Secrets and Stilettos (Murder In Style Book 1)

by Gina LaManna

  Settling into her role as gossip-giver, Patty grinned. “I like you. Why don’t you have a little sip of The Lana? Let me know if it’s ghastly.”

  “Er—”

  “Nobody will care,” Patty said. “I’ve been dying to try it, but to be honest, I’m terrified.”

  Feeling a strong pull to taste test The Lana beverage for my—or rather, for May’s clients—I dutifully took a sip. Sizing it up, I gave a nod, pouted my lips. “You know, not all that bad. Little sweet—oddly sour. I wonder if there’s grapefruit juice in there?”

  “Ah, all right then—let me have one.”

  I handed over a Lana to Patty and waited as she took a few big gulps.

  “I think it was three years back now,” she said, resuming the Duvet divorce story without further ado. “It wasn’t a surprise to anyone, but it was still news. I mean, they’re a very well-to-do sort of family, so every time they sneeze it seems to make the local news.”

  “Was it amicable?”

  “I suppose as amicable as it gets,” she said. “I’m not sure they ever loved each other—their marriage was one of those sorts of ‘clock’s ticking, dear’ sort of things.”

  “Was Bridget upset when her ex-husband remarried?”

  “She wasn’t happy about it, but at the same time, Brenda is a nobody in her eyes. A real step down in terms of the social ladder. It probably annoyed her more than anything.”

  I studied Brenda Duvet—the replacement wife—for a second, then turned my gaze toward the former Mrs. Duvet. Where the latter was all starched clothes and black and white colors, Brenda was rounder and more colorful, with a frumpy sort of sweater-dress in a shade of green that clashed totally with her hair-color.

  “I’m itching to get my hands on her wardrobe,” I said, nodding to Brenda. Then I swung the nod around to Bridget Duvet. “Hers too, actually. I think a change in clothes could really do wonders for both women.”

  “Hey, you’re that Hollywood chick!” Patty stared at me with wide eyes. “What are you doing slinging drinks at a cocktail party?”

  “I’m helping out my cousin,” I said nodding to May. “New to town, still deciding what I want to do for work. That sort of thing.”

  “Wait a second—aren’t you the stylist who threatened Grant right before his head popped off?”

  “I don’t think his head popped off,” I said. “But yes, I did see him that morning—”

  “Only the killer would know his head didn’t pop off.” Patty lowered her voice, leaned in close. “Tell me—did you do it? I won’t tattle on you. Frankly, the man deserved it. I already told you that.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!” I said, though my voice came out slightly too shrill and the rest of the room glanced at me. “—er, with kindness.” I struggled to recover. “Kill them with kindness, ah—who wants more Lanas?”

  I raised my tray and left Patty’s side, scurrying around the room to deposit the beverages while attempting to avoid May’s murderous stare. When I was fresh out of drinks except for the one I’d personally adopted, I made my way over to the buffet table where May was replenishing the appetizers.

  “What was that all about?” she hissed. “I thought you were going for discreet. And what is that in your hand?”

  “Um, The Lana?” I raised the half-empty glass. “I was having a chat with Patty! It’s a social drink.”

  “This isn’t social hour,” May said. “You’re working.”

  “Working with the intent to solve a murder,” I said in my most convincing voice. “You won’t have help catering if I end up behind bars, dear cousin.”

  “You won’t have a job if you keep sipping while you work,” she said. “And what is with the dead body talk? At least keep things discreet.”

  “It’s the topic du’jour,” I said. “Everyone’s curious. Why don’t you try this?”

  I extended the pink drink to May who looked utterly appalled and shook her head. “Pregnant, remember?”

  “Oh, right. That’s why I should have yours. I mean, if the customers ask me what it tastes like, how am I supposed to describe it to them?” I ignored her huge eye roll and took a sip. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Just get the cake from the car. It’ll be properly chilled by now. I still can’t believe you and Matt pulled that thing off.”

  “Yes, well,” I said, raising a glass of The Lana toward May. “Magic.”

