SILENCED IN SEQUINS
Another cold gust of wind hit Kelly, and she muttered a curse. It was freaking cold, and she was trying to get an audience with Diana Delacourte rather than being inside her boutique where it was nice and warm.
She found the website. She stopped walking and tapped on the menu. A passing bird overhead caught Kelly’s attention, and she looked up. The bird flew out of sight into a thicket of trees. But a glimmer of silver in the snow caught her eye. She took a few steps to get a closer look. It was fabric.
A scarf?
She propelled herself forward and realized it was a wrap. The same wrap she saw Diana with last night at the party.
What was it doing outside?
She reached forward to snatch up the fabric when she noticed a lone silver stiletto shoe.
She fretted her lower lip and craned her neck forward as if to get a sneak peek of what lay ahead. God, she hoped she would find the silvery sequined dress. Maybe Diana had done a striptease out in the cold, snowy night. Kind of like those people who belonged to a polar bear club and dove into freezing ocean water.
That was it. Diana was a polar bear stripper.
Kelly’s gaze swept the landscape, and when it settled on what she’d hope not to find, her body shivered, and not because of the cold. It was because she’d just discovered Diana wasn’t a polar bear stripper.
No, Diana Delacourte was dead . . .
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SILENCED IN SEQUINS
Silenced in Sequins
Debra Sennefelder
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
Also by Debra Sennefelder
Silenced in Sequins
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
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
Copyright
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
LYRICAL UNDERGROUND BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Debra Sennefelder
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.
Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.
Lyrical Underground and Lyrical Underground logo Reg. US Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: January 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0894-7 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0894-9 (ebook)
First Print Edition: January 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0897-8
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0897-3
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
For my niece Jennifer Confield, whose grace and strength are inspiring.
Chapter One
It’s so beautiful.
It wasn’t every day a gal from Lucky Cove, New York, was in the presence of a Gucci dress.
When Kelly Quinn first laid eyes on the halter-neckline black cocktail dress, her breath caught. The body-conscious garment was expertly constructed, and its faux tortoiseshell ring at the back of the neck was elegant.
She swiped the dress one last time with a lint roller to prepare for its photo session. She then gave the dress a gentle tug, and it draped perfectly on the mannequin.
Exquisite.
Of course it was. It was an authentic Gucci cocktail dress that would’ve cost her a month’s rent back in New York City. Now it was consigned to her boutique, the Lucky Cove Resale Boutique, for sale.
She set the lint roller down and picked up her camera and snapped a flurry of photographs. She wanted shots from all angles of the dress, including a close-up of the Made in Italy label.
The windfall of the Gucci dress, plus seven other designer garments consigned last week, prompted her to give herself a crash course in not only photography but also how to set up an account on MineNowYours.com, a mega resale website where she could sell the dresses and earn a decent commission.
The “oh my god, finally a designer dress” moment she’d been dreaming of since taking over the business had come to a grinding halt when she checked the label. The dress was a size two. All the dresses were a size two. In the two months she’d been running the boutique, she’d learned the number of customers who frequented the store that were a size two were few.
She did her best to hide her disappointment. She seriously couldn’t believe she was looking at a Gucci and feeling disappointed. It made no sense to her. The consignor, Wendy Johnson, couldn’t help if she was a svelte size two, thanks to her excessive exercising, constant dieting, and many trips to New York’s premier plastic surgeon.
Kelly didn’t know such intimate details of the lives of her other consignment clients. But every week her new employee, Breena Collins, gave her updates on Wendy’s life, thanks to the latest episode of Long Island Ladies.
In some office building in midtown Manhattan, a group of television people got together and whipped up a reality show about a half-dozen spoiled, pampered, and wealthy housewives on Long Island.
How could it not be a hit?
Long Island had it all—mansions, expensive toys like yachts, endless stretches of beach, and the biggest playground for the most wealthy, the Hamptons.
Lucky Cove was tucked along the coast and attracted weary summer weekenders from the city looking for a charming main street, quiet roads, and a stretch of undisturbed beach. The quaintness of the town was what Long Island getaways used to be for city dwellers. Before the rise of cell phone videos, selfies
gone wild, and reality television.
Kelly had enough drama in her life, thank you very much. So when the fashion gods gave her the designer dresses she’d been praying for, she needed to laser focus and decide how she’d sell the garments for the best price. She couldn’t get sidetracked by Wendy’s detailed description of each dress.
