Sprinkle with Murder [01] by Jenn McKinlay

Author:Jenn McKinlay
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-06-25T21:28:56.484000+00:00

wearing a lot of black eyeliner, faux fur, and platforms. Ew.

Under the “about”tab, Mel clicked and saw a brief bio on Terry Longmore and her two top designers. Interesting.

Maybe claiming your protégé‟s work as your own wasn‟t the norm.

She jotted down the address and phone. The Longmore Studio was located in downtown Phoenix, nowhere near Christie‟s studio. Interesting. Mel decided to call Terry Longmore tomorrow and see what she had to say about Christie Stevens.

In her petite bathroom, she studied her face in the mirror. She remembered Joe saying that her haircut made her eyes look big, and she wondered again if it was in a good way or a bad way.

Whatever. She brushed her teeth, refusing to think about him and his date, or the fact that she hadn‟t yet repainted the walls her mother had done in mango.

No, it was much better to think about Tate‟s loss and the fact that she was the prime suspect for murder, which was beginning to have seriously adverse effects upon her business.

Mel unfolded her futon and rolled out her sheets and blanket.

She expected sleep would be a long time in coming, but she was asleep before she finished a jaw-popping yawn.

“We‟re low on Blonde Bombshells, Tinkerbells, and Death by Chocolates,”Angie hollered from inside the walk-in.

Mel noted the three flavors on the pad in front of her. “Got it.”

This was good. She would have a nice morning baking her butt off, and could pretend that everything was business as usual for at least a little while.

Angie closed the door to the walk-in behind her and sat on the stool beside Mel‟s.

“I tried calling Tate last night,”she said. “He never answered or called me back.”

A worried V perched between Angie‟s eyebrows, and Mel reached over and patted her hand.

“He‟s got a lot going on,”she said. “He‟ll come around when he‟s ready.”

“He didn‟t answer your messages either, did he?”

“No,”Mel admitted.

“Well, I‟ve had it,”Angie said. “We‟re his friends, and he needs us. I‟m going over there today, and he‟s going to talk to me if I have to hold his head over the toilet bowl and threaten him with a swirly.”

Mel grinned. She could just picture it.

“Who‟s getting a swirly?”a voice asked from the door.

It was Tate. He looked haggard and worn, like he‟d been backed over by a dump truck, repeatedly. Both Angie and Mel hopped up from their stools and ran across the room to hug him.

He was wearing jeans and a rumpled, long-sleeved T-shirt. His arms locked around both of them, and he hauled them close.

“„Honest men stay honest only as long as it pays. That‟s why I‟m a thief and you‟re a liar.‟”Tate let them go.

“Jack Strawhorn in Posse,”Angie said. “Who‟s a liar?”

Tate looked away.

“What‟s going on, Tate?”Mel asked.

He paced across the kitchen. The same kitchen he had spent a month of Saturdays in, helping to clean, paint, and stock with supplies. He fingered the door to the walk-in pantry full of dry goods as if he wished he could lock himself up in there as well.

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