  Chapter 11

  The appetizers were a raging success. The main course went over with rave reviews. By the time we displayed the cake on the table, the party was well underway with a pleasant little hum. Glasses of The Lana and flutes of champagne had been passed around generously while the guests had inhaled May’s cooking.

  With full stomachs and beverages in hand, the festivities split into little pockets of chatter as May and I set to cutting the cake. Matt had a way with baking, that much was clear. Though we’d only had a few hours to prepare the dessert, he’d fashioned something worthy of a Beverly Hills bakery in my humble (and very barren) little kitchen.

  He’d crafted a cute little phrase that said: Sip, Sip, Hooray! onto the cake, along with a tiny little bride and groom figure he’d mysteriously pulled from somewhere. Apparently, it wasn’t his first bridal party rodeo.

  “He gets roped in to help with cakes all the time,” May explained, straightening the happy groom and bride figurines. “June probably stashes all of her decorating supplies at his house. He did an incredible job.”

  “I helped,” I said with a faux-pout. “I taste-tested it.”

  May gave me a sideways grin. “I’ll bet you helped—by keeping Matt’s morale up. Are you going to see him again?”

  “I’m sure. I mean, he’s my neighbor. I can hardly walk out to the car without seeing him if he’s in his yard.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “This wasn’t a date,” I argued. “It was dire circumstances, and he was a true hero. He’s meant to be a fireman.”

  “Right. Just like Joe. And he makes great husband material, if I may say so myself.”

  “We baked a cake together for crying out loud! We’re not moving in with each other,” I said. “Yeesh. I’m fresh off a breakup. Give me some space.”

  “Fine, but you’re almost thirty.”

  “And you’re...” I hesitated, striking out. She was almost thirty, but she was happily married, pregnant, with a good career well underway. “You’re perfect. It’s not fair.”

  She laughed. “Not in the slightest—I just like meddling in your life. Okay, time to start serving. People are getting antsy for sugar.”

  Photos of the cake had already been taken by the time I began cutting into it. Mrs. Duvet wandered over and tried her best not to look impressed. “Which bakery provided the cake? It was short notice.”

  “Yep, ah—it’s a new place,” I said, glancing over Bridget’s shoulder at May. “You probably haven’t heard of it.”

  “What’s the name?” Bridget raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I’m always looking for a new bake shop to supply desserts for book club, town halls, you name it.”

  “Er—yeah, it’s a small shop,” I said, struggling for a name. For some reason, I doubted she’d be impressed if I told her I baked it in my kitchen after begging my neighbor for help. “Matt à la Mode.”

  “You’re right, I’ve never heard of it. I’ll have to look them up,” she said, sneaking a piece of cake from the table and bringing it to her lips. “It smells... edible.”

  Mrs. Duvet made her way back to the cocktail tables situated discreetly against the living room window. I watched with curiosity as she took another sniff of the frosting and looked mildly interested. Then she reached for a dainty, pearl-encrusted fork and sliced off the tiniest bite known to mankind. She tasted it, puckered her lips delicately, and swallowed. Then pushed the cake away from her.

  “That’s about the highest compliment you’ll get from her,” May said, inching next to my shoulder. “If she says somet
hing is edible, that’s the equivalent of earning your Michelin stars.”

  “She only had a nibble,” I said. “Now she’s off talking to her daughters.”

  “She normally won’t even hold a slice of cake in her hand,” May whispered. “How do you think her hips are so trim? Here, go drop these off to her daughters. Bride gets cake first, even though she won’t eat it either.”

  “What a waste,” I said with a pout. “I worked really hard on this.”

  “Sure you did,” May said. “You and Matt à la Mode.”

  “I had to scramble, okay?”

  “And that’s the best you could come up with?”

  I grabbed the two proffered plates of dessert and made my way over toward the bride, the maid of honor, and their mother. As I neared, a snippet of conversation filtered across the room that had me stopping dead in my tracks.

  “—don’t know why she’s still here,” Lana was saying. “She’s only in the wedding out of courtesy.”

