Shades of Stars (Lola Pink Mysteries Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  I could practically hear Dane’s gigantic brain churning through information. My own brain had flicked through a hundred new thoughts by the time he finally spoke.

  “You don’t think they’re responsible for her murder?” he asked again. “Are you sure?”

  I surprised myself by not having to think too hard. “I’m not positive, but my gut tells me they’re innocent. Mrs. Ricker seemed really sad. She’s dealing with things in an odd way, but I think that’s due to shock and grief more than anything else.”

  “And Mr. Ricker?”

  “I didn’t speak to him. I don’t know, I suppose he could be involved, but I don’t have any evidence for it. They seemed like parents who loved their daughter. They didn’t make the right choices, but then again—who makes all of the right decisions?”

  “Me,” Dane said simply. Then he offered a quiet laugh. “That’s a joke, Lola.”

  I couldn’t keep back a smile. “I know, Dane. You do a pretty good job—unlike me. Anyway, I swung by the pier afterward because I have Babs’s car, and I want to talk to Regina about the fashion show. I’ll fill you in on it when I get to the castle, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you, Lola—for caring enough to keep looking. I just wish you’d taken Semi with you.”

  “Like I said, I’m not known for making all the right choices.”

  “You make plenty of right decisions. And it would be a tragedy if you made all the smart choices. If you did, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  I thought back to the way I’d impatiently signed the initial contract to work for Dane with relish, and I had to give him the point. “True enough.”

  “Lola...” It seemed there was something more he wanted to say, and I held my breath as he struggled to find the right words. “Drive safely.”

  My breath exhaled in a whoosh. “Thanks, bye.”

  I hung up sounding shorter than I would’ve liked. Had I really expected the man to say that he loved me over the phone? Even if that’s what I wanted to hear?

  I climbed out of the car again and slammed the door with a little more gusto than necessary. My fingers tugged in an angry motion through my new hairstyle as I popped the trunk open. I was too frustrated to appreciate the new levels of volume in my hair, which was a true shame.

  I calmed slightly as I reached for the box of sunglasses, gently cradling it against my body as I made my way up the steps to the office.

  “Oh, there you are—lovely to see you so soon.” Regina greeted me a hair’s breadth before I reached the door. “Prompt and earlier than I expected, just as I like.”

  I nodded, not really in the mood for small talk. She led me through the front door into an office area that looked significantly bigger on the inside than it did from the outside. One big open space took up the front half of the building, and a polished, thin receptionist twiddled a pencil behind a huge desk. A few small coffee tables and couches were scattered in a half moon around her, while a variety of offices sat behind closed doors, except for one.

  “This way,” Regina said, leading the way to her office—the only open door in the facility. “I guess it’s a slow time of year because the largest office was available for rent.”

  I closed the door behind me and set the box on the desk between us. The room had a modern, sterile sort of feel to it, which made sense. It wasn’t Regina’s office—it was a rented space. One day soon she’d pack up and leave, and the next guest would breeze in to take her place, and then the cycle would repeat.

  “I got a little carried away choosing my favorites,” I said, cracking open the trunk and removing the smaller, sturdier cases one by one. I rested them in a neat row across her desk, relieved that Regina showed the patience and restraint to leave them untouched while I continued to unpack.

  “No such thing as overboard,” Regina said once I’d finished laying out nearly thirty different cases on the desk. “May I?”

  I nodded, watching intently as she began cracking the boxes open one by one. Ironically, I’d never intended to start a sunglasses collection—nor had I intended to hunt and cherish vintage finds. But my tastes were just a bit quirky, and I happened to like the unique, hard to find shapes and the little-bit-wild frames. Over time, I’d accumulated enough for it to be considered a collection.

  “Oh, these are gorgeous.” Regina properly oohed and ahhed as she opened the containers one by one. “I don’t know how I’ll ever choose.”

