by Gina LaManna
Shades of Stars
Lola Pink Mystery Series, Volume 2
Gina LaManna
Published by LaManna Books, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SHADES OF STARS
First edition. April 21, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Gina LaManna.
Written by Gina LaManna.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Synopsis
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
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Shades of the Stars!
Author’s Note
Now for a thank you...
To my wonderful husband who inspires every hero. :)
Acknowledgments
SPECIAL THANKS:
To Alex—This one’s for your Datsun. я тебя люблю!
To my family—Thanks for giving me inspiration (that I never use in books! ;-)).
To Stacia—For making sure I always feel like a star. :-)
To you, readers!—For making every book feel so special. You’re the real stars!
Synopsis
LOLA PINK IS IN ALL shades of trouble. Her shop is still under construction, she’s sort-of-fired from her job, and her hottest date this week is with a microwave burrito. However, when Dane Clark finds himself at the center of a murder investigation, Lola slips on her gorgeous vintage sunglasses and takes the case.
She’s determined to prove that her sometimes-boss, sometimes-boyfriend is innocent, even if that means dealing with Dane’s “charming” parents and planning a “splendid” charity gala in under two weeks. However, it doesn’t take psychic powers for Lola to see that the closer she gets to uncovering the murderer, the more danger she’s in—and this killer isn’t afraid to strike again.
With Lola struggling to piece together love, career, and a murder investigation, she wonders if her relationship with Dane Clark is destined for failure, or if maybe, it’s been written in the stars all along...
Chapter 1
“ARE YOU LOLA PINK?”
I cinched my fluffy pink robe tighter around my body and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. “No.”
“You’re lying.” The man blinked in surprise, then stuck a finger in my face. “You’re Lola Pink.”
“I don’t turn into Lola Pink until I’ve had three cups of coffee and the sun is all the way up,” I said pointedly, nodding toward the first fingers of sunrise in the distance. “It’s not even seven o’clock in the morning.”
“You’re the psychic, right?”
“I’m not psychic. My grandmother was psychic.”
The man on the front steps—a short guy with fire-engine red hair—stepped back, scanned the sign on the door, and shook his head. “It says right here: Psychic in Pink. Are you searching for something? Have you lost your way in life and need a little direction? A clue to what’s next? Well, we’ll help you find whatever it might be that you’re looking for—”
“Stop, stop, stop!” I spoke louder with each word. “I know what the sign says.”
“Well, I need some help with a few problems. May I?” Without waiting for a response, he brushed past me into the shop. “Whew, this place is a mess.”
I scanned the cozy, oceanfront hut, taking a long minute to gather my sleepy thoughts. It was true—this place was a disaster: plastic hung from rafters, half-sawed hunks of wood were spread everywhere, and so much dust lined the floors I now needed to shower three times a day. “We’re in the middle of a remodel.”
“Huh,” he said. “Maybe you should just tear this place down?”
“Did you come here for help, or did you come here to criticize my home? I’m warning you, I haven’t had coffee; the latter option is not a good idea. Neither is the former, for that matter, but you seem pretty insistent.”
“Hear me out, lady,” he said. “My name’s Richard. I need some help with the ladies.”
“No kidding,” I said on a breath. Crossing my arms, I spoke louder. “You can start by not calling me lady.”
“Oh, good grief. That’s what I’m talking about! A guy can’t win these days.” Richard ran a hand through his red hair and began pacing between two partially finished countertops. “Everything would’ve been fine if it weren’t for Stephanie.”
“Who’s Stephanie?” I would’ve sighed, but that required energy. At this point, it was easier to go along with the man than shove him out the front door. Plus, he looked sweaty, and I wasn’t in the mood for sweaty man germs on my fingers.
“Stephanie’s my soulmate!” He shook his head, looking supremely agitated. “She’s meant for me, and I’m meant for her.”
“Great. So get married.”
“She doesn’t want to! That’s the problem. She just doesn’t see things yet the way that I do.”
“I wonder why.”
“I know, right?” He faced me, missing the sarcasm completely. “I mean, I’m a catch. Ain’t that the truth?”
I surveyed his sort of buff, small body and wild jade eyes, and attempted a smile. It didn’t work, judging by the look of disappointment on his face.
“Am I that bad?”
“Define what you mean by bad.”
“Lady, you couldn’t even smile at me. Don’t lie. I’m here for honest help.”
I sucked in air and held my breath until my cheeks ballooned out. Then I let it hiss between my lips until I’d reached a point of Zen that would allow me to speak without growling. “Fine. You want a psychic reading? Sit down.”
“Where?” He watched as I took the only seat—a plastic-covered, squashy red armchair that had once belonged to the real psychic of the Sunshine Shore, Dotty Pink.
I gestured vaguely to the room, but there was no other place to sit. “Okay, you can stand. What do you need help with?”
