Ms America and the Villainy in Vegas (Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 2) by Diana Dempsey Read Free Book Online

that I am woefully out of place by not sporting even a tiny tattoo. They’re frowned upon in the pageant world because they “detract from natural beauty,” we’re told.
    And everyone knows how naturally we queens achieve our appearance.
    “I just thought of what I wanted to tell you about Cassidy,” I shout, even though I’m right next to her. It’s even louder here than on the Strip. “When we first met her and said we had been at Sally Anne’s wedding, her reaction was downright bizarre.”
    “It was like that girl was petrified.”
    “Exactly! She acted like she wanted to get away from us when I would have expected her to want to know every last detail about what happened to her boyfriend.”
    “And what was all that business about, I don’t know anything about anything? He never told me anything? That was weird.”
    I struggle to sort out exactly why. “It was like she knew Danny was into something bad and she wanted to deny all knowledge of it.”
    “You consider her a suspect?” Shanelle asks me, as if I were Vegas 5-0.
    “Well, those closest to the victim are always the most likely suspects.”
    I’m mulling over just how short the suspect list is when I realize that somewhere between the Cosmos Hotel and here, somebody called my cell phone. Of course with all the noise I never heard it ring and I can’t hear the voicemail now. I do ascertain that Magnolia Flatt is the caller.
    Pageant business, that means. This queen is all over it.
    I tell Shanelle I’ll be back, grab my cover-up, and seek quieter pastures. I have to go as far as the hotel ladies’ room, where I note framed black-and-white photographs of old-time movie stars hanging in each stall. I’m hoping I won’t need to attend to personal business because I would feel awkward doing so with Natalie Wood or Ava Gardner scrutinizing me the entire time.
    I gird myself before I place the call. Interacting with Magnolia Flatt is never my favorite thing to do. Though one would expect the receptionist at pageant headquarters in Atlanta to exude charm and friendliness, she just may be the Queen of Snarkdom. And now that our pageant owner is facing felony charges—don’t worry; I will explain—her duties have expanded. Power has not improved Magnolia’s people skills.
    “So you found time to call me back,” she snaps by way of hello.
    Deep breath. “How are you, Magnolia?”
    “You’re gonna be staying in Vegas for a while. You got a new booking.”
    “How exciting!” I love bookings. They give me confidence about my Ms. America titleholder performance. They’re also evidence that my proximity to murders has not yet pegged me as a dangerous queen to have around.
    Speaking of murders, if I get to stick around Vegas, I get to snoop around Danny Richter’s death …
    “There’s this dance group called the Sparklettes,” Magnolia says. “They’re like—what are they called?—the Rockettes. Three of their dancers got some bug and are laid up. They want you and Shanelle to fill in on the shows they got next weekend.”
    And Shanelle? To stay through next weekend to perform dance routines? I am more thrilled by the second. I get a brainstorm. “They’re down three dancers? How about having Trixie Barnett fill in, too?” I miss her so much even though it’s been only a month since we were all together on Oahu. “She is Ms. Congeniality, after all. Everybody loves Trixie.”
    Magnolia grunts. I know she can’t imagine anybody loving any beauty queen. “I don’t know. She’s gotta be between five foot six and five foot ten and a half.”
    “She is.” That’s the sweet spot height-wise for beauty queens. I am lining up arguments to buttress my case when Magnolia says something unexpected, not to me but to somebody back in Atlanta. “Yeah, I’ll take more champagne,” she says.
    “Magnolia?” I frown. “You’re drinking champagne at headquarters?”
    She sounds annoyed at being caught out. “I’m not at