Lipstick and Lies (Murder In Style Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  I liked Matt just how he was. Single and available. Totally unfair, but I never claimed to be rational with my emotions. Or much of anything, really. If I was a more rational person, my bank account would have enough money for a proper car seeing as I was nearly thirty years old.

  “True,” Amy said. “I was so relieved once she started doing normal things again. We finally went out to dinners, had girls’ nights where we didn’t spend the whole time with her talking—weeping—over Matt.”

  “Let me guess, a short while later, you mentioned she might want to start dating again.”

  “Bingo,” she said. “She blanched the second I mentioned it. I gave her another month, then brought up the subject again. No surprise, she blanched again. But the next time, she considered it. Finally, she was open to the idea.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you pushed her into anything,” I said. “When she wasn’t ready, you backed off.”

  “Sort of. But I kept pestering her. I’m actually the one who told her she should go talk to Chris.”

  “Isn’t he the guy from the autobody shop?”

  She nodded. “Her boyfriend. Well, former boyfriend, I guess. Chris was a peripheral friend, and I always thought he and Shania would get along well, but then she got involved with Matt, and I sort of let it go. It wasn’t like I hoped she’d marry him; I just wanted her to feel better. To have a distraction.”

  “Apparently it went well?” I asked. “At least for a while?”

  “It did in the beginning,” she said. “In fact, it flipped a switch for her.”

  “What sort of switch?”

  “A good switch,” Amy said. “I thought it was a good switch at the time, but now I’m not so sure. I think maybe it was a coping method for her. Maybe she still wasn’t over Matt.”

  “It can take a long time. What sort of things make you think she wasn’t over him?”

  “Well, she went from this super depressed, melancholy, really terrible funk to the exact opposite.” Amy looked down at her fingers, as if struggling for a way to properly explain. “She wanted to change everything. Shania leapt into a relationship with Chris. They started spending a ton of time together when she wasn’t working on her other stuff.”

  “Other stuff?”

  “That’s what I mean about the light switch flipping on. It was like Shania suddenly wanted a new career, a new look, a new apartment, a new everything. She got a major haircut that was totally unlike her. She started shopping for apartments, even mentioned moving in with Chris.”

  “Did that ever happen?”

  Amy shook her head. “It was too fast. And anyway, her business took over.”

  “What business?”

  “She wanted to open her own salon,” Amy said. “Like I was telling you, she wanted to change everything. Her old job wasn’t good enough anymore. She wanted to own her own business.”

  “Good for her,” I murmured. “Though you don’t seem particularly happy about it?”

  “I just keep thinking I pushed her to ‘get better’ too fast. Maybe I should have let her wallow for longer.”

  “What good would that have done?”

  “She got way more confrontational in this new state of hers,” Amy said, a hesitant look appearing in her eyes. “Even with me. We’d started having Wednesday night girl dates while she was struggling, and then she got into the habit of cancelling them for no reason at the last minute. She’d say she had to work, or had to meet Chris, or had to do this or that.”

  “Do you think she was lying?”

  “No, I think her priorities just got screwed up,” Amy said. “She didn’t want to sit around and relax anymore. If she wasn’t doing something directly related to ‘bettering her life’, she didn’t want to do it. She wanted to get married to Chris and have kids, a house, and her own business. She dropped everything else like a hot potato.”

  “Yikes.”

  “But it seemed to backfire, ironically, on her career and relationship.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Have you met Chris?”

  I shook my head.

  “He’s just an Average Joe, if you will,” Amy said. “He likes working with his hands, getting dirty in the engine of a car—or whatever he does. He doesn’t need a lot of money or fancy stuff. It was one of the reasons I thought he and Shania would get along. She used to be like that too—she just liked her job, making people feel good about their hair and themselves. Never cared about raising her prices or whatever. She just wanted to work and build her life.”

  “Chris didn’t like these changes in her,” I said, understanding. “Suddenly, she wanted more—a bigger career, more money, what have you.”

  “It had them arguing a lot,” Amy said. “And when they argued, it just made Shania try harder to build her business. She was determined to prove everyone wrong. I even wondered if Chris was about to break up with her.”

  “Did Chris tell you that?”

  She shook her head. “We weren’t that close. It’s just that the signs were there. Their relationship was deteriorating, and if Shania didn’t change something, or Chris didn’t accept the new version of her, I suppose—they wouldn’t have worked.”

  “You don’t think Chris might have...” I trailed off. “How mad was he at the changes in Shania?”

  “He was upset! He thought they’d eventually get married. He just didn’t want her to rush it. Chris thought it was too soon to move in together, and I told Shania I agreed. That made her mad.”

  “But was Chris—”

  “Could he have killed her?” Finally, Amy caught on, her eyes bugging out of her head. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, I never considered it.”

  “Does he have any history of a temper?”

  Amy waited a beat too long to respond. So, when she finally did respond, I didn’t fully believe her answer.

  “Like I said, he’s an Average Joe. He’s got a bit of a temper, but it’s usually over nothing. Sports or cars or whatever. I really think you’re looking at the wrong person.”