  As she’d predicted, Regina had a difficult time choosing which shades to use for the show. I sat back in my chair, feeling the boredom set in now that I was no longer worried about her mishandling my glasses—she touched them like a scientist preserving dinosaur bones—and I glanced at my watch. Already ten after nine—good thing I’d called Dane, or else he’d have sent out a patrol, or worse, to find me.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Regina murmured, more to herself than to me. “I’ll make my choices. It’s just that they’re all so fabulous.”

  “Why don’t you hang onto them for a bit? I can come back and—”

  Loud voices from the reception area drove me to lose track of what I was saying. I watched as Regina’s eyes flicked up, her shoulders tense.

  “That’ll be Leslie Gray,” she said, sounding none too happy about it. “I asked her to come here for some fittings. In fact, you might as well meet her now. Maybe we can try a few on and see what fits Leslie’s face the best. Once we choose a headlining pair, the rest will be easy to slot in behind.”

  “Sure,” I said, none too thrilled with the idea. The way Regina shied away from her, I couldn’t imagine that was a good thing, seeing as Regina seemed unintimidated by most men, women, and children. “I have a few more minutes before I have to get back to work.”

  “Work—right. You work for Dane Clark, don’t you? That billionaire?” Regina glanced up at me, interested. “Do you know him well? They’re saying he killed Andrea, you know. Are you sure it’s safe to go back to work?”

  “I’m sure,” I said firmly, and I left the rest of her questions untouched.

  “I’m just saying that I wouldn’t feel comfortable going back until all of this was cleared up. But then again...” she trailed off. “Let me get Leslie her coffee and then bring her in here.”

  I watched through the open doorway as a leggy strawberry-blonde woman leaned against the receptionist’s desk. She wore skin tight jeans, a cropped leather jacket that was entirely unnecessary in these temperatures, and the latest Gucci sunglasses that were entirely unoriginal.

  I couldn’t help a hint of distaste even as I studied her, though I had no reason to think such thoughts aside from her taste in clothes. Regina scurried for the coffee while Leslie watched, and once she’d gathered it in a Styrofoam cup, she handed it over and welcomed Leslie with a smile and a gesture toward her office.

  Leslie didn’t bother to thank Regina for the coffee, nor did she offer a greeting as she strode into the room. I stood, offered a hand for her to shake, but when Leslie wrinkled her nose and showed her two full hands—coffee and a slim wristlet—I retracted it.

  “That’s my seat,” she said, and then plopped in the chair I’d vacated seconds before. “Who are you?”

  “That’s Lola. I told you about her—Lola Pink, she’s the sunglasses stylist for the show,” Regina said in a soothing voice. She offered me a second chair with an apologetic smile before sliding around to her side of the desk. “Lola swung by this morning with a variety to choose from, and I was thinking the three of us could look them over together.”

  Leslie’s gaze flicked to me, and then toward the desk. She appeared unimpressed with my selections. “They’re so old,” she said, gesturing to a particularly cute pair of pink shades with a hint of the cat-eye style frame. “And these are so round. That was so last year.”

  “Most of these are vintage,” Regina offered. “That’s the look we’re going for. Now, I’d like to have you try a few on to see what frames your face best. You have such lovely cheekbones.”

/>   Flattery worked well with Leslie, and as Regina expertly guided her through the styling process, I sat back and watched, unable to keep from wondering if this woman wasn’t only rude, but a cold-blooded killer. The thought hadn’t truly seemed realistic in my head, but now that I’d seen Leslie in person, it made a girl wonder.

  “So, is this show supposed to be big?” I asked. “I’m pretty clueless when it comes to fashion. Except for sunglasses.”

  Leslie looked like she begged to differ about my taste in sunglasses fashion, but Regina swooped in to appease us both. “It will be the West Coast show of the year. Of course, New York is probably a tad bigger—but only because there’s so much space and so many local designers there. We’re sure to make papers, news, and magazines across the country. It’ll be great exposure for Leslie.”

  Leslie looked unsurprised by this, which led me to believe she’d known it’d benefit her career to be the headliner. She picked up a pair of blue, odd-shaped aviators, and folded the arms back and forth.

