Miss Dixieland Ch 03 04

Delta Bayou and the Miss Dixieland Pageant (Delta Bayou Adult Mysteries no. 1)

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Chapter 3: Maison Pierre

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The next day at work, Delta's computer chimed, letting her know that the transfer of the files from Phil Detmar's computer was complete. She opened the folder eagerly, glancing at the file names that came up on her screen. His hard drive did not appear to be very organized. He had only one folder in his documents file. It was labeled "Personal." She opened it impatiently and saw a list of chat logs. She opened the first on the list. It was an exchange between Phil and his secretary, Sarah. She scrolled through. It was nothing but a cutesy conversation, littered with winking emojis and flirtatious jokes followed by work requests. The rest of the chat files followed suit, mostly taking the form of Sarah saying something vaguely flirty and then asking Phil for a work favor. Phil always said yes, followed by a winky face.

Boring

.

She opened another file and found Phil's divorce paperwork, completed a year and a half ago. It looked like his wife had received a large settlement. And the kids. That was no surprise. She knew all about his divorce from the background check she had performed when preparing for the case.

She opened a third file. It contained an image- a picture of Phil and Sarah grinning for the camera at a work event. There was another photo from a work Christmas party, Sarah in a green dress, sitting at a sparkling table, her face glowing in the multi-colored light from the Christmas tree.

Jesus, Phil

, Delta thought,

just ask her out already

. He was clearly in love with her.

The rest of his files contained nothing much of interest. There were some emails to the pageant sponsors, though nothing that stood out as suspicious. She skimmed through the email chains, tracing the history of the pageant through the information she found. It had been around for the past 40 years, started by Phil's father, passed down to Phil's older brother several years ago, and then taken over by Phil two years past, following said brother's heart attack and subsequent early retirement.

After hours of reading and with no leads from Phil's computer to follow, Delta thumbed through the contents of the file containing the Miss Dixieland pageant information, pausing on the glossy sheet with the itinerary for the contestants. The meet and greet dinner, the rehearsal schedule, the photo shoot, the publicity car-wash, and the donors' party. It was going to be a busy few weeks. The meet and greet dinner was tonight, in fact. She had signed up to the pageant just in time.

She felt a breeze behind her shoulder and smelled the slight hint of sandalwood that heralded Detective Stanford's arrival. She could feel the heat of his body as he leaned behind her, peering over her shoulder, and a felt her own blood stir in response, rising to her skin in an uncomfortable heat. She didn't like that just his presence could affect her physically.

"Publicity car wash," he read aloud from over her shoulder. "Like those things cheerleading teams do to raise money?"

She slapped the file shut so he couldn't see any more of the information. "Yes."

He made a low whistle. "Well count me in."

"You can't come, Stanford. I don't want you there blowing my cover." She glared up with him, found herself confronted with the lines of his stupidly handsome face, and glanced back down, drumming her nails against the desk.

"I won't blow your cover for Christ's sake. I'll just come by, get my car washed, and take a good look at you and the other girls. Whole force will show up at one point or another, I reckon."

"What?"

"It would be weird not to, right? Bunch of beautiful girls washing cars and not a single police officer shows up to check out the scenery? And if I happen to find a clue to solve your case while I'm there, well..." He lowered his head, and she felt his hot breath on her skin, his voice low in her ear, "then I guess you'll owe me something."

She turned her face to him and smiled. They were eye level, lips only inches apart. "Not a chance in hell. And how is that arson case coming, by the way?" She let her eyes drop to his mouth, noted the glint of stubble on his jaw, the way his slightly fuller lower lip curved into the hard edge of a smirk under the sharp arch of his cupid's bow.

He pulled his head away, but his hazel eyes were still trained on hers, heavy-lidded and smoldering. "I'll have it wrapped up within the week, and then I'll have time to help you."

"There's only one thing I need your help with, Stanford." She stood up and stretched, facing him head-on.

"What's that?"

"With blowing me, of course. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get ready for something." She didn't look behind her as she left the room, but she could feel his eyes trained on her back as she walked away.

***

Three hours later Delta and was handing her car keys away to the valet at Maison Pierre, the best and only French restaurant in the tri-county area. It was in a renovated turn of the century building in the heart of downtown Milkinville, the most stylish restaurant within an hour's drive. A sandwich board sat out front of the entrance.

