What a Nunderful World Page 2

  I felt like a fifth wheel, and completely out of my element. I only understood some of the things the ladies were talking about because of Coop, and even then, I was still a bit lost.

  However, seeing Coop’s eyes go wide when she and the other women opened up their swag bags and began to compare goodies made my heart glow.

  She held up a small eyeshadow palette and waved it in front of my face, her auburn hair swinging around her shoulders. She’d cut her long swath of luscious hair into what she claimed was a more fashionable style, giving her a wisp of bangs and a long layered look that framed her face and still hung almost to her waist.

  Of course, she could have a crew cut and she’d be stunning, because Coop really knew how to accent every perfect feature she had.

  Her eyes were intense when she said, “Trixie, look. It’s a sample preview palette of some of the shades Mitzy’s producing with Pink Leaf Cosmetics. It’s not even done yet. I feel like I’ve been waiting for-ev-err for this to happen. I feel so lucky. I mean, would you just look. Isn’t it everything?” she asked in her somber, unemotional tone as she ran her finger over a bright green and swatched it on her forearm so I could see.

  I nodded my head and smiled, trying to keep my eyelashes from sticking together. “Oh, Coop,” I breathed a sigh. “That’s going to be gorgeous with your green eyes. I’d definitely say you’re very lucky to see a preview. Those eyeshadows are totally lit.”

  Coop popped her lips and complimented me. “You used lit in a sentence. Well done, Trixie Lavender. You have been listening.”

  One of the women at our sparkly lavender and silver table, young with dirty-blonde hair, squealed her pleasure when she swiped a shimmery raspberry lip gloss over her bottom lip and held up a compact to inspect her fish-lipped pout.

  “Look!” she almost yelled, showing Coop. “It’s the lip gloss she’s been talking about since the beginning of time—the one with the crystalized flakes in it!”

  Coop acknowledged her with a vehement bob of her head, her eyes wide. “The one that she claims will stay on even after an entire night of kissing, right?”

  The woman grabbed her wrist and bounced up and down in excitement. “Yes! That’s the one!”

  Another young woman, probably in her mid-twenties with shoulder-length chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, gazed at Coop. “Is that sunrise/sunset on your eyes?”

  Coop nodded, and said, “It is.”

  The girl squealed, flapping her hands. “Yass, queen! Oh, my God, it’s gorgeous! You’re gorgeous, and you did such an amazing job. It looks exactly like Mitzy’s.” Then she pouted, her shoulders sagging in clear dejection. “I wish I could blend better. I kind of stink at it. I mean, look at my poor attempt to copy her Under the Sea video. Any advice?”

  She closed her eyes and leaned forward for Coop to inspect, and as my demon began to advise, I decided to see if I could grab something to drink and maybe one of the tiny sandwiches waiters in crisp white shirts and black bowties were passing around.

  “I’ll be right back, Coop,” I said in her ear before I made my escape.

  My stomach rumbled its consent. Food was definitely necessary, or I was going to pass out from the heat in the room created by all these bodies pressed so closely together.

  I hadn’t given myself enough time to eat before Coop was ready to apply my makeup, and she didn’t want me to mess it up by eating—because Mitzy says the lipstick is the icing on your face’s cake and who wants smeared icing?

  Although, if this new lipstick she’s creating is so good, I guess eating after you’re all decked out won’t be a big deal, right?

  Grabbing a couple of tiny cucumber sandwiches and a dainty lavender and silver napkin from one of the waiters, I went in search of a bottle of water or maybe some punch. As I milled my way through the throng of people, I overheard some of the excited chatter. Everyone was talking about the sample palette and the long-lasting lip glosses.

  And then I heard some not-so-excited chatter from a tall, lanky woman with green-tipped hair, a sequined jumpsuit in gold and platform boots. I was rather stuck behind her at a standstill when the crowd decided to stop moving.

  Her nails were long and pointy, as was the fashion these days, painted in an emerald green with rhinestones glued on them. She waved her hands around as she spoke to another woman, equally as fashionable in a sleeveless sapphire-blue, sequined cut-off top and white miniskirt.

  The gold and green Amazon leaned into the more petite woman wearing strappy heels that had to be at least six inches high. “Giiirl, did you hear?” she whispered, her tone conspiratorial.

