15 Minutes by Larissa Reinhart

Author:Larissa Reinhart [Reinhart, Larissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, humorous mystery, Chick Lit, Mysteries & Thrillers, Southern humor, Women's Fiction, amateur sleuth
Publisher: Past Perfect Press
Published: 2017-01-24T07:00:00+00:00

I honed my David Waverly focus on his golf buddies, which meant a return to the Black Pine Club, fast becoming a hotspot for a non-member like myself. Today I would banish Maizie Albright to the wings and stay in character. Full-on Julia Pinkerton. Before entering the club, I did some quick acting warmups to grab the essence of Julia. A few yodels, ten deep breaths, and five squats. With some difficulty in the leather pants.

Feeling better, I breezed into the clubhouse. Ignoring the "Members Only" sign, I pushed through the lounge's heavy door. Wood paneling, overstuffed leather sofas, and polished stone and granite topped coffee tables packed the room, all backdropped by two-story windows that overlooked the lake.

Behind the bar, a handsome Latino man nodded. I gave him a cool, Julia half-smile and checked out the room. Two elderly gents in plaid pants and pastel polos sat in club chairs, holding the Atlanta paper within squinting view. Even at this distance, I could see the headline, "ALBRIGHT PRODUCTION TALKS WITH BLACK PINE CITY." Even better, the upper fold photo featured a grainy shot of Giulio and I in another clincher.

“Frigatastic,” I said, faltering back to Maizie. Daddy wouldn't miss that one. He had the AJC delivered to the office.

While I reeled from headline shock, the lounge door opened, producing a burst of Chanel No. 5. My olfactory behavioral conditioning immediately sent my stomach rolling. Sweat broke out on my neck. A certain sphincter tightened. A half-second later, I once again faced Vicki.

“There you are,” she said.

“How did you know I was here?” I sucked in a breath. “Did you microchip me during my last teeth whitening treatment?”

“Really, Maizie.” She patted her Saint Laurent Sac de Jour bag. “I have the new contract.”

“I’m sort of working now? I’ll get back to you?”

Vicki glanced at the golfers, took in the AJC headline, and looked back at me. A half-smile curled her Dior Diablotine lips. “Oh, my. Front page. How did I miss that?”

Vicki missed nothing.

“I suppose that won’t help your case much.” She sighed and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles on her Diane von Furstenberg sheath. “I meant your probation case. Not your detective case.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Flies, Maizie.” Vicki checked her polish—Also Dior. Victoire red.—then blasted me with her sea glass greens. “Now, about the contract.”

“How can you be so underhanded?”

“You can’t expect a press conference to not make the paper.”

“That picture’s not from the press conference.” I lowered my voice. “That was taken at my college graduation party. The one I wasn’t allowed to have due to my probation requirements. But you threw anyway.”

She shrugged. “We were competing with Billionaire Kids of Chicago.”

“I’m trying to investigate a missing woman. I don’t have time for your publicity stunts. Shouldn’t a possible murder take precedent over a reality show?”

Her brows flickered. “If only you could have applied such dramatic flair to the movie, Her Last Prom. Maybe it would have done better in ratings.”

“You said nothing would have helped that movie.”

“I was speaking as your manager.

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