Lipstick and Lies (Murder In Style Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  “I’m trying to bolster my mood. I accessorize with color.”

  “I see that,” my mother said. “It’s hard to miss. Why are you accessorizing with pink?”

  Allie inhaled a breath. “You haven’t heard yet?”

  “Heard what?” My mother, Beatrice “Bea” McGovern brushed a clump of dust out of her hair. “This is the first time I’ve come out of storage all day. I was hunting through some old inventory. You’re the first person I’ve talked to besides Sid.”

  “I’m sorry,” Allie said, patting my mother’s shoulder. “We all know Sid isn’t exactly a talk-a-holic.”

  My mother shrugged off Allie’s touch. “It’s actually a nice feature sometimes.”

  Allie Martin was a twenty-something woman from Blueberry Lake who’d never quite bloomed in her fashion sense. She was sweet enough, and as loyal a friend as they came, but her pants were a disaster. They were a green and red striped flannel that looked better suited as a Christmas tree skirt. She’d paired it with a sleeveless black turtleneck and a matching bow on her ponytail. Bows and scrunchies were totally coming back in style, just not the way Allie wore them.

  Allie tossed her mahogany-colored ponytail and turned to my mother, announcing with huge importance. “There’s been a murder.”

  “Another one?” My mother asked. “Cripes, it’s like Jenna brought back the danger of Hollywood with her.”

  “Gee, thanks, mom.”

  “At least you’re not in the center of it this time,” my mother said, her hands twitching for something to do. She folded a stray shirt that had landed on the counter. When I didn’t answer for quite some time, she looked up. “Are you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?” My mother’s eyes narrowed at me. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

  “I suppose you’ll find out either way,” I said with a sigh. “Small towns and all.”

  “What happened?” my mother pressed. “Who died?”

  “Shania Boot,” I said. “Do you know her? Apparently, she dated my neighbor, Matt.”

  “This is why I told you to date the chief,” Bea said, speaking to me but looking at Allie with a disappointed shake of her head. “I said it first, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” Allie agreed. “And even if the bet has been cancelled, I still think you’ve got a great chance of winning.”

  “How can you possibly turn this into a conversation about my love life?”

  “Matt’s ex-girlfriend ended up dead. Maybe you should stay away from Matt,” my mother said. “For safety.”

  “You can’t think he’s a murderer too!”

  “Maybe he’s dangerous. And that’s why his girlfriend got killed.”

  “You watch too many movies,” I said.

  “Because my daughter was a big shot gal in Hollywood,” Bea said. “I try to stay current.”

  “Also, you said too,” Allie said, squinting as she glanced at me. “That means someone else thinks Matt killed Shania. Who?”

  “Nobody. I misspoke.”

  “Why would anyone think Matt was involved in murder?” my mother asked. “I am rooting for the chief in this whole battle-of-the-dates business, but Matt is a nice young man. I would never take that away from him.”

  “Oh, good,” I said. “That’s nice of you.”

  “It’s because Shania’s body was found inside Matt’s house,” Allie whispered in a voice much too loud to actually be a whisper. “All blood and guts and gore.”

  “It wasn’t inside the house,” I corrected. “It was on the patio.”

  “How would you know that?” my mother frowned. “Maybe I don’t want to know after all.”

  “I heard that she was there,” Allie said, as if I wasn’t standing right next to her. “Jenna saw the body.”

  “Is that true?” My mother whirled to face me. “Were you there when it happened?”

  “No, but I was going over to Matt’s to return a coffee mug, and I sort of stumbled across the crime scene. But he didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”

  “Then it sounds like another case for me and my sidekick,” Allie said, turning to face me. “You’re my sidekick, in case that’s not obvious. We’ve got to clear Matt’s name.”

  “At least someone believes him,” I said. “Finally.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Allie said. “I mean, he probably didn’t do it. But I’m just mostly excited to put my private investigator shoes back on.”

  I winced. “Which shoes are those?”

  Allie grinned. “Just you wait and see.”

