dawn, who moved across the room, too.

          Before Janice was stabilized enough to take to the ambulance, two police officers arrived. Dee whispered softly to them. The woman officer moved to the dressing table. Annette, Dee, and the policeman left the room together, stopping outside the door and watching the gurney with the unconscious woman pass.

          “Okay, what’s going on?” the policeman asked. “Why the concern about the makeup?”

          Dee sighed before answering. “Janice is extremely allergic to peanuts. Her cosmetic bag went missing for a short period of time, and she collapsed after she started applying makeup. Betty Jo Bolton was seen replacing the bag on the table. I asked Annette,” a nod toward the other woman, “ to be sure no one touched the bag and contents. I asked the pageant director to keep an eye on Miss Bolton. They’re in there.” She pointed back to the dressing room.

          “Okay, sounds like you did the right things. Would you ask the director and Miss Bolton to join us, please?” The man pulled a small notebook from his pocket and started writing.

          Dee returned with Mrs. Lawson and Betty Jo, whose eyes widened at the sight of the police officer. “Why are you treating me like this, Dee? I know you never liked me, but why are you trying to get me in trouble?”

          Dee glanced at Betty Jo before telling the director, “She was seen placing the missing bag on the dressing table.”

          “So I found it and put it back; what’s wrong with that?” the petite woman demanded.

          “A cosmetic bag?” Mrs. Lawson asked. “Was it covered with cat faces, by chance?”

          “Covered with cat faces? What do you mean?” the officer asked.

          “Yes, the pattern was different images of cat faces,” Dee replied. “Sorry, officer, it was the cover of the bag.”

          “Then I saw something very unusual earlier. A stage hand gave someone I couldn’t see a bag covered with cat faces, a stage hand who is your brother, ” Mrs. Lawson informed Betty Jo.

          Betty Jo backed up two steps before whirling to run. Dee grabbed her arm. “No, Betty Jo, I think you’ll stay right here until the nice police take you and your brother away.”

          Later that evening, after a slightly delayed evening gown competition, Mrs. Lawson, Annette, and Dee sat in the director’s room, shoes off and feet propped on other chairs or beds.

          “Who would have thought the culprit could be Betty Jo. I mean, she was so kind, always helpful,” Mrs. Lawson commented.

          “That’s the problem: she was killing us with kindness,” Annette replied. “At least she didn’t succeed in actually killing anyone.”

          “Yes, it will take time, but Janice will at least survive.” Mrs. Lawson stood and ambled to the small refrigerator behind the bar. Reaching in, she brought out a can of soda. “Anyone else want anything?” When both young women refused, she returned to her chair with her drink. “Well, Dee, have you changed your mind about beauty pageants?”

          “Yes and no, Mom. I can understand why some people, like Annette, enter for the scholarships, and some enter for the ego boost or some deep-seeded need.” Dee smiled at her new friend. "Congratulations again for winning all the talent competitions so far."

          “Mom? Mrs. Lawson is your mother?” Annette’s feet hit the floor as her voice rose. She ignored the repeated compliment.

          “Well, yes, she is. She twisted my arm to help her with this pageant, wants to show me the brighter and more wonderful side, hopes I’ll enter one. Gave me this 'made-up' job.” Dee blew air through her lips. “Yuck.”

          “It wasn't made up, but you admit that you have changed your views of pageants, correct?” Dee’s mother asked. “So why not take part in at least one?”

          Dee’s feet hit the floor, and she scooped up her shoes before striding toward the door. She paused and turned to face her mother, shaking her head sharply. “No way, Mom. These things are way too dangerous.”