“Stephanie dumped me last night. She said I don’t treat her like a lady.”
“Well, do you?”
“Of course I do! I just told her last night she had a great tush. Best I’ve seen.”
“Oh, gee whiz. You’re a real Romeo.”
“And I mean look at me...” He did a weird thrusting motion with his hips. “Do you see this body? I work out.”
As he massaged his biceps, I let my head fall into my hands. I chanced a look up once his dance was complete. “When’s the last time you took her on a date?”
“Well—”
“A real, live date,” I said. “Drive thru milkshakes from McDonald’s don’t count. I’m talking reservations, corsage, a fancy dress.”
“A cor-what?”
“Flowers, Richard! Do you buy her flowers?”
“They just die on her anyway. Her thumb’s blacker than ink.”
I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling to the ceiling. “
Do you know what? Maybe I am psychic. I’m getting a vision.”
“I knew it!”
“Nothing’s changing in your future.”
“Really?” His face crumpled. “You can’t be serious.”
For the first time, I caught a glimpse of despair behind his muscle flexing and name calling and overall brashness. It was this emotion that I latched onto as I leaned forward, trying not to inhale the coconut scent of his tanning lotion. “I’m going to ask you one question. Do you love Stephanie? I mean really, truly love her. You’d do anything in the world to have her forever?”
This time when he spoke it was softer, the vowels rounded and thoughtful. “Yes, I do,” he said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back.”
“Okay, then here’s what you need to do,” I said, launching into a twenty-minute long discussion that covered basics such as flower-buying, date-making, and other respect-filled ways to try and win Stephanie back. “I can’t promise this will work, but it’s a start.”
Richard stared at me with an open-mouthed expression. “Uh, can you write that down?”
“Lo, we’re here—oh, good morning!” Johnny called through the front door as he unlocked it. He looked at me in the chair, as if seeing a ghost. “Is that you, Lola?”
“The one and only,” I said. “People seem to be confused this morning about who I am.”
“What’d you do with the real Lola Pink?” he asked, feigning surprise. “Usually you don’t wake up until we get the sledgehammer out.”
“Well, I’m a new and improved woman,” I said. “And I have company. Meet Richard.”
Johnny looked at the man, raised his eyebrow, and seemed unimpressed. “Okay, well—do you mind if we get started? I’d like to keep cracking on the renovations.”
“Go ahead,” I said, pulling a notebook toward me. I made a list for Richard to follow, handed it over, and wished him luck. As parting advice, I waved and called after him. “Remember: Buy a nice bottle of wine, not the box of it. And not beer—it’s not as romantic.”
“Thank you, Miss Pink,” he called over his shoulder. “I owe you one. Don’t worry, I’ll call if I have any questions.”
“Please don’t,” I whimpered, leaning against the doorframe.
“Another nut looking for a psychic?” Johnny asked, appearing next to me.
Johnny DePaul owned a construction company one town over, and he’d come highly recommended to me from Mr. Dane Clark, the king of Castlewood. After a horrible last attempt at remodeling this place, I was more than happy to report that Johnny was efficient, honest, and skilled at his job. Unlike Luke Anderson.
“Yeah,” I said. “They seem to flock to me, though I don’t know why.”
“You should really take the sign down.”
“I should, actually. You have a point.”
“But she can’t!” A familiar female voice piped up from behind Johnny. “She misses Dotty too much.”
I peered over Johnny’s shoulder toward my front steps.
Babs stood there, a huge smile on her face. “I thought I smelled coffee while I was walking past, so I stopped by.”
“Right,” I said, watching as Babs’s eyes left mine, flicked over to Johnny, and drank in his broad shoulders and sturdy build. Johnny seemed too surprised to speak, so I tapped him on the shoulder. “Babs, can you join me in the kitchen for a second?”
“Of course.” She twirled dreamily after me as she danced through the construction zone until she stubbed her toe against a ladder and cursed like a sailor the rest of the way.
“You’re a real poet,” I said, pulling filters down from the cupboard as Johnny rejoined his other work buddies on the front lawn. “Now, do you want to explain why you felt the need to swing by my house this morning?”
“I smelled coffee.”
“I haven’t made coffee yet. I always come to your office to get coffee—so nice try on that one.” I gave her a stern look and added a note of warning to my voice. “Babs, Johnny is not going to find you attractive if you’re stalking him.”
“He’s beautiful, okay? I just wanted to say hi.”
I looked to Johnny. Most people wouldn’t think of beautiful when they saw Johnny—he was sort of big all over, tall and broad and strong. He came from an Italian family and looked it—dark hair, dark eyes, loud voice. He wore a gold chain around his neck with a small cross on it, and he had about six siblings and nineteen cousins. He was a nice guy, he just wasn’t... beautiful.
“Beans,” I said for the third time. “Can you hand them to me?”
