Lavender Lipstick Lies: A Mystery of Makeup & Mayhem (7 page)

Chapter 16

As we strolled through The Forum
Shops and mused about the incredible fashions in the boutique windows, I
replayed the encounter earlier in the corridor outside our suite with Bree and
Amanda Woodworth.
Did I miss any clues in their body language? Was anything
said that could hint at a shared scheme to frighten me into dropping out of the
Achiever competition? Why did I have such a creepy feeling in my gut about
them?

On one hand, it felt like we were
back in school; jealous, judgmental teenagers trading secrets and rumors. I
hated that kind of thing when I was younger. And I certainly disliked it now as
an adult. But I wasn’t naïve; some women can be just as vindictive and spiteful
later in life as they are during adolescence.

Although I’d known Bree for more
than a decade, anything was possible. Maybe I was unaware of something going on
in her personal life. Maybe she was angry with me for a slight that I hadn’t
detected; an offhand comment or casual glance that had struck her the wrong way
at the wrong time. People could be fickle. Friendships could be fleeting. I
always believed that we were best friends, but maybe I was in the dark about something.

“Do you guys want to check out the
new lingerie line at La Perla?” Bree asked as we entered the large open area
surrounding the Fountain of the Gods.

“You go ahead,” Emma said. “I want
to walk down and see the animatronic statues by the Cheesecake Factory. They’re
supposed to be pretty cool.”

“They are,” Bree agreed. “I saw
them last time we were here.”

“You did?” Emma frowned. “I don’t
remember that.”

“It was the morning after you drank
all the tequila with your friend from New Orleans,” Bree explained, glancing at
me. “Remember, Abs? You went to the spa for a facial?”

I nodded. “I do remember that.” I
gave Emma a gentle elbow to the ribs. “And I also remember that you were in
pretty awful shape that day.”

Emma made a face. “Oh, don’t remind
me! Tiffany insisted we do shots to celebrate her second place finish in
Achiever of the Year.”

“Right,” I said. “Except you were
the one who took top prize in Hangover of the Year.”

With an exaggerated wave of her
hand, Emma pleaded with us to drop the subject. “It’ll bring back too many
painful memories,” she complained. “I haven’t been that sloppy drunk since then.
Now that you brought it up, I’m having flashbacks of how many times I got sick
throughout that night.”

Bree squealed. “Change the subject,
please!” She wobbled her head dramatically. “Nobody needs to hear that kind of
stuff, Em. It might foreshadow something horrible that might happen to one of
us.”

I caught her eyes as they flashed
in my direction briefly. It was the same mysterious way she’d looked at me a
time or two before, especially when she introduced me to her friend Amanda
Woodworth earlier.

“Listen, you guys,” Emma said. “I
want to catch the Festival Fountain show, okay? I’m going to head over there
now.” She smiled at both Bree and me. “So, Abby, you’re welcome to join me. Or
you can go overspend on skimpy undies with Bree.”

The mention of sexy lingerie
instantly reminded me of the scene with my husband and the mysterious blonde.
Emma saw me flinch and apologized immediately.

“That’s ancient history by now,”
Bree said. “If Robert told you there was nothing going on, I guess you should
believe him.” She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “Although men can be
dogs sometimes,” she added. “Even someone as wholesome and honest as your husband,
Abby.”

With that final pronouncement, she
gave us a little wave and promised to find us later during the fountain show.
I’d heard it was a spectacular display of lights, sound effects and animated
statues, so I decided to join Emma.

As we strolled down the corridor, I
asked if she’d noticed the odd comment from Bree.

“You mean the one about your
husband possibly being a secret cheat?”

I nodded. “It was pretty obvious,
wasn’t it?”

Emma stopped and put one hand on
her hip. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded in a lighthearted way. “Bree is
obviously up to something. Since you mentioned it, I’ve been watching her and
listening to her tone. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but that girl is
definitely acting weird.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over
me. “Thank you for saying that,” I told Emma. “I was starting to think that I
was losing my mind.”

She shook her head. “Nope. You’re
not losing your mind. I totally could tell that Bree isn’t the same cheery
girl. Actually, like I already told you, I detected something different when I
ran into her last week.”

“When she was with Amanda?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, when they were
having lunch. And, to be honest, there were a couple of times lately when Bree
seemed to be short with me.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Emma answered,
turning to continue our walk. “Just when I asked her a couple of questions and
she snapped. Or when she sounded curt on the phone. That’s so not Bree.”

We walked without talking for a few
minutes, drifting slowly through the crowd. There were hordes of tourists,
chattering and taking selfies and comparing their recent purchases. At Sephora,
I stopped briefly and gazed through the window at the displays of cosmetics
before Emma grabbed my arm.

“Don’t even think about going in
there,” she said cautiously. “You wouldn’t want any of the other Splendora
consultants seeing you snooping around the competition!”

