From the Inside Flap
EXCERPT:
When you wear fishnet stockings to the grocery store, people tend to stare. Women look at you like you're affiliated with the sex trade. Men pretend they're not staring, doing so all the while. It's probably because they're thinking the same thing.
The last time I wore fishnets to the grocery store was weeks ago. It was then I met the man who changed the course of my life. Because of him, I'd traded in the title of senior buyer of ladies designer shoes at Bentley's New York to become the trend specialist at Tradava, the family-owned retailer in Ribbon, Pennsylvania. I'd given up an apartment in Manhattan to buy the house where I grew up. And now, because of him, I sat in a police station explaining my actions to a homicide detective.
I still couldn't pinpoint exactly when it all started to go wrong.
***
A week earlier . . .
I changed clothes six times, then ultimately settled on the fashion uniform of black: satin motorcycle jacket cinched at the waist over a lace camisole, pegged pencil skirt, fishnets, and stilettos. Elsa Klensch meets Catwoman. Patrick, the fashion director and my new boss, was bound to approve. I topped off my look with a finishing blast of Aqua Net, powered up with coffee and a donut from a newspaper kiosk by my house, and headed to work earlier than I remember ever going to work before.
I arrived at Tradava and followed a trickle of other early employees into the building. A petite Latina woman in an oversized pink sweater and black leggings struggled to carry a box through the door marked "Loss Prevention."
"Let me help you," I called out. I raced forward with my arms out. The woman pivoted and I grabbed ahold of the other side of the box just as she was about to lose control. She inched her way backward and together, we got it through the door.
"Set it on the floor," she said. We both bent down, her in the manner the How to Lift Properly posters advised and me in a way that would surely make my back stiff in an hour. The box thumped onto the exposed concrete floor. The woman straightened up and smiled. "Thanks," she said. "That box just about killed me." She studied my face. "Are you a vendor? Let me get the sign-in log."
"I'm Samantha Kidd," I said. "Patrick's new trend specialist. Do you know if he's here yet?"
"He's here, but he didn't say anything about you." Her brow furrowed, and she picked up the phone and dialed an extension. When no one answered, she hung up.
"He's not in the office. You'll have to sign in like a visitor."
"But I'm not a visitor. I'm staff. Today's my first day."
The friendly vibe we'd had after I helped her with the box that almost killed her had waned, but she did seem conflicted. "Do you have ID?" she asked hopefully.
I reached into my handbag and pulled out a quilted leather wallet, then held it open to show my driver's license through the plastic window.
"I meant a store ID."
"No. Not yet, anyway."
"That's a New York license," she commented.
"You're right, I just moved. But it's me, see?" I held the wallet up to my face and smiled at her in the way only a half crazy person brimming with caffeine and adrenaline over starting a new job might.
The woman reached her hands up and gathered her long, wavy, brownish-orange hair on top of her head then wound it around several times until it resembled a doorknob. She pushed the sign-in log toward me and held out a red ballpoint pen. "I'm sure you'll get it all straightened out today."
"Right," I said. Look at me, already making friends! I signed my name with a flourish then added Trend office, 7:37. I put my wallet back in my handbag, hopped out of the way of a flatbed filled with merchandise and headed into the store. Aside from security and shipping, the store was quiet.
I wasn't a morning person. It was day one of a new job and a new life. Full of potential. My early arrival had less to do with my natural inclinations and more to do with my need to make a good impression. I was determined to be the best trend specialist Patrick had ever hired.
I wandered through the shoe department on my way to the elevators, pausing by a round marble fixture that displayed a purple suede platform pump. My index finger traced over the black and white designer label that decorated the sock lining.
"Of all the shoes, in all the stores, she had to walk up to mine," said a husky voice behind me. I turned and faced the man whose name was stitched onto that label. The man I'd once fantasized about during a layover in Paris. The man I'd almost kissed after a business dinner that involved a good deal of Sauvignon Blanc and a serving of lemon meringue pie. My judgment is not to be trusted around lemon meringue.
