Prosecco Pink (12 page)

"Look, Franki!" Veronica slammed the car door. "Lickalicious Lips is next door to Fleurty Girl, that darling boutique I was telling you about."

I snorted. It figured that she would focus on fashion while I fixated on food. "Maybe we can check it out later," I said as I headed for the cosmetics company. "
After
lunch."

Veronica stopped to admire a tutu on a mannequin outside the shop entryway while I tried the handle of the worn white door to Lickalicious Lips.

"It's locked." I glanced at the windows for signs of life. "I hope they haven't shut down."

"Try the doorbell," Veronica said, arriving at my side.

I pressed the buzzer and took a step back. As I waited, I scrutinized the exterior of the building. I had expected to see brightly painted brick with a cute lip-themed sign. Instead, it was an unmarked stuccoed structure with faded beige paint and the white-trimmed windows and green shutters typical of the French Quarter. I was about to ring the bell again, when the door opened to reveal a tall male in his mid-thirties wearing a wrinkled, white lab coat and khaki pants.

He blinked as though unaccustomed to sunlight. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." I handed him my card. "I'm Franki Amato, and this is Veronica Maggio. We're investigating the death of Ivanna Jones."

He blinked again, this time from surprise. After reading my card front to back, he narrowed his small steel-blue eyes. "Who hired you?"

Veronica stepped forward. "We're representing Oleander Place."

"We'd like to come in and ask you a few questions, if you have a moment," I added.

"I don't know." His brow furrowed. "I've already talked to the police."

"I understand," I said in a gentle tone. "But our client is dissatisfied with the progress of the police's investigation, so we're retracing their steps to make sure all evidence has been uncovered. For Ivanna."

He hesitated and then gestured for us to come inside. "I'm Dr. Adam Geyer. Call me Adam."

"What do you do for Lickalicious Lips?" I asked as Veronica and I entered.

"I'm their cosmetic chemist or, at least, I was. I have no idea what's going to happen with the company now." He exhaled and ran a hand through his short blond hair. "Please, have a seat."

Following Veronica's lead, I sat in one of two black leather armchairs facing the wooden table that served as a desk. The place looked more like an IKEA showroom than a cosmetics firm. "Is this your office?"

"No," he replied, taking a seat behind the desk. "I work in the next room, in the lab. This was where Ruth Walker sat. She was our administrative assistant, but she resigned on Monday."
I wondered whether Ruth had merely jumped from the proverbial sinking ship or whether there was something more to her resignation. "Would it be possible to speak to her?"

Adam paused and then scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Here's her cell, but I can't guarantee she'll talk to you. She wants nothing to do with this company now."

"Thanks." I took the number and shoved it in my bag.

"Had Ruth been working here long?" Veronica asked, opening her laptop on her knees.

"About three years."

Veronica began typing notes. "What about the other employees?"

"There aren't any. I make the prototypes in house, and then we send them to an outside firm for production and distribution."

That explains the lack of testers here in the lobby
, I thought—not without a pang of regret. "How long have you been with Lickalicious Lips?"

"Ivanna recruited me to help her open the company ten years ago. She was working on her Masters in Cosmetic Science at Farleigh Dickinson while I was finishing up my PhD there. She was a student in a class I was teaching, and one day she came to my office hours and said she was going to start Lickalicious when she graduated. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but then a year later she called and offered me a salary I couldn't refuse."

Veronica stopped typing. "She must have had some impressive financial backing."

"She did. From her father, Liam Jones. He's a doctor, and she was his only child. So he could afford to back her."

"Rumor has it that he's been hard to locate," I said. "Have you spoken to him since her death?"

Adam leaned back and crossed his leg over his knee. "No, but I've been trying to reach him. He's works for Doctors Without Borders, so he's often out of contact. Last I heard he was in Syria."
"What about her mother?" I asked.

"She died when Ivanna was a teenager."

"I see." I paused for a moment. "I'm sure the police told you the details of Ivanna's death."

He clenched his jaw and nodded.

I looked him straight in the eyes. "Do you know of anyone who might have done this to her?"