  “Um...” I reached out, rested a hand on her wrist. “Please don’t do that. Those are really fragile, and I’ve already had to replace one screw.”

  Regina’s jaw tightened as she watched me face off with her top model. She couldn’t afford to lose either one of us, it seemed, yet she wasn’t exactly maintaining control of her show.

  Leslie shot me an icy cool glare that sent shivers up and down my spine, and when she spoke, her voice was as frosty as the arctic. “Fine. Choose whatever you want, Regina. I think they’re all stupid.”

  Leslie stood and let herself out, the coffee left behind to cool on Regina’s desk. I waited in silence as Regina’s hands, shaking, pulled the cup toward her and gestured toward the open chair. “Sorry about that. She can be difficult. Models, you know.”

  “Andrea wasn’t like her.” I didn’t move from my seat in case Leslie came back. I wasn’t here to play musical chairs. “Andrea was...warmer.”

  Regina’s eyes gave me a knowing look. “She was the muse. This show is all warm colors, old fashions, curvy women—it’s fun, and it’s retro.”

  “So why get Leslie to fill in?”

  “She was already in the show’s number two slot. She knows the routines, and I’ve worked with her before.” Regina gave herself a little shake, as if convincing herself more than me. “I can handle her. It just takes some getting used to.”

  “Did she know that she’d get the number one position if Andrea couldn’t be in the show?”

  Regina looked up at my question, taking a minute to digest the insinuation behind it. “If you think she had anything to do with Andrea’s death, you’re wrong. Leslie is high maintenance, but she’s not a murderer.”

  “Do you have the paperwork for me?” I stood, figuring my work here was done, and this conversation was over. Not to mention, I was running almost an hour late to the castle. “I’ll leave these here and pick them up later. Please take good care of them.”

  “I had my lawyer draw up a contract. Look over the proposed average price per pair and let me know if I appraised everything correctly—it’s a guesstimate, but I rounded up. We can adjust the specifics after making the selection. There’s a clause on that, too.”

  I took a quick scan of the paperwork, knowing I should probably hand it over to Babs, but the language was clear and concise, and the values she promised if something was broken were more than generous. I almost wouldn’t mind if one of my lesser favorite pairs broke, and I got the insurance on it. I’d be able to nab six pairs for the price of one payout.

  The receptionist sat sulking behind the desk as we entered the lobby. “Leslie went to get a real coffee,” she said sounding snappish. “Apparently the stuff I make isn’t good enough for her.”

  Regina barely acknowledged the receptionist as she walked me to the door. With an apologetic smile, she shook my hand. “I’m sorry about today, but we all appreciate you doing business with us. And Lola—”

  I froze, watching her raised eyebrows.

  “Take care of yourself, okay?” Regina gave a flimsy smile. “Be careful.”

  I nodded, still puzzled as I retreated down the front steps. The door closed behind me, and I fell into my own little world as I headed toward the doughnut shop to grab some breakfast and a coffee. A quick glance at my watch told me Dane would be through eating at the castle, and I didn’t want to bother Mrs. Dulcet for leftovers.

  I had barely turned the corner onto the path that snaked along the Sunshine Shore when I ran smack into Leslie Gray. We collided, and a bit of coffee splashed over her shirt and down her front.

  She cursed, first at the coffee, then at me. I was surprised to see her, and by the time I apologized, she was already furious.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure Regina has a bunch of clothes you can change into while you’re there. She said she wanted to do some stylings on you, anyway.”

  “Yes, but this is brand new Ralph Lauren! Do you even know how much clothes cost?”

  I looked down, noting that I was, indeed, fully clothed, and nodded. “I’m sorry,” I repeated again, though the collision was both of our faults. If anything, she’d been the one texting as we’d come around the blind corner. I’d tried to dodge, but she hadn’t even seen me until it was too late. “Actually, though, I was looking for you.”

  “Why? To ruin the rest of my clothes?”

  She made no sense, so I moved right along with my questions, hoping her agitation would make for looser lips than a more composed version of Leslie Gray.