Bienvenue Miss Dixieland USA contestants

it read in a chic chalked script.

Elegant classical music and golden light from a crystal chandelier greeted her as she entered the restaurant. "Bonsoir," she said, smiling at the host, a college-aged boy in a vest and tie.

"Huh?" he responded.

"I'm here for the Miss Dixieland Meet and Greet."

"Oh right." He pointed past a partition. "They're in that section." She followed the direction of his arm, through an aisle of tables draped in white, set with flickering candles, bronze tableware, and crimson napkins. A few diners lifted their eyes as she walked past. Delta knew she was attracting some admiration in her form-fitting red dress and heels.

A small chalkboard on a red ribbon hung from a sliding door and marked it as the reserved section. She pulled the door open and scanned the room. Several men in suits were scattered about the tall tables, sipping champagne. Three times as many women were talking and laughing in glittering clusters, earrings and bracelets glinting in the soft light.

Delta sucked in her breath in appreciation at several of the other beautiful women. She was not immune to their charms but urged herself to focus as she skimmed the room. These people were her suspects and she was here to do a job.

"Miss Bayou! What a pleasure to see you tonight."

"Good evening, Phil," she said. She hadn't noticed him approach but gave him a warm smile. "You look quite dashing tonight." She meant it. He was dressed in a smart dark gray suit, freshly shaven, with his blonde hair pushed back from his face.

He gave her a lopsided grin and took her by the arm. "You're looking quite lovely as well."

"Doesn't everyone?" she said gesturing to the room.

He spared a glance at the room, but then his blue eyes were back on her. "Yes, but they don't all have your ...hmmm...what is it they say?" he stumbled over the words.

"Je ne sais quoi?" she offered.

"Yes! That!" He beamed down at her again and she caught the look in his unguarded eyes.

Oh great

, she thought, recognizing the look,

a lovestruck puppy

. And here she had been so sure that he had feelings for his secretary. She sighed inwardly but patted his arm. "So who's who around here? I am coming in a bit late, remember."

"Oh right!" He straightened his shoulders and guided her over to a group of people chatting by the buffet. The low conversation dropped off as soon as they approached, Delta noted. "Miss Bayou, may I introduce you to your judges!" Phil dipped his head into a little bow and gestured outwards. "Miss Cassandra Fox, former Miss Dixieland, and later second runner-up for the Miss Georgia crown!"

"How do you do?" the slender blonde woman extended her hand, and Delta took it, noting her weak handshake and perfectly manicured pink nails. Delta figured Cassandra to be only a few years older than herself. She was quite beautiful, if her face did seem a bit pinched and overly made up.

"Mr. Mike Dunn, owner of Mike's Sporting Emporium."

The stout and somewhat red-faced man shook her hand enthusiastically. "Four stores in as many counties!" he beamed.

"And Mr... or sorry is it Señor? Nick Carrillo." Phil stumbled over the foreign words.

A pair of smoky brown eyes set in a distinctively handsome face met hers. "Mister works just fine." He said in an exaggerated Southern drawl before bending neatly at the waist and kissing Delta's hand. "Although, Nick would be much better." He glanced at Delta's face and grinned. "But a lady this beautiful may call me as she pleases."

Delta noticed the narrowing of Phil's eyes at this statement and withdrew her hand, still warm from Nick's touch. "And what do you do Mr. Carillo?" she said.

"For you? Anything!" He wriggled his eyebrows flirtatiously and Delta laughed.

"He owns the bar in Norridgeton," Phil cut in, his voice was flat and his eyes had shrunken into dangerous slits.

"Bar and music venue! A bit of culture in this wasteland."

"Oh are you a musician yourself?" Delta asked mind at work. It would be only too easy to distribute drugs in a nightlife setting.

"I am," Nick said. "Perhaps you could stop by and I could play something for you sometime." Phil cleared his throat impatiently and Nick looked at the others, as if remembering for the first time that he and Delta were not alone in the room. "Any of you are welcome at any time to come by. Drinks on the house, of course." He turned and winked at Cassandra, and Delta noticed Phil's posture relaxing beside her. He was truly a stupid man, she thought. An adorable, but stupid man.

"Maybe I'll come by sometime," she said.

"I hope you do," said Nick.

Phil cleared his throat and changed the subject, looking to Cassandra. "How is the modeling going?"