  “Why’d you invite her in the first place?” Eliza asked. “I told you it would be a bad idea.”

  “She was my best friend and roommate. It would have been obvious I didn’t like her if I left her out.”

  “She’s dated everyone in the wedding party,” Mrs. Duvet said. “It would be understandable. But then again, you’ve already asked her to be your bridesmaid—and there would be tongues wagging if you gave her the boot now.”

  “What if she did it?” Eliza asked. “Like that cop said, it might be someone we know. Can you imagine?”

  “I can’t have a murderer in my wedding party,” Lana said, but her voice sounded flat. “That would be a disaster.”

  I sucked in a breath as I realized the women were likely discussing Becky, the pretty blond woman who’d been seen peeking in the bags at my mother’s thrift shop. The same woman Patty had just told me had dated both Grant and Greg.

  I blinked, forcing my attention back to the conversation between the Duvets. Eliza sounded adamant in her belief it was Becky who’d killed Grant. I couldn’t say if Becky was innocent or guilty since I’d never spoken with her, but if I had to guess, Eliza was innocent. Judging by her shoes, which were way too cute to belong to a killer.

  Lana hadn’t seemed all that interested in pursuing the topic of Grant’s murder, which I took to mean she was either completely clueless and bored of the subject, or she was trying to squash any further discussion of it. Could Lana have killed Grant?

  “Is that piece of cake for the bride?” Bridget asked when she saw me standing in the middle of the room staring dumbly at the three of them. “Bring it on over, will you?”

  I hurried forward, trying to gauge whether she guessed I’d been listening. A chill slid over my spine as I realized I needed to pay more attention—for my own safety. If the murderer really was in this room and sensed I was onto them, that would equal bad news for me. Instead of an orange jumpsuit, I might be caught flaunting a power suit during my own funeral.

  I couldn’t fathom the idea of being buried in a power suit. I made a quick note to edit (or rather, create) a living will that banned my mother from dressing me in a suit in the unlikely event of my death. I would prefer to be buried in new Louis Vuitton heels, Brenda Blake accessories, and could she please make sure to touch up my roots. I’d make that part official the second I got home.

  “Miss Duvet,” I said, extending a piece of cake toward Lana. “Congratulations to you! And Eliza, here’s yours.”

  I distributed both cakes. Thankfully, it didn’t appear the three women had been paying me any mind at all except as hired help. With a breath of relief, I headed back to get plates of cake for the rest of the ladies. I came to a halt as I felt a set of eyes on my back. When I turned, I found Becky staring at me. The unblinking eye contact threw me off kilter, and it was all I could do to tear my eyes away and return to May’s side.

  “Do you think anything is off with that woman?” I gave a subtle head nod toward Becky. “I think she was staring at me.”

  “Um, because you’re dangling dessert in front of everyone’s faces and not delivering it?” May shoved a silver serving platter full of cake slices toward me. “Get to work handing these out and people will stop drooling over you.”

  “I think she’s onto me.” I adjusted the tray on my hand and lowered my voice. “I think she knows I’m here looking into the murder.”

  “You’re being paranoid.” May shooed me away from the table as she began cleaning up the finger foods. “Everyone is having a lovely time and just wants their sweets!”

  I began passing out desserts (two pieces for Patty, one for the rest of the ladies), saving Becky for last. Something about the way she’d been staring at me had felt too personal. As if she’d recognized me or suspected me of something. Maybe May was right and I was just being paranoid, or maybe she’d heard the Duvet women talking about her and assumed I had been, as well. Whatever the reason, it gave me goosebumps that hadn’t quite vanished by the time I approached her.

  “Would you like a slice?” I asked, extending the remaining plate to her. “Saved the best for last—that one has a particularly good bit of frosting on it if you ask me. My favorite part.”

  She raised a hand in a stop gesture. “I think I’ll pass.”

  “Wedding diet?” I said, trying for a smile. “Diets are the worst.”

