Shades of Pink (Lola Pink Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Shades of Pink

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Special Thanks

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Shades of Pink

  Copyright: Gina LaManna

  ISBN: XXXX

  Published: March 31st, 2017

  Kindle Edition

  The right of Gina LaManna to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

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  Interior Design: Cover Me Darling

  Formatting: Athena Interior Book Design

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  To the awkward ones.

  Special Thanks

  To Alex—Welcome to Minnesota! я тебя люблю!

  To my family—Happy Birthday, Mama LaManna.

  To Stacia—For making sure life is always a little bit more pink.

  To my Oceans Apart ladies—<3

  To my awesome cover designer—Sarah at Sprinkles on Top Studios.

  The day of Dotty Pink’s funeral, we threw a party.

  Acrobats soared beneath the clouds, men in colorful hats spun sugar into cotton candy, and ice cream cones melted onto the boardwalk. Balloon animals bumped and bustled against the bright blue sky, sticky little fingers holding them back. All down the Sunshine Shore, locals tossed confetti while tourists watched in slack-jawed wonder.

  This was the sort of party that made history.

  Normally, the carousel on the boardwalk of the Sunshine Shore closed at ten p.m. sharp. This particular night, however, the carousel sung its song well past midnight, accompanied by shrieks of delight from all those young and old, small and large, rich and poor.

  We had all loved Dotty Pink.

  Dotty Pink had been many things. She’d been the resident psychic, a shoulder to cry on, a whisper of advice. She’d been our grandmother, a woman with a heart made of sunlight.

  She’d been the sort of grandmother who welcomed new strangers like old friends, the sort of grandmother who kept her porch light burning through the longest nights, the sort of grandmother who provided a place to breathe for those who had nowhere else to go.

  While the Sunshine Shore celebrated Dotty’s life with gusto, I found myself sitting high on the Ferris wheel, overlooking the ocean, a place where I could sit in the peaceful silence and wish for her return. Though the whole world may miss Dotty Pink, nobody would miss her like I did. After all, Dotty Pink had been my grandmother. My family. And now, I was alone.

  Blinking back tears, I climbed off the ride and started to make my way through the crowd. Though the sun had set hours ago, I slid a pair of sleek black sunglasses over my eyes. It was easier to hide the red rims and damp eyelashes this way.

  Sticky kisses lingered on my cheeks, tender hugs left my skin now feeling cold. Not a soul on the Sunshine Shore had missed the celebration of Dotty Pink’s life, and each guest had given me a squeeze, a pat, or a smooch of sympathy.

  I finally slipped away from the bustle of the pier, excused myself from my friends, and started the journey home. There was one thing I needed to do before bed, and I needed to do it alone.

  I stopped in front of the hut that Dotty and I had called home; except now it was mine and mine alone. While it had been thoughtful of my grandmother to bestow it upon me in her will, inheriting Dotty’s hut left me with one huge problem.

  I had no idea what to do with it.

  Psychic in Pink read the lopsided sign dangling in front of the ramshackle place. She’d called it a hut until the day she died, but it was really more of a well-loved shack. All wooden logs with bright yellow and pink shutters, the place oozed small-town, beachfront charm.

  The apartment, the place we had lived together, was a mashup of workplace and home. Two beds and two baths were located on the second floor above the shop, with sweeping wooden beams, giving it an attic-like feeling.

  There were lofty ceilings on the first floor, too, offset by the huge fireplace designed to battle the chilly sea breeze. Sunlight washed through glass panes and across the floors of the open space, which had no real boundaries between Dotty’s psychic shop—a small section offset in the corner by strings of beads, touches of crystal, and knickknacks from around the world—and our own living area.

  Near the rear of the first floor sat a small corner kitchen with a dining table perched between it and the living area. There, a few cushy couches added additional seating. It wouldn’t be considered a proper business by any means, and it could hardly be called professional, but when Dotty invited a person into her office, she invited them into her home.

  As I pushed through the beaded curtain leading into Dotty’s nook, the scent of cinnamon and vanilla wrapped me in familiarity.

  “Why’d you leave it to me, Dotty?” I closed my eyes, savoring the moment. Wishing that this time, when I opened my eyes, Dotty would be sitting in her usual chair with a pink turban wrapped around her head and a crystal ball before her. One of her favorite costumes.

  I opened my eyes, a long sigh slipping from my lips at the emptiness.

  “What do you want me to do with this place, Dotty?”

