Secrets and Stilettos (Murder In Style Book 1) Read online

  Secrets and Stilettos

  Murder in Style, Volume 1

  Gina LaManna

  Published by LaManna Books, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  SECRETS AND STILETTOS

  First edition. January 10, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Gina LaManna.

  Written by Gina LaManna.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Secrets and Stilettos (Murder in Style, #1)

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Author’s Note

  To Stacia <3 <3

  Special Thanks:

  To Alex and Leo—for living that cozy (mystery) life with me! я тебя люблю!

  To Stacia—for loving Jenna from day one!

  To Nana & Papa, Auntie Meg & Auntie Kristi—for watching Leo so I could get this book done!

  To my family, friends, and LaManna’s Ladies, thank you for coming along on another ride with me!

  Blurb

  Fashion can be deadly...

  Jenna McGovern’s strappy shoes and sundresses are not going to cut it when she makes the move from Hollywood Hills to Blueberry Lake, Minnesota in the stone-cold dead of winter. A former stylist to the stars, Jenna’s determined to bring the latest red-carpet fashions back to the Midwest in an effort to revive her mother’s floundering thrift shop.

  When Jenna finds out her first client is Grant Mark, the best man in a high-profile winter wedding, she’s thrilled. However, when Grant gets a little too handsy in the dressing room, Jenna is forced to fend him off with her stiletto and send him packing. While she’s glad to be rid of the difficult groomsman, it’s pure bad luck that Grant is found dead later that afternoon from a high heel to the throat. What’s worse is that the attractive chief of police is convinced Jenna’s the one who put it there.

  If Jenna doesn’t clear her name quickly, she’ll not only lose the chance to style the biggest winter wedding Blueberry Lake has ever seen, but her mother’s thrift store will go under for good—and Jenna will be stuck flaunting the worst fashion of all time: a neon orange jumpsuit.

  Chapter 1

  “Excuse me, but I think my bag is lost.” I winced as I raised onto the toes of my shiny new heels. It was becoming more and more difficult to pretend they didn’t kill me a little bit with every step, but fashion came at a price. “Are you the person who can help me find it? I hate to be a bother, but I have important stuff that I need to get back.”

  “Lady, everyone’s got important stuff in their bags.” The woman behind the counter had bark-brown hair and eyebrows that sat just a bit too high on her forehead. “Get in line.”

  “Oh, um, sorry.” I glanced to the left, to the right, and behind me, but there were no other people in sight. “Can you please tell me where the line would be?”

  The woman behind the counter heaved a sigh to end all sighs.

  “My name should be on the bag, if that helps. Jenna McGovern. My travel tag is fluffy and pink, and you can’t miss it.” I hesitated, feeling the prick of frustrated tears welling up behind my eyes. “Please, everything I own is in that bag. My favorite shoes, that new Gucci purse I got at the sample sale. I even have a pair of earrings from Renata DeRicci herself!”

  “Renata De-Whatzit?” The woman shrugged her shoulders and made the groaning sound of someone who’d just discovered they’d stepped in a puddle up to their ankle on a Monday morning. “I can’t get your bag back for you.”

  “But they told me to come over here and ask for help,” I pleaded. “I have been standing watching that carousel for an hour, and my feet are about to pop out of their ankle sockets. It’s these new shoes.”

  The woman leaned over from behind the desk. “Those shoes are impractical for this time of year.”

  I recoiled. “These shoes are never impractical. If anything, they’re the most practical stilettos on the market. It’s why I saved up for months to buy them as my homecoming gift to myself. Anyway, my bag?”

  “Practical stilettos are an oxymoron,” she drawled. “Fill out this slip and we’ll do our best to get you that bag.”

  “Do your best?” I felt my lip wobble. “Are you saying that it might never come back to me?”

  “Things happen.” She blinked, and her eyebrows returned to the appropriate height for her face. “Look, you seem like a nice enough girl. I’m sorry we lost your bag. Hold tight, and I’m sure they’ll drop it off the second they find it.”

  “T-thank you,” I said, accepting the pen from her outstretched hand. I bent my head over the paper and scribbled out the information. “Here, I think that’s everything.”

  “Moving from Hollywood, hun?” The woman read the departing destination from my form, then scanned me over from head to toe. If her badge was anything to go by, the woman’s name was Roseanne. “That explains a lot.”

  “Yes. My mom remarried her old high school sweetheart, and he was from this place called...” I cleared my throat. “Blueberry Lake?”

  Roseanne cracked a real grin for the first time. “Hey! My grandpa grew up on a farm there. Don’t tell me you’re planning on settling down in those parts.” She peered closer at me. “Are you?”

  “Well, yes. Until further notice.” I forced my chin up higher, mostly to convince myself this was a good idea. “I’m helping my mom get her thrift shop up and running.”

  “Well, you’re in for a change, movie star. Nothing but cows and huntin’ to keep you busy in the boonies.”

  I laughed.

