4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly
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About Decoupage Can Be Deadly
An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery
by Lois Winston
Anastasia and her fellow American Woman editors are steaming mad when minutes before the opening of a consumer show, they discover half their booth usurped by Bling!, their publisher’s newest magazine. CEO Alfred Gruenwald is sporting new arm candy—rapper-turned-entrepreneur and now Bling! executive editor, the first-name-only Philomena. During the consumer show, Gruenwald’s wife serves Philomena with an alienation of affection lawsuit, but Philomena doesn’t live long enough to show up in court. She’s found dead days later, stuffed in the shipping crate that held Anastasia’s decoupage crafts. When Gruenwald makes cash-strapped Anastasia an offer she can’t refuse, she wonders, does he really want to find Philomena’s killer or is he harboring a hidden agenda?
Decoupage Can Be Deadly
An Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery
by Lois Winston
Acclaim for the Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries
Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun
“Crafty cozies don’t get any better than this hilarious confection...Anastasia is as deadpan droll as Tina Fey’s Liz Lemon, and readers can’t help cheering as she copes with caring for a host of colorful characters.” – Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Winston has hit a homerun with this hilarious, laugh-until-your-sides-hurt tale. Oddball characters, uproariously funny situations, and a heroine with a strong sense of irony will delight fans of Janet Evanovich, Jess Lourey, and Kathleen Bacus. May this be the first of many in Winston’s Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series.” – Booklist (starred review)
“A comic tour de force...Lovers of funny mysteries, outrageous puns, self-deprecating humor, and light romance will all find something here.” – ForeWord Magazine (Book of the Year nominee)
“North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum. Funny, gutsy, and determined, Anastasia has a bright future in the planned series.” – Kirkus Reviews
“...a delightful romp through the halls of who-done-it.” – The Star-Ledger
“Make way for Lois Winston’s promising new series...I’ll be eagerly awaiting the next installment in this thoroughly delightful series.” – Mystery Scene Magazine
“...once you read the first few pages of Lois Winston’s first-in-series whodunit, you’re hooked for the duration...” – Bookpage
“...madcap but tough-as-nails, no holds barred plot and main character...a step above the usual crafty cozy.” – The Mystery Reader
“...Anastasia is, above all, a JERSEY girl..., and never, ever mess with one of them. I can’t wait ‘til the next book in this series...” – Suspense Magazine
“Fans of Stephanie Plum will love Lois Winston’s cast of quirky, laughable, and loveable characters. Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun is clever and thoroughly entertaining—a must read!” – Brenda Novak, New York Times best-selling author.
“What a treat—I can’t stop laughing! Witty, wise, and delightfully clever, Anastasia is going to be your new best friend. Her mysterious adventures are irresistible—you’ll be glued to the page!” – Hank Phillippi Ryan, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity award-winning author
“You think you’ve got trouble? Say hello to Anastasia Pollack, who also happens to be queen of the one-liners. Funny, funny, funny—this is a series you don’t want to miss!” – Kasey Michaels, USA Today best-selling author
Death by Killer Mop Doll
“Anastasia is a crafting Stephanie Plum, surrounded by characters sure to bring chuckles as she careens through the narrative, crossing paths with the detectives assigned to the case and snooping around to solve it.” – Booklist
“Several crafts projects, oodles of laughs and an older, more centered version of Stephanie Plum.” – Kirkus Reviews
“In Winston’s droll second cozy featuring crafts magazine editor Anastasia Pollack...readers who relish the offbeat will be rewarded.” – Publishers Weekly
“...a 30 Rock vibe...Winston turns out another lighthearted amateur sleuth investigation. Laden with one-liners, Anastasia’s second outing (after Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun) points to another successful series in the works.” – Library Journal
“Winston...plays for plenty of laughs...while letting Anastasia shine as a risk-taking investigator who doesn’t always know when to quit.” – Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
Revenge of the Crafty Corpse
“Winston peppers the twisty and slightly edgy plot with humor and plenty of craft patterns. Fans of craft mysteries will like this, of course, but so will those who enjoy the smart and snarky humor of Janet Evanovich, Laura Levine, and Laura DeSilverio.” – Booklist
“Winston’s entertaining third cozy plunges Anastasia into a surprisingly fraught stew of jealousy, greed, and sex...” and a “Sopranos-worthy lineup of eccentric character...” – Publishers Weekly
“Winston provides a long-suffering heroine, amusing characters, a...good mystery and a series of crafting projects featuring cloth yo-yos.” – Kirkus Reviews
“A fun addition to a series that keeps getting stronger.” – Romantic Times Magazine
“Chuckles begin on page one and the steady humor sustains a comedic crafts cozy, the third (after Death by Killer Mop Doll)... Recommend for Chris Grabenstein (“John Ceepak” series) and Jess Lourey readers.” – Library Journal
“You'll be both surprised and entertained by this terrific mystery. I can't wait to see what happens in the Pollack household next.” – Suspense Magazine
“The book has what a mystery should...It moves along at a good pace...Like all good sleuths, Anastasia pieces together what others don’t...The book has a fun twist...and it’s clear that Anastasia, the everyday woman who loves crafts and desserts, and has a complete hottie in pursuit, will return to solve another murder and offer more crafts tips...” – Star-Ledger
Also by Lois Winston
Talk Gertie to Me
Elementary, My Dear Gertie
Love, Lies and a Double Shot of Deception
Assault with a Deadly Glue Gun
Death by Killer Mop Doll
Crewel Intentions
Revenge of the Crafty Corpse
Mosaic Mayhem
Once Upon a Romance
Top Ten Reasons Your Novel is Rejected
Romance Super Bundle
a boxed set of ten romances by ten authors
Writing as Emma Carlyle
Hooking Mr. Right
Finding Hope
Four Uncles and a Wedding
Lost in Manhattan
Someone to Watch Over Me
Decoupage Can Be Deadly copyright 2013 by Lois Winston. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locations, or events is coincidental or fictionalized.
