Handbags & Homicide

by Anne Marie Stoddard

  "I'm allowed to be here," she said, sweeping a hand around the dock. "This is a public marina. Not part of the resort property." She grinned. "And Mr. Toki's not the only one with a police scanner." She focused her attention back on Emma and Dante. "Mr. Becker, what's wrong with your bride?"

  Emma shifted nervously, no doubt worried about how to get out of the conversation with the reporter without revealing the truth about her pregnancy. "I—" she stammered, but I cut in.

  "She fell on the boat," I claimed, though my voice hitched slightly. I'd never been the best liar. I barreled through before the reporter had time to notice. "And I suggested that she go to the hospital and make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

  Felicity's gaze shot back to Emma, and I winked at Em over her shoulder.

  "That's right," Emma said, playing along. She pointed to her left ankle. "It's not swollen, but I'm having trouble putting much pressure on it."

  Felicity squinted at her, no doubt running the story through her internal bull-o-meter. "Are you sure that's all that's wrong?" she pressed, moving closer to Emma.

  "Yep," I chimed in again. "You should let her get to the hospital for some x-rays. It'd be a shame if she weren't able to walk down the aisle tomorrow."

  The reporter's eyes went wide. "You're getting married here on the island?" I could practically hear the potential headlines running through her mind. "A celebrity wedding," she murmured eagerly.

  "You can come cover it, if you like," Dante offered. He shot a look at me over her shoulder. "Kaley will give you the details. Now if you'll excuse us, I'd like to get my fiancé some medical attention." He ushered Emma away before Felicity could get in another word. To Emma's credit, she limped quite convincingly all the way to the end of the dock before Dante scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way to the ambulance.

  I grudgingly did as Dante instructed and gave Felicity the time and location for the ceremony.

  "See you tomorrow!" she chirped excitedly before turning her attention to Detective Ray, who was huddled near a squad car with several uniformed officers.

  I frowned after her as she chased down the homicide detective, probably begging for a quote about the arrests. Better to let her cover the nuptials than to leak BabyGate across the internet, I reasoned.

  I shifted my gaze from the reporter to a trio standing at the opposite end of the deck. Bryan, Freddy, and Tom were huddled together, watching one of Detective Ray's men drive away in the car that held Will Bolero. Bryan caught me looking at him and made his way over to where we stood, the other two men at his heels.

  "Kahele," he said by way of acknowledging Noa. I sucked in a breath and held it. It was the first time the two men had come face-to-face in over five years.

  "Aloha, Colfax," Noa said gruffly. He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer.

  Bryan seemed unfazed by the gesture. He met my gaze, his expression softening. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he said. "For how I've acted the past couple of days, I mean. I've been having a hard time coming to terms with what happened to Val, but I shouldn't have taken my grief out on you." He swallowed. "Thanks for uncovering the truth."

  The Kaley Kalua Apology Tour continues. "You're welcome," I said evenly. "But I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I let my bitterness about our past cloud my judgment. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions and assumed that you had something to do with her death."

  "I can't really blame you," Bryan said. "But no harm, no foul. I'm just ready to put all of this behind me." He held out a hand to Noa. "Take care of her, man."

  Noa nodded and shook his hand.

  Bryan started to walk away, and Freddy followed. Tom paused long enough to give me a curt nod before joining them. It was an unspoken apology for the way he'd treated me over the past few days. I likely wouldn't get anything more from the big man, and that was fine by me.

  * * *

  Two days later, we all gathered for a gorgeous sunset ceremony on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Jamie stood next to me, twirling excitedly in her pink and teal bridesmaid dress and tan wedge sandals. A pink hibiscus was tucked behind her left ear. Coco and I wore outfits identical to hers—and, to my dismay, so did Harmony Kane. With Mia behind bars, Emma was down yet another bridesmaid, so she'd asked Harm to step in. Normally I'd have protested, but Harmony actually seemed excited about the opportunity—especially when she caught sight of Freddy Jenkins, who would be escorting her down the aisle. Considering Mia had almost cooked her to death in the sauna alongside me, I figured she deserved to be included.