  My mother seemed exasperated by everything. “Enough of this talk. Jenna, leave the case alone. Cooper will solve it—he always does. In the meantime, the store is going to be crazy today. We have a huge rush of last-minute styling appointments for the Bachelorette Ball tomorrow.”

  “Can I style people?” Allie asked.

  “No,” my mother and I said in unison.

  “Well, alright then,” Allie said. “I guess I’m going to have a leg up tomorrow. Those men aren’t gonna know what hit ’em when I step onstage.”

  My mother and I exchanged a knowing glance. They might be hit by a concrete mixer. Allie wasn’t subtle in any way, shape, or form.

  “Please help,” my mother said to me as the front door to the store swung open. “Your first appointment has arrived.”

  THE MORNING FLEW BY, mostly because many of these women weren’t used to getting all dolled up in ritzy dresses. After I’d gotten not three, but four women unstuck from various strappy gowns, and another three clothed in properly fitting attire, I was just about ready for a break. I was finishing up with my last client—a woman over the age of sixty hoping to play the ‘cougar card’ at the Bachelorette Ball tomorrow—when Allie came back to the changing rooms.

  “Are you ready for a break?” she asked. “Let’s pop over to June’s. I hear there are people talking about Shania. I want to eavesdrop.”

  I desperately wanted to eavesdrop as well, but I thumbed toward the closed dressing room door. “I have a client.”

  “C’mon, Linda!” Allie pounded on the door. “You look hot enough as it is. Just wear whatever you’ve got on.”

  Linda came out wearing a lingerie set. “This?”

  Linda’s sixty-plus years were on dramatic display amid a flurry of puffs and lace and strings in a pastel shade of pink.

  “That is supposed to go underneath the dress,” I said. “It’s not really a one-or-the-other type thing.”

  “But the dress sort of ruins the effect of the lingerie,” Linda said. “I’m going for the shock and awe.”

  “You’re definitely shocking,” Allie said. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t you know that it’s best to leave a little something to the imagination?”

  Linda Hinkle snapped the waistband of her lingerie against her skin. “Don’t sweetie me, Allie Martin. I was an adult when you were born. I know what I’m up against. I’m up against those smooth-skinned, baby-faced ladies like yourself. I’ve got to offer a little something extra in order to get a good bid.”

  “You do offer other things,” Allie pointed out. “Wisdom. Maturity. I bet some of those firefighters would love to take an older woman out on a date.”

  Linda scoffed, but a slight gleam in her eye gave her true feelings away. “You think?”

  “I know it,” Allie said. “Now, you look great in that lingerie, but save it for after dinner. Or, you know, in private. You don’t want to have something slip out of place and get arrested for indecent exposure.”

  “That’s true,” Linda agreed. “There will be lots of cops there ogling me.”

  “Put the dress on,” Allie said. “Let’s get you on your way so you can get that hair of yours styled. I know you have an appointment this afternoon because Sherry was all booked up. I’ve got to go over to Butternut Bay to get my hair done tomorrow morning.”

  Linda disappeared into the changing room. Allie shot me a look of pride.
r />   “That’s how you do it,” she mouthed.

  When Linda came out dressed in a blue ball gown, even Allie stopped what she was doing to stare.

  “Wow,” Allie said. “You look great.”

  Linda spun around. “I know.”

  My mother sidled to the back of the store. “Linda, my goodness. The men won’t know what hit them.”

  “That’s the goal,” Linda said. “Bea, you’ve got one talented daughter here. Thank you, Jenna. This is perfect. I’ll take it. And the lingerie, and the shoes, and the earrings too.”

  My mother raised her eyebrows at me. “You picked all that out?”

  “She’s sure good at her job,” Linda said. “All that time spent around movie stars wasn’t for nothing, I guess. Now, I’m going to change back because, like Allie said, I have a hair appointment.”

  I basked in the sensation of a job well done. The start to the year had been rough for me between a very public dumping from my ex-boyfriend, a rising star in Hollywood who’d left me for a newer, younger model, and my move back to the Midwest.