  I felt silly speaking to the empty room. Unlike her, I didn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, or any other supernatural entity. Dotty’s talents had been practically undeniable, but the
closest I’d ever come to a psychic “vision” was a daydream. And my daydreams wouldn’t help anyone.

  Moving to her chair, a big, cherry-red ball of fluff, I squashed into the seat and waited. Waited for inspiration, for a lightning strike, for something. The town had made it clear tonight at the celebration that they expected me to keep the Psychic in Pink business running.

  I’d been primed for the job, after all, since Dotty had made sure I finished my education. Walking away from college with a bright and shiny Master’s, I had briefly looked for work locally. However, the Sunshine Shore wasn’t exactly known for its booming business industries, so I quickly forfeited the search and agreed to help Dotty run her business.

  We’d had big plans for the Psychic in Pink. Dotty had dreamed of adding a coffee shop, maybe a small bakery to her place, and we had only just begun the planning process. There had been a vision for it all—gorgeous windows with views of the ocean, a total re-vamp of the upstairs apartments, more squashy seating for any guest who walked through her door.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t lived to see the dream through. This didn’t mean I was ready to give up—if anything, it made me more determined than ever to bring Dotty’s dreams to fruition.

  There was only one problem: there’s no way I could take on Dotty’s legacy successfully. I didn’t have psychic skills, no matter how hard I tried. My regular vision was hardly twenty-twenty, let alone my supernatural sight.

  I sighed, resting my head in my hands. It was then that I caught sight of the notebook. A small, tiny thing dressed in purple velvet bindings, a chain twisted around the outside. On it were the words Pink’s Prophecies written in pretty, curly letters. This must be her last prophecy.

  Locals say that once upon a time, Dotty Pink had started her shop, Psychic in Pink, as a joke. They say that she was a broke young woman who’d found a hut and opened her doors to gullible tourists.

  However, her doors had never closed. Over fifty years later, she’d become a legend; the go-to guru for advice on all things money, love, and life.

  Of course, there were skeptics. Some people suspected that she could predict the future, others hinted at something supernatural running through her blood. The word witch had been tossed around like a curse in the alleyways behind her shop, while others still said the whole thing was a farce.

  Whatever the case, travelers from far and wide had come to hear Dotty’s wisdom. Newspapers wrote stories about her visions, and websites featured her musings on their blogs.

  With her gone, there’d be a large void to fill—both in wisdom and in love. Because nobody loved this town like Dotty Pink. She’d had the biggest heart this half of America had ever seen.

  After I pulled a blanket over me and put the notebook on my lap, I spent two seconds fiddling with the bindings and looking at the thin golden chain around it that locked. Then just as quickly, I remembered the key that my grandmother had given me just before she died. Unlock it when you need me, she’d said. I’ll always be there for you, Lola-pop.

  I was twenty-five years old, but the nickname had stuck. I pushed the memories away as I inserted the key into the lock and, sure enough, it clicked open without hesitation.

  The chain clinked against the floor as it slipped from my fingers. A note fell out of the front pages; a tiny, crisply folded sheet with Dotty’s handwriting on it.

  A prophecy a day for as long as they’re needed, Lola. Do not read ahead. Do not linger behind. Open me only when needed. Love, Dotty.

  Well, I thought, there wasn’t any better time than now to see what Dotty had to say for my future. Swallowing, I gently flipped the page to reveal another phrase.

  Make it what you will.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion. Was Dotty telling me to turn this shop into something else? What about her business? Or was she talking about something else entirely?

  After a few minutes of staring at the writing and fighting the urge to flip to a newer, hopefully more clear prophesy, I gave up and stood. I set a pot of tea to brew and paced for a while, eventually returning to Dotty’s chair and staring at the page until the teakettle whistled.

  The hour was late—almost four a.m.—and though I’d drank my tea, I still hadn’t deciphered Dotty’s message. So, I locked up the notebook, returned it to its place in the desk, and took my second cup of tea to bed.

  This time, as I drifted to sleep, I dreamed of psychic shops and crystal balls. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tried to understand Dotty’s prophecy.

  Make it what you will.

  “How much?” I asked early the next morning. I pushed a pair of lime-green sunglasses onto my head, trying to ward off the bad news with a punch of color. “Wait, don’t tell me.”

  Luke Anderson, resident handyman of the Sunshine Shore, offered me his famous smile. A smile that has been said to have caused the faucets of many single women to break. Their faucets had never broken before Luke arrived a few years ago, but now, it seemed every woman over twenty-one needed their plumbing checked.

  “What’ll it be, Lola?” he asked. “Should I tell you, or not?”