"Oh you're a model?" asked Delta.

Cassandra smiled coyly and pressed a pink nail against her cheek. "Instagram right now. But it helps promote my lifestyle blog. I'm all about country chic style and organic farm to table living. Oh!" Cassandra looked away and waved at someone across the room. "Malcolm's here!" she said as a tall and broad-shouldered man with dark auburn hair approached. He pulled Cassandra into a quick hug and they air kissed each other's cheeks.

"Malcolm!" Mike chortled in his husky voice. "Nice to see you, old man." He gave Malcolm a slap on the back. "How's business at the station?"

Delta took a hard look at the newcomer, who was leaning over to talk to Mike. Something about him looked terribly familiar. "Sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?" she interrupted.

Malcolm's eyes flashed to her. "I don't think we've met," he said politely and extended his hand. "Malcolm Fox." His voice was a rich baritone and only served to trigger Delta's niggling sense of recognition further.

"My brother," supplied Cassandra helpfully. Delta could now see the resemblance in their long and high cheekboned faces, though their coloring was different.

"Oh! You're on tv! That's where I've seen you before!" she realized.

He gave her his best broadcasting smile. "Channel 7 News."

"Malcolm is also a judge in the pageant," Phil explained, politely. He then tugged at her arm as the others fell into conversation. "Shall I introduce you to some of the other contestants?"

Delta gently freed her arm from his and patted him on the shoulder. "Oh no. Stay here and enjoy yourself. I wouldn't want the other girls to think I was getting special treatment from the CEO."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Oh right. I didn't even think of that! Will I see you later?" his voice dropped low against the background of the others' chattering.

She ignored his question as she peered into the crowd. Her eyes lighted upon a freckled face surrounded in a halo of softly lit blonde hair. "Is that your secretary I see? She looks lonely."

He followed her gaze and she did not miss the light that hit his eyes when he saw her. "Yes, that is Sarah! Excuse me for a moment."

As Phil made his way over to Sarah, Delta took a walk around the room, grabbing a few hors-d'oeuvres while introducing herself to some of the other contestants. Any one of them could be involved in the drug ring, but she rather suspected its organizers more than the contestants, who were all college students or young professionals. She watched them all carefully from the corner of her eyes.

No one stood out as a likely suspect. Phil was in charge of the whole thing, which meant he

must

be involved. But he seemed so stupid and guileless that Delta was hesitant to believe it. Cassandra and Malcolm both had media reputations to protect, and Nick and Mike their businesses. There was nothing for her to work with yet. She sighed and put down her empty champagne glass a little too heavily on the table, causing the whole thing to wobble with the sound of chiming glass.

"Careful there!" A fine-boned hand reached out to stop a crystal glass from tipping over. Delta followed the hand up the slender tanned arm and sculpted shoulder to see a lovely young woman looking at her from underneath a mop of tightly curled, and obviously dyed blonde hair. Her eyes were deep brown, almost black underneath very dark lashes, and her lips were cherry red. The white of her dress set off all of these assets, as well as her light brown skin perfectly. "Are you another contestant?" she asked in a pretty, lilting voice. Delta was immediately drawn in.

Delta nodded and shook out her hand "Delta Bayou."

"Sasha Wilkins. Bayou, huh? That's an unusual last name."

Delta shrugged. "My mother was from Louisiana." It was true. "It's a common name there."

Less true

.

"Speak French?"

"A little. But it appears that the staff here doesn't." She related the story of the host not understanding her when she arrived, and Sasha laughed companionably. "You know, I'm not surprised. I know him, actually. The host. His name is Paul. He goes to my school."

"Oh? Where do you go?"

"Bafford Pines Regional College. Do you know it?"

"Of course." God only knew how many frat parties and underage drinking cases her colleagues on the force had been forced to break up there. "What do you study?"

"Chemistry. Almost graduated with my masters. Then I'll be going for my doctorate, I think. What about you? What do you study?"

"Oh I'm not in school," Delta said. "I'm a yoga instructor."

Sasha leaned in close, letting her arm brush against Delta's and Delta felt the tiny hairs on her arm raise in response. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime? I'm very... flexible."

