Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona Read online

  MS AMERICA

  AND THE

  WHOOPSIE IN WINONA

  (Beauty Queen Mysteries, No. 4)

  Diana Dempsey

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2013 by Diana Dempsey

  Cover design by Rhonda Freshwater

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  ISBN: 978-0-9815223-8-8

  First electronic edition November 2013

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  LETTER TO READERS

  BEAUTY QUEEN MYSTERIES

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM DIANA DEMPSEY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  RECIPE FOR FRUITCAKE

  RECIPE FOR WHITE CHRISTMAS DREAM DROPS

  Excerpt from MS AMERICA AND THE BROUHAHA ON BROADWAY

  Dear Reader,

  Back in the deep dark past when I was first imagining a mystery series featuring a beauty-queen sleuth, I thought Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona would be the second in the series, following Ms America and the Offing on Oahu. (I never thought twice about setting the first book on Oahu. I loved that idea from the beginning.) Then I began to think that perhaps I should set all the books in glitzy, larger-than-life settings, and hence Ms America and the Villainy in Vegas and Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami were born.

  By then I had visited Winona, Minnesota. I had had a great time. I made my trip one lovely October when the fall colors were, as Happy Pennington would say, “splendiferous.” I learned about the Great River Shakespeare Festival, held there every summer, and discovered that the American Queen, the largest riverboat in the world, docks there every fall. Plus, the people I met were so friendly and helpful, and the town itself was so charming, that the notion of setting a beauty-queen mystery in Winona lingered in my mind.

  I also loved the title Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona. It’s silly. It’s funny. It surprises you. Yes. I like to think that all that and more is true of the beauty-queen mysteries themselves.

  So now, a few years later, I have the satisfaction of presenting to you Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona. It’s especially delightful to me because it’s set in the holiday season, which I love, and in addition I believe it has more heart than any of the mysteries so far. And unlike the other books in the series, many of the settings in this outing are real: from Windom Park to the Basilica of St. Stanislaus Kostka to Bub’s Brewing Company to the Blue Heron Coffeehouse to Bloedow’s Bakery. (If there’s a Giant W, I don’t know about it.) Not featured in the book but notable all the same is the gracious Colonial Revival Windom Park Bed and Breakfast, where I enjoyed a lovely stay thanks to innkeepers Karen and Craig Groth.

  I’ve also included a special treat (or two) in this book: holiday recipes! Both the fruitcake and the White Christmas Dream Drop cookies play a role in the story. Enjoy.

  Please know that I love to hear from you. Drop me an email at www.dianadempsey.com and be sure to sign up for my mailing list while you’re there to hear first about my new releases. Also join me on Facebook and follow me on Twitter.

  Always, all best to you! Keep reading.

  Diana Dempsey

  Beauty Queen Mysteries

  Ms America and the Offing on Oahu (No. 1)

  Ms America and the Villainy in Vegas (No. 2)

  Ms America and the Mayhem in Miami (No. 3)

  Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona (No. 4)

  Ms America and the Brouhaha on Broadway (No. 5)

  Also available from Diana Dempsey

  Falling Star

  To Catch the Moon

  Too Close to the Sun

  Chasing Venus

  Ring of Truth (anthology featuring “A Diva Wears the Ring”)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When I had the pleasure of visiting Winona, I was fortunate enough to interview a few key people who helped tremendously with my research. Many thanks especially to Pat Mutter, director of the Winona Convention and Visitors Bureau, and to Walt Bennick, society archivist and author of Winona: Images of America. I’m also grateful to Mike Potvin, who gave me a behind-the-scenes tour of Bloedow’s Bakery (yum!), and to Karen and Craig Groth at the lovely Windom Park Bed and Breakfast.

  My stay in Minneapolis was great fun thanks to former Harvard roommate and longtime WCCO reporter and anchor Esme Murphy, and friend and fantastic Regency romance author Candice Hern. I can’t wait for her next book!

  I love my Ms America covers and that is because the incomparable Rhonda Freshwater of Freshwater Design creates them. Bill Fuller was his usual helpful self, providing guidance on the manuscript, and my husband Jed deserves props as always. No one (but me) sees the book in a rougher state. The beauty-queen mysteries would not be what they are without his wisdom and insight.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sadly, many people labor under the misapprehension that a beauty queen’s life is nothing but glamour from dawn till dusk. Yet here I stand, Ms. America Happy Pennington, dressed as a sexy Santa in a red velveteen monstrosity, preparing to preside over the opening ceremony for the new Giant W big box store in Winona, Minnesota.

  If that doesn’t disabuse you of the all-glamour all-the-time fantasy, I don’t know what will.

  The teenage girl manning the public-address system cranks it once again into life. “Sale on bloat-free suppository laxatives, aisle seven!”