Nick Taylor was a shoe designer. His showroom was charged with electricity, hot looks, and devastating style. His shoe collection wasn't bad, either. He was one of the few people I thought I'd miss after leaving Bentley's, that is, until I caught him flirting with the buyer from Bloomingdales and realized the only special thing we had was a gross margin agreement.
"You're a long way from New York," I said. "What are you doing at Tradava?"
"Same thing as you, probably."
"I doubt that. I'm here to start a new job." I cocked my head to the side and crossed my arms, the plum-colored laptop bag that hung from my shoulder now banging against my hip.
"First day? Let's get you into practice." He stood directly in front of me and held out his hand. "I'm Nick Taylor. Shoe designer and all around good guy."
I pursed my lips and took in his dark curly hair and his brown eyes, the exact shade of the three root beer barrels I ate in the car after finishing the donut. I met his outstretched hand with my own.
"Samantha Kidd. Former shoe buyer. Former angry New Yorker." I pumped his hand twice to emphasize the word 'former.' "Current trend specialist for Tradava on the cusp of a new life."
From the Back Cover
In the suburban town of Ribbon, PA an unexpected crime throws the community into a sartorial storm. Designer Dirty Laundry is a sidesplitting mystery that follows the misadventures of Samantha Kidd, a former fashion buyer who's about to unravel more than just the latest trends.
Samantha had traded her glamorous high-profile career for a humbler position at a small retailer, hoping to find solace in her old hometown. Little did she know that her decision would lead her straight into the middle of a murder investigation, with herself as the prime suspect! Suddenly, her dreams of a peaceful life filled with sensible shoes are dashed as she navigates a world of mystery, mayhem, and murder.
(Just kidding. Samantha never dreams of sensible shoes.)
With her abundant curiosity and her flair for fashion that can't be denied, Samantha becomes an unlikely detective, determined to unmask the real killer and restore her good name. Along the way, she crosses paths with a sexy shoe designer, whose charm and sizzling designs add an unexpected twist to the investigation. As sparks fly, Samantha must navigate the treacherous waters of both romance and murder, all while staying one step ahead of the fashion police.
With her abundant curiosity and her flair for fashion, she discovers that everyone has something to hide, from rival designers with designs on sabotage to backstabbing colleagues and envious fashionistas. Can she expose the real killer before her own life becomes the next fashion fatality? One thing is for certain: solving this murder is going to be a killer challenge, especially when love and a fabulous shoe collection are at stake.
Perfect for fans of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series and Sophie Kinsella's quirky heroines, Designer Dirty Laundry is a must-read for anyone seeking a hilarious, light-hearted mystery with a dash of style and a pinch of haute couture. Prepare to be enthralled, amused, and tickled by the glamorous chaos that ensues when fashion and crime collide in Ribbon, Pennsylvania!
About the Author
GILT TRIP, Samantha Kidd Killer Fashion Mystery #14, out now!
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National bestselling author Diane Vallere writes funny and fashionable character-based mysteries. After two decades working for a top luxury retailer, she traded fashion accessories for accessories to murder. A past president of Sisters in Crime, Diane started her own detective agency at age ten and has maintained a passion for shoes, clues, and clothes ever since.
Diane-Fans describe "her vintage Vallere goodness," and say she is a "great storyteller" with "a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue" who is "a superb and very humorous writer." Her gift of creating "spunky sleuths in fun settings" take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, New York, Pennsylvania, and outer space.
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DIANE'S VARIOUS SERIES
Sylvia Stryker Outer Space Mysteries (cozy mystery in outer space)
Dead in the Water (cozy mysteries in the ocean)
Samantha Kidd Mysteries (funny, fashion-y mysteries with many mentions of pretzels)
Madison Night Mysteries (cozy/traditional mysteries winking at Doris Day movies)
Material Witness Mysteries (cozy, fabric store)
Costume Shop Mysteries (cozy, costume shop)
Non-fiction: Bonbons for your Brain