Delta brushed her fingers against Sasha's hand. She didn't move it away, but looked straight into Delta's eyes, letting her know that her instincts had been correct. Even though the light was dim, and her pupils hard to make out in the low lighting, they look dilated. "I'd love to." Their small flirtation was interrupted by Cassandra, gravitated towards them, or more accurately, Delta thought, towards the champagne on the table.

he picked up the thin glass and noticed Sasha. "Hello, darling," she said, leaning in for an air kiss. "How are you? You look beautiful this evening. That color really suits you." Delta took the opportunity to look Sasha up and down again. She quite agreed and admired Sasha's elegant curves for a few moments as the two other women caught up. There was something about Sasha that she found completely alluring, though she was more frequently attracted to men.

She listened to Sasha and Cassandra chatter for a moment. When there was a lull in the conversation, she interrupted. "So how do you two know each other?" The other women exchanged a glance and a smile.

"Pilates class," said Sasha, with a little curve of her lip. Delta doubted that, but kept her suspicions to herself.

Delta rounded on Cassandra. "So, do you have any tips that you could share with Sasha and me? About the pageant or what the judges will be looking for?"

Cassandra grinned and clasped her hands together. "Well, you're going to hear all about it officially at the orientation, but I can tell you that the number one most important thing in Miss Dixieland is class, style, and sex appeal."

"That's three things," Delta said under her breath.

"Sorry, what was that?" Cassandra leaned in closer. She smelled like champagne and bubble gum.

"I said, how do we show off our class, style, and sex appeal?"

"Well everyone here has class or they wouldn't have made it into the competition. We will hone it of course with a bit of training. How to smile, how to wave, how to walk down the runway. Style is, of course, very personal. No one can tell you how to develop that. What works for one girl might not work for another after all! So I would say that the only thing that you really need to focus on is the sex appeal. You might have noticed that two of our judges are men. They will be looking for certain things in a woman. A certain energy that appeals to them. Something primal and physical."

"And how is that something that I could work on?

Cassandra leaned in close, her blue eyes darting around the room. "There are certain... supplements that can help with that."

Delta's heart thumped in her chest. "Like what?"

Cassandra only smiled. "I've said too much already, but just... pay attention. There are ways." She excused herself and walked away

Delta rounded on Sasha. "Do you know what she's talking about?"

Sasha shrugged. "Red cherry. Have you heard of it?"

"What does it do?"

"Speeds you up, makes you high, makes you horny as hell. Half of the girls here are probably on it."

"Are you?"

"Not tonight. Why? Want to try some?"

"Errrr..." Delta was suddenly caught unawares. "If Cassandra thinks it is a good idea."

"I'll see if I can get you some."

"You know where to get some? I can buy it myself..."

"I'll ask around. Shouldn't be hard to find. Most of these girls have been doing the pageant stuff for a while now, though. They all know each other. They don't know you. They're not going to trust you."

"But you trust me?"

Sasha leaned in, very close. Delta was suddenly conscious of the other woman's breasts, half exposed in the deep slit of her dress, the heat of her body radiating from her skin. "I don't trust you," she said, but it's the next best thing. "I think you're hot," She put one hand under Delta's chin, edging her face closer. Sasha's lips part and her mouth brushed against Delta's in a light and teasing kiss. Delta closed her eyes in pleasure and felt Sasha's hand on her shoulder. "Now why don't you go meet some more of the girls? I'll find you later. There is an after party at Nick's club in a few hours. You'll be there, right?"

Delta nodded, watching Sasha's lips curl into a smile.

"Then I'll see you there."

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Chapter 4: The After Party

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The deep bass of the music thumped through Delta's body as Sasha pushed something small into her hand. "Got it!" she yelled over the music. A flashing light swept over her face, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief.

Delta nodded, turning the small package over in her hand. She felt Sasha's firm grasp on her wrist, pulling her off of the dance floor and towards the bathrooms. There was no one inside the ladies' room. Sasha's voice seemed suddenly loud in the tiled room, though the muffled beat of the music still thumped behind the door. "They're normally $5 each, but I got you covered this time."

She watched as Delta turned the small foil package over in her hands. "Thanks."

"Like this," Sasha said. She ripped open her own foil wrapper and placed a small red pill on her tongue. She smiled like a Cheshire cat as she watched Delta open her own packet. "Here," she said, stepping closer, "let me." She plucked the pill from Delta's fingers and balanced it on her own slim fingertip. "Open up." Her finger pushed into Delta's lips.