  She rocked back on her shoes, her purple toenails glittering in the flashing lights. The shorter woman tilted her platinum-blonde head, her micro-bladed eyebrows rising. “Hear what?”

  The tall woman popped her lips. “Hear what Mitzy did to Ames Snarles?”

  The shorter woman rasped a sigh and rolled her eyes, tucking her tiny purse close to her chest. “Oh, what now? I swear, those two are always peeing on each other’s trees about something. Did Mitzy call him out on Insta again? I swear, they use Instagram like it’s their personal fight club. It’s lame AF.”

  Lame AF? Note to self, ask Coop to make you a slang cheat sheet.

  She shook her head, the green tips of her hair catching the light, sucking in her cheeks. “Nope.”

  Planting her hands on her slender hips, the petite woman asked with an irritated tone, “Then what now? I can’t keep track of all the drama lately. I’m so sick of everything turning into World War III so the person at the bottom of the heap can get the spotlight back and I own a drama channel, for Pete’s sake.” Then she flapped her hands. “Anyway, spill the tea already.”

  I found myself almost nodding my head and agreeing. Yeah. Spill the tea, Amazon Lady. But then I caught myself as shame crept along my cheeks in hot patches. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping.

  And yet…

  Amazon Lady flapped her hand, her nails bright and shimmering. “Ugh, right?” she said on a deep cackle. “It’s always something. Especially with these two, but this time, it’s a lot bigger than snatching a look or some promo op. Rumor has it, Ames is going to accuse Mitzy of stealing his deal—”

  The crowd moved quite suddenly, and the entire room shifted again toward the front of the hall, leaving me standing with two mini sandwiches, a dry mouth, and no tea to spill in Coop’s lap on a feud between Ames and Mitzy.

  I managed to almost make it back to our table, where I saw Coop, her eyes drawn to the front of the hall.

  When I looked ahead and saw the reason the throng had suddenly begun to move once more. Mitzy’s assistant—I believe her name is Margot—had entered the large room by way of a gauzy curtain behind a podium at the front, microphone in hand.

  “Heeey, Glitzy Ditzies!” she crooned, her voice sweetly southern as she waved to everyone. “Y’all ready for the one, the only, Glitzy Mitzy?”

  The crowd began to clap excitedly, everyone pushing into everyone else to get as close to the podium on the dais as possible.

  Margot, a pretty woman of probably no more than twenty-five with dark auburn hair and a smart pantsuit, smiled and winked before she said, “Then give it up for Glitzy Mitzy—everybody’s favorite makeup diva!”

  The crowd went wild, clapping and screaming, even stomping their feet as Mitzy—whose last name was Cavanaugh—stepped out from behind that gorgeous confection of lavender and silver curtains, her ebony hair long and flowing down her back like a dark river of silk.

  Coop’s body virtually shivered with all the joy she couldn’t express. It was in this moment I wished she were able to emote. This was tantamount to her first taste of idol worship and actually meeting Mitzy was a big deal. My idol had been Britney Spears. I know, I know, idolizing Britney is a bit warped in light of her struggles, but tell that to my pre-tween self.

  I “Hit Me Baby One More Time” in my mirror with my hairbrush probably more than any set of parents should have t
o endure, but I loved her back then, and still have her on my playlist to this day. So I understood what Coop was going through right now, yet unable to fully express.

  She gripped my arm and stood on her tiptoes as Mitzy took the microphone from her faithful assistant, Margot, with a warm smile and beamed at the crowd.

  “Sqa-ueeeeeeee!” she belted out to them with a wave, coming around the podium to reach down and shake hands with some of the people packed up against the dais like sardines. “Hello, my lovely Ditzies in fa-bu-lous Portland, Oregon! Thank you for such a wonderful welcome. Are you ready to serve up some party realness with me?”

  Everyone squeed madly in response, and some of the younger girls even cried.

  Now, here’s the thing about my Britney obsession. I loved her, but probably not enough to cry. Mitzy’s fans reminded me of the craze the Beatles stirred. There was shouting and sobbing and a lot of runny eyeliner as a result of her entrance.