"She didn't have any enemies that I know of." He rubbed his days-old beard. "She was a nice person, and she kept to herself."

"Forgive me for prying," I began, "but was everything okay between the two of you?"

His eyes flashed with anger. "Of course it was," he snapped. "We argued about business from time to time, but that's hardly unusual."

Intrigued by his defensive reaction, I pressed on. "Where were you last Friday night?"

Adam gripped the arms of his chair. "Wait a second," he said rising to his feet. "Do you think I killed Ivanna?"

"We don't think anything," Veronica soothed. "We're just being thorough."

His face relaxed. "Sorry about that," he said, sitting down. "As you can imagine, I've been under a lot of stress."

"Of course," I said. But I was now convinced there had been tension between him and Ivanna. The question was, had it been enough to lead to murder?

"I was here at the lab until midnight on Friday," he explained, "working on the formula for a green lip gloss called Midori Melon."

I licked my lips and told myself that this was not the time to ask for a trial run. "Which shade was Ivanna found holding?"

"That was a pink lip gloss we'd been working on." He began bouncing his right leg. "I can't imagine why she had it with her."

I glanced at his bobbing knee and wondered what had brought on the apparent case of nerves. "What was that shade called?"

"No idea. I just know that it was going to be part of our drink line. But we were having trouble producing the right shade."

Veronica scratched her temple. "How could you mix a specific shade without knowing the drink you wanted to model it after?"

He leaned forward in his chair. "Ivanna was an artist. And like most creative types, she didn't always do things in a way that made sense. Sometimes she would come to me with a color in mind, and then she would wait until I had created just the right shade to announce the flavor."

As he spoke, I tried to think of a brand of liquor that was pink. All I could come up with was a cheap wine I'd found (and may or may not have sampled) in my parents' liquor cabinet when I was thirteen called Boone's Farm Tickle Pink, and I seriously hoped that Ivanna hadn't planned on making a lip gloss version of that. "Could we take a quick look around the lab?"

His eyes widened. "Sure. But there's not much of interest in there."
"That's fine," Veronica said. "We just want to see how the business works."

Adam rose to his feet and opened a door to the right of the desk. "After you."

I entered the lab followed by Veronica. Like the lobby, it was something of a letdown. I thought there would be test tubes, beakers, and maybe even a Bunsen Burner, but instead it was just a kitchen, and a very small one at that. On the left side of the room, there was a sink with cabinets and a small counter on one side and a stove on the other. Next to the stove was a small table with two chairs. And there was still no sign of any testers. "Where do you keep your supplies?"

"In here," he said, opening the wooden cabinet above the counter.

I scanned the contents. Although I was certainly no scientist, I recognized the ingredients from my years of experience as a grocery store makeup buyer (for myself, that is): lanolin, beeswax, hydrogenated soy glycerides, and assorted bottles of coloring and natural flavors. "There's not much here."

"It doesn't take much to make lip gloss," he said, closing the cabinet door. "You can do it with as little as Vaseline and some powdered or cream blush."

"Or eye shadow or lipstick," Veronica added with a nod.

"Neat," I said, feigning interest. I couldn't be bothered to make myself a sandwich, much less a tube of freaking lip gloss. "What do you keep in the cabinet below?"

He opened the door. "Just kitchen utensils."

"What does that door lead to?" Veronica asked, pointing to the back wall.

Adam walked to the door and opened it. "Ivanna's office and the bathroom. You can look around, if you like."

I followed Veronica into the room, which was decorated with an adorable pink couch and a glass desk with a red leather chair.
Now this is more like it
, I thought.

"The police took Ivanna's computer and her filing cabinets," he said. "So the furniture is all that's left."

"That's too bad," I said, although I'd anticipated as much. I began walking around her office, surveying the scene.

"They also cleaned out her place upstairs."

Veronica turned to Adam. "She lived upstairs?"

He nodded. "She owned this whole building."

"That explains why her business address was listed as her personal address on the police report," Veronica said.

I walked over to the shelving behind Ivanna's desk. There was nothing but a few books and some knickknacks. "Did the police have a key, or did they have the fire department 'spread the door?'"