  When she didn’t laugh, I panicked. Little beads of sweat popped onto my forehead, under my armpits, in between my toes. “You don’t mean that. How close is the nearest mall? Surely they have a Target? You know, Target is not as overrated as people think when it comes to finding steals. Just cut out the tag and voila—red carpet ready for under twenty bucks!”

  “Aren’t you funny.” Roseanne gave a sympathetic cluck to accompany the little shake of her head. “Welcome to Minnesota, Miss McGovern.”

  “Squeeee!”

  Only one person in the world has ever said the word squee as it’s pronounced, and that woman needs no introduction. Then again, maybe she could use a little introduction, so here we go: May French is my best friend, pen pal, and cousin—sometimes in that order. She’s a curvy, half-Puerto Rican firecracker who believes in hugging and kissing her greetings without regard to whether it stalls traffic right in the middle of the Minneapolis Airport.

  “You’re here! You made it!” May backed away and held me by the shoulders in the way that grandmothers do—except her eyes were drawn to my new stilettos, and when she recognized them, her eyes widened. “Do not tell me those are Melissa Moore shoes.”

  “They are!”

  “They’re amazing!” She properly fangirled over the gorgeous heels as she bent nearer for a look, but when she rose, she wrinkled her nose and lost the twinkle-eyed gaze. “I’m afraid you won’t like them so mu
ch once we get outside. You do know those shoes aren’t gonna cut it here, right? It’s winter, Jenna.”

  I rolled my eyes. “They cut it anywhere.”

  “There’s ice on the ground.”

  “But look at them,” I insisted. “Maybe the heels will just cut right through. It’ll be like wearing little ice picks on my feet as I walk. Really, everyone should get a pair of stilettos for winter.”

  It was May’s turn to suppress an eyeroll. “Grab my arm so I don’t have to take you to the hospital.”

  “Speaking of the hospital, are we close to the Mall of America?” I asked. “I’ve been doing a ton of research, and I think we have time for a quickie shopping trip before we go. Look here, I drew us a map. Thank goodness I didn’t have it in my checked bag, or we’d be flying blind.”

  “The airline lost your bags?! I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “I know,” I grumbled. “But I think Roseanne and I had a real heart-to-heart chat. Everything will be okay.”

  “Who’s Roseanne?”

  I thumbed over my shoulder where Roseanne and her peaked eyebrows were wildly busy ignoring me. “Never mind then,” I said quickly. “Here’s the route I was thinking we take. If we start at Macy’s, we could walk past the food court, grab a doughnut for energy, and then swing into... Why are you frowning?”

  To my grave disappointment, May didn’t bother to study my carefully construed Mall of America mapwork. Instead, she rested her hand over mine and gently folded the paper back along the creases. “Honey, the mall is closed this early in the morning, and we have to get you home. Your mother’s already awake and bursting with excitement to let you into your grandmother’s house. She also arranged an appointment for you, so we have to hurry.”

  “An appointment?” I shook my head. “What do you mean an appointment?”

  “Do you remember Lana Duvet?”

  “Ew. The girl who pulled my pants down during summer camp assembly? Yes.”

  “She’s getting married,” May said, “and your mother promised she’d have a stylist around the store to help pick out some outfits for her groomsmen and bridesmaids.”

  “I’m barely in town a minute, and my schedule is booked already.” I heaved a sigh. “I guess we can do the mall another time.”

  “That’s the spirit.” May gave me a slap on the rump. “Saddle up, partner—we’re going to Blueberry Lake.”

  Chapter 2

  “Oh, honey.” Upon laying eyes on me for the first time in a year and a half, my mother’s eyes teared up as she opened her front door and surveyed her first and only daughter with fondness. “Those shoes are ridiculous.”

  I glanced down at the four-inch stilettos that propped me up with a false sense of confidence as I arrived in my cozy new hometown: Blueberry Lake, Minnesota. “Good to see you too, Mom.”

  Bea (Beatrice, actually, but she’ll throw you in the lake if you call her that) McGovern laughed, opened her arms, and gestured for me to fall into them. I did, letting my mother wrap herself around me and squeeze deeply. Despite the time that’d passed, she smelled exactly the same. Like the hint of lemon she spritzed into her mint tea and the cinnamon she sprinkled on her coffee. Like warmth and pound cake and whipped cream and home.

  “It’s winter, darling,” she said, her lips pursing with concern. “You will break an ankle on black ice the second you step outside. You know your grandmother’s old house isn’t built for practicality.”

  Six hours ago when I’d stood in the LAX airport waiting to board, I’d felt perfectly in place. My shoes had been rocking, my purse was fluffed and fuzzy, my hair was curled and bouncy as I set off with all my belongings packed into the newest Victoria Strand luggage collection. Plus, my Louis Vuitton handbag, which I’d obviously used as my personal item since I couldn’t stand to be parted from it—lucky thing, seeing as the airport lost two of my three checked bags! (Did they not realize I had earrings from Lauren B herself in the case? Or a new MAC eyeshadow palette that had cost a fortune?)