  The four of us stood in a row at the end of the sandy path that led to the cliff's edge where Emma and Dante would soon say their I-do's. The groomsmen were lined up on the opposite side of the path from us, wearing khaki shorts and matching teal and white aloha shirts. Dante had also been down one man, thanks to Will's involvement in Mia's crimes. He'd asked Noa to take his place, and Noa had graciously accepted.

  Further down the path, local photographer Autumn Season was snapping photos of Dante as he viewed his bride for the first time on their wedding day. I was filled with a warm, happy sensation as I watched his face light up when he laid eyes on her.

  Emma and Dante had met with a doctor at a local hospital to confirm that all was well with her pregnancy. Em was seven weeks along, and not only was the baby doing fine, but they were able to see an ultrasound and hear the heartbeat. The parents-to-be had been over the moon excited, and I'd been just as ecstatic—especially when Emma had pulled me aside first thing on the morning of her wedding and had asked me to be the godmother. I'd given her a very enthusiastic yes and had promised that until they were ready to share their baby news with the world, I'd keep their secret—even from Noa.

  Dante squeezed Emma's hand and then left her to take his place next to Pastor Dan Presley at the cliffside so the ceremony could begin. Our sales associate, Rose, had agreed to hold up Noa's tablet so that the couples' parents could watch the nuptials via FaceTime. She took her place off to the side, next to the reception table with a three-tiered pineapple wedding cake, courtesy of local bakers, Liam and Ellen Bentley.

  Pastor Dan gave a signal to Nani Johnson, and she began to strum "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on her ukulele.

  Emma had asked Aunt Rikki to give her away, and I watched the pair take their places at the end of the wedding procession line. Emma looked radiant in her white linen dress and pastel pink lei. My aunt winked at me as she slipped her arm through Em's and prepared for their entrance.

  Two by two, the bridesmaids and groomsmen met at the top of the path and walked in pairs down to the cliff's edge. First went Jamie and Tom, followed by Harmony and Freddy. Though the best man and maid of honor were normally paired together, Emma and Dante had agreed to make an exception. That meant that Bryan walked with Coco, leaving Noa to escort yours truly down the aisle.

  Possibly not for the last time, I thought as I walked toward him, grinning. Noa took my hand and squeezed, and my stomach filled with happy butterflies as we took our first step along the path to join the others. My little L-word slip up from the other day had been all but forgotten, but that didn't mean I wasn't open to the possibility that there could be wedding bells in our future…much farther down the road from now, of course. As for the present, I was content to just sit back and enjoy the ride.

  * * * * *

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  ALOHA LAGOON BOOKS

  Ukulele Murder

  Murder on the Aloha Express

  Deadly Wipeout

  Deadly Bubbles in the Wine

  Mele Kalikimaka Murder

  Death of the Big Kahuna

  Uku
lele Deadly

  Bikinis & Bloodshed

  Death of the Kona Man

  Lethal Tide

  Beachboy Murder

  Handbags & Homicide

  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  USA Today bestselling author Anne Marie Stoddard used to work in radio, and it rocked! After studying Music Business at the University of Georgia, Anne Marie worked for several music venues, radio stations, and large festivals before trading in her backstage pass for a pen and paper (Okay, so she might have kept the pass...). Her debut novel, Murder at Castle Rock, was the winner of the 2012 AJC Decatur Book Festival & BookLogix Publishing Services, Inc. Writing Contest, and the 2013 Book Junkie's Choice Award Winner for Best Debut Fiction Novel. It was also a finalist for Best Mystery/Thriller in the 2014 RONE Awards.

  Aside from all things music and books, Anne Marie loves college football, Starbucks iced coffee, red wine, and anything pumpkin-flavored. Anne Marie is currently hard at work on several books.

