Delta Bayou and the Miss Dixieland Pageant (Delta Bayou Adult Mystery #1)

Chapter Two: Phil Detmar, Maker of Dreams

After the 20 minute drive from Milkinville, the small city where the police headquarters was located, to Norridgeton, which sat on the county line, Delta lingered in her car. She had just pulled up in front of a lovely two-story brick building with white painted shutters right off of Norridgeton's main square. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled down the mirror to take stock of her appearance. She had worn her hair down today, letting it spill over her shoulders in soft waves. She had also put on a bit more makeup than usual, thinking that it would help her look more like the pageant type. Her reflection stared back at her, light blue eyes shadowed in a smoky palette, with a touch of blush on the apples of her cheeks. As an extra touch, she dabbed a bit more lipstick to her lips, tinting them a glossy pink. Satisfied, she smiled at her reflexion and shut the mirror, grabbing the envelope beside her which contained her Miss Dixieland application and undercover identity documents.

She entered the building confidently through the white paneled front door and stepped into a bright reception area where a young woman sat behind a desk.

"Excuse me," Delta said, "my name is Delta Bayou. I'm here to turn in my paperwork for the Miss Dixieland pageant."

"Oh I'm sorry Ms. Bayou," said the receptionist, a pretty girl with light blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose, "but the deadline for that was two weeks ago."

Damn, she thought, that must be why Stanford handed over the case so easily.

"There must be something that can be done, I've just moved, you see. I had to get a copy of my birth certificate sent all the way from Louisiana."

"Well," the receptionist said, looking her up and down through long eyelashes, "perhaps you can persuade Mr. Detmar. He's the CEO and the main organizer for the pageant." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and twirled a stray lock of light hair around her finger. "He's a real sweetie. And he can be very easy to persuade, if you what buttons to..." she stared meaningfully at Delta's ample bosom under her tight blouse, "undo."

Delta winked at her. "Thanks for the tip..." she glanced at the silver nameplate on the desk, "Sarah." She turned slightly and undid the top three buttons of her patterned blouse, allowing just a bit of the black lace of her bra to show.

"Of course," said Sarah with another little smile. "Mr. Detmar's office is upstairs, third door on the right. He's not in a meeting right now, so just go right in."

Delta's heels tapped a staccato beat on the marbled cream floor of the office. It seemed to have been a nice building once, a bank, perhaps. The lobby was open to the second floor, with iron braced skylights showering light below. How does a regional beauty pageant afford this kind of real estate? Up the stairs, she found Mr. Detmar's office easily in the wood-paneled corridor. Phil Detmar, the sign on the door read, Maker of Dreams, CEO Miss Dixieland USA. She knocked on the door while at the same time turning the brass knob and pushing in.

"What's this?" said Phil, jumping to his feet, and clicking something quickly on his computer. He had the look of a naughty schoolboy, caught at something he shouldn't be doing. What was the tab he had just closed? A clue to the case, or something more benign? Delta would find out.

She smiled at him, noticing his disarming good looks as she shut the door behind her and clicked the lock into place. He was middle-aged, but with an athletic build and sandy blonde hair that was just hinting at grey around the temples. He looked at her expectantly and fiddled with his dark purple tie. "Can I help you?" he asked in a deeper voice as he took in the sight of her. "Miss?"

"Delta Bayou." There was something charming about him as he pushed back his hair and nervously straightened his tie again. "So sorry for barging in on you. Your secretary said that I could let myself in."