  My beauty queen BFF Shanelle Walker sets her hands on her hips. Like our partner in crime Trixie Barnett—the reigning Ms. Congeniality—she’s done up as a hot-to-trot elf in an emerald-green minidress complete with capelet and lace-up high-heel boots. I will say the color looks fantastic against Shanelle’s cocoa-colored skin. Their hats—green versions of my red Santa cap—perch awkwardly atop both Shanelle’s black waves and Trixie’s chin-length copper-colored bob.

  “I swear,” Shanelle says, “if that infernal teenager makes one more announcement, I am going to boot-kick her all the way to the North Pole.”

  “She is a little over enthusiastic,” Trixie agrees. “But this is a big night.”

  From our vantage point behind a display of inflatable fruitcakes—yes, y
ou read that right—I assess the gathering throng. “Half the town may show up to this thing.”

  I am exaggerating. I’m told Winona boasts about 27-thousand residents. But I bet a few hundred are already massed on the other side of the cash registers, escaping the frigid temps and ogling the discounted merchandise. They won’t be able to get at it until 7 p.m. at least, when the speechifying is concluded and the opening ribbon cut.

  Trixie squints her eyes at the crowd. “I don’t see your dad, Happy.”

  “You see the couple who are both wearing two-foot-tall Christmas tree hats?”

  “There he is!” Trixie cries. “Wow, does he look happy.”

  I am forced to admit that even though he’s sporting the tackiest headgear this side of Minneapolis, yes, Pop does look happy. And it is largely due to Maggie Lindvig—Winona native, Cleveland transplant, and lady love. I watch multicolored lights blink atop Maggie’s longish brunette hair. She may be in her early sixties but she still favors a sex kitten look, with tight clothes and a shimmy in her walk. “Those hats were Maggie’s idea. Pop keeps telling me how many fun things she thinks of for them to do.”

  “She sounds pretty different from your mom,” Shanelle observes.

  “That must drive your mom batty,” Trixie says. “I wish she were here, too.”

  “Apparently December’s a busy month in the used-car business. She claims she can’t get away.” Ever since my mother took a job as receptionist for Bennie Hana, notorious in the greater Cleveland area for executing a karate chop in his TV commercials about chopping prices, she’s become surprisingly slippery. I’m convinced only some of her elusiveness is due to her new 9-to-5 gig. The rest I attribute to her burgeoning social life, which also revolves around one Bennie Hana.

  Again the P.A. system blares. “Santa toilet-seat cover and matching bath rug in aisle three!” the teenager chirps. “Trim the family throne with Old Saint Nick!”

  I lay a restraining hand on Shanelle’s arm as I turn to Trixie. “I wonder what you’ll think of Maggie’s sister Ingrid.”

  “She’s one of the people giving a speech, right?”

  “I’ll be amazed if that woman lets anybody else get hold of the microphone,” Shanelle says. Like me, Shanelle arrived yesterday, so she has the lay of the land where Ingrid Svendsen is concerned.

  “It sounds like Ingrid had a lot to do with convincing Giant W to put an outpost here in Winona,” I say.

  “At least to hear her tell it,” Shanelle adds.

  “She’s a big muckety-muck in town,” I go on. “Organizes a lot of social events, serves on all the committees—”

  “—takes credit for everything,” Shanelle adds.

  “I get the picture.” Trixie nods sagely then brightens. “Well, we should be thanking her because if Ingrid didn’t get this brand new Giant W for Winona, we wouldn’t be seeing each other again so soon!”

  “Truth is, we have Maggie to thank for that, too,” I say. “She’s the one who suggested to Ingrid that we be part of the opening.” Ingrid made sure this is an official Ms. America appearance, organizing it with Atlanta headquarters, but it was Maggie who got the ball rolling. And I know why: she’s trying to get on my good side and thinks booking pageant gigs is a way to do it. It’s clear all she wants for Christmas is an engagement ring from Pop and she knows that’s more likely if I’m on her team.

  Problem is I’m not ready to play ball yet, and I may never be.

  “I can’t wait to look around Winona more,” Trixie says. “This town is so cute! Especially with all the Christmas decorations up.”

  “I’m thinking we can get some of our shopping done here,” I say.

  “Nothing like a small-town Christmas,” Shanelle says. “I put some bubbly in the fridge so we can kick off our celebrations as soon as we get back to Damsgard.”

  Trixie’s hazel eyes widen. “We’re staying at a house that’s got its own name? That’s like Tara in Gone With the Wind!”

  I bet Ingrid wouldn’t mind being likened to Scarlett O’Hara. “Damsgard isn’t that big but it is pretty impressive. It’s named after some mansion in Norway.”

  “Lots of folks in these parts are Norwegian,” Shanelle says. “Like Ingrid and Maggie. And Ingrid’s second husband, who left her the house.”

  “It’s awfully nice of her to put us all up,” Trixie says.

  “And,” I add, “there are so many bedrooms we don’t even have to share.” Though the second those words leave my lips, I feel a teeny tiny bit glum.