  I was a bit of a fish out of water here in Blueberry Lake. I was one of very few people who cared more about the newest line of stilettos from Stella Jones and the latest lipstick shade from Jessica Holmes than fishing season. Or sports, or farming, or local festivals, or bingo.

  I’d moved back to the Midwest to start fresh. As an added bonus, I was able to put my (unemployed) self to work and help my mother realize her dreams of owning a (profitable) thrift shop. She was a genius at finding old treasures and fixing them up for the general public, but her business sense was somewhat lacking. Her technology skills were abysmal. With a few tweaks, I had faith my mother would be able to support her and Sid until retirement.

  Still, it put a cramp in my own career. I’d been climbing the ranks of the styling world out in Hollywood, but there wasn’t exactly a booming cinema business in Blueberry Lake. For the last few weeks, I’d struggled to find my niche when it came to gainful employment.

  While I loved helping my mother, my true passion lay in the thrill of helping women feel good about themselves. It was the reason I’d gotten into my fashion career in the first place. (Well, mostly. The free beauty samples had also been a part of it. So had the fact that it was the only subject in school that came easy to me.)

  Helping Linda find the perfect dress—and accompanying garments underneath—brought me right back to the reason I’d loved my job in Los Angeles. Not because my name sometimes appeared in the movie credits (though that was always a thrill), but because the look on a woman’s face when she felt great thanks to my choices of clothing, accessories, and the like, gave me a sense of fulfillment.

  I practically floated down to June’s as Allie led the way on our break. I wouldn’t be able to support my mother at the thrift store forever since the pay wasn’t enough to cover my Visa bill, but for the present, it was nice to feel appreciated and to be doing what I wanted to do. If only I could figure out a more permanent career solution...

  Allie pushed the door open to the Blueberry Cafe, and the tinkling sound of the bell jangled me back to reality. My sense of elation rapidly deflated when I caught sight of June behind the counter.

  June’s cafe was a Blueberry Lake staple. Known for her blueberry muffins and homemade cooking, she made a mean cup of black coffee and supported local town gossip by fueling the older generation of women with caffeine and sugar.

  Her cafe was busier, yet more subdued, this afternoon. The sun-drenched shop looked as inviting and cozy as usual with its yellow seat cushions, splashes of white wicker furniture tucked between booths and pressed against the windows. Each table was adorned with beautiful fresh flowers and chipped tea cups with pretty, mismatched floral teapots. It had charm oozing out of its ears.

  Normally, June was as much a part of her cafe as the very tile on the floor, but something was off today. She seemed distant and distracted as she helped the customer before us, getting the order wrong three times before finally punching in the correct numbers on the register.

  When it was our turn to order, Allie stepped up to the counter and waited patiently. “Afternoon, June.”

  “Hello, Allie,” June said politely and then waited, as if expecting Allie to bark out an order.

  Allie hadn’t ordered officially in years, she claimed. She’d been getting pretty much the same thing every day since I’d known her. June barely bothered to ask, save to confirm that Allie wanted the scone of the day, a coffee, and a jasmine tea to go. The long, extended silence was a sure sign that something was wrong.

  “June,” I said, stepping around Allie. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure, is it?” she chirped, her voice an octave thinner and higher than before. “You tell me.”

  “Is this about Matt?” I lowered my voice slightly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Don’t I?” June reached squeaky range. “My sweet grandson showed up at my door this morning asking if he could stay with me because his house was a murder scene, and somehow, people are thinking he could’ve done it.”

  A few of the closer tables swiveled around, all eyes on June. The volume in the cafe decreased until it was possible to hear a tube of mascara drop from a mile away.

  “Come with me,” I said, reaching to rest my fingers lightly on June’s outstretched arm. “I’d like to talk to you.”

  “About what? What’s there to say?”

  “I was there this morning,” I said. “I’ve been with Matt most of the time.”

  “So he said.”