  “Did Chris ever talk about Matt?”

  Amy’s eyes shot open with surprise, and she gave me a curious look. “How did you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess.”

  “I mean, he didn’t talk about him all the time, but enough that I heard him mention the guy once or twice. Chris wasn’t exactly a huge fan of Matt’s. But then again, I’m not sure Matt was a huge fan of Chris’s. What can you expect, though? They both dated the same girl. By nature, their testosterone probably produces a sort of competitive vibe between them.”

  “What did Chris say about Matt?”

  “It’s not what he said. It’s more how he said it,” Amy said, looking uneasy for the first time during the conversation. “It was hard to say if he was jealous of Matt, or if he was just upset because of how he’d treated Amy.”

  “I can understand that,” I said with sympathy. “It had to be hard for Chris to see Shania so broken up over her ex. And worse if he suspected she still wasn’t over him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “It is strange that Shania was found at Matt’s house,” I said. “Can you think of any reason that Shania might have been in Blueberry Lake, let alone at Matt’s?”

  Amy shook her head. “I was shocked when I heard that’s where they found her. Was she... did they...”

  “She was killed there, according to the police report. That has me thinking either she was trying to get in touch with Matt and someone surprised her, or she was there with someone else.”

  “Has Matt said anything about meeting her or anyone else that day?”

  I shook my head. “He’s clueless about the whole thing. But I can’t help but think whoever killed Shania wanted to point the blame toward Matt. It’s working—the police are investigating him.”

  “I mean, they have to, don’t they?” Amy said. “I don’t know the guy all that well, but he has a history with Shania, and she died in his yard. It’s too big of a coinc
idence to ignore.”

  I acquiesced her point with a shrug. “Or it could be someone like Chris. Maybe he’d gotten upset with Shania, set up a meeting for her at Matt’s—lured her there, and then killed her.”

  “That sounds a bit far-fetched,” Amy said, her voice wobbly. “And, I think I’ve given you the wrong idea about Chris. He’s not a killer. He’s just not! Their relationship had some problems, but so do all relationships. If they were going to break up, they would have done just that. He didn’t need to kill her over it.”

  “Love isn’t rational,” I said. “Maybe Chris thought it was Matt’s fault that—”

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” Amy blurted. “If I had to put my money on someone, I’d bet it was one of those witches at the salon.”

  Both Allie and I started in surprise. We exchanged a look before I ventured a follow up question.

  “You mean Butternut Babes?” I asked, patting my hair. “I was just there this morning. They had nothing but friendly things to say about her.”

  “Right, now that she’s dead,” Amy said, echoing the earlier sentiment that had set off my alarm bells in the first place. “I know that sounds awful, but frankly, it’s true.”

  “Shania didn’t get along with her colleagues?”

  “She did for the first couple of years she worked there, back when she wasn’t particularly ambitious to climb any ladders or switch up anything that was working,” Amy said. “Back when she was a good little employee. Then they caught wind of the fact that she wanted to start her own salon and everything changed.”

  “Why would they care?”

  “It’s Butternut Bay,” Amy said. “It’s the same reason you guys don’t want us ladies from the Bay participating in your Bachelorette Ball.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “It’s true,” Allie said. “We live in small towns. There are a limited number of things like clients and men. We tend to get a bit possessive over our own.”

  Amy nodded her agreement. “Shania’s clients loved her. If she started her own salon, there would be no doubt her clients would follow her.”

  “So, the other women saw her as competition?”

  “She would have been competition, no if, ands, or buts about it. She had her eye on this cute little spot to open her own salon near the bay. It was a hole in the wall, but that’s all she needed. She wanted to start small, invite only her current customers. She could always build her business later, upgrade and change locations if she needed.”

  “Was she crucial to the Butternut Babes salon?”

  “Not crucial,” Amy said. “They existed just fine before she got a job there, but she definitely brought in business—and kept it. Her customers were loyal. Would it have been a hit if she left? Yes, definitely. They might have even considered downsizing salon space if enough of the business slowed down.”

  “Yikes. I guess Shania was really popular.”

  “She had a way with hair.”

  “Was there anyone in particular who wanted to see her go?”

  “Well, there’s one woman named Ellen,” Amy said. “I don’t know her that well. She did my hair once or twice when Shania was super booked, and she always did a great job. Apparently, though, she wasn’t happy with Shania’s decision to move.”

  “Because of the competition?”

  “Maybe,” Amy said. “But I think early on they’d discussed going into business together. That was some time ago, though. I think Shania figured they’d both moved on and were going their separate ways.”

  “Except Ellen didn’t feel the same way,” I said. “She felt gypped when Shania decided to set up shop on her own.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t fair of Ellen,” Amy said. “I think Shania had mentioned it to her once over the last year, but Ellen didn’t want to buy in. So, Shania did her own thing.”

  I tried to picture Ellen as a murderer. I had to admit, the image wasn’t that hard to conjure, seeing as she’d had scissors in her hand most of the time I’d known her. But Ellen was the one who’d told me about the phone call she’d overheard where Shania was upset. Had she been telling the truth? Or had she made it up to direct attention away from herself and onto Chris?