  I closed my eyes. “Can you tell me the damage gently?”

  “That might be—”

  “No! Stop. I don’t want to know. I can’t bear it.”

  His laughter made me smile, and I dropped my hands from my eyes. I looked as his sandy brown hair and eyes the color of burnt honey. The dimple on his chin softened his muscular build, giving him a sense of boyish charm.

  “I don’t know how gentle I can be about the news.”

  “It’s that bad? Wait, I need to sit down.” I plunked onto Dotty’s plush red chair, my head buried in my lap. “Give me the damage.”

  “One hundred thousand.”

  “What?” My legs turned into springs and propelled me out of the chair. I gripped Luke’s shirt, my fingers clenched around the fabric. “A hundred thousand what? I hope pennies. Please tell me pennies.”

  “Dollars.”

  “Where am I supposed to get that sort of money?”

  He raised a shoulder in apology. “I’m sorry, Lola. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. I can’t believe Dotty never said anything about the state of this place.”

  “She probably didn’t know about it.” I glanced longingly around the room. “Otherwise she would’ve left me some instructions for what to do with it or something. She knew we didn’t have that sort of money lying around.”

  “She knew about the repairs needed.” He shot me a confused glance. “She called me out here a few months ago and asked how much it’d cost to renovate this place into a storefront.”

  “She wouldn’t have done that without talking to me.” I waved him off. “She told me everything.”

  “I was here a few months ago,” Luke repeated, slower this time. “I told her the same thing that I’m telling you now. A hundred thousand dollars then, a hundred thousand now. Not much has changed, except that sink of yours keeps dripping. It wasn’t like that before.”

  I exhaled loudly. “Add it to the list.”

  Luke gave me a sympathetic frown. “I’ll tell you what—I didn’t bring my tools today, but I’ll stop by tomorrow and tighten things up for you. The sink is free of charge.”

  “You’d do that?” I pretended this small act of generosity was not enough to make me cry. Normally, I hated crying, but I was feeling extra sensitive at the moment. A bill in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars will do that to a girl. “Really?”

  “Don’t... don’t do that.” Luke shifted in discomfort. “Is that your cry-face? Don’t cry. It’s a few twists of a wrench, really.”

  “I’m just emotional.” I swiped a hand across my eyes, my lips trembling as I did. “Is there any way I can make the cost of this remodel…less? I don’t think we’ve brought in a hundred thousand bucks total in the last five years with Psychic in Pink.”

  “Not if you want both the coffee and sunglasses shops,” he said. “That’s the bare minimu
m I can do it for. Even if you weren’t looking to open up a new storefront here, it’d still cost a good chunk to restore this place for safety.”

  “It’s plenty safe. We’ve lived here forever.”

  “And if you do nothing to fix the building, your second-floor apartment will be a first-floor rambler within a year.”

  I sighed. “I like you, Luke, but you stink right now.”

  He laughed again, a sympathetic laugh that had me apologizing.

  “I didn’t mean to call you names,” I said, “but seriously, I don’t know what to do.”

  My dreams of turning the Psychic in Pink into a small beachfront store, a coffee shop mixed with a sunglasses hut, was slipping through my fingers like sand.

  “Do you have family who could loan you some money?” he suggested.

  My lips tightened into a thin line. “No family. Dotty was my family.”

  I’d come to live with her at the ripe old age of five when my mother decided she’d rather surf the coast of Hawaii with her then-boyfriend. Twenty years later, and I had yet to receive so much as a Christmas card. Because of this, I hadn’t even been able to let her know about Dotty’s funeral. Not that she would care after all this time, but still.

  “Friends, maybe?”

  “My friends don’t have that sort of money lying around, and I’d never ask them for it even if they did.”

  “Is there—”

  “You’re being too kind, listening to me blab on and on about something you can’t possibly fix.” I reached out and squeezed Luke’s shoulder. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “What about that faucet?” I gave him fluttering eyelashes. “Are you sure you don’t mind twisting that wrench of yours a few times?”

  He strode to the door, his long legs making those worn Levi’s jeans look great from all angles. “I’m on it. Ten o’clock tomorrow.”

  Once Luke left, I let the waterworks build up. Somehow, though, I couldn’t cry. I was more frustrated than anything else. Dotty and I had been the best of friends since the day I had shown up on her doorstep. She had told me that she’d known I was coming. That I was meant to be here with her, that I was loved, and that I belonged. She had a small bed ready for me, and a few pieces of clothing that fit just right. I had believed her.