  As she chattered excitedly into the microphone, two bulky men brought out a couch for her to sit on in lavender vinyl with silver pillows. She settled herself on it as Margot directed anyone with questions to line up at the microphones they’d placed sporadically in the crowd and at the floor under of the podium.

  Mitzy looked gorgeous, of course. She’d worn a light purple dress that flowed about her knees with a high empire waist, square neckline, and long bell sleeves. Her nails, painted to complement her dress, were stark white in comparison, with some sort of purple design on them.

  She crossed her ankles, the flash of her sparkly silver platform shoes catching the light, which happened to match her glitter eyeshadow in silver that enhanced her round, deep chocolate-brown eyes.

  And so began an hour-long Q&A, but it was hard to hear much of the A portion of the Q&A, because every time Mitzy spoke a single word, the crowd erupted in screaming adulation. They became so loud, she got up a time or two and took the outstretched hands pleading with her to acknowledge them in order to quiet them down.

  I left Coop to discuss her idol worship when Mitzy took a quick break and decided to once more go hunt down something to drink, while the crowd was gathered at the front of the room, waiting on Mitzy’s return.

  Spying a table with what looked like bottles of water, I sauntered across the room, my mouth drier than dry, my eyelashes really beginning to bug me. As I went, I took pictures with my phone so I could document this auspicious event for Coop in case she became too enraptured and forgot to do it herself.

  I scurried to the table and grabbed a bottle of lukewarm water while some bored waiters and waitresses stood by, watching the table with half an eye and very little interest, except for one elderly gentleman who winced every time the attendees did Mitzy’s signature squee.

  I have to say, I was right there with him. Their battle cry was starting to become a little obnoxious.

  Upon Mitzy’s return, her fans rallied again, and the squees became louder.

  As I unscrewed the top and took a long swig, the crowd began to shift yet again, and I was given a clearer view of the stage. Mitzy, her back to her fans, was suddenly moving toward the left side of the podium, where she teetered for a moment—and rather suddenly turned toward the massive gathering at the base of the dais.

  Her face, the size of one of the balloons floating around the room, bloated and red, elicited a loud, horrified gasp from everyone before she fell off the small stage and landed face down on the floor with a hard crack.

  And all I could think was, in all my frozen horror, holy squee.

  Chapter 2

  There was a heavy, pulsing silence for maybe a millisecond while everyone processed what had just happened, and then the room erupted in pandemonium with people running everywhere, and then someone screamed with a southern twang, “My purse! Help me open my purse!”

  I blinked in my own personal horror, frozen in place by the sudden uproar until I came to my senses and instantly began to move toward where I’d last seen Coop.

  Listen, I know she’s a big girl and she’s a demon with the strength of an NFL team, but she’s also very sensitive and sweet and, this being her first foray into something that meant so much to her, I was worried about her reaction.

  Thankfully, she’s tall and gorgeous, and that made her much easier to find—which happened to be at Mitzy’s feet, where she held a phone in her hand as she knelt beside her fallen idol.

  I should have known Coopie would somehow, in the midst of this chaos, keep it together and do the practical thing. She was always a blessing in the middle of a crisis.

  Coop nodded her head and barked an order into the phone as she held up a hand to keep people from crowding Mitzy.

  “Yes. That’s correct. We need an ambulance at the Cobbler Cove Hall immediately,” I heard her say in her matter-of-fact tone.

  With a white purse in her hands, Margot knelt beside Mitzy—who was now rolled over onto her back—driving her hand into the purse and pulling the contents out, letting them scatter to the floor. “Where is it, y’all? I always have EpiPens, where are they?” she rasped in a light Southern twang, her eyes dripping tears, her hysteria evident. Then she paused as though she were gathering her thoughts. “Her purse! Someone find Mitzy’s purse!”

  “An allergy?” I asked as I, too, knelt beside Margot, my eyes searching hers. “How can I help? Where else should I look?”

  I tried to keep my voice as calm and as soothing as possible, but at this point, I don’t think it mattered. I was almost certain by the look of her, Mitzy had gone to the other side.

  “Peanuts! Oh, my Lord and the Pearly Gates, it had to be peanuts!” The tall Amazon lady I’d heard gossiping earlier yelled as she pushed her way through the crowd and folded her long legs to sit beside Coop. “She’s desperately allergic to peanuts. Everybody knows that!”