  Which is why I stood before my mother with my beloved Louis Vuitton and one measly little Victoria Strand duffle that held nothing but a collection of underpants and pajamas. It was a very good thing Victoria’s Secret had been having their semi-annual sale the week before I left. At least everything in there was new and cute—especially that brilliant yellow set with the little ladybugs embroidered on them. How could I not buy them?

  “I’d love to stick around and chat, but I am really wiped. I couldn’t sleep on the plane, and then there was the issue with the bags, and the lady at the counter was really grumpy—not that I blame her, since who wants to get to work at four thirty in the morning? That’s just ridiculous.”

  “Of course, of course. Sid, can you grab the key for Jenna?” My mother called upstairs to her new husband while simultaneously winking at me. “You are going to love Gran’s old place. I’m so glad you finally decided to fix it up. Speaking of, we might as well head over to your grandmother’s house now so you can drop your bags off.”

  My mother had married Sid exactly a year and a half ago. The two were still very much in the honeymoon phase, which was a huge part of the reason I hadn’t been home in over a year. There was such a thing as living too close to your mother, especially when she was a newlywed. Full stop.

  Sid is the reason we landed in Minnesota. Well, actually, it’s all Gran’s fault. Gran always lived in Blueberry Lake, along with my cousins and a few other McGovern family offshoots. My mother and I had moved to California after my father passed away when I was four. I’d never asked her why she’d uprooted us and left, but I imagined the sting of being too close to his memory had a lot to do with it.

  However, we’d never been able to truly stay away from the quaint town where I’d been born. Every summer, we’d packed our decidedly boring duffle bags and flew back to join Gran in her roomy, adorable Victorian house near the lake. I’d spent the time outdoors, running around with May and her troublemaking brothers. The humid July days had been filled with laughter and games, bonfires and sticky s’mores, grimy hands and scraped knees.

  During those times, my problems had seemed simpler. In fact, the solution to just about anything had been to throw us in the lake. Sticky hands? Jump off the dock. Skinned knees? Stick on a Band-Aid and hop in the canoe. Tears from an argument? Go cool down with a nice back float.

  After a brief drive from my mother’s house, I found myself facing Gran’s old house for the first time as a full-grown adult. I couldn’t help but hope the lake still held that healing magic. I had plenty of problems to deal with, including a public breakup that had left me reeling (never date a movie star!), the small matter of a dwindling savings account (darn you, winter sales!), and the loneliness that came from living across the country from my closest family and dearest friends.

  “Isn’t it just like you remembered?” My mother anxiously glanced my way as she handed over the key. “I hope you’re happy here.”

  I did my best to offer her a thousand-watt smile as I studied the house Gran had left in my care when she’d passed away three years back. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  My eagerness and excitement slipped like sand through my fingers. While the house itself was a gorgeous structure, all sweeping pillars, lopsided windows, and little turrets fit for a Midwestern castle, there was an air of abandonment that had settled over the place. Three years of sitting empty had made the house a lonely tower instead of the beaming ray of pink and purple siding that I had come to think of as summer.

  “Actually, it does look, er, different,” I said delicately, noting that the flower pots which hung from the long, luxurious porch were filled with dry leaves and snow instead of the blooms normally spilling around the edges. The vines that had so beautifully wrapped around the pillars and overflowed onto the sides of the house were a mess of brown and ugly. Even the layer of snowy white that blanketed the world couldn’t hide the peeling paint or the cracks bleeding through under the early morning winter glow.
r />   “I know it doesn’t look like it did when your grandmother lived here.” My mother wrung her hands. “I tried to keep it up after she died, but then Sid and I got married, and life got hectic, and... well, I’m sorry, Jenna. I hope it’ll suit you.”

  “Of course it will,” I said cheerily. “A little fixing up, and it’ll be perfect by summer. I can’t wait.”

  My mother’s smile broadened. “Exactly! And remember, you’ve never seen the house in winter, or at least, not for a long, long time. When summer rolls around, it’ll be perfect again.”

  I wasn’t convinced she was right, but I gave a nod anyway. Digging deep, I searched for the wild sense of adventure I’d felt on the way to the LAX airport and the eagerness at the opportunity to start over.

  I’d had all my worldly possessions packed into the trunk of an Uber car, and I’d felt like my twenty-nine-year-old-self had been given the world on a silver platter. Wherever you want to go, Jenna McGovern, I’ll take you there—just say the word! That’s what I imagined my Uber driver saying, when really, he asked if I needed the air conditioning turned down.

  The eagerness faded some as a pit lodged into my stomach, and I wondered what I’d done—if this had all been one gigantic mistake after the next. I’d given up my studio apartment in a ‘less-than-desirable’ neighborhood of Los Angeles to move to a town where Uber didn’t yet exist and there was one coffee shop on main street—and it wasn’t a Starbucks.

  To top things off, my shoes were impractical here. Impractical! Tears welled in my eyes at the thought. I’d built my life around styling fashion, and here I was, plopped into Blueberry Lake like a well-dressed fish out of water. Which was just silly because fish didn’t wear clothes. A fact I’d discovered in second grade while trying to put Fred, the class goldfish, into a raincoat. Needless to say, I had been banned from taking class pets home after that.