Cover design by L. Winston
Dedication
For Jack, Zoe, and Chase
who have left permanent handprints on my heart
Acknowledgments
To my family: Rob, Chris, Scott, Jen, Megan, and the very special trio mentioned in the dedication.
To Irene Peterson and Donnell Bell for their second and third sets of eyes that caught what my own eyes missed.
To Sue Evens for her Malice Domestic donation which entitled her to be named as a character in this book.
To Sandy Sechrest for her Bouchercon
donation which entitled her to be named as a character in this book.
For offering her expertise during the research phase of Decoupage Can Be Deadly, special thanks to attorney Barbara Doyle Frentz.
And finally, to Michael “The Gluologist” Assile of Beacon Adhesives for allowing me to use his experience with the consumer who broke a tooth.
ONE
“What happened?” I stopped short at the entrance to our exhibition booth. My fellow American Woman editors and I had spent all day yesterday at the Jacob Javits Convention Center, setting up for the Celebrating Women weekend consumer show. Now half our booth had been usurped, our carefully coordinated displays missing.
“Not what. Who,” said food editor Cloris McWerther.
“Philomena.” Travel editor Serena Brower practically spat out the name.
“Obnoxious people deserve a slow, painful death,” said fashion editor Tessa Lisbon. She stood with hands on hips. Her perfectly painted, collagen-enhanced scarlet lips, deep in pout mode, matched the anger flaming on her cheeks.
Cloris turned to me and stage-whispered, “Not to spout clichés, but doesn’t that fall under the heading of the pot calling the kettle black?”
Having an obnoxious personality was pretty much a pre-requisite for the job of fashion editor at American Woman. However, Philomena Campanello, the target of everyone’s ire belonged in the category of über-obnoxious.
“It’s called chutzpah,” said health editor Janice Kerr.
“Brass balls,” added decorating editor Jeanie Sims.
“Same difference,” said finance editor Sheila Conway.
I corrected them all. “No ladies, it’s called sleeping with the CEO.”
“Score one for our crafts editor,” said Cloris.
I, Anastasia Pollack, being the crafts editor in question, executed a mock bow, then turned to Naomi Dreyfus, our editorial director. “So what do we do now?”
Naomi threw her hands up in the air. Little ever rattled the Grace Kelly perfection of our serene editorial director, but even she sported deep frown lines as we surveyed the devastation. “We make the best of a crappy situation for the next two days.”
Trimedia, our parent company, was a major sponsor of the Celebrating Women show, with a display area that spanned both sides of the long center aisle at the convention center. American Woman, the monthly magazine responsible for our weekly paychecks, had been assigned four consecutive spaces, forty linear feet, on one side of the aisle. The remaining space was divided up between the rest of Trimedia’s holdings that catered to women TV viewers, radio listeners, and magazine readers.
Each of our eight editors had received five feet of space. We’d spent the better part of the last two weeks coordinating our efforts to create a cohesive display where we’d each meet and greet attendees, hand out free copies of the magazine, do demos, and offer make-it/take-it projects. With schematics in hand, we’d spent most of yesterday setting up the booth.
Now, with the show opening to the public in a matter of minutes, we stood in the aisle, our mouths agape at the destruction of all our hard work. Overnight our forty feet had shrunk to twenty, half our booth appropriated by Philomena Campanello, the self-proclaimed Queen of Bling, otherwise known as Trimedia’s newest star and CEO Alfred Gruenwald’s newest arm candy.
When we’d finished setting up the American Woman booth late yesterday afternoon, Philomena hadn’t even arrived. An army of minions must have worked late into the night to create the flashy extravaganza now occupying half our space plus her originally allocated forty feet.
