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

“Now.”
    “Fine.” Jasmine slams her flute down on the desk. “Ladies, how about we continue this conversation tomorrow at my place? I’m having a few of the girls over for hors d’oeuvres around 5. Come on by,” and she hands Shanelle her card.
    I feel better about being summarily dismissed by the prospect of the next day’s rendezvous. “What’s her address?” I ask Shanelle once we’re again on the street.
    Shanelle eyes the card. “A penthouse on Collins Avenue in Miami Beach.”
    “That’s what people call Millionaires Row,” I say. “It’s over there on the water.”
    Trixie’s eyes are wide. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised she lives someplace like that. Did you see the price tags in that boutique?”
    “I didn’t see a single item less than a thousand bucks,” Shanelle says.
    “I wonder who the girls are we’re having drinks with tomorrow,” Trixie says.
    “Probably the other wives.” I don’t care so long as I can ply Jasmine with cocktails and pry more information out of her. “No, stay here,” I say and maneuver to keep Trixie and Shanelle in a huddle facing away from the boutique.
    “What are we doing?” Trixie whispers a minute or so later.
    I peek around. “We’re waiting for him.” Campshirt Man exits the boutique and heads up the avenue. I turn tail to follow. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER NINE

    “Can we have lunch after this?” Trixie asks me. “Because I’m starving.”
    “Right after this, I promise.” I’m ravenous, too, especially now that we’re passing oodles of restaurants with fabulous aromas wafting from the plates of the al fresco diners. I break into a semi-run. I won’t give up my stilettos but they do make it challenging to keep up with a man in low-heeled footgear.
    Fortunately Campshirt Man soon hangs a left into a tiny storefront. It turns out to be a commercial leasing agency. He sits down at a computer and starts pounding keys. It doesn’t look to me like his chat with Jasmine improved his mood.
    I pull back to strategize. “So Jasmine’s fighting with her landlord.”
    “That could mean only one thing,” Shanelle says. “Girl’s behind on her rent.”
    “We never got behind at my shop,” Trixie says. “That’s bad management.”
    “How does somebody with as much money as a basketball wife get behind?” Then I answer my own question. “Actually there are all kinds of ways. She could have the money but be slow to pay for whatever reason. Like a cash flow problem.”
    “Or she could have a doesn’t-have-the-money problem,” Trixie says. “Because isn’t it her husband Donyell who really has the money?”
    “And from what she says he’s not totally on board with this boutique thing. So maybe he’s not coughing up the necessary dough.”
    “Then there’s the Peppi factor,” Shanelle says. “They were partners, right?”
    “I would think Peppi had money because her father is Don Gustavo.” After all, he was mega successful in the music business. “One thing is for sure. The landlord’s obviously fed up so this must’ve been going on for a while.” I take a deep breath. “All right. I’m going in.”
    Campshirt Man glances up from his computer as I enter the leasing agency. “You make the same mistake I did and do business with Jasmine Dobbs?” he asks.
    “You, too?” I reply.
    “She giving you the same runaround she’s giving me about her partner not keeping up her end of the bargain?”
    “How many times have I heard that story?”
    “She may be willing to wait for her partner’s gravy train to roll in but how can she expect me to do that, too?”
    “Doesn’t she know that’s no way to run a business?”
    “You know what would happen to me if I tried to run this place like that?”
    “You’d get fired?” I guess.
    “You bet I’d get fired!” He takes a deep breath and so do I. I walk out thinking that conversation should qualify as my workout of the day.
    “That was fast,” Shanelle