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“All right.” Nettie shrugs. “That was me.”
Travis nods. “Yup, Jane ponied up everything she was worth. And now she’s just about living on the streets because of it. I told her she was an idiot for going along with it to begin with.”
“Geez, a million dollars?” Bess looks as if she’s about to pass out, and judging by the fact her clothes are drenched in sweat, she just might. “What exactly does it cost to manufacture a couple of palettes of lipstick?”
“It’s pricier than you think,” Travis says. “Julia mentioned they wanted to use the same manufacturing plant that several other reality stars use to make their stuff. She said it would lend them street cred and they could slide it into their advertising—pretty much riding on the coattails of others.”
“A cheater brand.” Bess nods. “My ex-husband used to do the same thing with a popular, and might I add, reputable, dental group in our area. My ex was a dentist back in the day. Anyway, one afternoon we got a nasty note from an attorney telling us to knock off the look-alike practices. Cheater brand is the term our own lawyer used to explain to us why stealing someone else’s branding was wrong—or more to the point, explaining it to the nitwit I was married to.”
“Julia didn’t see it as wrong,” he says. “There’s a popular cosmetics brand out there called Lemonade Stand Lipstick, and I fully expected them to do the same to Julia and her friends. I told her it wasn’t right. Lemonade Lipstick was too close in branding. They would have eventually been called out on it. And should Jane and Nadine go forward with it, they’ll be dragged to court sooner than later.”
“Wow,” I muse. “I would think so.”
Phineas flies my way. “Ask why he did the deadly deed, and then for goodness’ sake, run as far and fast from this inferno before we both disintegrate right out of existence.”
The thick scent of sulfur only increases as we tread into a thicket of smoke, and it’s all I can do not to gag.
“Phineas?” I look right at Travis as I ask the question and he stops cold. “I’m so sorry,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest once I realize my mistake. “I meant Travis. I’ll admit, the heat is getting to me.”
“That’s understandable,” he says. “It’s just odd that you called me Phineas of all names. Julia called me that more than once. She said it was her favorite name and she wanted me to have it.”
I inch back a notch.
Really?
It sounds as if Julia was more than a little obsessed with her old math teacher—emphasis on old considering their age difference.
“Then that must be why I said it,” I tell him. “I bet I heard her call you that the minute you walked into the room that night at the Diamond Lounge.” I scoot his way. “Travis, I’ve heard rumors that Julia didn’t die of natural causes.”
He nods. “And I heard rumors she was poisoned with snake venom.”
“Where did you hear that?” I’m pretty sure Ransom is keeping that under the cuff.
“I overheard the captain talking to a few fellow officers.”
I wince because apparently, Ransom is right. Wes can’t be trusted with volatile information like that.
“Then it must be true.” Bess gives a frenetic nod my way as if insisting I go along with it.
“It must be,” I say. “Travis, who in your circle would have access to something like snake venom?”
“No one that I’m aware of.” He cranes his neck toward a large orange sign that reads Hazard! Do not enter. “I think I’ll go that way to explore. Any takers?”
Nettie glances down. “I’d join you, but I think my flip-flops just adhered to terra firma.”
“You mean terra not-so-firma,” Bess says. “This is why I wear shoes with cork soles.”
Sparky jerks to life. “That explains why you have a cork for a brain, too.”
Travis laughs and bids us well as he disappears into a wall of smoke so thick you could suffocate just looking at it.
“I’m out,” Phineas says. “Try not to die before we solve this case,” he tells me. “I’d hate to linger earth-side one moment longer than I have to. Now that Julia is in paradise, our lopsided age difference won’t matter so much. Lucky for her, I’ve yet to make a commitment.” He leers at me a moment. “Although, show me your birthday suit and I might be moved to change my mind.”
“Don’t make me throw my shoe at you,” I tell him and he evaporates, leaving behind the echoes of a maniacal laugh. “Speaking of shoes,” I say, trying to lift my own flip-flop off the hot rock I’m standing on and it takes more than a little effort. “I think my shoes are melting, too.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Bess says, hooking her arms through Nettie’s and mine. “Lord knows I can’t carry you both.”
Nettie and I do our best to walk back toward the tour group, and each step of the way the bottoms of our shoes stretch like melted marshmallows.