Philomena had begun her career as Philly-Mean-A, a twenty-something white gangsta, often called the female Eminem. Whether through savvy business advisors, her own smarts, or sleeping with the right people, the potty-mouthed street rapper from Philadelphia had morphed into the first-name-only Philomena and parlayed herself into a business empire replete with her own line of perfume, fashions, and accessories, plus a multitude of endorsements.
Now, thanks to the help of one besotted CEO who’d convinced the Trimedia board to buy into her Bling! concept, the first issue of Bling! was on newsstands. A combination fashion, lifestyle, and entertainment monthly, the magazine featured ten percent fashion, ten percent lifestyle, and ten percent entertainment. The remaining seventy percent consisted mostly of ads for the various products Philomena hyped, thanks to her lucrative endorsement deals. But as anyone who has ever worked in the magazine business knows, advertising trumps content. Big time. Ads pay the bills and keep the company in the black.
Philomena’s Bling! bling currently encroached over half our designated exhibit space.
“Where’s our stuff?” asked Serena.
I stepped into the booth and ducked behind the eight-foot tall back panels, each covered with a larger-than-life blow-up of a page from the current issue of American Woman. Half were now missing, along with half our models and hand-outs. Just as I suspected, I found everything heaped on the floor in haphazard piles.
Retrieving the smashed remains of a Potichomanie decoupage bowl, I returned to the gaggle of editors and held up the shards of broken glass. “Five hours to create, five seconds to destroy.”
“Good thing it was already photographed and appears in the current issue,” said beauty editor Nicole Emmerling. “At least you don’t have to pull an all-nighter to make another.”
I’d been down that road before when a psychopath had fixated on my mop dolls and used them as props in an act of vandalism and a couple of murders. However, even though the bowl had already been featured in the magazine, I had planned to keep it. You never know when a Potichomanie decoupage bowl might come in handy as a prop. Or as a gift.
Given that our current issue featured decoupage crafts, I wondered if any of my other missing models had survived intact, but I didn’t have time to dig through the mound of discarded items. Within minutes the doors would open, releasing a stampeding horde of women into the exhibition hall.
“Speaking of the blinga donna,” said Cloris. She cocked her head, directing our attention down the aisle where a blinged-out Philomena strutted toward us as if she were on a Fashion Week catwalk.
Looped over one arm she held a behemoth of a chainmail-draped and gold sequin-studded red patent leather bag, a relatively tame statement compared to the rest of her streetwalker chic outfit of skin-tight turquoise leopard leggings, red-sequined bustier, and a pair of purple stiletto high top sneakers. Peacock feathers sprouted from her platinum pouf hairdo. A large script P, covered in diamonds, hung from her neck, the bottom of the letter disappearing into her massive cleavage.
A Marilyn Monroe impersonator stood beside Philomena. Her toned body wore an extremely short tiger print silk sheath like a second skin. She towered over the vertically challenged Philomena, who was barely five feet tall minus her stilettos, by at least a foot and a half. Something told me Marilyn was actually a guy. Even so, I’d kill for his hourglass figure.
Philomena’s other arm looped through the arm of CEO Alfred Gruenwald who apparently had lost whatever common sense he once possessed as he approached his seventieth birthday. Behind them strutted Philomena’s entourage and Gruenwald’s combination driver/gopher boy. The guy’s intimidating stature alone would keep the riffraff at bay.
“Are you going to say something to him?” I asked Naomi.
“Would it matter?”
“No, but we’d all feel better if you let him know how pissed we are,” said Jeanie.
“Once more unto the breach,” muttered Naomi, reminding me of Ralph, my Shakespeare quoting parrot. She stepped to the center of the aisle. The rest of us closed ranks on either side of her, blocking the conquering army’s path to the Bling! display. With no easy way to maneuver around us, they were forced to stop.
“I’d like a word with the two of you,” said Naomi.
Philomena set her mouth into a tight line and stared straight ahead, ignoring Naomi. I think. It was hard to tell. For all anyone knew, hidden behind h
er enormous rhinestone encrusted sunglasses, she may have been spearing Naomi with the Evil Eye.
Gruenwald offered Naomi one of those affable businessman smiles that really means he knows he’s top dog, and you’d better not mess with him. Ever. “Certainly,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“After my editors spent all day yesterday setting up our booth, your girlfriend here pranced in last night and helped herself to half our space.”
Gruenwald the Clueless turned to Philomena. “Really?”
“You said you wanted to make a statement,” said the Blinged One. “How the hell do you expect me to make a statement with a measly forty feet of booth space?”
“Yes, but—”
I noticed that activity had halted in the surrounding booths. Various Trimedia staffers inched closer, some with smart phones in hand, already snapping photos and sending the latest Trimedia gossip out into the Twittersphere.
“No buts about it, sweetie. What’s more important to Trimedia, a third-rate supermarket rag or Bling!?” She waved her arm toward her sixty feet of prime exhibit space. “Now that’s a statement!” Then she turned to Marilyn. “Am I right, or am I right?”