Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami (Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

we climb the stairs to our room on the third floor. So far not taking the elevator is our one homage to exercise.
    Twenty minutes later we’re in Trixie’s minivan. She drove the seven hundred miles from Charlotte because flights were too expensive on such short notice. “Tonight’s my treat because you’re letting me stay in your room,” she says. “I hope you like the place I picked out. It got really good reviews online.”
    It turns out to be a casual, smallish Latin restaurant with colorful murals and a cheerful vibe.
    “It’s perfect,” I tell Trixie even before the server asks if we’d like a mojito to start. I inquire if there’s anything else she’d recommend and she suggests something called a Pisco Sour. It turns out to be a frothy libation concocted from the Peruvian brandy Pisco, lime juice, and egg white.
    “Yum,” Trixie says, echoing my verdict.
    We dig into an appetizer of Marlin tacos and I share what I gleaned from surfing the web while Rachel dressed for dinner. She’s wearing skinny teal-colored jeans, a polka dot tank, and ballet flats. “The enemy Detective Dez was talking about is a trumpet player who used to work for Peppi’s father but then sued him ten years ago claiming that Don Gustavo didn’t give him enough credit for composing their music.”
    “So he was a disgruntled employee,” Rachel says. “Did he win or lose?”
    “Lose.”
    “He was probably even more disgruntled after that,” Trixie points out.
    “Probably. But for years now he’s played for another band. And I see no sign he had anything more to do with Don Gustavo.”
    I’m wondering if Detective Dez might be falling prey to a danger all investigators face: clinging to a preconceived notion of whodunit whether they have evidence to back up their theory or not. Then another thought occurs to me.
    “That trumpet player never would’ve killed Peppi with the top of her string bikini. That’s a crime of passion if ever I saw one.”
    Trixie licks Pisco Sour foam from her lips. “You mean he would have planned it out and come armed with his own weapon, like a gun or a knife or something.”
    “Exactly. I think Peppi and her killer were arguing about something and it got out of hand and the killer grabbed the first thing available.”
    This line of thought is interrupted by the arrival of our meal. We’re sharing a trio of entrées: Pionono , a casserole made of ground beef and plaintains; sea bass with a jalapeno cilantro marinade; and a fire-roasted-vegetable chile relleno. As I am highly susceptible to doing outside my native Ohio, I ignore the fat and calorie warnings screaming at me from the platters and take portions from all three.
    Suddenly Trixie shrieks. “Happy, you never told me what your mom is up to!”
    “You’re right! We got so distracted by what happened to Peppi.” Actually I’m still distracted but I can’t let it take me over. “For the first time in her life my mom has a job outside the home. Paid and everything.”
    “The one she applied for while we were in Vegas?”
    “For Bennie Hana. Cleveland’s premier used car salesman.”
    Rachel takes up the tale. “He’s famous because he does TV commercials wearing a karate outfit. He stands next to a piece of wood and does a karate chop and screams that he chops prices. I told Grandma what to say in the interview and then she got the job. All on her own she made him pay her more money.”
    The whole thing astounds me, I will admit. My mom has been reporting for duty for only a few weeks but it’s long enough for Bennie Hana to get an idea what he’s in for. My mom would be beside herself if she knew that Jason and I laid odds on how long her employment will last. I gave her two months but Jason gave her only half that.
    Speaking of my husband, I get a text from him just as I’m stuffing chile relleno down my gullet. Rachel told me what went down at the pageant, it reads. Don’t even think it, Happy. I’m serious.
    Here we