  To learn more about Anne Marie, visit her online at: http://amstoddardbooks.com/

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY ANNE MARIE STODDARD

  Aloha Lagoon Mysteries:

  Bikinis & Bloodshed

  Handbags & Homicide

  Tiaras & Terror

  Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries:

  Murder at Castle Rock

  Caper at Castle Rock (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

  Deception at Castle Rock

  Sleighed at Castle Rock (holiday short story)

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Hollywood Homicide

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  of the Hollywood Headlines Mystery

  HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE

  by

  GEMMA HALLIDAY

  &

  ANNE MARIE STODDARD

  CHAPTER ONE

  "Tina, all I can see is your head," I told the purple-haired woman sitting across the table from me.

  Tina Bender, my friend and co-worker at the L.A. Informer, ignored me as she happily munched on a shrimp verde taco. "Ohmigod, these things are to die for," she said through a mouthful of food. She swallowed. "Seriously, have you tried them?"

  It was a Friday afternoon, and we were seated on the patio outside Jose's Taco Casa, a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Encino. I'd specifically requested this table for its location behind a large potted arrangement of cacti. I'd also chosen this exact seat. Thanks to Tina and the plants, I couldn't be seen from the street—but I had a perfect view of the comings and goings of about half the block. That is, when Tina wasn't leaning over and obstructing it. I was tempted to push her backward into one of the thorny cacti if she didn't get out of the way.

  Kidding! Mostly…

  "Scoot left," I instructed, tilting my body sideways in the chair to aim my camera past her.

  "Oh. Sorry," she said, inching to the left. "But I thought this was a lunch date." She looked pointedly down at my full plate. "You haven't even touched your food."

  "I'm having dinner with Trace tonight," I replied, putting the camera lens back up to my eye. "I need to reserve my appetite."

  Tina snorted. "You won't be satisfying your appetite for food, honey."

  I lowered the camera, giving her an exaggerated eye roll. "Very funny, Bender." Though, I kinda hoped she was right on some level. "He won't say where we're going," I told her. "But I do know it's someplace swanky. He asked me to wear something nice."

  Tina grinned at me. "Of course he did. Do you ever not go somewhere swanky?"

  I stuck my tongue out. She had a point, though. Trace Brody was one of Hollywood's hottest commodities and a bona fide movie star. How a tabloid paparazzo like me had been lucky enough to grab his attentions, I was still not sure. But thankfully, I had. For the past few months Trace and I had been an item, and last month I'd actually heard him use the words "girl" and "friend" together. Which was a big step in a Hollywood relationship, knowing how the tabloids jumped on words like those. (At least, we did at the Informer!)

  I set down my camera and grabbed a triangle of my quesadilla, chewing slowly as I savored the melted cheese. After a second bite, I made a show of dabbing at my mouth with a napkin. "There," I said, tossing the crumpled paper ball onto my plate. "I ate something. Better?"

  Tina's lips quirked. "Yep." She gestured to my camera. "Carry on."

  I refocused the lens of my Nikon and located the shop window once again. A leggy young woman with long black hair stepped into my line of vision. "Bingo."

  I'd been trailing Joanie Parker all morning, and I'd finally hit pay dirt. The raven-haired starlet had burst onto the reality TV scene a couple of years ago as a recurring side character on The Real Co-eds of Beverly Hills. While she'd kept her backstory as ambiguous as the origin of her plump lips, she'd quickly made a career out of being famous. My favorite sort of celebrity—the kind who needed media attention like most people needed air. However today the tabloid princess was not only sans her usual pound and a half of makeup (Was that an actual pimple I saw? Oh, lucky day!), but she had also shed her designer threads in favor of a pair of baggy pants, a white, grungy (and not in the trendy way) tank top, and a pink camouflage trucker hat. "Must be laundry day at Chateau Parker," I muttered. If Tina and I hadn't been stealthily following her all over LA that morning, I wouldn't have recognized her.