  “I’m not saying it was Ellen,” Amy said quickly, studying me while I thought. “I am just saying that things were a little complicated in Shania’s life. She wasn’t on the best of terms with everyone.”

  “Not being on the best of terms with someone is one thing,” I said. “Wanting them dead is another. This is important, Amy. Can you think of anyone—anyone at all who would have wanted your best friend dead?”

  Amy bit her lip. She looked at herself in the mirror, dabbed at her lipstick with a tissue from her purse. Then she shook her head, turned to face me. “I’m sorry, ladies. But I just don’t know.”

  Chapter 11

  By the time we left the bathroom, the first bachelorette was up on stage and Stacey Simone was giving a run-down of the rules and regulations. I tuned the long list of do’s and don’ts out as I considered the conversation I’d had with Amy in the bathroom.

  I glanced over at the poor girl who was seated at the corner-most table of the room—way to the front and off to the right. She could barely see the stage from her vantage point. A situation that had probably happened on purpose, seeing as she was still the black sheep of the Blueberry Lake bachelorettes what with her brand-new stamp of residency.

  Amy’s hands shook as she sipped her glass of champagne, and she looked pale. I felt a teensy bit bad for cornering her over her best friend’s death at an event that was supposed to be fun and light and lively, but the opportunity had been too good to pass up. Plus, Shania Boot deserved justice. I just hoped some of Amy’s information would prove helpful.

  Tomorrow, I planned to buy the cheapest car I could afford from Eddie (that wasn’t riddled with bullet holes), and then take it straight to Chris Tucker for a onceover. I wasn’t too keen to hear all that would be wrong with my shiny new vehicle, but I did want a chance to get a read on Chris.

  After that, I might need to pay another visit to the Butternut Babes salon—or at least find an excuse to bump into Ellen again. What I would say to her, I wasn’t sure. But if I could dig around a bit about Shania’s plans to branch out in her own salon, maybe it would trigger a reaction in Ellen. Either way, a scorned lover or a scorned business partner both had a motive for murder. The question was—who’d followed through on it?

  “And we’ll have a surprise at the end for you all,” Stacey said from the stage. “But for now, let’s get started. Bachelorette number one is a Blueberry Lake local. You may know her as Heidi Trimble. She graduated twenty-second in her class—”

  “Of twenty-three,” May leaned over and whispered in my ear. “They’re really stretching on that one.”

  Despite her lack of academic achievements at Blueberry Lake High, the thirty-four-year-old bank teller was auctioned off to a firefighter three tables over from us for three hundred bucks.

  “Not too shabby,” Allie said. “Dang. If I go for less than a hundred, I’m burying my head in the sand. I’m pulling an ostrich for a month. You’ll have to cover for me at the shop, Jenna. Tell your mother goodbye from me.”

  “You’ll do great,” May said. “Harry Hart would be stupid not to bid on you. And anyway, you have nothing to worry about. I’m maxing out at fifty bucks.”

  The auction continued with Stacey Simone leading the bachelorettes on stage one by one. And one by one, the men raised their paddles and shouted numbers in an almost comical way, raising money for charity with each smack of Stacey’s gavel.

  The champagne flowed, the laughter picked up, the bachelorettes became more and more confident as the night progressed. Some performed a little talent (bad karaoke, gymnastics routines that should have been left in the high school gymnasium, and even one poetry reading in broken Spanish) while others waved and curtsied and spun across stage.

  Even I found myself relaxing
, clapping along, getting into the spirit of things. I could almost—almost—see how this had become the event of the year in Blueberry Lake. Everyone was in good spirits. The competition was friendly. There was no expectation for the actual dates except good, chivalrous behavior and an enjoyable evening out to dinner.

  When May was called up, the audience went wild when Joe bid six hundred dollars—the winning bid of the evening to that point—on their daughter. May practically melted as she pressed her hands against her belly. With a silly grin, she trotted offstage and back to her husband, bubbling with excitement.

  Joe was waiting for her at the table. He stood, swooped her in his arms, and gave her a messy, sloppy, lovely kiss with a smack that echoed around the room. Joe’s firefighter buddies hooted and hollered, and as Joe gestured for another round of (complimentary) champagne, the party atmosphere rose another ten notches.

  By the time Allie was called on stage, Stacey Simone barely had any job to do at all. She’d announce the name, age, maybe a fact or two, and the bidding would begin. Conversation littered the room. People who’d won dates were lively with excitement, and those who still hadn’t taken their turn on stage were giddy with anticipation.

  Allie had torn through three napkins in her anxiety. The remnants of the little cloths were left in a pile of teensy tiny shreds as she went on stage. Stacey Simone finished introducing Allie Martin to the crowd.

  “Do you have any talents you’d like to share with us?” Stacey asked into the microphone. “Maybe a little song or dance?”

  Allie opened her mouth, then turned to stare at Stacey as if the woman had spoken a foreign language. The chatter in the room started to quiet. Allie continued to stare, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “Allie?” Stacey prompted. “Um, I guess we’ll start the bidding, if you don’t have any talents?”