"Pardon?"

"Sorry." I smiled. "That's police jargon for removing a door without damaging the frame."

"Oh," he slipped his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "They used her key. Apparently, she'd left it in her car."

"You don't have access to a spare, do you?" I asked.

"I don't know of anyone who does."

I looked around Ivanna's office once more. "One last question, did Ivanna ever talk to you about a pink diamond?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Never. Why?"

"Just curious," I said. "Would it be all right if we contacted you with any follow-up questions?"

"Sure," he replied.

I wasn't positive, but I thought I'd seen a look of disappointment in his eyes.

Adam pulled his billfold from his back pocket and extracted a business card. "Call my cell. I'm not sure how much longer Lickalicious will be open."

"Thanks." I took the card. "We'll be in touch."

Veronica and I walked outside into the spring sunshine.

"That was disappointing," I said.

"How so?" Veronica asked, making a hard left toward the boutique.

"Well," I began, close at her heels, "Adam didn't tell us much, and it looks like the police beat us to any evidence."

"Maybe. But you are making progress in the case."

"I suppose." I sighed. "The décor left a lot to be desired too."

She laughed. "You're just upset that they didn't have any free samples."

"Maybe," I said. "I
was
kind of looking forward to a reunion with Bailey's Irish Cream Brown. It's been a long time."

Veronica stopped in front of Fleurty Girl. "Mind if I pop in for a sec?"

I looked at my phone. It was only ten o'clock, which meant that I could kiss my gumbo goodbye. "Nah, we're ahead of schedule. I'm going to stay out here and call Ruth."

"K," she said as she dashed through the doors.

I dialed Ruth's number and started pacing up and down the sidewalk. After several rings, I heard someone pick up.

"Hello?" a matronly voice replied.

"Ruth Walker?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"I'm Franki Amato. I've been hired to investigate the Ivanna Jones murder."

"Well thank goodness you called," she said in an its-about-time tone.

I stopped in my tracks. "I just got your number from Dr. Adam Geyer. Did he already tell you I'd be calling?"

"No, but I've been waiting for someone besides the police to get involved in this case."

"How come?"

"Because there were some suspicious goings on at Lickalicious Lips between Ivanna and Dr. Geyer right before she was found murdered, and the detective I spoke to doesn't seem too concerned about it."

I spotted a group of oncoming tourists and moved to stand beside the mannequin. "Can you tell me about it?"

"Not on the phone. But I will say that it has something to do with that coral-pink lip gloss Ivanna was found with at the plantation house."

My breath caught in my throat. "Did you say
coral
pink?"

"Mm-hm. It's a shade Ivanna wanted Dr. Geyer to make before she died."

"Yes."
And it was Evangeline Lacour's favorite color too
, I thought. "Any chance we could meet today?"

"Do you know Napoleon House on Chartres Street?"

"No, but I'll find it."

"Can you be there in an hour?"

"See you at eleven thirty." I closed the call.

A million questions were running through my mind, but there was one thing I was certain of. If Ruth knew the shade of pink that Ivanna wanted Adam to produce, then he must have known it too. What I didn't know was why he would lie about it. I mean, I was certain that the lip gloss had something to do with the case, but I hadn't really thought too much about the color. Now I had good reason to believe that Ivanna was trying to match the shade of pink near and dear to Evangeline Lacour's heart. But was it the oleander flowers or her dress that Ivanna was trying to match? And why would she want to match the shade of one of these items for her drink line instead of the liquor itself?

I leaned the back of my head against the facade of Fleurty Girl. The deeper I got into this case, the less I understood what was going on.

When Veronica and I entered Napoleon House an hour later, I was immediately struck by its old-world charm. The music of Beethoven filled the air, and the main room had a high, wood-beamed ceiling with a hanging light that looked like Thomas Edison had designed it for his newly invented light bulb. There were quaint arched doorways set in distressed plastered walls covered with oil paintings and drawings of various historical figures. Overall, the place had a real colonial vibe—apart from the odor of meatballs and marinara sauce coming from the kitchen.