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

headquarters.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Not that it’s any of your business but I’m at the airport.”
    Is Magnolia on a boondoggle? I have heard scuttlebutt that she’s gone crazy with the pageant’s money since Sebastian Cantwell, our owner, got charged with fraud for using the pageant’s losses to improve his tax situation. “Did you buy a first-class ticket to fly somewhere?” If so, I must intercede to protect the organization as best I can during this period of vulnerability. Mr. Cantwell is out on bail but he and his lawyers are prepping for his trial. It’s safe to say he’s distracted.
    “I’m not flying first class,” Magnolia snarls. “I’m flying business. And besides, you’re trying to get me to send Barnett to Vegas, which will cost money.”
    True. “We’ll be careful with expenses, though. I bet Shanelle and Trixie will want to share a room, so that’ll save money.” I’m already sharing with my mom, and if I stay all week, I want her to as well. The poor woman needs the company, not to mention the entertainment.
    “I just checked Barnett’s data sheet,” Magnolia says, “and she’s five foot eight. So you got clearance for her, too.”
    I do a jig in glee. This is such good news. If Trixie can get off work to come to Vegas, I’ll get to see her, spend more time with Shanelle—assuming she can get off work—and dance with a Rockettes-like group, all on the pageant dime.
    After all, even a beauty queen in possession of enviable prize money must watch her pocketbook.
    “Listen up,” Magnolia goes on. “The only reason the Sparklettes people even thought of you to fill in was because they saw you on the news after that murder. You know from last time you’re not supposed to get involved in that stuff.”
    I did get into a bit of trouble with the pageant brass when I investigated Tiffany Amber’s murder. That sort of thing is not within the scope of my duties. Then again, once I proved I wasn’t the guilty party and pinpointed the real perp, all was forgiven.
    “I hear you,” I say to Magnolia, which is a far cry from a promise not to snoop.
    We end our call a few details later, and I rejoin the pulsating poolside horde to share the booking news with Shanelle. I realize as I head in her direction that it’s in part because of Mario that I have mixed feelings about Mr. Cantwell.
    On one hand, I maintain a real affection for him because he made the Ms. America prize money the biggest in the business and my winnings have changed my family’s life. They’ve given me a cushion the likes of which I’ve never known before. Plus, he’s a colorful character: a ponytail-wearing Brit prone to wearing the sort of outfit that would be appropriate for viewing a regatta.
    Yet there is another hand. Mario helped build the tax-fraud case against Mr. Cantwell and Mario is convinced he’s guilty. I trust Mario’s judgment. So how can I feel good about an owner who isn’t acting in the pageant’s best interests?
    “Get a load of this!” I shout to Shanelle as I strip off my cover-up and fill her in on the booking. We’re debating just how quickly we’ll master synchronized high kicks when I am grabbed from behind and twisted around.
    I find myself staring at a blond guy with six-pack abs wearing a gigantic diamond stud in his earlobe. He drags me closer trying to get me to dance. A bunch of other guys crowd around, whooping and hollering. I see they’re going after Shanelle, too, pulling her up off her towel.
    The music is crazy loud and I bet they’re liquored up and it’s hot as heck and even though all they’re doing is dancing and I can tell myself it’s all in good fun, I’m a little freaked out.
    “Come on, gorgeous, dance!” one of them shouts and the rest cheer. The blond guy gyrates real close to me. His buds egg him on something fierce.
    So I bust out a few moves. What else can I do? I figure I’ll dance a little and then they’ll move on.
    That’s when I notice