Ms America and the Offing on Oahu (Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 1) by Diana Dempsey Page A
Authors: Diana Dempsey
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charade anyhow,” Shanelle observes.
“There’s Magnolia,” I point out, “behind Misty. Oh, dear.”
Magnolia has decked herself out in yet another unfortunate ensemble. High-waisted short shorts, in hot pink no less. Her flesh is crammed inside the fabric with disastrous results. Every inch of her panty line is excruciatingly apparent. One finds oneself mesmerized by her buttocks, which I can say with confidence are not the feature she should be accentuating.
Shanelle pipes up. “That girl needs a thong something fierce.”
“At least her camisole sort of fits,” Trixie says.
I shake my head. Poor Magnolia. She labors under the delusion of so many women that if her clothes aren’t tight enough to restrict blood flow, she won’t look good.
All of a sudden Misty steps backward and spins around, right into Magnolia’s plate. As if it’s on tiny little wheels, Magnolia’s Spanish omelet slides off her plate smack dab onto the pristine white skirt of Misty’s sundress. It hangs on for a moment, then spills to the terrace floor, leaving an impressive splotch of egg and oil in its wake.
Like Mount Kilauea on the Big Island, Misty erupts. “Can’t you do an effing thing right, you fat idiot? Not the videotaping, not anything! When I asked if you got the videotape you needed, I didn’t mean of me , you moron!”
“Shut your mouth, you bitch!” Magnolia screams. We all watch as Magnolia pushes Misty’s plate into her, causing Misty’s eggs benedict to assume the center-skirt position briefly before tumbling to the terrace floor. Now the two crumpled egg dishes lay side by side, except for the bit that’s landed on Misty’s beaded sandal. Magnolia bursts into tears and runs from the scene, pushing past Detective Momoa, who hasn’t budged this entire time.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting the impression that pageant people are a trifle moody.
Trixie squeals and grabs my arm. “Can you believe that? Misty Delgado was about to eat eggs benedict! Do you have any idea how many calories are in hollandaise sauce? Like thousands !”
I try to gather my thoughts. “What I can’t believe is what Misty said to Magnolia. Misty made it sound like it was Magnolia who shot the videotape of her and Dirk Ventura that showed up on YouTube.”
“But why would Magnolia shoot that tape?” Trixie seems deeply perplexed. I think she’s still reeling from the high calorie count of Ms. Arizona’s would-be breakfast.
“If Sebastian Cantwell knew, he would fire her for sure.” My mind races. “She must’ve been trying to blackball Misty for some reason. She had to know Misty would never win once that video appeared.”
“You know what’s even weirder?” Shanelle leans her elbows on the table. “That part where Misty said something about asking Magnolia way back when if she got the videotape she needed. How do you explain that?”
I can’t. But I can see clearly before me the next phase of my investigation.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m back in my room, alone. Shanelle has gone to the hotel fitness center to work off her sausage. As for me, I’m working on a game plan. Eventually I pick up the phone and dial Magnolia’s room. She picks up. I greet her and say who’s calling.
She produces her usual charm-filled reaction. “Great. Another contestant. What the hell do you want?”
I restrain myself from pointing out that She Who Wears the Tiara is no longer just ‘another contestant.’ “I wanted to know how you are. I saw what happened a while ago at the buffet.”
“You and half the hotel.”
“I was wondering if maybe you wanted somebody to talk to.” I’m trying this tack since it sort of worked with King Keola. “I know Misty can be hard to deal with.”
“And the rest of you pampered-ass beauty queens aren’t?”
Don’t hold back, Magnolia: tell me what you really think . “I’m just saying that I understand that whole thing had to be upsetting. And, you know, I’m Ms.
“There’s Magnolia,” I point out, “behind Misty. Oh, dear.”
Magnolia has decked herself out in yet another unfortunate ensemble. High-waisted short shorts, in hot pink no less. Her flesh is crammed inside the fabric with disastrous results. Every inch of her panty line is excruciatingly apparent. One finds oneself mesmerized by her buttocks, which I can say with confidence are not the feature she should be accentuating.
Shanelle pipes up. “That girl needs a thong something fierce.”
“At least her camisole sort of fits,” Trixie says.
I shake my head. Poor Magnolia. She labors under the delusion of so many women that if her clothes aren’t tight enough to restrict blood flow, she won’t look good.
All of a sudden Misty steps backward and spins around, right into Magnolia’s plate. As if it’s on tiny little wheels, Magnolia’s Spanish omelet slides off her plate smack dab onto the pristine white skirt of Misty’s sundress. It hangs on for a moment, then spills to the terrace floor, leaving an impressive splotch of egg and oil in its wake.
Like Mount Kilauea on the Big Island, Misty erupts. “Can’t you do an effing thing right, you fat idiot? Not the videotaping, not anything! When I asked if you got the videotape you needed, I didn’t mean of me , you moron!”
“Shut your mouth, you bitch!” Magnolia screams. We all watch as Magnolia pushes Misty’s plate into her, causing Misty’s eggs benedict to assume the center-skirt position briefly before tumbling to the terrace floor. Now the two crumpled egg dishes lay side by side, except for the bit that’s landed on Misty’s beaded sandal. Magnolia bursts into tears and runs from the scene, pushing past Detective Momoa, who hasn’t budged this entire time.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s getting the impression that pageant people are a trifle moody.
Trixie squeals and grabs my arm. “Can you believe that? Misty Delgado was about to eat eggs benedict! Do you have any idea how many calories are in hollandaise sauce? Like thousands !”
I try to gather my thoughts. “What I can’t believe is what Misty said to Magnolia. Misty made it sound like it was Magnolia who shot the videotape of her and Dirk Ventura that showed up on YouTube.”
“But why would Magnolia shoot that tape?” Trixie seems deeply perplexed. I think she’s still reeling from the high calorie count of Ms. Arizona’s would-be breakfast.
“If Sebastian Cantwell knew, he would fire her for sure.” My mind races. “She must’ve been trying to blackball Misty for some reason. She had to know Misty would never win once that video appeared.”
“You know what’s even weirder?” Shanelle leans her elbows on the table. “That part where Misty said something about asking Magnolia way back when if she got the videotape she needed. How do you explain that?”
I can’t. But I can see clearly before me the next phase of my investigation.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m back in my room, alone. Shanelle has gone to the hotel fitness center to work off her sausage. As for me, I’m working on a game plan. Eventually I pick up the phone and dial Magnolia’s room. She picks up. I greet her and say who’s calling.
She produces her usual charm-filled reaction. “Great. Another contestant. What the hell do you want?”
I restrain myself from pointing out that She Who Wears the Tiara is no longer just ‘another contestant.’ “I wanted to know how you are. I saw what happened a while ago at the buffet.”
“You and half the hotel.”
“I was wondering if maybe you wanted somebody to talk to.” I’m trying this tack since it sort of worked with King Keola. “I know Misty can be hard to deal with.”
“And the rest of you pampered-ass beauty queens aren’t?”
Don’t hold back, Magnolia: tell me what you really think . “I’m just saying that I understand that whole thing had to be upsetting. And, you know, I’m Ms.
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