  “Did you know Andrea Ricker well?” I asked. “She was scheduled to be the headliner for the show before you.”

  The model considered me more seriously for a moment, seeming to forget all about the coffee stain on her blouse. “Of course I knew her. We weren’t friends, but I knew of her.”

  “Did you like her?”

  The flash in her eyes was answer enough, though Leslie downplayed it with a snort. “Most women don’t like me. I have it all, and they don’t like it.”

  “I’m sure that’s it,” I said tersely. “Did you know you’d be next in line if Andrea couldn’t be part of the show?”

  “Duh,” she said. “I even tried to talk Regina out of hiring that floozy. The only modeling experience she had was pretending to be the fake girlfriend of that idiot billionaire.”

  My eyebrows flew up. “Idiot billionaire? Dane Clark has been called many things, but never an idiot.”

  “His PR team hired a girl to be on the cover of a magazine with him. How lame is that? He should be able to get any chick he wants. Instead, he uses a model.”

  “Do you know Dane?”

  “No.” She glanced down at her fingernails. “Andrea talked about him a lot. She once tried to get me to believe that they were really dating, but I saw right through it.”

  “They weren’t?”

  “She wishes.” Leslie rolled her eyes. “Dane didn’t pay any more attention to her than he might the shoes he was wearing. She was just an accessory the PR team dressed him with like anything else. Picked off the rack like a tie.”

  I hated to admit this confession was a relief. I trusted Dane and took him at his word, but the continued reassurance wasn’t unwelcome. After all, she’d said one thing I knew to be a fact: Dane could have just about any woman he wanted. He had it all—looks, smarts, money—and most women would be happy enough with that, despite his inability to function normally in social situations. Why he’d chosen me to take a chance on, I’d never truly know.

  I exhaled and focused on the problem at hand. “I hate to ask you this, Leslie, but where were you on the night Andrea was killed?”

  Her mouth parted into a round ‘O’. She truly hadn’t realized where I was going with my line of questioning, and that, in and of itself, had me wondering if she could’ve planned a ruthless murder from start to finish. I could see her temper getting out of control possibly, and it being an accident, but there was no way she could’ve moved a body on
her own. She was just too small, too thin, and too dainty.

  “I did not kill Andrea.” She hissed at me, her long eyelashes pinching together as she leaned closer. “I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. I’m Leslie Gray—supermodel. You think I’d throw it all away for her?”

  “It’s looking pretty good for your career—headlining this event.”

  “The only reason I tried to convince Regina to hire me instead of that bimbo was because I deserved it. My face is known; my name is known. I’m a supermodel, and I draw crowds. Andrea? She’s a fat old chick who stumbled into a cushy job as a Barbie for Mr. Clark.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I was at my boyfriend’s house,” she snarled, her eyebrows knotting in fury. “This is over. I’m not discussing any more with you, and you can’t make me. You’re not a cop.”

  I let her go, watching as she climbed the stairs and threw the door open. She began barking orders the second she stepped inside, and I felt a rush of sympathy for Regina and the receptionist.

  I hurried into the car without my coffee, without breakfast, and with a severe streak of hunger gnawing at my stomach. I drove the short distance to Babs’s office and left her car in the lot, carrying my borrowed mug inside and popping it straight into the dishwasher. Babs was on a phone call, so I dropped the keys on her desk and waved goodbye to Martie, her receptionist.

  Still wondering if Leslie Gray had it in her to kill another woman, I climbed onto my bike and pedaled up the hill to Castlewood. By the time I arrived at the front gates, I’d come to one streamlined conclusion: Leslie Gray didn’t commit cold blooded murder. If she had a hand in Andrea’s demise, it was accidental, or she had an accomplice. Or more likely, both.

  Mrs. Dulcet let me into the castle with a demure smile and greeting, and though I returned her words robotically, I was preoccupied with my thoughts. I wondered if Regina would know the name of Leslie’s boyfriend, and if so, if he would corroborate her alibi.

  “Dane’s in the dining room,” Mrs. Dulcet said after I snapped to attention. “I think he’s waiting for you.”