by Gina LaManna
Lipstick and Lies
Murder In Style, Volume 2
Gina LaManna
Published by LaManna Books, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LIPSTICK AND LIES
First edition. January 31, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Gina LaManna.
Written by Gina LaManna.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Lipstick and Lies (Murder In Style, #2)
Lipstick and Lies
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
Epilogue
Author’s Note
To my family :)
Special Thanks:
To Alex and Leo—for letting me decorate our house with furry things and sparkles! я тебя люблю!
To Stacia—my partner in crime in this business!
To Mom and Dad, Auntie Meg & Auntie Kristi—as always for your support.
To my family, friends, and LaManna’s Ladies, thank you for coming along on another ride with me!
Lipstick and Lies
Jenna McGovern is dressed to kill for Blueberry Lake’s annual firefighter charity auction. But when she finds her attractive fireman neighbor, Matt Bridges, standing over the body of a local hair stylist—and his ex-girlfriend—it’s not exactly the romantic ambiance Jenna had in mind.
While the handsome chief of police, Cooper Dear, sets out to investigate Matt, Jenna finds herself sucked into another murder case in which an innocent man seems to have been framed. Cooper isn’t especially thrilled when Jenna takes Matt’s side, and he’s even less thrilled when it appears the murderer has turned his or her sights on Jenna.
Unfortunately, Jenna’s in far too deep to back out. She’s got a new car, freshly waxed eyebrows, and a manicure that can be seen from space... but if Jenna doesn’t stop the murderer before it’s too late, she’ll be picking out clothes for her very own funeral.
Chapter 1
“Birds!” I leaped out of bed, rushed toward the window, and threw the curtains open.
I grabbed my phone from the charger near the bed and instantly hit speed dial to my cousin’s number. When May answered, I repeated my earlier observation.
“There are birds outside!”
“Excuse me?” May sounded groggy. “What are you talking about?”
“They’re chirping,” I said. “Real, live birds. The sun is out. I don’t see any snow on the ground.”
“That’s called spring,” she groaned. “What about it?”
“Spring is here!” I yelped. “The winter is over?”
“It’s seven o’clock on Friday morning. Can’t we discuss this at, say, eleven a.m. on Saturday?”
“Forget it,” I said, heaving a huge sigh. “Go back to bed. Sorry to wake you. I just needed to share my enthusiasm with someone. The winter is over.”
“Good night.” Another groan from May, and she hung up the phone.
I debated dialing my mother or Allie in order to wax poetry, but I decided it’d be pretty much the same conversation. A conversation that would probably be better had in person. And the one person who I knew would be up, located within walking distance, and serving coffee at this hour, was my neighbor.
I headed downstairs, flinging all the windows open in the old Victorian house along the way. The temperatures were barely squeaking past forty degrees, but it didn’t matter. I’d survived! Completing my first tundra winter after decades of living in California, that was worth celebrating.
“Good morning, good morning, good morning,” I chirped to the shoe rack holding all my beauties. “How are you doing, Louie?”
As I greeted my shoes and purse in turn, I selected a pair of fluffy pink moccasins for my morning trek to Matt’s house. I’d gotten them on sale at my mother’s shop a week ago, and I found they were the perfect mix between outdoor clogs and indoor slippers in a shade of dusty primrose that had me daydreaming of fat peonies and pretty hyacinths.
I threw open the front door and rushed outside without a jacket. By the time I reached Matt’s place, I was a shivering popsicle, but I didn’t care. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. There was a mysterious ‘drip’ coming from somewhere that signified the last piles of snow were melting.
“Are you nuts?” Matt pulled his door open as I raised a hand to knock.
My fist froze mid-air. “What?”
“Your teeth are chattering. Why didn’t you put on a jacket? It’s like thirty-six degrees outside.”
“B-because i-i-it’s s-s-spring.” I stuttered like a snake. “Can I get some coffee?”
He grinned. “I see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.”
“My shoes?” I lovingly tap danced my new shoes into Matt’s doorway, kicking them gently onto the welcome mat.
“Your... what is that thing?”
I glanced down, confused. “What thing?”
“This?” Matt used his hand to gesture from my head to toe.
Finally, I realized he meant my clothing choice. Or rather, my pajamas. “Oh, this,” I said, beaming at him. “My onesie.”
“Your onesie?”
It was leopard print and adorable. There were no feet attached, but there were adorable buttons from my neck to my waist, most of which were buttoned. I glanced down, found a stray one that’d popped open, and fixed it up.
“Don’t you like it?”
“It’s just very...” Matt sighed. “It’s very Jenna.”
“I’ll take it,” I chirped. “I smell coffee. And is that syrup?”
“I’ve got your waffle in the griddle.”
“How’d you know? I’m half an hour earlier than normal.”
“May texted me,” Matt said. “She told me to put pants on because you’d woken up bored and hungry.”
I felt my cheeks blush. “Oh. Sorry. It’s your house, and if you don’t want to wear pants, who am I to judge?”
