Read Diane Vallere - Style & Error 03 - The Brim Reaper Online
Authors: Diane Vallere
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Fashion - New York City
Diane Vallere - Style Error 03 - The Brim Reaper | |
Number III of Style amp; Error Mysteries | |
Diane Vallere | |
Polyester Press (2013) | |
Tags: | Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Fashion - New York City Mystery: Cozy - Humor - Fashion - New York Cityttt |
Praise for the Style & Error Mystery Series
Other Books in the Style & Error Mystery Series
Acknowledgments
Dedication
About The Author
Other Books by Diane Vallere
The Brim Reaper
Book 3 in the Style & Error Mystery Series
Diane Vallere
The Brim Reaper
Book 3 in the Style & Error Mystery Series
Copyright © 2013 by Diane Vallere
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, companies, institutions, organizations, or incidents is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 0984965359
ISBN 13: 9780984965359
First Edition | eBook edition
Expected Publication December 2013
Printed in the United States of America.
Praise for the Style & Error Mystery Series
“[T]he book is enriched by the author’s cleverly phrased prose and convincing characterization. The surprise ending will satisfy and delight many mystery fans. A diverting mystery that offers laughs and chills.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“Overall, an impressive cozy mystery from a promising author.”
—
Mystery Tribune
“A sassy tale told with warmth and charm, Diane Vallere’s
Designer Dirty Laundry
shows that even the toughest crime is no match for a sleuth in fishnet stockings who knows her way around the designer department. A delightful debut.”
—Kris Neri,
Lefty Award-Nominated Author of
Revenge on Route 66
“Combining fashion and fatalities, Diane Vallere pens a winning debut mystery. With a fascinating look behind the scenes at what makes a department store tick,
Designer Dirty Laundry
is a sleek and stylish read.”
—Ellen Byerrum,
Award-Winning Author of The Crime of Fashion Mysteries
“In
Designer Dirty Laundry
, author Diane Vallere stitches together a seamless mystery. The story will have you on pins and needles. Samantha Kidd is a witty heroine that you will root for as she fashions a fresh stylish start in her hometown of Ribbon, Pennsylvania.”
—Avery Aames,
Agatha Award winner of nationally bestselling
A Cheese Shop Mystery series
“A captivating new mystery voice, Vallere has stitched together haute couture and murder in a stylish mystery. Dirty Laundry has never been so engrossing!”
—Krista Davis, Award-Winning Author of The Domestic Diva Mysteries
“
Designer Dirty Laundry
is a light, cozy-style mystery written in a breezy manner. The murder plot is nicely set up, the suspects all credibly drawn, and Samantha Kidd an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—
Mysterious Reviews
“It keeps you at the edge of your seat. I love the description of clothes in this book … if you love fashion, pick this up!”
—
Los Angeles Mamma Blog
“You may want to stay out of department stores after reading Diane Vallere’s second book in her Style & Error Mystery Series. Behind the scenes some deals are to die for.”
—Sheila Connolly, author of the Museum Mysteries, the Orchard Mysteries, and the Country Cork Mysteries
“Vallere once again brings her knowledgeable fashion skills to the forefront, along with comedy, mystery, and a saucy romance.
Buyer, Beware
did not disappoint!”
—
Chick Lit Plus
“In
Buyer, Beware
, Diane Vallere takes the reader through this cozy mystery with her signature wit and humor.
Buyer, Beware
is a fast paced, humorous read with a clever, knotty mystery to chew on.”
—Mary Marks,
NY Journal of Books
Other Books in the Style & Error Mystery Series
Designer Dirty Laundry
Buyer, Beware
“Just Kidding”
(e-short story)
Acknowledgments
It would be impossible to thank all of the people who have influenced the Samantha Kidd books because that list would involve every person I’ve met since high school (and a few I met long before then!).
Thank you to Jen Schlegel, for helping me discover a sense of adventure at four years old and helping me keep in touch with it through college. Thanks to Jo Schlegel for suggesting the heading on the back of this book. John—you’re slacking.
Thank you to my Sisters in Crime Guppies, the best group for writers out there. I never knew such a community existed and I don’t know I functioned without you.
Thank you to Ramona deFelice Long, Monica O’Rourke, Elise Stone, Krista Davis, Kris Neri, Daryl Wood Gerber, Ellen Byerrum, and Jessica Faust, for contributing your own special flavors to the cocktail that is editing, proofing, supporting, and encouraging.
And to my inner circle: thank you Josh Hickman for reminding me that there is life outside of the computer. Thank you Kendel Flaum for a friendship that transcends acknowledgments. Thank you to my parents for teaching me about hard work and goals. And pretzels. Thank you for teaching me about pretzels.
Dedication
To Gino
1
It was hard not to overhear the argument. Two deep male voices shouted at each other from the office of the art museum. I stood at the back entrance of the Ribbon Museum of Art by a rotating exhibit of influential fashions. I wasn’t sure if I should continue inside or pretend I hadn’t arrived yet.
Across the exposed concrete floor was a flight of stairs that led to the main display space. I could cross the floor, get up the stairs, and pretend I’d been there all along. If I didn’t need to check in with someone in the office, I would have tried to do just that.
“I don’t care how much publicity it will bring. I’m not doing it!” one voice said.
“You might own your own store, but you forget who’s in charge here,” a second said.
I took a tentative step onto the concrete.
“I’m here because of my experience and connections. You want them, you let me do things the way I see fit.”
“That wasn’t the arrangement.”
“If you’d been up front about the arrangement from the beginning, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Had there been clothing on the naked mannequins that stood like sentries around the cavernous gallery, the sound might have been muffled. Instead, the voices reverberated off the walls and magnified like a conversation yelled across the Grand Canyon.
“You don’t need to know everything I have planned.”
“You’re right. I don’t need to know
anything
you have planned. I quit.”
The man who stormed out of the office was red in the face, an unfortunate color combination with the royal blue glasses he’d probably chosen as a fashion statement. He was bald but had a sculpted white mustache and beard, and he looked like a patriotic ad for blood pressure medicine, or at least the “before” photo for someone who might need an intervention. He wore a black suit with a T-shirt underneath, no socks, and shiny black wingtips. The leather soles of his shoes made a snappy clicking sound as he crossed the marble foyer. He pushed both palms on the inside of the entrance doors, but it was Monday and the museum was closed to the public. The doors flexed outward a few inches and then, bound by the heavy chain and padlock, snapped back toward the man, knocking him in the head.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to him, my sandals making their own staccato clicks and clacks across the floor.
He appeared not to notice me. He cursed and slammed his balled-up fist into the back of the door. It looked like it hurt.
“Who are you? My replacement?” he asked over his shoulder while massaging his hand.
Since I wasn’t sure what my role at the museum was other than showing up to help a friend, I answered with an introduction. “I’m Samantha Kidd. I’m here to help with an exhibit of vintage movie costumes. Is your head okay? The doors whacked you pretty hard.”
He fanned his fingers out and looked at the back of his hand, and then touched his forehead where the doors had whacked him. A red bump was already forming.
“That man is an idiot.”
Before I could answer, the bald man’s cell phone rang. He scowled at the display and let it ring several times. On the sixth ring, he tapped the answer button and held the phone out to me.
I put my hands up and shook my head, but he nodded and held it closer.