We giggled our way past the rest of
the shops, arriving in the Great Hall as artificial lightning sparked across
the ceiling and the loudspeakers boomed with thunderous sound effects.

“Okay, keep your eyes on the
statues,” Emma said, nearly shouting above the cacophony. “They’re going to—”
And the center statue began to speak in a deep voice as he spun around in a
swirl of fog. “—well, they’re going to start moving,” Emma finished. “I guess I
should shut up now.”

We stood together in the crush of
shoppers and tourists as the show continued in a chorus of theatrical music,
voices and effects. It reminded me of things I’d seen at Disney World in Orlando,
except those were U.S. Presidents and comical bears instead of Roman gods
proclaiming loudly with quasi-British accents.

“This is killing my neck,” Emma
whined, gazing at the flashes of light and color across the ceiling. “Do you
want to stay for the rest of it?”

“I’m okay either way,” I said.

She grabbed my hand. “Great! Let’s
go back to the shops and spend some money!”

Chapter 17

Bree groaned as she sank onto the
sofa back in our suite later that afternoon. She was surrounded by colorful
shopping bags from several of the stores at Caesars.

“Why did I
buy
so much?” she
griped. “My husband is going to kill me.”

Emma snorted. “Why would he do
that? Aren’t you entitled to spend your own money?”

Bree muttered a reply.

“Besides,” Emma continued, “maybe
he’ll like seeing you in some of those lacey things you bought at La Perla.”

“He’ll love seeing me in them,”
Bree said. “As long as I don’t tell him how much they cost!”

We shared a warm laugh together
before the room went quiet. I took a seat on the chaise by the windows and
gazed out at the hazy sky and the mountains in the distance.

“What did we decide?” I asked after
a few minutes of reflection. “Chippendales?”

“If we can get in,” Emma said.

“Well, Amanda said she heard it’s
sold out,” Bree said. “All those other Splendora women probably booked it
months in advance.”

“We can try our luck,” I suggested.
“Maybe call them now?”

Emma grabbed her phone. “Let me
check on it,” she said. “If we can get tickets, I’ll come right back. If not, I’m
going to take off these clothes and put on my robe while we relax for a bit.”

After she left us, Bree started
pawing through her purchases. She mumbled and grumbled to herself as she
investigated what was in each of the large bags.

“I don’t know why you don’t believe
Amanda,” she murmured.

I leaned forward to try and hear
better. “About what?”

She smirked. “Chippendales. The
show tonight is
totally
sold out. We should’ve thought of that ahead of
time. Amanda said a lot of the other girls booked their tickets weeks ago.”

I didn’t feel like arguing about
something as inconsequential as a Las Vegas revue, so I sat and watched her
sift through the shopping bags.

“I can’t believe I did this again,”
she said finally.

“What’s that?”

“Used my credit cards in so many
stores. On one hand, I know it’s a stupid move. But on the other hand, I’m so
far in the hole at this point that I probably don’t even care anymore.”

From the look on her face and the
heavy sigh, it was clear the subject of money was making her uncomfortable. I
wasn’t sure if I should say anything, so I simply smiled and waited.

“My husband’s been really
pressuring me lately,” she said after a minute of silence.

I looked over. “About shopping?”

She scowled. “About
everything
.”
The word took on a weighty meaning; it seemed that maybe shopping and using her
credit cards weren’t the only things she and her husband had been discussing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I
asked quietly. “I mean, not to pry or anything.”

She flashed a smile. “That’s sweet,
Abs.”

“I don’t know about you,” I
offered, “but I find it’s really helpful to talk about things that are making
me upset.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“But it’s up to you,” I added.

Her face suddenly went from light
to dark as her smile vanished. “Although I can’t see what you might possibly
know about it,” she said coldly. “With your
perfect
husband. And your
perfect
marriage. And your
perfect
life.”

I was so stunned by the sudden
reversal that my mouth fell open and my forehead crumpled with surprise.

“Are you okay, Bree?”

She snorted. “What do you care?”

“I do. What’s going on?”

With a gravelly growl, she pushed
up from the sofa, grabbed her shopping bags and stomped toward her room.

“Just ignore me, Abby,” she yelped
as she crossed the suite. “I’m having a
really
bad day. My husband left
a message earlier that’s got me…” Her outburst ended with a whimper before she
started to sniffle. “Just never mind,” she sputtered. “I’m not feeling like
myself this afternoon. I think a nap will help.”

“I thought we were all going to the
spa,” I said gently. “That might help even more.”

She stopped and turned around. “No,
that’s okay. I’ll catch up with you guys maybe later if I’m feeling better.
Have fun with Emma!”

Chapter 18

A statuesque woman with beautiful
cocoa skin was standing behind the reception desk in the spa when Emma and I
walked through the door.

“Good afternoon, ladies!” she said
warmly. “How are you?”

Emma slumped onto the counter.
“I’ll be better after my massage,” she moaned.