Matt looked down at his athletic shorts and Blueberry Lake Fire Department T-shirt. “Don’t worry, I didn’t dress up for you. I was up already. I’ve gotta work this afternoon and wanted to get some things done first.”
“Like what?” I popped onto a stool at the kitchen counter.
Matt moved over toward the sink. He reached into the cupboards and removed a second coffee mug to match the one already in use. He poured the sweet-smelling liquid into a mug that, no surprise there, read BLFD (Blueberry Lake Fire Department). Apparently, Matt’s taste in fashion and home decor was mostly dependent on free handouts from his career. I could probably help him out with that if he ever let me.
Matt raised an eyebrow. “Stuff. Things around the house. Home improvement projects.”
“Speaking of home improvement projects,” I said, “what are the chances you’d be interested in lending a helping hand when I get started restoring Green’s?”
When I’d moved back to Blueberry Lake after a breakup and the crash and burn of a glorious styling career in Hollywood, I’d taken over my Gran’s old house. She’d left it to me in her will... along with a host of its problems.
/> For starters, there was no food anywhere in the house, and I couldn’t seem to keep the refrigerator or my coffee jar stocked no matter how many times a week I went to the market. (Zero times.) In addition to the food shortage (a major reason I was a near-permanent fixture in my neighbor’s kitchen), the house was in dire need of repairs.
Worst of all was the old greenhouse that Gran had kept looking beautiful in its heyday. Greta Green had fittingly named her greenhouse “Green’s”, and after her husband died, she’d gradually grown it into a business.
She’d sold plants, herbs, fresh fruits and veggies when in season, and—best of all—homemade goods from her homegrown ingredients. It might’ve looked like a cutesy shack on the back of her property, but it had bloomed into a business that’d sustained her financially for years.
As a tribute to Gran, I’d made it my goal to work toward breathing life into the old greenhouse. Before moving home, I hadn’t had any intention of turning it into my vision for my time here, but when I’d arrived, it’d felt like something Gran would have wanted me to do. It felt invigorating and bursting with hope, which was just what I needed.
Spring was around the corner, representing a fresh start in every possible way. Life, love, career. House repairs. Learning to make breakfast. When the sun was shining for the first time after a long winter, anything felt possible.
“It’s gonna cost you,” Matt said, cranking an eyebrow up.
“Add it to my tab.” I pulled my coffee closer and took a deep drag, my eyes rolling back in my head at the rich taste of it. “I’m already years in debt for the amount of food and coffee you’ve fed me. I owe you. In fact, I’ll start paying off my tab today. What can I do for you?”
Matt gave a snort. “That’s a loaded question.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Funny, my friend. I was talking about your errands.”
“There is one favor you could do,” he wheedled, looking suddenly interested. “And I would consider wiping your entire tab clean.”
“Is that right?” I leaned an elbow on the counter, then rested my chin in my palm and stared intently at Matt. “Tell me more.”
“I would also help you restore Green’s for a favor of this caliber.”
“Spit it out,” I said. “Do you need a kidney? I’d consider it, but to be honest, your body might reject my pink, fluffy-fur-loving kidney.”
Matt’s eyes twinkled. “No kidneys. Just add yourself to the roster for tomorrow night’s event.”
“No. Absolutely not.” I pushed the coffee cup back toward him. “I would rather give you my kidney.”
“It’s not so bad,” Matt wheedled. “All the proceeds go to charity.”
“I’ll donate my kidney to charity,” I offered. “I’m not auctioning myself off like a... like a... I don’t know what. That is just ridiculous.”
“It’s one date!” Matt’s eyes widened. “You can’t seriously be taking offense to a charity auction. That’s basically illegal.”
“Oh, I’m not taking any offense. In fact, I’ll happily be in attendance wearing this gorgeous new red dress I picked up at fifty-four percent off on a spring sale. I will happily eat the canapes. I will happily hoot and holler for everyone participating, but I will not be participating.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged a shoulder. The Bachelorette Ball—a charity event thrown jointly by the police and fire departments of Blueberry Lake—was apparently a huge deal in a town of this size. It was the social event of the quarter. People had been talking about it since the Christmas Gala had wrapped up on December 26th.
“It’s just ridiculous,” I said, shrinking back into my seat as I reluctantly pulled the coffee closer. Even the thought of a rejected kidney donation couldn’t keep me apart from caffeine. “I’m not an ornament to be dangled in front of a crowd and bid on like a donkey.”
“A donkey.”
“You know,” I said. “In the olden days. A bunch of men bidding on livestock or whatever.”
“I’d argue this is a bit different,” Matt said, trying and failing to hide a grin of amusement. “I’d call this a very empowering event.”
“How so?”
“Well, the board that puts it together is a team of women. The fire and police guys just do the heavy lifting. We set up tables and chairs and bring our wallets.”
“Okay...”