Babs had been clutching the bag of coffee to her chest like it was a teddy bear. “Oh, right,” she said, handing it over. “Sorry.”
“I have to get dressed and head to work,” I said, as the coffee pot gurgled to life. “Don’t get any ideas about making out with Johnny while he’s supposed to be working. I can’t go on living in dust like this for much longer, and I can’t have you distracting him.”
“Why don’t you live with your boyfriend?” Babs now focused her full attention on me. She never tired of talking about love and men—whether it was her life, or someone else’s. “You can hardly say you’re going to work if you’re sleeping with the CEO.”
“I’m not sleeping with him! We had a few sort-of dates. I don’t know what you’d call us. We’re not putting labels on anything yet.”
Babs didn’t look convinced.
“At least I’m not stalking him.”
“I’m not stalking Johnny,” she retorted, looking the slightest bit sheepish. “I’m just visiting my friend. You. You’re welcome.”
“This is why you make a great lawyer,” I told her. “Turning my words around like that. Do you want coffee before you go?”
“No way,” she said. “I’ve already had three cups. Plus, your coffee sucks.”
I poured some into a mug and took a sip. Dirt. “Can I stop by your office on my way to work?”
“Bring your own mug this time.”
“I don’t steal your mugs.”
“You borrow them. Permanently.” Babs pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then made the I’m watching you gesture as she stomped out the front door. As she passed Johnny, she gave him a giggle, a wave, and then ran smack dab into the doorframe.
“Are you okay?” Johnny asked as she stormed out in a flurry of expletives. When she didn’t answer, he turned to me. “What’s up with her?”
I rolled my eyes. “Men.”
Chapter 2
“LOLA!” MRS. DULCET’S eyebrows bent in surprise as she pulled open the door to the sprawling castle-like manor that served as a home for Dane Clark and his staff. “I didn’t expect you for another hour at least.”
“Well, I got up early,” I said with a smile. “All that construction makes it hard to be lazy.”
“I imagine.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable with my presence. “Do you have time scheduled with Mr. Clark?”
I gripped the mug I’d borrowed from Babs’s office a little tighter and studied the exquisite hallway behind her, one decked out in rich old woods and gorgeous art that probably belonged in the Louvre. “Well, I imagined we’d have our usual breakfast meeting and go over the itinerary for the day. Unless Mr. Clark’s schedule has changed?”
“Oh, well, he’s busy at the moment.”
“Busy?” I glanced at the mug, thinking I should really return it. I’d noticed at least seven of Babs’s mugs stashed in various locations around my house after she’d mentioned it. “Should I come back?”
“Dear me, I’ve been so rude.” Mrs. Dulcet stepped off to the side of the doorway. “You’ll understand I’m just not used to seeing you before nine in the morning. We run on a very regimented clock over here.”
I matched her forced laugh. “If Dane is busy, maybe I can just pop by his office to run through the itinerary? I won’t keep him long. But I was supposed to help with some paperwork, and he said he’d have it ready first thing t
his morning.”
“He’s not in his office.”
“Oh, okay.”
We stood there, eyeing each other for a moment. Lucy Dulcet had a head of hair as red as The Little Mermaid, and on most days, she was the warmest, gentlest soul in the entire castle. In fact, the only time her claws came out was when Mr. Dane Clark—CEO of Clark Company—needed protecting.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come this early,” I said finally. Then I thumbed over my shoulder toward my bicycle. “I’ll just wait on my...uh, vehicle.”
“Hey there, Pink! How’s it going?” Gerard, the keeper of Mr. Clark’s famous garage, appeared behind Mrs. Dulcet in the doorway. He carried a shiny apple in hand, a single bite missing. “Are you busy?”
“Me? No. In fact, I’ve got an hour to kill if you want to put me to work.”
“Come on down to the garage!” Gerard was a handsome older man—one of Babs’s many crushes, due in part to his exotic Australian accent. She’d run into him several times during my calamity-filled first gig for the Clark Company. “We’ve got the shoot in action. You’re missing all the excitement.”
I glanced first at him, then at Mrs. Dulcet. “Shoot?”
Mrs. Dulcet’s face turned pale. “I must have forgotten. Mr. Clark didn’t mention it to you?”
“No, I didn’t see it on the schedule.” I said slowly. “Could it be that he doesn’t want me there?”
“Don’t be silly,” Gerard said. “Come with me. You can meet Andrea.”
“Andrea,” I repeated. “Sure.”
“They’re on a break right now. If we hurry, you can beat the hair and makeup folks before they steal them away.”
When Mrs. Dulcet didn’t offer any advice, I shrugged. “Sounds good. What’s the shoot about?”
“Clark Company has been working quietly on a chip that’ll go into self-driving cars. The PR team thought it’d be good publicity to get a few shots with Dane in his garage—his collection is well known and admired among car enthusiasts.”