  "Maybe she's going for incognito," Tina said, peeking over her shoulder at the dressed-down diva across the street.

  "Don't turn around!" I whispered. "I don't want to tip her off that she's being photographed." I snapped away, clicking shot after shot of Joanie bending over in her saggy pants. She scooped up her pooch, a little teacup Pomeranian named Isabelle, and let the fluffy little pup give her a dog slobber facial. It was an adorable moment, though Joanie's expression in the photos wasn't exactly flattering. "I almost feel bad about this," I admitted to Tina, who had turned her attention to the menu.

  "Husband with her?" she asked.

  Joanie was married to NFL linebacker Antoine Parker, and their relationship was a notoriously tumultuous one. Joanie had even tried to stab him with a stiletto heel last month outside a Malibu restaurant. Unfortunately, I hadn't been following her that night.

  I shook my head. "Nope. Just the dog."

  "Hold that thought." Tina signaled a passing waiter and ordered us each a pineapple margarita. "I don't care what Felix thinks—we're expensing these," she said when the server was gone. "He can't expect us to spy on the rich and famous on an empty stomach. And of course we need something to wash down the food." She grinned. Felix Dunn was our notoriously cheap editor in chief. I silently wished Tina luck in getting him to pay for our lunch.

  "Now, why would you feel bad about snapping a few pics of Joanie Parker? You're just doing your job," Tina reasoned once our order was in.

  I shrugged. "I don't know," I said, my face still glued to the viewfinder. "Without all those reality show cameras following her, Joanie seems like a pretty normal girl." I watched the young woman hug the little Pomeranian to her chest. "She's just trying to spend a little quality time with her dog."

  "Celebrities: they're just like us," Tina joked. "If we bathed in champagne and ate caviar for breakfast."

  I smiled. "I know, I know. The price of fame." It was what Trace had often told me. Did he mind being hounded by paparazzi as he tried to take his girlfriend (God, I loved that word.) out for a romantic dinner? Sometimes. But he said he'd mind even more if the paparazzi suddenly weren't interested.

  As I watched through the viewfinder, a young woman approached Joanie. She wore a polo shirt with the Hollywood Hounds Grooming logo on the breast pocket. The woman took the Pomeranian from Joanie's outstretched hands and carried her over to a large silver basin, where she began to rinse the tiny pup. Joanie took a seat in a chair and flipped through a magazine. I couldn't help but notice her own face was on the cover.

  Another woman in the same unifor
m walked over to Joanie and offered her a clear plastic cup of water. The reality star took a sip and immediately spat it out on the floor at the stunned groomer's feet. Then Joanie shot out of her chair, yelling at the poor woman. Though I'd admittedly acquired decent lip-reading skills over years of spying on celebs from afar, her mouth was moving too fast for my eyes to keep up. But it was clear from the body language that the groomer was getting a heck of a dressing down. I wondered at her crime—serving tap instead of bottled water?

  My well-trained trigger finger wasted no time in snapping at least a dozen photos of the whole incident. Photos that were definitely going to land in Felix's inbox before the afternoon was over.

  "On second thought, I don't feel so bad about it after all," I told Tina, who had swiveled in her seat to watch the action as well.

  "I'll drink to that," she said as our server swooped by to place a margarita in front of each of us.

  I smiled and clinked my glass to hers. "Cheers."

  * * *

  Later that evening, I'd traded my jeans and green halter top for a sexy little black number that looked très chic with my blonde hair worn long and loose. Before stepping behind the lens for the Informer, I'd made a living (barely) as a model, so dressing up for Trace's shindigs was sort of like saying hello to my former self. And knowing how to pose beside him on the red carpets was like riding a bike: it came back in a way that was almost natural to me. Almost. As much as I enjoyed playing dress-up with Trace now and then, I was keenly aware that I now felt more comfortable being the one taking photos of celebs instead of being photographed.