“It’s run by women, features women, and it raises a boatload of money for the local hospital. The women who put on this event are literally saving lives.”
“You’re right,” I grunted. “That doesn’t sound so bad, but I still don’t want to do it. Maybe I’ll bid on a date. You know, as a friendly sort of thing. It doesn’t have to be romantic, does it?”
“Not at all,” Matt said. “Most dates aren’t romantic. For crying out loud, June is one of the women auctioning herself off. Last year, I bid on my own grandmother... and won.”
There was a long silence.
“I’m not sure if I should be telling you that.” Matt shifted uncomfortably. “But I didn’t want her to go without any bids, so I started off high.”
I reached across the table and gave a squeeze of Matt’s hands before he could busy his fingers with his coffee mug. “I think it’s sweet.”
The moment in which we touched was warm and friendly, a hint of coziness between us that came from truly blossoming intimacy. Apparently that’s what resulted from daily breakfast and coffee dates—romantic affiliation or not. And we were definitely in the not category, seeing as I’d kissed Matt’s rival a few times when I’d first moved to town.
Since I’d been framed and cleared of murder, I’d mostly tried to stay away from Cooper Dear, chief of police. He was bad for the butterflies in my stomach. Namely, he made them multiply like rabbits in heat, and I couldn’t seem to stop kissing him when we were alone. I wasn’t interested in a relationship; when I’d moved across the country, I’d made a conscious effort to focus on myself. I couldn’t get myself sorted out if I was also untangling feelings for not one, but two very different men.
I pulled my hand back from Matt’s, staring into my coffee as if it held the answers to the universe. “Forget it,” I said, bringing the conversation back to a safer topic. “I’ll be there, watching and betting. Maybe I can buy a date with Allie.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Matt said with a wink. “I hear she can be pretty handsy.”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Is that burning I smell?”
Matt whirled around and reached for the waffle maker. He cursed under his breath. I mostly pretended to ignore the situation as he dumped a rock-hard, blackened waffle into the garbage can and fumbled about for his bowl of batter and a big scooping sort of spoon. He sprayed oil on the waffle maker and set to work on a second attempt.
I debated making a joke about it, but it didn’t feel right. Matt had never burned breakfast in all the weeks I’d been stealing over to his house to mooch free food from his kitchen, and I highly suspected I was the source of his distraction. Whether it was talks of life-saving dates, or favors we could do for one another, or the moment our hands had touched, it was hard to say. But something was different.
“Anyway, the charity auction is off the table,” I said, downing the rest of my coffee and circling the kitchen. I set the mug in the sink and washed my hands. “If you think of another favor you’d like help with—something around the house, or running an errand, for example—why don’t you give me a call?”
“You’re leaving?” Matt trailed me out of the kitchen and watched as I slipped into my shoes. “What about the waffle?”
“I’ve wreaked enough havoc in your house for one morning.” I grinned. “And to be honest, I really just wanted the caffeine. It’s freaking seven o’clock on a Friday morning. I want to climb back in bed.”
“Stop back once you’re awake... and dressed,” Matt said. “If you want help with your greenhouse, I’ll need to hear what you want to do with it.”
I clapped my hand
s gleefully. “You are the best!”
Matt opened the front door for me, and I slid out from underneath his arm to stand on the front steps. He didn’t move out of my way, and I didn’t make any huge effort to skirt his long limbs. When I brushed against his outstretched arm, that familiar zing of cozy intimacy slid over my body. Not the same electric butterflies as when Cooper Dear looked at me with his kissable face, but something entirely unique to Matt Bridges.
I spun around, my breath hitched in my throat as Matt’s gaze landed on me. His eyes were a deeper shade of blue-gray than usual. His rumpled, dirty-blond hair brushed a touch onto his forehead, and his entirely unfashionable outfit looked ridiculously good on him. As a firefighter, he was expected to keep in good shape, I figured. But Matt took ‘good shape’ to the next step.
“Jenna,” Matt began. “There’s one thing—”
I sniffed. “I hate to say it, Matt, but—”
Before I could direct his attention to the scent of smoke coming from his kitchen, the fire alarms did it for me. Matt cursed again as the moment was interrupted by a shrill beeping coming from his house.
“I’d offer to help,” I called as he jogged toward the waffle maker, “but seeing as putting out fires is your job, I think you can probably handle it.”
“We’re all good,” Matt called. “Nothing to see here.”
When he returned to the door, I was properly situated on his front path—far enough away that our inadvertent touches couldn’t lead to anything else.
“Got the fire put out?”
He smiled, holding a cup of coffee in one hand. “I did, though I can’t understand why you’re trying to sneak away without a waffle. June would be horrified at my cooking abilities. Mums the word, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Seeing as it’s my fault. I distracted you.”
“Tell me about it,” Matt grumbled, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. As if realizing he’d said something a bit awkward, he cleared his throat. “It must be that onesie of yours. The pattern is quite... original. Some might call it eye catching.”
