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

staying here.”
    I carefully set on the ground the vase of purple dendrobium orchids we brought as a Thank You For Letting Us Stay Here gift. “We don’t have to go over that again, do we?” I pull my bright pink hard-sided swivel suitcase out of Trixie’s trunk. I’m so glad I popped for new luggage after I won Ms. America because I would be horribly embarrassed to be rolling my old battered bag into Mario’s swanky manse.
    “I know I have to be nice to her.” Rachel extracts her bag, a more subdued version of mine, then picks up the vase. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
    Trixie is whispering that maybe Mariela will be charming again like she was last night when we get our first clue that won’t be the case. The moody teenager in question emerges from the house wearing a sullen expression along with her strappy daytime dress in an adorable navy print. “My dad’s not here,” she informs us without preamble. “He had to do a shoot.”
    I’m disappointed; I can’t deny it.
    She points at the vase. “What’s that for?”
    “It’s a thank you to your dad for letting us stay here,” Rachel says.
    “Whatever. I’ll show you to your rooms.” She exhibits not one scintilla of enthusiasm. “Then my mom’s picking me up to go shopping.”
    Somehow I have the feeling Rachel won’t be invited on that expedition.
    Mariela guides us inside, revealing a sunshine-filled, air-conditioned interior that needs no spiffing or polishing to be a spread in a design magazine.
    Trixie slaps me on the arm. “It’s a neutral palette,” she whispers.
    Indeed it is. All the furnishings are creamy or white. And expensive-looking.
    “You can pick from the three bedrooms down this hall,” Mariela tells us. “Mine’s upstairs and so’s my dad’s.”
    Five bedrooms. Wow.
    The first one we see—with a light blue seashell motif—has twin beds. Trixie claps her hands. “Wouldn’t this be perfect for Shanelle and me?”
    “Take it, Trixie.” I help her carry her stuff inside. “Rachel, why don’t you go pick out our room?”
    Both girls disappear to points unknown but soon I realize that similar to yesterday’s lunch, even though I’m not seeing Mariela, I’m hearing her.
    “I told you guys my dad would make sure the pageant didn’t get cancelled,” she tells Rachel. “So your mom’s got another friend who’s gonna be the third judge? That means for sure two of the judges will vote for me to win.”
    “How do you figure?” Rachel asks, in what I must admit is a snarky tone.
    “Your mom will do whatever my dad wants,” Mariela declares blithely, “and so will her friend.”
    My mouth gapes at that audacious pronouncement. Across the room Trixie has the same reaction. Now I understand why Mariela doesn’t feel compelled to be nice to me: she’s certain my vote is in the bag.
    For a horrible moment I wonder if Mario did pick me to judge because he assumed I’d favor his daughter. But I just can’t believe that of him. I put my finger to my lips so Trixie will stay silent and we can continue our evil eavesdropping.
    “Besides,” Mariela goes on, “anybody would be better than Ms. Lopez.”
    “What have you got against Ms. Lopez?” Rachel demands.
    “She had a top five list!” Mariela hisses. “With my name crossed off!”
    Trixie and I exchange a glance. So it was Peppi’s list. As I pretty much knew when Lasalo texted me he didn’t have one.
    “You’re making that up,” Rachel says.
    “I am not! My mom saw it at the pool right before lunch. It was in Ms. Lopez’s notebook. In plain sight,” Mariela adds, although I’d wager there was snooping involved.
    “I don’t get how you can be so cold about somebody who just got murdered,” Rachel says.
    “You watch any cop show and you’ve seen that sort of thing a million times.”
    I raise my brows at Trixie. Wow.
    “But on cop shows it’s not real,” Rachel points out.
    “If I’m gonna be on a cop show someday,”