  The last time I was a guest in somebody’s house was last month in Miami, when we all stayed at Mario Suave’s Spanish-style manse. It may not have as many bedrooms as Damsgard but it’s pretty splendiferous. I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, that some large fraction of the appeal of Mario’s home’s derives from its owner—pageant emcee and host of America’s Scariest Ghost Stories—whose hotness, smartness, and all-around scrumptiousness continue to haunt my dreams. And, I will admit, sometimes my awake moments, too.

  That would be A-OK if I weren’t married to Jason Kilborn, my high-school sweetheart and the father of my 17-year-old daughter Rachel. The self-same husband who just the other day threw me for a loop so big, I’m still spinning in circles.

  The public-address system succeeds in distracting me. “Not done putting up your holiday décor?” the teenager inquires. “Then check out our Shotgun Shell Christmas Wreath in aisle nine! Less than thirty bucks when you mail in the ten-dollar rebate!”

  “My wreath at home has red twigs and rhinestones,” Trixie whispers. “Rhett thinks that’s tacky.”

  I’m about to make an uncharitable observation about the Giant W’s merchandise when Ingrid bustles up to our trio. She’s one of those women who look wispy and ultra feminine but in fact are totally take-charge. She’s got platinum blond hair styled in a sleek bob and a svelte build she’s showcasing in a red satin dress with jewel detailing. Unlike her sister, she has enough sense not to sport pine-needle headgear.

  She homes in on Trixie and extends her hand. “You must be the third beauty queen. I’m Ingrid Svendsen.”

  “So nice to meet you!” Trixie says. “I’m—”

  Ingrid swings her head toward me, brandishing the opening-ceremony schedule. “You’re clear on your marching orders? Why aren’t you in the sleigh yet?”

  “We were just about to—”

  “Remember to be quiet while the mayor is speaking. I don’t want you drawing attention to yourselves during his speech.”

  Behind Ingrid, Shanelle shoots me a look. I know what she’s thinking. Ingrid doesn’t want us drawing attention to ourselves during her speech. Not to be immodest but I don’t think you should invite beauty queens to an event if you don’t want heads to turn. Just saying.

  Ingrid resumes her instructions. “And keep quiet when the lights go off for the Christmas tree lighting. Don’t ruin the drama of the moment.”

  “You won’t hear a peep out of us,” Trixie assures her.

  I steel myself before I speak again. “I think only two of us should ride in the sleigh.” I watch Ingrid’s brow lower. “Shanelle and I did a trial run earlier and I’m not sure it can handle—”

  “Nonsense! Three is what we planned.” Ingrid spins away.

  Our trio has a moment of silence. Then, “She’s not the nicest person I’ve met so far in Minnesota,” Trixie observes.

  Shanelle harrumphs. “Just you wait till you get to know her better. You ask me, it’s no accident she’s got two husbands in the grave. If I were married to her I’d probably want to punch out, too.”

  “I hope for your dad’s sake Maggie’s nicer than her sister,” Trixie says to me.

  “She is.” That doesn’t mean I want her as a member of the family.

  Shanelle pokes my arm. “Girl, you really worried about that sleigh? I want to survive this holiday season.”

  “I never even heard about a sleigh until now,” Trixie says.

  “They put it in special fo
r the opening ceremony. I’m only a tiny bit worried about it. It’s on an elevated track,” I explain to Trixie, though by now she can see that for herself. I lead us toward the sleigh, lying in wait at the rear of the store. Here and at the front, just behind the dais, are the two locales where the track is at floor level. It’s like an in-store rollercoaster. “It just seemed so herky-jerky when we were in it this morning that I got scared it might not take all our weight.”

  Trixie eyes the sleigh with suspicion. “Tell me again when I sing my song?” Since Trixie’s the only one of us with any voice to speak of, she has the dubious honor of belting out the Giant W holiday song, set to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”

  “Your music is supposed to start when the sleigh does,” I tell her. “When we stop at the dais, jump out and sing. Shanelle and I will be right behind you.” I climb into the sleigh. “Come on, let’s get into this thing so it doesn’t take off without us.” Ingrid would really read us the riot act then. I’m halfway in when I hear the P.A. system’s latest 411 and freeze in place.

  “Smoked chunky kielbasa only four dollars and ninety-nine cents a pound!” the teenager announces. “Aisle thirteen!”

  “That’s a good price!” I cry. “Especially for smoked chunky.”

  “You can get it when the festivities are over.” Shanelle gives my backside an encouraging push.

  We settle ourselves in the sleigh with Trixie in position to jump out first. The Giant W’s overhead fluorescents blink to signal that the festivities are about to begin. Trixie takes a few deep breaths. “I’m always nervous before a performance.”

  Shanelle pats Trixie’s leg as I assure her she’ll do great. Though that’s easy for me to say. I don’t even have a speaking part. All I have to do is cut a ribbon.