Yes, it was lovely that Wendy’s personal shopper at Bergdorf Goodman knew her tastes. It was spectacular that her husband made reservations at the most exclusive restaurant on the island. And how grand it was that she wore one of the dresses the night she tossed a drink into the face of a fellow Long Island Lady.
None of which affected the price of the dress. The labels dictated the price, followed by the condition of the garment. Hence, Kelly’s eagle eye as she inspected each one.
Kelly knew designer fashions, thanks to her previous job as an assistant fashion buyer. What she didn’t know was how to authenticate designer items, and if she wanted to pursue designer fashions and accessories, she needed to learn how to spot the fakes. She couldn’t hope to consign and sell a Hermès bag if she couldn’t prove beyond any doubt that it was the real deal.
Not too many designer items were coming into the boutique at the moment, but she hoped to change that, and with these new acquisitions, she could be actively consigning luxury items soon.
Kelly set down her camera. She turned the mannequin to get photographs of the back of the dress. She smoothed the dress one more time and picked up her camera.
She yawned.
Between setting up the Mine Now Yours account and sending out newsletters, there was Thanksgiving, and last night she’d stayed way too late at her sister’s house and eaten way too much. She yawned again. It seemed the turkey coma carried over to the next day.
Up an hour earlier than normal, she wanted to photograph all the cocktail dresses before she opened the boutique. Black Friday for brick-and-mortar stores wasn’t what it used to be, but she had no idea of what the day looked like for a consignment shop.
As her granny used to say, “You live and learn.”
The advice wasn’t very reassuring, but it was all she had at the moment.
She bought advertising in local newspapers; pulled out every visual display trick she’d learned in fashion school and at Bishop’s and dressed up the window; and e-mailed her anemic mailing list. She then said a prayer to the fashion gods.
Kelly adjusted the elastic waistband of her leggings—her best fashion friend after a day of indulging turkey and all the trimmings. She smoothed her plum-colored sweater tunic—more camouflage—and another yawn escaped her lips.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Breena Collins appeared in the doorway holding a tray of coffees and pastries from Doug’s Variety Store, where she also worked part-time.
Kelly lowered her camera and turned toward Breena’s voice, then stared at the sight of her friend and coworker. She was still getting used to her former high-school classmate’s bright new hair color.
The petite redhead bustled into the photography studio. It sounded so much more professional than it was.
On a tight budget, Kelly had purchased three umbrella lights online and a vintage floor vinyl backdrop to make the photos look as good as possible. Yes, the dresses were designer, and while they didn’t carry their four-figure price tags any longer, they wouldn’t be cheap either.
“I wish I could afford one of her dresses. It would be so cool to own a dress from Wendy Johnson.”
Kelly arched an eyebrow. She wondered just how much weight Wendy’s named carried. While she couldn’t reveal the consignor when she put the items up for sale, maybe someone would recognize the floral, sleeveless Zac Posen dress from the infamous drink-toss-in-the-face episode of LIL, everyone’s shorthand for Long Island Ladies.
“Too bad we don’t have a layaway plan, huh?” Kelly set her camera down on the small round table, where she had collected a basket of tools of the trade—lint roller, binder clips, seam ripper, and small scissors. She took a coffee from the tray.
Breena nodded. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Good. Caroline’s fiancé was there with his family.” It was the first holiday Kelly had spent with her estranged sister in years. After a tragic accident ten years earlier, Kelly and her sister had drifted apart. The divide between them got wider and deeper, to the point where they eventually just became little more than acquaintances. The bright side to Kelly’s unforeseen inheritance was the chance to rebuild her relationship with Caroline.
“Good to hear. My parents had a houseful too. I’d like to know when my adult brothers will grow up.” Breena set the tray on the table and then drifted to the rolling rack, where the rest of Wendy Johnson’s consigned dresses hung.
“I don’t think they ever grow up.” Kelly took a drink of coffee. Unofficially, the autumn season was over, and all things were turning festive. Doug’s Variety Store now served its annual Holly Jolly coffee brew. The aroma was robust, and hints of cinnamon and nutmeg mingled together in every sip.
Breena pulled a sequined gown from the rack and dashed over to the narrow full-length mirror. She held it up against herself and gazed at her reflection.