  I blew out a breath and reached for Mitzy’s wrist, almost knowing in my heart it was pointless. Knowing it was not only going to crush Coop, but the hundreds of people who’d shown up for this meet and greet.

  Coop scooted toward me and whispered in my ear, her voice hoarse and, dare I say, almost shaky, “Trixie?”

  I knew what she was asking without her articulating the question and it broke my heart. Mitzy’s wrist had no pulse, but I double-checked her neck anyway to be sure, all while her bulging eyes in her bloated face stared upward.

  I turned to look over my shoulder at Coop and let my lips thin in sympathy as I shook my head.

  Just then, the paramedics rushed in, swiftly followed by Detective Tansy Primrose, Officer Oziah Meadows, and the rest of Tansy’s crew, who began to do what they did best. Cordon off people in order to parse who would need to be questioned.

  The paramedics virtually stepped over Margot to get to Mitzy, gently pushing her back out of their way, but then one paramedic looked up at Tansy and shook his head while another grabbed a sheet from the gurney they’d dragged in and covered her body.

  The act made Margot howl a high-pitched wail of agony.

  Blowing out a breath, I looked to Tansy, whose sharp blue gaze caught mine and held it as she approached. “What happened, love?” she asked, her tone sympathetic. “Who is this?”

  I rose to my feet, pulling Coop up with me and squeezing her waist. “Her name is Mitzy Cavanaugh. She’s a social media influencer, and I think she went into anaphylactic shock. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from what I’ve been hearing about missing EpiPens.”

  “And the chippy on the floor?” Tansy asked, leaning into me, her floral perfume invading my nose.

  We hadn’t worked a case together in a while, which I was almost grateful for. It had given Higgs and I some time to help him adjust to the demon in me, and Coop, and all our talking animal friends.

  We’d also had some time to try and understand what my inner demon wanted—we hadn’t figured that out yet, but it wasn’t for lack of trying and a bunch of eyeball-rolling research on the subject of possession. So we’d only seen Tansy at the occasional nei
ghborhood dinner as of late, and I regretted this was the way we’d reconnect.

  Yet, Tansy and I fell back into our respective roles almost immediately. She the authority, me the consoler as chaos swirled around us.

  “Her name is Margot, and she’s Mitzy Cavanaugh’s assistant.”

  “Margot Winters,” Coop provided. “She handles all of Mitzy’s personal business, and she’s also who does all the video uploads on YouTube.”

  The Amazon lady snorted as she, too, rose from her place on the floor, towering over all of us, even Oziah. “And runs a bath for her, and takes care of her dog, and cooks, and cleans and basically does almost everything but brush Mitzy’s pearly whites and wipe her—”

  “Alma!” the young woman in the sapphire-blue top chastised with a swat of her hand and a roll of her eyes in clear disgust. “She’s dead, for the Lord’s sake. Don’t speak ill of her.”

  Tansy was instantly on alert, notepad and pen in hand, her eyes like blue chips of ice. “And you are?” she asked the tall woman.

  The woman crossed her arms over her chest and sucked in her cheeks as though she were insulted Tansy didn’t know exactly who she was. “Alma Zon, honey. The name’s Alma Zon. Just like it sounds.”

  “Holy caterpillars. That’s Alma Zon,” Coop hissed in my ear with excitement. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice her earlier.”

  “I can’t either,” I whispered back. “She’s got to be at least six-six in those heels.”

  Coop nodded her head. “Six-seven, to be precise. She’s a famous drag queen and makeup guru like Mitzy. Maybe not as famous as Mitzy, but pretty well-known in drag queen circles and on the YT. She chose the name Alma Zon as a riff on the word Amazon because she’s so tall.”

  Ah. Now it all made sense. “And her friend? Is she a famous drag queen, too?”

  Coop squinted her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “Her name is Octavia, and no. She’s not a drag queen. She’s a lifestyle/drama vlogger and the force behind Dish and Makeup, but she’s friends with Alma, and she’s also sort of friendly with Mitzy, or as friendly as you can be with what’s essentially a gossip columnist.”