Free Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami (Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 3) by Diana Dempsey

this boutique as Jasmine pulls crystal flutes from an open box and expertly uncorks the promised bottle. “I’m getting ready for my opening party Tuesday night. You all invited,” she adds.
    This is another perk of being a beauty queen. We are routinely regarded as desirable add-ons to guest lists.
    “I anticipate a few notables will appear,” Jasmine goes on.
    “I anticipate we’ll be there.” Shanelle winks at me as she accepts her flute.
    “So you’re not delaying the opening party because of what happened to Peppi?” Trixie asks.
    “Hell, no!” Jasmine says. “It is past time to get this show on the road.”
    I state what by now is pretty obvious. “I take it you and Peppi weren’t close.”
    “Let’s just say things transpired that I cannot overlook.” And with that tantalizing remark Jasmine hoists her flute in the air. “But I learned long ago it is best to leave the past in the past. So to Peppi.”
    “To Peppi,” we all repeat before swigging our champagne. I’ve never done that in somebody’s memory before but it is a tradition I can see embracing. “So what exactly transpired between you two?” I do my best to sound casual.
    Her gaze skitters away. “I don’t care to discuss it.”
    Dang, as Shanelle would say. I try another tack. “How did you meet Peppi?”
    A grimace she doesn’t bother to mask twists Jasmine’s face. “She was a dancer for the team.”
    “A dancer? Like a cheerleader?” Trixie asks.
    “You could call it that. Some other things you could call it, too,” she mutters.
    “What you saying, girl?” Shanelle wants to know.
    “I’m just saying I try not to hate on anybody but the behavior of some of the dancers is not what I would call admirable.”
    “No!” Trixie cries. “You mean they go after the players? Even the married ones?”
    Jasmine lays a hand on Trixie’s arm. “Honey, that band of gold don’t mean a thing to some of those girls.”
    Which might explain the occasional courtside catfight between a wife and a dancer. “Was Peppi that kind of dancer?” I ask.
    “Sad to say, yes she was.” Jasmine sips her champagne. “Of course not with Donyell. He got the bachelor out of his system before we got together.”
    An uneasy silence follows this pronouncement.
    “But since then you and Peppi resolved your differences,” I say. “You must have, because you went into business together.”
    “She changed! Least I thought so. She straightened out after she got that job doing the weather on TV. Over time I came to see she and I wanted the same things.”
    “Like what?” Trixie asks.
    “Something to call her own. Something nobody can take away.”
    “You could’ve opened this boutique without Peppi, right?” Shanelle says. “Donyell supports it?”
    “Sure I could have!” Her tone is a tad defensive. “But why not pair up? Peppi and I both bring something. She’s got the day-to-day celebrity of being on the news. And I have the cachet of being in the league.”
    I’m thinking Donyell is more in the league than Jasmine is but I keep that to myself. “Who do you think had it in for Peppi?” I’ll keep mum that Jasmine’s own name is on my short list.
    “Hard to say.” She doesn’t meet my eyes as she serves herself the last of the bubbly. “Offhand I don’t know anybody who wasn’t cool with her.”
    “Any boyfriends she was having trouble with?”
    “On that front she had nothing going on, least not that I knew of.” She pivots in her seat. “Now who the hell is that?”
    I hear it, too. Footsteps approaching. A thirty-something man in chinos and a coral-colored campshirt appears in the doorway of the rear room. He seems taken aback by our midday consumption of champagne but now that I’ve downed my share I can’t imagine why.
    Jasmine puts her hand on her hip. “Did I fail to make myself clear?”
    I’m wondering if this is the person Jasmine told off on the phone.
    “We need to talk,” he says.