“Va va boom!” She had the full bust to work the deep V-neck of the gown. In fact, she had all the right curves to work the dress. What Breena didn’t have was the height. Wendy Johnson was at least five-feet-seven, give an inch or two.
“I don’t remember her wearing this dress on the show.” Breena spun around, still holding the dress against her body, and faced Kelly. “I love it. I can see me entering the party now; all eyes turn on me as I strut in, leaving all the guys drooling.”
“Yes, they would be.” Kelly walked to Breena and held out her hand. “How about envisioning yourself straightening up the displays?”
Breena frowned. “Buzzkill.” She handed the dress to Kelly, swooped up the tray of coffee and pastries, and dashed out of the photography studio.
Kelly extended her arm to look at the dress. It wasn’t designer like the other dresses. Actually, it looked more prom than posh. While it wouldn’t fetch a high three-figure price, it would sell fast if she priced it right. She gathered the other hanging dresses, along with the silver-sequined gown, and hauled them out to the sales counter, where she attached price tags. She’d come back for the Gucci dress. She still had to figure out its price.
Kelly carried an armful of Wendy’s dresses out of the photo studio. Pepper Donovan, not only a longtime employee of the boutique but also Kelly’s grandmother’s best friend, stood behind the counter, reviewing the weekend’s marketing plan.
Kelly realized putting together an official marketing plan was a bit fussy for a small consignment shop, but the document helped her stay organized and focused. She had a lot to juggle. She was gaining inventory, tackling minor remodeling in the upstairs apartment where she now lived, working the sales floor, and writing articles for the fashion website BudgetChic.com.
As she approached the counter, Pepper lifted her chin and, over her reading glasses, gave Kelly the “Pepper glare.” Kelly had been on the receiving end of that look since the day she took over the business and implemented her changes.
One change Kelly made had her butting heads with Pepper for days. When Kelly’s granny converted the first floor of her colonial-style house into a retail shop, she was working on a shoestring budget, so she didn’t have money to take down walls, resulting in a choppy layout for her shop. Over time, she got the funds for an addition to sell home accents, which Kelly liquidated, due to the low turnover of the merchandise, expanding the accessory and shoe inventory into that space. Pepper had fought to keep the home accents but eventually saw Kelly’s vision.
Her acceptance of the changes wasn’t limited to the shop. She’d given herself a makeover a few weeks earlier. Pepper’s color-treated, shoulder-length blond hair was styled in soft waves, and she’d expe
rtly applied a smoky eye and added just the right amount of rose-colored gloss to her thinning lips. For what would hopefully be a busy day, she chose a pair of olive-colored velvet pants and a white button-down shirt topped with a cream pullover sweater. Peeking out from under the collar of the shirt was a sparkly necklace. Pepper managed to make all the right fashion choices for a woman in her mid-sixties. She looked neither too young nor too desperate to hang onto her youth. She just looked great.
Except for the Pepper glare.
“What? It’s only one page.” Kelly dropped the dresses onto the counter. The mini snowmen lined up along the counter didn’t escape her notice. On Wednesday afternoon, there had been mini pumpkins. She was impressed with how quickly Pepper had changed out the decorations and how serious she was about holiday themes.
“Seems a little formal, don’t you think?” Pepper sorted through the dresses. “Are these in the computer?”
Kelly nodded. One of her first tasks was to update the inventory system. Granny and Pepper had been manually tracking inventory. Over the past few years, the system had become too chaotic to manage, and it left Kelly with a big mess. She sourced a new inventory system and had it installed in time for the kickoff of the busiest shopping season of the year.
Well, she hoped it was the busiest shopping season for consignment stores because she needed an infusion of cash to keep the business afloat.
“Yes, they’ve been added to the inventory. Can you print out the price tags and put these dresses out on the floor? I think this silvery sequin dress should be on a mannequin. There’s a pair of shoes and clutch I think will look great with the dress.”
“Okay. I’ll take care of that now while you unlock the door. It’s time to open.” Pepper shifted over to the new computer that had been added to the sales counter area and proceeded to print out the price tags.
Kelly passed Breena, who was busy refolding a stack of sweaters. Her stride to the front door was purposeful. She’d been looking forward to Black Friday for weeks. Back in the city, the day was a blur of activity. She’d spent as much time as she could on the sales floor at Bishop’s to help out the staff.
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