The receptionist nodded; probably
the millionth time she’d heard the same grievance and offered the same friendly
grin. After we provided our names and room numbers, she confirmed our
appointments.

“Please have a seat,” she told us,
sweeping a delicate hand toward a cluster of comfy chairs in one corner of the
reception area. “I’ll be right back in just a moment.”

Emma staggered toward the chairs,
flopping into the first available seat. “This is such a decadent treat,” she
murmured. “But we’ve worked hard all year. Who deserves this more than us?”

I perched on the edge of the chair
beside her and agreed with the remark. “I keep promising myself that I’ll do
something like this every so often at home,” I said. “And then life
happens—Robert has an unexpected business dinner, one of my clients calls with
a makeup emergency or my mom shows up unannounced for one of her
mother-daughter pep talks.”

Emma perked up. “A mother-daughter
pep talk?” she asked. “About what?”

I shook my head. “It’s just
something she does whenever she’s feeling that warm, fuzzy sensation about
being a mother.”

“Isn’t that just menopause?” Emma
suggested mischievously.

I couldn’t resist a little laugh.
“Oh, that’s definitely part of it,” I answered. “But my mom’s been dispensing
her very own pearls of wisdom since the day I was born.”

“I suppose being the oldest child
comes with a high price,” Emma said.

“And an even higher privilege. My
mom and I are actually really good friends. And I can’t say the same for most
of the other women I know.”

Emma raised her hand. “Such as
moi
?”

“Are you and your mother still at
odds?”

She lowered her arm and sat up in
her chair as the receptionist returned. “At odds?” She smiled and chuckled
softly. “It’s more like at the end of our ropes.”

I frowned and asked what was going
on. Emma offered to tell me another time. “Right now,” she said. “I want to
change into one of those cozy robes, get up on the massage table and bid
farewell to all of my aches and pains.”

A few minutes later, after the
receptionist escorted us to our side-by-side changing rooms, I sat on an
upholstered bench and slipped off my shoes. Following the chaos of the past
twenty-four hours and the frenetic pace of the conference, I was ready to
indulge in my spa treatment.

Unfortunately, someone else had a
different plan for me.

When I stood up and turned to face
the full-length mirror mounted on the changing room wall, I felt the familiar
pang of fear and surprise as I gazed upon another ominous threat written in
lavender lipstick:

Withdraw, Abby—

Or you risk it all!

“Emma!” I screamed, pounding on the
wall. “Get in here right away!”

I hurtled across the room and opened
the door. Emma barreled through the opening a second later wearing her spa robe
and a startled look of terror on her face.

“What is it?” she demanded
breathlessly. “It sounded like you were being murdered or something!”

When I pointed at the mirror, she
clenched her jaw and announced that we were calling Trevor Cole again.

“Enough is enough!” she said. “I’ll
be right back.”

While I waited in the changing
room, my phone buzzed with a text from my husband:
How’s it going?

I swiped the screen and tapped a
quick response:
Everything’s fine! Miss you much!

Then I glanced at the mirror again
and shuddered as I read the words written in Lyrically Luscious Lavender. I
stared at the message until Emma returned with the spa receptionist.

“I heard you scream,” the woman said
cautiously. “I called security and was coming to your room when your friend met
me in the hallway.”

“Trevor Cole’s on the way,” Emma
said, nodding at me with concern.

The receptionist noticed the threat
scrawled on the mirror. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, moving closer for a better
look. “That mirror was perfectly clean when I checked your room a few minutes
before you arrived.”

My heart skittered in my chest as I
struggled to catch my breath. Emma crossed the room and put a hand on my
shoulder.

“Just sit down, Abby,” she advised.
“You look really pale, sweetie. I don’t want you to faint and hit your head or
anything.”

I slumped down onto the upholstered
bench.

Emma turned to the receptionist. “Do
you know if Amanda Woodworth is in the spa this afternoon?”

The woman frowned slightly before
glancing down at the iPad in her hands. “Uh, there was someone named Amanda earlier…”
She concentrated on the list of appointments. “Yes, here it is,” she continued.
“Amanda Woodworth left just a couple of minutes before you both arrived. She’d
stopped by for a quick tour of the spa facilities.”

“A tour?” Emma said.

The attendant smiled and nodded.
“Some guests like to get a peek at what we have to offer,” she explained. “It
happens all the time, especially if they’ve never been to a spa before.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Well, Amanda
spends half her life in one, so that wouldn’t be the case.” I giggled at the
remark. “But you do show that she was here earlier, right?”

The receptionist nodded. “She was
definitely here. I remember her because she got kind of snippy when I offered
to walk her through the spa. She insisted on doing it alone. And she was also
wearing my favorite perfume, Lemon Jasmine Sunshine.”

I quickly turned to Emma. “Did you
hear that?” I said. “I smelled the same fragrance in the changing room when I walked
in just now.”

Emma frowned. “Well, that’s another
curious thing,” she said. “I can’t wait to share that little detail with Trevor
Cole when he gets here.”