  “He didn’t do it,” I said. “I want to help him.”

  “You do?” June’s voice began to return to a normal range. “You want to help my baby?”

  Matt Bridges was hardly a baby. An image of him dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, coming back from a run looking very chiseled and fine popped into my head. Just because I hadn’t seen him come back from a run today, didn’t mean I hadn’t peeked out on occasion. It wasn’t ogling; it was keeping track of my neighbors. And as evidenced by the morning, maybe I should have been keeping better track.

  I nodded, then tipped my chin toward the usual booth Allie and I took. “Come sit down for a second.”

  Allie clapped her hands, glanced around. “Nothing to see here, people. Go back to eating, or June’s going to charge you all double.”

  The ladies from knitting club—my neighbor Angela, Mrs. Beasley, and the rest all jerked their heads back to their teacups. Frankie, the local cabbie, turned toward a grilled sandwich that smelled amazing. Several obviously out of towners chatted obliviously in the far corner.

  June murmured something under her breath to Betsy Tisdale, the newest high school student working as part-time help at June’s. Betsy nodded, tied an apron around her waist, and began bustling around with a new sense of conviction. In addition to being the best cafe in town, and the only one, June took pride in keeping the youths of Blueberry Lake employed and out of trouble (her words, not mine).

  I thought I wouldn’t have minded working at June’s during high school. It was probably loads better than slaving over a retail job. Between the never-ending holiday hours and the lack of appreciation for my services (I’d gotten a written warning for camping out by the dressing rooms and offering my advice to ladies trying on clothes!), it had been a dismally depressing job.

  June and Allie took seats on one side of the booth, and I slid into the other side. A minute later, Betsy appeared balancing a full carafe of coffee and three sweet little teacups with a variety of chips and cracks and hand-painted floral patterns.

  Once we each had a cup of coffee in front of us, Betsy took a quick order (scone for Allie, pancakes for me, pound cake for June), we lapsed into silence. I poured a tiny spoonful of sugar and a splash of cream into my coffee, stirring while June stared into the recesses of her black cup of coffee.

  “This morning—” I finally began.

  “Matthew didn’t do it,”
June interrupted. “He just didn’t. He couldn’t have. He’s not a killer.”

  “I know,” I said. “That’s one of the reasons we’re here today. We wanted to talk to you.”

  “And eavesdrop,” Allie said. “We figured there would be lots of talk, what with them here.” She paused, nodded unsubtly over toward knitting club. “We need the scoop.”

  “The scoop on Matt?” June said defensively. “I think not. I’ve been kicking people out all morning. Nobody knows Matt like I do, I’m sorry. I’m his grandmother. His flesh and blood, his family. And I know it like I know I need air to breathe that he’s innocent.”

  “I agree with you,” I said again. “I was there this morning, June. I want to help.”

  “You do?” She raised her eyes and glanced in my direction, as if seeing me for the first time all morning. “You want to help my Matt?”

  I nodded. “He’s my neighbor, and more importantly, my friend. He’s stood by me since I moved to town through thick and thin. Through a murder investigation, through my daily theft of his food and coffee, and through all my emotional breakdowns. It was hard moving back, and Matt was one of my first friends.”

  “Besides me,” Allie said. “I was also her friend immediately.”

  “That’s true,” I acknowledged.

  “And we’re the type to do anything for our friends,” Allie said. “I’m here to help Jenna with the case.”

  “The case,” June echoed. “You really think Matt wasn’t involved?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what happened, but if we want to clear his name, I think it will be essential to find out what really did happen.”

  “That’s what the police are supposed to do,” June said hesitantly. “Why aren’t you letting them do their jobs?”

  “I trust Cooper,” I said slowly, “but I’ve also been in Matt’s shoes. It feels awful to sit around, your fate in someone else’s hands. If we can tease the killer out, find out who had a reason to want Shania dead, who had the will and the way to get her that way, we could help speed the process along. Matt can get back to work and life and everything sooner. It’s the least I can do.”