  Becky was still staring curiously at me. I glanced around, but Becky’s hand snuck out and rested on my wrist, pausing me in my tracks.

  “Were you the one who saw Grant before he died?” Becky asked in a low tone. “You look familiar to me, but I can’t recall your name.”

  “Jenna McGovern,” I said. “Greta Green’s granddaughter.”

  “Right. I heard you went out with Grant on a date.”

  “A date? No, not even close.” I visibly blanched at the thought. “I met him briefly, yes, but we were nothing more than strangers.”

  Becky made a noise of disbelief in her throat.

  My frustration got the better of me, and in true Jenna McGovern form, I failed to keep my mouth shut. “I’m sorry, but you don’t seem to believe me. Did someone say otherwise?”

  “No, no,” she said loftily. “I’d just heard you two were acquainted.”

  “From who? Did you talk to Grant recently?”

  “No, of course not,” she said sharply. “I haven’t seen him for months.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “We dated,” she said quickly. “In a very brief capacity. Like you said, we were almost strangers.”

  I didn’t believe her, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Becky’s whole demeanor was just a bit off—a bit too aggressive. Something wasn’t adding up, but I sensed now was not the time to press.

  I glanced over toward May, relieved to find her wrapping up leftovers and preparing to head out. We’d almost made it through the party unscathed, and I couldn’t ruin things now.

  “Well, I guess I should help May clean up,” I said. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “You’re not staying for the gifts?” she asked, sounding innocent. “That’s the best part.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think we can stick around. May keeps quite busy at her restaurant, and it is a Saturday night.”

  “What about you?”

  I had one foot stepped away already, but her awkward question held me in place. “Me? I’m not so busy on a Saturday, but we rode together. Speaking of, it sounds like I’m needed. Enjoy the party.”

  I sidled over toward May and pretended to putz with a roll of cling wrap.

  “How well do you know Becky?” I asked.

  “You’re being paranoid,” May intoned under her breath, picking up a stack of leftovers. “Grab the other bunch—we’ll put them in the fridge.”

  “It’s not paranoia,” I said as we shuffled through the crowd and stocked the Duvet’s fridge with enough food to feed a family of five for a week. “She gave me strange vibes.”

  “Fine
. Either way, it’s time for us to go. How about getting the rest of those drinks off the tray?” May nodded to the last of the champagnes and The Lanas. “I’m going to load the dishes into the truck, and then I’ll come back inside to say goodbye. No more pestering the guests, okay? Let them enjoy the wedding festivities.”

  I grabbed the silver tray, this time determined to follow May’s directions to a tee. Unobtrusively, I worked my way into the living room and began passing out beverages to those standing around the corner.

  “First gift is from my sister, Eliza,” Lana said with a brilliant smile. “Thank you, hun.”

  “Open it,” Eliza said with a giggle, “and then thank me.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s edible underpants,” Patty blurted out. “That’s what I got her.”

  Mrs. Duvet frowned. “I sure hope you’re kidding. This is my daughter we’re talking about.”

  “Mother,” Eliza said, blushing. “It’s a bachelorette party. Relax—have some fun!”

  Mrs. Duvet dug around in the presents, presumably looking for Patty’s gift, and quietly kicked it under the couch. The rest of the group’s attention was on Lana as she pulled open an exquisite lingerie set of white lace and frills.

  I couldn’t help but gasp as I recognized the label. “La Perla?!” I held a hand to my chest and the drinks wobbled. “That is gorgeous. Can I invite you to my bachelorette party when the time comes? I have been wanting one of those sets for ages.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. Duvet said. “You don’t have a boyfriend. Who would you use any such thing on?”

  “Herself!” Patty blurted. She was three sheets to the wind and halfway to cross-eyed. “The woman doesn’t need a man in order to wear nice lingerie. Look at me! I’ve got on...let’s see here, what have I got on?”

  Mrs. Duvet inhaled a sharp breath as Patty peeked down her pants to determine exactly what she was wearing underneath. Most of the group was looking at the commotion, save for one set of eyes that were stuck on me.